The Commonwealth
May the 8th, 2288
18:22

Lost.

It had been storming for days and, while being able to come out from the shelter of an old, abandoned subway station was a relief, it was also disorienting.

There was still a heavy cover of mist and fog hanging over the Commonwealth, but the rain itself had stopped, and the radiation levels from the first few days of the storm had subsided enough to be safe. Taking another look at her Pip-Boy and its Geiger counter, Nora waited for the reading to finish and then, when it was done and it was clear the levels were still low and safe, adjusted her bag on her shoulders. Nearby, Cait was playing with Dogmeat, who stood up on his hind legs to brush his paws against her chest and reach up to affectionately lick her face. Seeing the former cage fighter laughing, Nora couldn't help but smile. After just shy of a week stuck taking shelter in an abandoned subway station, being back in the fresh air was a relief. And it's nothing like the Vault. Maybe Vault-Tec had been onto something, trying to build a Vault in Park Street Station. Never thought I'd see a subway station that way…but I guess that's the case with just about everything. Jumping when she heard footsteps behind her, Nora reached for her gun but, seeing it was only Nick, tried to shake herself out. Dogmeat had been able to keep his nose on the few samples of Kellogg's scent they still had. They hadn't come into much resistance, though whether that were luck or simply because, it seemed, they were in the middle of nowhere was unclear.

And it seemed all the more likely, now they were back above ground, they were lost.

Petting Dogmeat around his ears one more time, Cait finally stood up, and whistled for the eager German shepherd to follow her. Letting out a happy bark, Dogmeat all but chased her over to where Nick and Nora were standing in wait. Then, he began circling Nick, Nora, and finally Cait around their legs again, his tail wagging happily. Something of a routine of his, Dogmeat waited to be presented with a scent to pursue. When Nick removed one of Kellogg's half smoked cigars from one of the growing number of evidence bags for the friendly dog to sniff, Dogmeat perked up, ears and tail at attention. Satisfied he had the scent, Dogmeat barked and began off again, slowing when he didn't hear them quickly following after him. He stared at Nick as he resealed and put the evidence bag back in one of his inner coat pockets, and sat up, waiting for the lawyer, the detective, and the former cage fighter to catch up to him. The second they were, he took off again in a swift fury. Quick on her feet, Cait only paused a moment to take off her jacket, the weather surprisingly warm for being just two days past the end of a major storm.

What was the most disconcerting to Nora, however, was the fact it was impossible to tell if any of the trees or rusted out cars or anything else had gotten there after the storm, or if they had been there well before the first lightning strikes reached the ground. What must all of it have looked like in the days just after the War? How much of it has stayed that way since? The War. The subject gnawed away at her a little bit each day, but the worst of it came when she remembered the War was far longer than most of the people in the two centuries since thought of it. It didn't happen in a day. Shit, the US and China had been at war, actively, since before I was born. Started with the US and Russia, then extended to the US and China. That's what we were always told in school, and every day started with a minute of silence to honour the fallen followed by the Pledge. Every single day. Was it really normal? Something in the back of her mind whispered it was, and another whispered it wasn't. Yet what startled her was the realisation of just how many weapons she had on her body. Her steps faltering, Nora looked down at her hands, the weight of her .44 revolver pistol suddenly feeling almost painful. When she holstered it, she noticed the switchblade she had tied to her left boot, and –

"You alright?" Cait poked her in the arms with her fingers. "Tired? I'm with you. The floor of that subway station was more of shitehole than the Combat Zone, even in a sleeping bag."

"I'm fine, I…" Nora trailed off and started laughing. "What the fuck am I even…do you know how much trouble I would have been in if I had ever showed up to work with even one of these damn things? How the hell did I go from having to walk through metal detectors to enter any building to casually carrying multiple weapons at any given time?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't be allowed anywhere," Nick dryly remarked. "Guess being trashed out here wasn't so bad considering the alternative."

"If you two are done morbidly reminiscing, that'd probably be for the best," Cait said with a slight grimace. "Though I'm one to talk. Whole reason I like that one town on the lake where they test you to get in is because it kind of reminds me of home, just missing the abusive parents and the years of psychological torment."

"Sorry, Cait I…" Nora shook her head. "It's just…absurd, I suppose. Almost nothing is the same as it used to be and…I don't know. There are just so many things that were, well, normal that don't even exist anymore."

"Don't worry about it," She said with a shrug. "Can't blame you for needing to laugh about something that'd otherwise make you want to fall asleep and never wake up again."

