After only a few hours in residence, Juliette came to the conclusion that Goodneighbor was a curious mixture of pleasantly surprising and utterly trashy. What had at first seemed like a motley group of gangsters and addicts had turned out to be a thriving community. Juliette roughly estimated that the town supported a few hundred people, including many families. It was well defended from outside threats. It was moderately stocked with food and weaponry. The housing was in poor shape, but that seemed par for the course in Boston.
Of all the things in town, strangely it was the Memory Palace that had changed her view the most. She'd examined the pods, under the watchful eye of Irma, of course. The fact that science had made such an endeavor possible so long after the bombs had fallen awoke something akin to hope in her. Progress had not halted entirely. The sheer possibilities that such technology made accessible stunned her.
However, in typical Goodneighbor fashion, the technology seemed to be utilized almost entirely by the aforementioned gangsters and addicts to relive a particularly juicy tryst or to recapture the feeling of a great high or a bloody fight. There was no push to find prewar ghouls and scour their minds for relevant data on medicine, science, construction or anything else. The doctor in charge of the program seemed content to perfect her invention in isolation, without pursuing any purpose that was particularly enriching or far-reaching.
Similarly, the grand, old Hotel Rexford was supported almost exclusively through drug production and trafficking. Whatever history or glamor had once been contained within was now long gone, decaying in a cloud of chemical smoke and gunfire. It could easily have acted as a stable form of housing for the residents living in the slummier parts of town.
In both cases, it seemed like so much potential was wasted. But, then again, most of the residents were caught up in drug use, drug sales or bad behavior of some kind, and they seemed to have none of her compunctions with the current state of affairs. It was rather smarmy of her to waltz into town looking for help, all the while judging them for their poor management of resources. In the end, she determined it to be a thriving community, and a fairly friendly one at that. But, she still kept her knife close and her eyes open. Her initial opinion of the town might have been overly harsh, but it wasn't exactly wrong. Goodneighbor was kind of a shithole, but the residents knew it was a shithole and loved it anyway, which somehow made it less shitty.
From her perch in the town's proverbial square, she turned her attention to the State House, which stood in the center of town, dilapidated, though still dignified. It presided over the surrounding tenements and warehouses, one of the few buildings with intact windows and doors. Red, white and blue bunting still hung from the balcony, though with frayed edges and moth-eaten holes. It had certainly seen better days. Better decades even. The State House seemed like the backbone of the town, and she decided that it was the perfect place for Hancock, elegantly decaying in the midst of so much debauchery.
Her earlier anxieties had largely dissipated. Everyone in town had good things to say about him. Even Daisy, who Juliette had taken a liking to immediately, claimed that he was the best thing that had ever happened to Goodneighbor. That he'd turned it into a respectable community. It seemed his casual relationship with murder was a brand of justice the town endorsed. Who was she to criticize when all of the residents seemed to approve? Well, everyone other than Finn at least.
As her trepidation eased, she began to make plans. If Hancock truly believed in a land for the people, by the people, and if he truly was as humane as his constituents claimed, perhaps there was a chance that he'd be willing to help her. If she was going to find Shaun, it would take a lot more than directions to Diamond City. She needed something concrete, and to get it, she needed Hancock.
Steeling herself, she entered, the rough wooden door groaning under her palm.
The inside was unsurprising. What had once been a memorial to American independence now appeared to be Hancock's personal pleasure palace. Classically styled tables and displays held historical artifacts side by side with every drug and weapon imaginable. It did not escape her notice that the historical artifacts, particularly the costumes, were well cared for. It seemed that Hancock's tastes were more eclectic than she had assumed. She couldn't wait to hear the story behind his chosen name and style of dress, which seemed less and less likely to be a joke.
Guards, many of them ghouls, stood watch within and watched her closely, though they made no move to interact. Automatic rifles and long, curved knives sat within easy reach, and many had a lit cigarette in hand. The weight of so many dark eyes made her skin prickle, especially knowing that Hancock's invitation was probably the only thing keeping them friendly. She hesitated near the entrance, unsure of where to go. A curling staircase in front of her lead to an upper and lower level, while spacious rooms opened to the right and left. The air was hazy with smoke, dust and whispered conversations. It wasn't the sort of place where you wanted to appear lost.
After a moment, Hancock's languid voice floated down from one of the rooms upstairs. She couldn't quite make out the words, but it was enough to indicate her destination. She took to the stair case, hesitating as the first step creaked under her weight. Much like the door, it looked and sounded like it could use some attention after so long in service. It held firmly though, and she made her way up, ignoring the groans under her feet.
Her hand slid smoothly across the banister, reminding her of the richly appointed courtrooms of her past. Without thought or effort she ascended with the slow and steady glide she'd used to stalk those halls, lips curled in the barest hint of a smile. She had once been a viscous combatant in the realm of law, and that part of herself bubbled to the surface, hungry and powerful. There was information to be found here, and she wouldn't leave empty handed.
The stairwell opened into a space that seemed to constitute Hancock's personal quarters. To the left was a large open room, filled with dainty wooden tables and plush couches. A small radio in the corner filled the room with music. Hancock himself was sprawled out on one of the couches, arms draped across the back, long legs crossed at the ankles. Glancing to the right, Juliette found a smaller, more private room. Through the open door she could just see the edge of a bed and a desk. It was neater and classier than she would have given him credit for, though piles of Jet and Med-X still littered most available surfaces.
