Far Harbor was a lot colder than the Commonwealth proper, but that didn't bother Wayne much at all.

Things had been quiet lately, in no small part to his recent actions. After the short, if violent, war with the Institute, he'd taken a leave of absence from the Commonwealth to try and correct his mental state (as if he remembered what it was like to be well in the first place). Nick had immediately understood his intentions, but the Synth detective knew that just spinning your wheels and going nowhere was doing more harm than good. He had a missing person's case- Kasumi Nakano. The Nakanos were old friends of Nick's, so of course they called him to find their daughter.

Nick had brought Wayne along. He'd said the change of scenery would do him some good, and Wayne found that logic sound. His last little sortie to Nuka-World after...Danse... helped clear his head significantly, especially once he'd made a shooting gallery of the Raiders holed up there. Got a new gun out of it, too. An AK-derivative, lots of Chinese parts bashed together with raider ingenuity and a whole lot of weld and Wonderglue. Same gun that hung over the door of his humble abode now.

Kasumi's situation was... precarious. Far Harbor, the little port town, hated Arcadia and the Children of Atom. The Children of Atom, a bunch of nuke-worshiping maniacs, hated Arcadia and Far Harbor. Arcadia, poor Arcadia, was stuck in the middle, trying to keep the peace between both sides while keeping this damn irradiated fog away, all while juggling the pressures of being the biggest Synth safe haven this side of the Commonwealth. Kasumi had come to Arcadia to join her 'fellow Synths', (because of course she thought she was a damn Synth) and she wasn't leaving. Not until she found out what DiMA—a prototype synth who's face looked like a wheel of cheese in a rat factory met Nick in a back alley and they made sweet love, and memory cores sticking out of him like darts at a dive bar—was up to. A little bit of errand-boying here, a little bit of running around the island with a swarthy drunk there, and sure e-fucking-nough, it turns out that DiMA was even shadier than the Harbormen or the Children, up to the point of killing someone in cold blood and putting a Synth in their spot as the person in charge at Far Harbor.

Why couldn't Wayne find a nice settlement full of well-adjusted people? Was that so much to ask? No, wait, this was the Commonwealth. Definitely too much to ask. Especially when he was nowhere NEAR well-adjusted.

So, Wayne, being the kindly and well-adjusted man he was himself, decided that the best way to handle the situation was to keep DiMA's dirty little secrets, then murder the leader of the Children of Atom in cold blood, stick his body in a hole in the wall, and have another Synth replace him in the exact same fashion. If nothing else, Wayne was a firm believer in the philosophy of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."

With that done, peace on earth, goodwill to men, and all that jazz. He'd not been much on returning to the Commonwealth, at least not yet, so he asked old Avery (or rather, the Synth DiMA replaced her with) if she minded him building on the land. She had no issue with it, and there was an empty plot not far from Old Longfellow's place. The old drunk wasn't too bothered, either, so Wayne built himself a little shack on the rocks, overlooking the coast. If he situated himself just right in the morning, a little blast of irradiated sea foam would smack him in the face bright and early, which was a hell of a way to wake yourself up. It was a two story affair, with the second floor being open to the elements save for an awning over the stairs that extended a good few feet, extending high enough to catch the surf and with enough room for him to set up a small cooking area without burning his whole house down. He'd put a small coffee table and some seats out in case someone stopped by, but so far no one had come to christen his new home except for Longfellow and the Mariner, who were kind enough to help him build it.

Not the worst little house in the Wasteland, certainly.

Wayne had taken a seat at his coffee table, looking out at the island in front of him with a glass of bourbon in hand. Where most people started their days with coffee or a smoke, he started with liquor. One of many vices his gang of companions loved to hound him for, Cait especially. Funny that the hellion who'd been so tweaked out on Psycho she was catatonic without it became a teetotaler after a month or two with him. A truly amazing outcome.

Once his drink was done, the sun was just about out, peeking eagerly over the horizon and piercing the slowly-but-surely-shrinking Fog that enveloped the island. The Fog Condensers at the settlements were making good progress in stemming the tide, and the Children seemed placated by the cease-fire Wayne had helped to broker for them. The new and improved Confessor Tektus saw to that.

Wayne headed down the stairs of his abode, walking over to the terminal he had set up near the window. He'd created a server strong enough to connect this terminal to the one back in Sanctuary, and thus, any messages his comrades wanted to send his way could be ferried back and forth between them. Things had been quiet lately- he wasn't expecting much talk. Once he'd logged in, he was greeted with a few new messages, and nothing more.

From: Sanctuary Terminal 01-A user PWRIGHT
To: Harbor Terminal 40-A user WSTAFFORD

Hey, Blue.

Wanted to check up on you. Nick says you stuck around after the Nakano case, had some stuff to take care of up in the Harbor. Hope you're okay.

Take your time and all, but we miss you.

Piper.

Piper was a sweet girl, though she was plenty capable of being anything but if the situation called for it. Wayne appreciated the concern.

From: Harbor Terminal 40-A user WSTAFFORD
To: Sanctuary Terminal 01-A user PWRIGHT

Thanks for checking in, Piper. I'm doing fine. There's a friend of mine up here doing work on the settlement's walls, but we should be done soon. Once it's fixed up, I'll swing by Sanctuary and talk to Preston. Will hopefully see you then.