"It's…it's not quite like that," Nora said, briefly pausing in hesitation. "It's that I'm terrified by what could be happening to Shaun and Nate. I…I guess my fears of the unknown still exist even though the War is well since over."

"Can only imagine," Nick said grimly. "I'll admit, part of why I started my detective agency was to get unknowns sorted, and there are a lot of 'em in the Commonwealth. Going from a relatively predictable and good life to this must be well hell of a shock to the system."

"Sounds like one hell of a slap in the face and a stab in chest," Cait said, tugging off her jacket and wrapping it over Nora's shoulders when she saw she was shivering a little. "If you need to rest, you can let me know. Stringing yourself out won't do you no good…believe me, it ain't something you can sustain, no matter how many drugs you take or alcohol you drink."

"Thanks, Cait, but…" Nora said, startling, for a second, when she looked at the former cage fighter. "We've gotten this far, and…and we can't stop now."

"Then let's get moving," Cait replied with an encouraging smile. "Dogmeat!" She grinned when the sweet German Shepard barked happily at her. "Take a whiff at what Nicky's got. We don't got time to waste."

With another bark, Dogmeat sat upright, dutifully waiting to be presented with the scent again. The creature stared at Nick intently as he reached into his pockets to remove one of Kellogg's half smoked, San Francisco Sunlight cigars. Once satisfied he had the scent again, Dogmeat let out a short bark and began to run off again with Nora no more than two or three paces behind him. Resealing and concealing the evidence bag again, Nick was not far behind the lawyer and the dog or Cait, whom herself was just a foot or so behind Nora. Coming up a bridge, the lawyer, the former cage fighter, and the detective drew their weapons, just in case were raiders waiting to ambush anyone trying to cross. To their surprise, all was quiet except for the wind and the sound of a few raindrops bouncing off the pavement and long since deserted cars. Mist. The mist was, in some ways, a relief, a significant break from the nasty storm they had taken shelter in. Mist was manageable, a series of violent thunderstorms were not. It was when they saw the bodies littered around them the farther down the bridge they went, however, that made the mist unsettling, a hazy veil.

As was unfortunately predictable, many of the bodies were those of feral ghouls, all in varying states of decomposition. Moving as quickly as they could while not passing and overwhelming Dogmeat, the lawyer, the former cage fighter, and the detective tried not to focus on the scent. The scent of death. The bodies weren't just of feral ghouls. Some were of seemingly ordinary people whose lives had been ended in one way or another. One or two of the bodies belonged to raiders. The second they finished crossing the bridge, Nick took one look back to ensure they weren't, by chance, being followed. Letting out a sigh of relief, he wasted no time catching back up to Cait, Nora, and Dogmeat. Paranoia comes every so often in this job. Kind of inevitable. Still, something… Yanked back from his thoughts, Nick suddenly slowed his steps when he heard Dogmeat starting to growl, his face close to the ground and seemingly having picked up something. Sharing a knowing look with Nora and Cait, the three of them began to move as quietly and slowly as possible, following after the increasingly agitated Dogmeat until, to their surprise, an old town seemed to reveal itself from the mist.

Dogmeat began barking, and growled at something flying in front of him on the wind.

That was when the smell snatched them again.

Feeling a little sick, Nora tried to focus on their surroundings and following Dogmeat rather than the smell. Death. The smell of death was in the air and worse than before. It's probably just the wind and the mist…the bridge isn't that far away. It has to be contributing to it…doesn't it? Logic, usually her friend, did not seem to be a comfort, and Nora kept her hands wrapped around her revolver, her heart rate spiking again. Though not one to admit to discomfort, Cait, too, found herself unsettled and struggling not to gag as she, Nora, and Nick followed Dogmeat into the old town. Spent over three years living at the Combat Zone, and even the smell of puke and piss there ain't nearly as bad as this. Not like I haven't smelled dead people before. Why the hell is it… Looking up, Cait started swearing under her breath when she realised she had paused, standing right under a burnt out and broken street lamp with a few severed heads hanging down from it. Shite. It's the blood. All these years and all the damned beatings, fights, and drugs, and I still can't stand the smell of blood. Smells like a curling iron on the tongue, real nasty… More unsettled than she liked, Cait all but darted over to where Nora and Nick were stood, staring at the shattered and dismembered remains of a robot, Dogmeat still growling at their surroundings.

"Oh, where's the off switch on this bloody thing?" Cait said, grimacing at the ear piercing metallic wails and creaks. "And what the fuck even happened here?"