"Well, if it isn't Goodneighbor's most recent addition. How's my town treatin' you, sister?" he said, grinning the same toothy smile from before.
A tall red-headed woman stood from a chair nearby and positioned herself by a door on the far side. She held a gun naked in her hands, and surveyed the situation with nothing more than cold calculation. Unlike the other guards, her eyes were sharp, no trace of alcohol or drugs present in her demeanor. It struck Juliette that she was the most dangerous one here. It was obvious she had no remorse or moral misgivings about her job. She was the one who got things done around town.
Ignoring the bodyguard, she gave Hancock an easy grin.
"Between you, Daisy and K-LEO, what more could a girl want?"
Hancock chuckled. "True enough. A good gun, some Sugar Bombs and a mess a chems'll get you through just about anything." He paused, appraising her openly. The grin faded into something more pensive. "How'd you end up here? You don't exactly look like the Goodneighbor type, not like most of the people who come through here. Can't take their eyes of the merchandise," he said, gesturing to the Jet on the table.
"You expect me to give it all up without so much as a drink?" She asked, eyebrow raised archly. "How about you first."
His dark eyes widened, and a grin tugged at his lips. It seemed more natural. He relaxed back into his seat.
"You wanna know about me? My favorite subject." He chuckled, and told his own tale in the lackadaisical way that she was coming to associate with him, as though it was nothing more than a witty anecdote passed on from a friend of a friend. She was surprised to learn that he was so recently turned Ghoul. She'd thought they all dated back to the time of the war. Obviously, she still had a lot to learn. She listened readily, hungry for anything useful.
"I delivered. So, what about you?" He asked, serious once more.
"I suppose you've earned it after that. My story is… difficult. I don't exactly go around telling everyone, but seeing as you're mayor and all…" He waggled his eyebrows dramatically, and she found herself smiling, genuinely this time. Even if he was a murderer, he was a good-natured one. And to be fair, who in the Commonwealth wasn't a murderer?
"Most recently, I'm from Vault 111. But I didn't spend long there. Less than 24 conscious hours, in fact. It wasn't one of the normal ones, if any of them were ever normal. Originally, I'm from a small town farther up the coast. I spent most of my life there," she said, hesitating. How was it possible to explain everything else that had happened? It still didn't seem real to her. How could she make it real to him? Lying wouldn't serve any purpose though, and she suspected that Hancock was canny enough to see through it if she tried.
"The thing is, I was born in the year 2051."
He stared at her for moment, blinking as though he thought he'd misheard.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You serious? You're prewar?"
"I am. When the bombs dropped, me and my family made it to the Vault. We were lucky. It was really close to our house. We put on the jumpsuits and agreed to live out our lives underground. The rations, the dull work, the Overseer. All of it. Only, none of that ever happened. They froze us all once we were inside. I've spent the last 210 years or so on ice. I only woke up a couple of weeks ago. When I made it out of the pod my husband was dead and my baby was gone. So, I guess you're right. Goodneighbor's never seen anyone like me. I came here looking for Shaun."
"Damn. That's some heavy shit," he said, shaking his head.
He looked away for the first time, leaning on his knees and staring at an indistinct point in the air in front of him. She watched as he processed it. He would have to be her gauge for whether or not people would buy it.
Long moments passed until finally he looked up. His expression was guarded.
"Any ideas who took him?"
"Not really. I have a couple foggy memories, but nothing solid to go on. He was only a couple months old. I have no idea who would have even known we were in there, much less why they would have taken him. Everyone who ever knew me is dead."
"Hmmm." He steepled his fingers in front of his face and exhaled. "I don't know where he is, but I can tell you he's not in Goodneighbor."
Juliette held his gaze. That couldn't be all he had to say. It couldn't. There had to be something, anything for her to go on.
The silence stretched on. He exhaled deeply, air rasping through his ruined throat, and then he nodded, more to himself than to her.
"I can't help you directly, but I think I can put you on the right track. I hate to hear stories like this. They tear at my heart, ya know?" And just like that, he was back to himself. He grinned lazily, placing a hand on his chest over his heart, as though he were swearing allegiance.
She exhaled in a rush, surprised to find that she'd been holding her breath. "Anything that can help, Hancock, it would mean the world to me."
He smiled, a small private one this time. "First, I know a detective in Diamond City. Most of the assholes there aren't worth a shit, but Valentine, he's good as gold. If anyone can find the little guy, it's him. Second, you're gonna need some chems. Take what you need from my stash. Third, you need more firepower. There's this guy down in the Third Rail, real good with a rifle. Goes by Maccready. He can be a little rough around the edges, but once you pay up, he's your guy. Plus, I hear he has a soft spot when it comes to kids."
Grinning from ear to ear, she thanked him, accepting his gifts and his goodwill with warmth. But she did not miss the cold, watchful stare of his bodyguard, whose pale eyes clearly told her that Hancock's kindness was not without a price. As she descended the staircase, time seemed to slow, her mind spinning busily, ideas and information twisting and curling like flame. This was the first step. There were plans to be made.