The next message was a bit unexpected, considering Wayne had never known the man behind it to use technology, but here it was nonetheless.

From: Sanctuary Terminal 01-A user RJMACCREADY
To: Harbor Terminal 01-A user WSTAFFORD

Daisy says Duncan's improved immensely, condition's completely gone now. Again, can't thank you enough for your help. We both owe you more than any amount of caps can pay.

Anyway, figured I'd help make it up to you. Got a few jobs out here, mostly cleaning out Raiders and Gunners making the exodus from the Capital now that the BOS is under new management. On top of that, the new BoS Elder wanted to talk to you. Pretty sure there's some records you want to set straight with the Brotherhood, so...

Shoot straight, pal. See you whenever you come by.

Wayne had always assumed that MacCready was illiterate for some reason. Perhaps it was that the merc was never seen reading or writing anything, or that he stayed away from the tech stuff. Still, the shock was a welcome one. MacCready had become one of his closest friends after the Danse incident.

From: Harbor Terminal 01-A user WSTAFFORD
To: Sanctuary Terminal 01-A user RJMACCREADY

Thrilled to hear about Duncan. From what you've told me, he sounds like a wonderful kid. Hope he doesn't follow your example, haha.

I'll probably be back within a week or so. Just helping Far Harbor shore up its defensive wall and going to cull some Trappers from the area around Arcadia. As for the Brotherhood, tell the Elder I'd be glad to speak with them on neutral ground. Abernathy Farm sounds good to me.

Now done with the more personal matters, Wayne turned his attention back to the rest of his mail. The next two were from Desdemona, once again begging him to come running back to the Railroad for one reason or another. Both messages were promptly erased. The remainder of the new messages were all Minutemen status reports. None of them had anything implying urgency, so he left them unread for now. After all, he had work to do.

That in mind, he got up from his seat, stretching himself out with a groan as he looked towards the weapon racks on his wall. He wasn't going to be venturing far into the Fog today, so too much heat would just be dead weight. One or two guns would suffice. Walking over to the rack, he grabbed his Mare's Leg repeater and clipped it to his hip by the lever. His attention then turned to the rifle hanging over his door.

With measured stride, he made his way to the door and grabbed it from the frame, looping his thumb through the hole in the stock and weighing the gun in his hands. It still felt a bit cumbersome, perhaps something to do with the new receiver, but it wasn't unusable. It would just take more time to get used to- outside of his power armor he tended to lean more on the 'lightweight' end of the weapon scale, as evidenced by his multitude of either sawed-off or polymer weapons. Speaking of that, he'd been an idiot and left the power armor back in Sanctuary. Hopefully none of these Trappers had radium rifles, he didn't really feel like dealing with radiation sickness today.

His hand absently brushed over the clicker Tinker Tom had given him back when he last visited Railroad HQ. He said he'd used it to send Wayne to the Institute for the final time, once the beacon had been disconnected from Wayne's Pip-Boy, and he'd offered it to him as a 'good luck charm'.

However, something felt… off, when he pressed the button. Normally, it was a dull, hollow clack, followed by silence. He'd press it, clack , and on with the day he went.

This time, he heard whirring. It wasn't coming from the clicker.

"What the…" he muttered, looking at the device in question. Was the air around him… vibrating? Was he vibrating?

There was a blinding flash of light, followed by the sickening feeling of spatial displacement as Wayne teleported…

Except he hadn't, because he was still in his shack.

"... huh. Guess now I know what happens if I try to go back to the Institute," Wayne said to himself. "Note to self: tell Tinker Tom that the Institute isn't coming from a second underground lab to kill us all. Again."

With that in mind, he had something of actual importance to do. Trappers to kill, boats to salvage, the like. So, off Wayne went. Opening the door, he stepped out into the bright, clear noontime sun, his vision filled with blood red grass, equally blood red trees, and stone.

This wasn't Far Harbor.

Wayne stepped back into his home, closing the door behind him. "Right. Let's try that again."

With his mind clear of any possible distractions or maladies that he could possibly think of, he opened the door again, to find the same red vista staring him down.

"...son of a bitch."

He hit the clicker again. Nothing.

"Son of a bitch."

With far more force than was probably necessary, he worked the bolt on his AK.

"Son of a bitch ."

Wayne strode out of the door, slamming it shut behind him and taking a look at his Pip-Boy, which showed him to be… nowhere .

"Son of a bitch! "

With that outburst of the way, it was time for him to put the thinking cap on. It looked like his whole damn house got thrown over with him, so he still had his terminal. It was a long shot, but maybe he could make that work.

Not likely. He couldn't hear the generator anymore. Without the mapping function on his Pip-Boy, he was kind of fucked as to where he could be, and what direction he'd go in if he left his home.

He couldn't just… sit there, though. He had to figure out where he was, and how he might be able to get back to the Commonwealth.

"Come on, Wayne…" he muttered under his breath, looking around the blood-red wood to try and get an idea of where to go. Unfortunately, he seemed well and truly isolated.

"I should still have supplies in the house…" he continued. "Might as well pack it and start walking. Find a footpath of some kind. Once I find civilization, then I can figure out where the hell I am. Find a way to call home."

With that, Wayne stepped back, and opened the door to his house once more. He had a lot of walking to do, and he was already burning daylight.