"A slaughter," Nick said, his voice darkening. "I don't know if it was all him, but some of this looks like Kellogg's work. See the execution style head wounds and the straight razor on a few of the throats? He's used that before. Shoots them, and then slits their throats to ensure they don't survive. I had a case about two years ago where I had a run in with the man. I'd been hired to find out what happened to a woman down near the old University Of Massachusetts, except it wasn't a normal case. It was about finding out what happened to her after she died."

Cait frowned. "The hell's that got to do with Kellogg?"

"I had a run in with him in just about one or two towns over in the old Quincy area," Nick grimly replied. "I'd gotten a lead suggesting maybe the gunners had been involved, and they were mostly holed up in that area. The lead didn't pan out, but I ran into him, asked him a few questions. Thought he might be one of them, to be honest, but he wasn't one for chatting. I kept an eye on him for a few days. I don't know why or for whom he was doing it, but he took out several of the best gunners in the town at the time just like this."

"That's comforting," Cait muttered. "What a skilled and upstanding person."

"If there's any good in Kellogg, you'd be hard pressed to find it," Nick agreed. "But you see that robot?" He said, gesturing towards the still loud though seemingly no longer functional machine. "Those are the remains of an assaultron, and gunners love to play with those. It wouldn't surprise me if Kellogg's been bumping some of them off…although there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of their bodies here."

"Then…who were these people?" Nora said, warily looking around. She jumped when Dogmeat began barking again and turned back, staring down at the garbled electronic whirring and nonsense coming out of the assaultron. "God damn it!"

Letting out a frustrated sigh, and swearing, Nora suddenly started kicking at the assaultron head until, after about a minute or two, she managed to kick it off, albeit with a slightly pained cry when she slipped and fell over. Nick took in a sharp breath, eyeing her worriedly, before quickly coming over to help her back onto her feet.

"Hey?" Nick said gently. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," She muttered, dusting herself off. "Just frustrated," She took another look at their surroundings. "So, Kellogg probably killed an entire town, and left that damn thing to just –"

"Nora," Nick calmly began, taking a small step back when he saw the way she was shaking. "I know this is a lot, and –"

"Let her blow off steam, Nicky," Cait said, waving a hand before reassuringly draping an arm over the woman's shoulders. "I'm going to be honest, that thing was going to drive me completely mad. Just the sound grates on the nerves. Part of why I never liked those pre-War military gadgets. Well, that and a lot of 'em being too bloody complicated for me to figure out."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "When did you try to do that?"

"Won a bet against some raiders that got me the password to some old police site," Cait said with a shrug. "The weapons were cool, and they had a surprisingly vast assortment of chems in there but some of that shite they left behind was impossible to figure out how to use but fighting some of 'em was fun."

"Your love of danger aside, Cait, I don't think that's…" Nick shook his head. "Nora, please," He said when he met her eyes. "You've been through a lot, even in just the last week alone. If you need to rest, rest."

"I'm fine, really, Nick, I am," She said, though her voice wavered. "We're going to lose the light soon…let's just keep going. I…I don't think I can stand to stay here. It…it's…there's something not right here. And I…I don't want us to stick around to find out what it is."

Goodneighbour
May the 9th, 2288
23:41

"MacCready! I haven't seen you in a while…then again, was that a choice to ensure you keep an air of mystery around yourself?"

A bit to her surprise though much more of a relief than she would go on the record, Daisy Kathleen Calderwall gave the man she had grown to know well a hint of a smile when he started laughing. Having been a long day at the shop with an unusually high number of caravans coming in and out of Goodneighbour, seeing a familiar, and more to the point, trustworthy, face was nice. Some of those people who came through here acted more like soldiers than mercenaries, even more so than those gunner assholes. Wonder who took a piss in their tea for them to be that way. At least they didn't start screaming when they saw I'm a ghoul. I'll take disgusted looks over outright insults any day of the week. Almost in a tired daze, she reached up to grab the cleaning solution and a clean rag from one of the shelves above her. Even with the number of people coming in and out of the town having significantly dropped off with nightfall, something about the morning still didn't sit right with her. Supposing it had more to do with exhaustion than anything else, she began wiping down the counters as usual. Routine. The way some of the people coming in and out in the morning were had been outside the routine. Finally satisfied with giving herself an explanation, she glanced up at the former gunner with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Come to think of it, you probably aren't trying to keep an air of mystery around yourself," Daisy said with a chuckle. "You haven't been avoiding me, have you?"

"Now, hey," He said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "How could I stay away from someone as cute as you, Daisy?"

"You're a lousy liar, Bobby," She rolled her eyes, albeit smiling. "But I'll just play stupid and pretend I don't know that. And, before you ask, your boy is alright. Duncan is already asleep, has been for a few hours, actually, and I applied the ointment the pretty doctor told you to use. Seems to be helping, a few of the boils aren't swelling as much as the usually do, though he's got some on his back again."

"But he's okay, right?" MacCready let out a sigh of relief when she nodded. "Thank God. And…thanks for doing that. I don't think I can thank you enough for always watching…taking care of him even when I…when I can't."

"Don't worry about it," She sent him a pointed look. "I know you think I'm talking crazy sometimes, but, I swear, you remind me of my son more and more every day. You both even served in the army…well, I suppose for you it was a different kind of army."

He grimaced. "Speaking of, you haven't been hassled by any of those guys recently, have you?"

"Haven't seen any of them in weeks," Daisy shrugged. "My bet's Hancock scared 'em off. Either him or Fahrenheit did it. She's been on a power trip lately. Saw her and No Nose brawl it out the other night. Apparently, No Nose is pissed at her for 'interfering' in one of operations and, while No Nose might not be the biggest or scariest opponent, I'd put real hard money on Fahrenheit beating just about everyone in this town in a fight and it definitely isn't just her. And with Hancock's support? No, you ain't got nothing to worry about from those guys."

"Hope that lasts, but it probably won't," MacCready paused, biting back the urge to say something worse. I need to stop doing this! How am I supposed to keep my promise to Duncan that I'll – "It's going to have to be a long time before I stop thinking those guys are going to find some way to put a bullet in my back, or potentially worse…although I'd really rather not find out what worse from them could be."

"Don't think anyone does, but I don't think you've got to be scared of 'em," Daisy said, spraying down the counters a second time. "You should be more scared of drunk people who puke on your shoes."

"Drunk people who puke on your shoes? When did that happen?"

Daisy smirked to herself when she saw the woman who had spoken step into her shop, not making an effort to hide it when she saw MacCready perk up a little when he saw her.

"Usually happens every other day," Daisy gestured to a trash bin on the other side of the room. "I take that out every morning at the same time, Annette, and, sure enough, just about every other day I've got to bin a pair of cheap shoes that have been puked on one too many times."

Annette raised an eyebrow. "Hopefully you haven't had to get rid of a lot recently."

"Thankfully, I've been pretty lucky this year so far. Only had to toss eight pairs, which is damn near a prize worthy streak," She replied, her nose wrinkling at the memory. "Worst one was a few years back, had a lady come in completely drunk and high out of her damn mind. She tried to buy some food, but quickly lost her appetite when she kicked whatever was in her system onto my shoes. Ended up getting some ibuprofen and water instead and nursed a real hell of a hangover in the Rexford."

"Some of the stories you and Hancock have about drunk people are terrifying," MacCready said, trying not to laugh. "Although his are usually…more graphic."

"Everything Hancock says is more graphic, the man doesn't have a filter," She said, smiling when she saw he was holding one of Annette's hands. "But enough of that. How's the job in Diamond City going? You need to pick up more supplies?"

"Probably tomorrow," MacCready said, tucking his hat under his arm and running his free hand through his hair. "If you want to close up early, it can wait. Besides, like I said I…I really can't thank you enough for taking care of Duncan, even with this job being…well, closer than usual."

"Always a pleasure," Daisy said, following them out to turn off the light on her store's open sign. "You kids have fun, and, I'm sure, Duncan will be happy to see you tomorrow before you head back to Diamond City."

Locking the door to the store, Daisy waited a minute to watch the two of them until they disappeared around the corner towards downtown. Seeing he was still holding Annette's hand, she smiled. It's almost like getting to watch Liam grow up again…and getting to see him have experiences he never did. Goddamn the Reds, just had to take both his father and him from me. For all the bitterness from the War and the life before, though, there was something special and comforting in seeing the man whom she had come to view as just about her son begin to open up again. Been over two years since he stepped through that gate, kid in his arms and seeming so deflated. No wonder he turned to the gunners…they were probably the best shot he had in making caps, at least then. What she didn't (and more to the point, couldn't) see, however, was the peculiar man wearing sunglasses at night who had begun to follow after MacCready. Albeit suddenly seized by paranoia, the former gunner let go of Annette's hand and turned around, scowling when he and the man met each other's eyes. With a mutual look of disdain, the peculiar man pulled down his sunglasses, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the almost too bright streetlights.

"Was hoping you'd left here, guess I was wrong," He said when the former gunner scowled at him. "Still killing people for caps, MacCready?"

"I don't know," He irritably replied, putting his hat back on and crossing his arms. "You still pretending to be anyone but yourself, Deacon?"

"I don't have anything to hide," Deacon said smoothly, though he took a small step back when he noticed the woman beside MacCready was eyeing him closely with a haughty way of carrying herself. "But," He said, recomposing himself before sauntering towards the Memory Den. "I get the feeling you very much do."

MacCready sighed. "Have never been able to put a finger on it," He said, biting back the urge to swear as Deacon disappeared inside the Memory Den. "But there's something about that guy that gets under my skin. He spends an awful lot of time here – and in there, honestly – for someone who claims to be both broke and doesn't like this town."

"He's certainly shifty," Annette said, frowning. "You called him Deacon? That's his name?"

MacCready nodded, a bit surprised. "Yeah…why?"

"I've seen him before," She said, looking suspiciously towards the Memory Den. "Though I don't like thinking about it, I did have a couple of run ins with him a few months ago. He was one of the people that got me into that damned Compound…but he sure as hell didn't look quite like that."

"He didn't?" MacCready paused. "Come to think of it, he seems to change something about his appearance at least once every other month. Not sure why, though, and I'm not sure I want to."

"I doubt either of us want to know," Annette agreed, a dark edge slipping into her voice. "But that does prove me right about one thing: a certain 'Brian' with long blonde hair doesn't really exist. If that's true, and he's as skilled a liar as I suspect, I have some serious questions about why he was so eager to get me into that damned Compound in the first place. And none of them have to do with him and the caravan master with him wanting to free only one girl held captive there."

Capital Wasteland
May the 10th, 2288
10:15

"The data on this thing has been a bitch and a half to decrypt, but I've finally got it. Hopefully the information inside is still relatively intact."

Proctor Elisabeth Mischelle Ingram frowned at the screen of the computer terminal she was sat in front of, the chip she had retrieved from the executed synth in one hand and the computer mouse in the other. Fingers running back and forth on the scroll wheel, she watched as the computer terminal began the slow process of downloading the data from the chip. Pacing nearby, Elder Arthur Maxson paused every so often to ensure the retrieval of information was continuing to go smoothly, while Proctor Marshall Quinlan stood just behind Ingram as she worked, this time in her wheelchair rather than her power armour. Eyes narrowing as the download began to slow, Ingram checked to ensure the cable connecting the chip to the computer terminal was still secure. Satisfied to find it was, she turned back to watching the screen. The sheer amount of data on the chip alone was head spinning, with nearly nine hundred yottabytes. And, with any luck, most of if not all of the data will be uncorrupted with the decryption process having gone relatively smoothly, if tediously. Prepared to troubleshoot if the process of downloading such a massive amount of information caused the computer terminal to crash, Quinlan kept a critical eye on the screen and the system. When the download began to speed up again, both he and Ingram let out a sigh of relief, hoping the process would thus conclude soon and enable them to access the data.

"He was hiding out here, under our noses, for a decade," Ingram noted, shaking her head. "To think we could have been working on the process of decrypting and analysing this information for years but instead were fooled is infuriating."

"They won't manage it again," Maxson said, turning to take a look over the map of the Commonwealth on one of the walls in the Citadel's strategic command. "And, ideally, we'll be able to get a better sense of where the Institute may be located from the information stored on that chip."

"If not that, we should at least get a decent understanding of how their damned synths work," Ingram said, checking again to ensure the chip was still securely connected to the computer terminal. "Knowing how these things work could be a crucial step to being able to reliably identify them."

"Speaking of which, did you receive and read up on Paladin Danse's report on the strange…town of sorts Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys investigated?" Quinlan waited until she nodded to continue. "It's quite the shame that lead didn't pan out. If we had been able to procure their research on and perfect their methods of synth identification, we could have a marked advantage entering the Commonwealth, one the Institute certainly couldn't anticipate."

"Having that information would be nice," Ingram agreed. "But we've got to work with what we've got. All things considered, what we have should be pretty damn solid. I sincerely doubt the Institute will know about this, either, and certainly not before we arrive in the Commonwealth. We did eliminate their points of contact here, after all."

"Their execution couldn't have come soon enough," Maxson said, a bit of anger seeping into his voice. "I cannot, however, believe their arrogance. It's outrageous they thought we would not only let them go but allow them to continue playing God."

"Indeed," Quinlan said, flipping through his notes. "As Proctor Ingram said, for a supposed genius and his allegedly 'perfect' machine, they were quite shortsighted or, more bluntly, stupid."

"Arrogance is blinding," Ingram swore under her breath when the download began slowing a second time. "Damn it, don't –"

"Give it a minute to steady out," Quinlan said, adjusting his glasses as he leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. "Around seventy four percent of the data has been downloaded. If the data were going to overload and crash the terminal's systems, it likely would have done so already."

"Hope you're right," Ingram said darkly. "Because we need this, and we didn't get nearly enough information out of them to have a strong enough understanding of the Institute and, specifically, their technology. Their technology is beyond anything we've ever seen."

"Even the Enclave's technology wasn't as advanced," Quinlan noted. "Granted, they were rather close to it, but it's unlikely they would have been able to construct something even close to these synths."

"I'm surprised the Institute can construct machines this advanced," Ingram said, her fingers tapping lightly between the left and right buttons of the computer mouse before settling on running back and forth on its scroll wheel again. "Looks like we're almost there."

"Eight seven percent," Quinlan pulled a chair over and sat down beside her. "Once the download completes, will the data be accessible to the rest of Brotherhood leadership on multiple computer terminals?"

"It'll be accessible on any computer terminal in the Citadel if the user has clearance to see and review anything at this level of classified material," Ingram corrected. "That said, I've set the data to be locked to be accessible only to those with clearance to access top secret classified information, and no one but myself, you, Proctor Teagan, Knight Captain Cade, Lancer Captain Kells, and, of course, Elder Maxson have that level of clearance and are on the need to know list for this particular set of 1.4(e) top secret data."

"Good. Unfortunately, there is a serious threat of espionage with or without Zimmer and his abomination of a machine around to talk," Maxson said, disgusted at the thought. "I would be inclined to add a 1.4(c) categorisation to this information too, considering how we obtained it in the first place."

"Absolutely, I'll add the categorisation to the data when I go through and organise the specific information," Quinlan glanced between his notes and the screen. "Ninety two percent. Mischelle, I take it you'll be writing a short report on the information overall?"

"I will," She said shortly. "You'll be going through the data and organising it into concise categories?"

"Absolutely," Quinlan said, writing down a few additional notes. "I'll also prepare a report of what we ought to forward to Paladin Danse and his team. It's important we share some information with them. I trust you have seen the report on the synths recovered by Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys?"

"Yes," Ingram confirmed, letting out a sigh of relief when the computer terminal indicated the download had finished. "Though the synths they came into contact with and brought back pieces of were significantly less developed than this one."

"Unsurprising. I doubt the Institute would want to risk showing their full hand," Maxson said, stepping over towards where the Proctors were at the computer terminal. "How much of the data is currently on the screen?"

"Just the navigation. Each of these appears to be a folder, though this one, I suspect, is specific to this synth," Ingram said, driving the cursor on the screen towards the top left, circling a set of letters and numbers. "If I'm correct, it seems the Institute uses a similar identification system to us, though theirs appears to be more simplistic. One alphabetical character followed by three numbers, each ranging from one to nine. Apparently this one – didn't he call it Armitage? – is S3-47."

"Fascinating. Theoretically, knowing this is how they register each of their synths could make it easier to decrypt their chip if we are able to procure another dead synth of this same level of development," Quinlan said, curiosity rising in his voice. "If this turns out to be a fully developed registration system by the Institute, running each chip through a matrix to see which alphabetical character and set of three numerical characters 'unlocks' – for lack of a better phrase – the chip could save us quite a bit of time and consternation."

"I'll let you work on creating a potential matrix for it, then, at your discretion," Maxson told him. "Is there anything else I should know right now?"

"Just an observation," Ingram replied, opening one of the folders. "It'll need to be looked into more, but there seems to be a connexion between the sequencing pattern of the chip and the ability to connect to, understand, and respond to harmonic frequencies, though why this type of chip would need to be able to do any of that is beyond me."

"Do they appear necessary for simulating cognition?" Quinlan said, beginning to flip through his notes again. "If I recall, Zimmer mentioned the synths have several functions tied into their chip, some of which are meant only to simulate benign human actions such as breathing while others are part of what gives them disturbingly realistic responses to stimuli."

"We'll have to see what you and the few scribes you assign to assist you make of it, but I think it could be more than that," Ingram said, opening one of the folders of data. "But I could see there being a reason for it if the synths need to connect to the Institute's mainframe for one reason or another. Actually, that could be an ideal scenario for us, because it could give us insight into what may be in there and how to identify and, hopefully, hack into it."

"If not the mainframe, there could be a different connexion point they attach their synths to," Quinlan said, picking up his pen again. "As Zimmer was, unfortunately, quite uncooperative in providing the location of the Institute and how they get their synths to the surface. I had been hoping this synth would be willing to divulge that but, as it were, it also refused to cooperate."

"Whatever the case, when the analysis is finished, you need to prepare an update for Paladin Danse and his team," Maxson ordered. "The sooner that can be done, the better, especially considering some of the rather concerning details in his last report."

"Regarding the town Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys came across?" Quinlan frowned. "Considering both the town's absurd reaction to them taking care of the…problem they were having with synths there, of course. It certainly was disturbing to learn about."

"Precisely," Maxson shook his head. "That incident is, I'm sure, far from the first time the Institute has tried to control a location by force with their machines, and, as we are to stop them, the more we know about their movements – and certainly until we know where the Institute is truly located – the better."

The Institute
May the 11th, 2288
18:26

"Here is the report you requested from the SRB regarding the movements of Conrad Kellogg. If you have any further questions, Dr. Ayo and Dr. Secord will be pleased to answer them."

With not another word upon setting down the unusually large file on the table between Mister Nate and Father, the Courser turned back and left the Director's quarters, closing the doors again upon exiting. A bit surprised, Nathaniel Jonathan Norwich reached over and picked up the file. He raised an eyebrow when he began to page through it, soon handing it over to his son. When even was the last time Kellogg felt the need to request additional ground support? He's typically quite self sufficient. Then again, this could prove beneficial for… Hearing commotion down below from the open doors separating the first floor of the Director's quarters from the balcony, he stood up and stepped out onto it, briefly surprised to see some of the eighth years pretending to fight, their classmates and friends cheering them on. He laughed, for a moment, before stepping back inside and closing the doors out to the balcony to insulate them from the noise. Then, he sat down again, surprised when his son began quickly flipping through the file. When he found what he had been looking for, however, and handed the page over, any semblance of surprise or confusion left his father.

"If I recall correctly, X6-88 has continued to be our direct liaison regarding mother's movements despite being posted at University Point for the time being," Shaun smiled when his father nodded. "In that case, it seems possible she may come into contact with Kellogg before he leaves the Fort Hagen area."

"That's my hope," Nate replied. "X6 is quite reliable, and I sincerely doubt he would inform us about her movements drawing closer to Fort Hagen if that were not the case. Although, I'll admit, I'm rather surprised by the descriptions of the people she's apparently travelling with."

"I am as well," Shaun said, almost amused. "Of all the things she could have chosen to do, it seems near certain she's travelling with that well out of date synth from Diamond City. At least, that's what both the description of the supposed 'man' she was with from X6 suggested and M7-62's note of the synth in question having left the city with her."

"I can't fathom why she would choose to travel with it either," Nate said, unsettled at the notion. "That model and its accompanying prototype were two of the biggest failures in bridging the second generation synth programme into the current third generation synth programme. Didn't the memories of a pre-War police officer end up being the memories that stuck in that model? If I recall correctly, the other prototype was either unresponsive to attempts to implant memories as a forebearer to independent personality development."

"According to the records regarding the end of the second generation synth programme, the other prototype was even more of a failure than the one currently residing in Diamond City and calling itself 'Nick Valentine.' As a result, that approach was completely abandoned as the second generation synth programme continued to fluctuate before ending, of course, in 2227," Shaun said, closing the file and setting it aside. "Nick Valentine was the name of the pre-War police officer whose memories were used to form its base personality. The synth was designated as N1-33, but, yes, was a failure like its accompanying prototype and, frankly, the rest of the second generation synth programme."

Nate considered that. "I suppose it's unsurprising, then, after the unit was discarded that it convinced itself it wasn't a machine at all."

"Neither unit was discarded," Shaun corrected, a hint of irritation slipping into his voice. "The director at the time did not investigate after the then heads of Robotics and Advanced Systems claimed both synths escaped the Institute before they could be scrapped. That was the original plan, but, because the synths escaped, that did not happen. My understanding of the matter is that N1-33 did not show up on the Institute's records after the escape in early 2150, nearly seventy years before either of us were rescued by the Institute and the third generation synth programme began."

"For as ruthless as both directors before you could be, they were quite resourceful," Nate paused before shaking his head. "Director Jamison made the right decision to have us released and brought to the Institute, but I still cannot fathom why he didn't include your mother in it. I, of course, never had much of an opportunity to speak with him as he passed shortly after we were brought here, but his successor was surprisingly open on the subject. Her faults aside, Director Levitt was at least honest and didn't attempt to obfuscate information."

"She was quite brilliant," Shaun agreed. "I quite admired her, as you know, though I don't think I'll ever get past the shock I felt when she appointed me as Director when I was only forty. I understand, of course, that she was quite ill by then, but I was stunned by the appointment."

"You've done incredibly well and rose to the task. I couldn't be more proud, and I'm sure your mother will feel the same," Nate said, though his face quickly fell. "Speaking of…how are you feeling? I know the new treatment programme has been, in some ways, more draining than the previous."

"Needing less blood draws is, in all honesty, the best part of it," Shaun sighed. "I have been feeling, overall, better. Certainly less exhausted than I have the last few months. Still, the physical weakness has been infuriating. Not being able to comfortably stand for more than half an hour, for instance, is more than aggravating but better than the feeling of perpetual exhaustion from the last round of treatments."

"I wish there were more I could do," Nate said morosely. "You're my son. It may be irrational, but I still feel that I should be able to do more, especially having raised you as, for all intents and purposes, a single parent."

"Having you to talk to and as a supportive parent is enough," Shaun calmly told him. "You've also been an invaluable advisor since I was appointed Director. My health struggles are not your fault, father. Let's not ruminate on what can't be helped. As you said, X6 is reliable and, between his direct reports to us and the official information out of the SRB, mother is likely to find Kellogg soon. That will, I'm sure, put her on the right path to finding us."

"It will, and her finding us on her own will mitigate the shock of everything that's happened since the War," Nate sighed. "Simply bringing her here and forcing her to accept everything all at once would be wrong. As much as I dislike this waiting game, it's necessary, and what will be best for her. Giving her time to process everything will, I'm sure, alleviate some of the pain and trauma she's inevitably going to have to reckon with."

"Yes, she needs that time," Shaun said, pausing a moment in thought. "Although I can't say I'm not worried about her. From all you've told me about her over the years, she's quite compassionate, and, knowing she's travelling with a failed prototype that thinks it's a pre-War police officer concerns me."

"I feel the same, but that can't be helped," Nate said with a frown. "I'm concerned, too, about how her opinion of the Institute may be warped by the outside, not only because she's travelling with that…prototype but because of how much of the outside views us, no doubt because of, at the very least, the Broken Mask Incident. I would be shocked if she hasn't heard of it, considering she's spent at least some time in Diamond City. And then, of course, there's Kellogg."

"I doubt she'll trust him to tell the truth about the Institute," Shaun replied. "He's also the best lure we have, and one she, clearly, is closely hunting. Beyond that, with everything he has done to not only the Commonwealth but to our family, her finding him will allow her, and us, to have some amount of revenge."

"Having Kellogg gone will certainly be a relief," Nate mused. "Still, I'm concerned by her choice of…company. Beyond the failed prototype, the woman she's travelling with, from what X6 told us, is a junkie with quite the attitude problem."

"True, though I'm not worried about her judgement. Rather, it seems her choice in companions in this matter is a pragmatic one," Shaun hesitated. "But I understand what you're feeling. The last thing I want is for the Commonwealth to corrupt her just as it has so much."

"Perhaps, then, we should be more concerned not about her choice in individual company but about certain…shall we say groups of people who would want to take advantage of her and her compassion for others," Nate said, running a hand through his hair. "With the Brotherhood Of Steel's increasing presence in the Commonwealth and the knowledge they intend to arrive in full force, there's a chance she could come into contact with them. They without question would warp her understanding of the Institute, and I could say the same about the Railroad."

"Should that happen, I'm sure we'll find a way to address it," Shaun said before chuckling a little. "And, regardless, I trust your judgement of her. Even if she comes into contact with those…organisations, I'm quite sure she'll see through them and their machinations to manipulate her."

Diamond City
May the 13th, 2288
13:31

"So," Nat said, hopping down from the lower roof with a mischievous glint in her eyes when she saw her sister. "We're going to go right up there and wring information out Geneva like a towel, right?"

Piper rolled her eyes at her little sister but, nevertheless, affectionately ruffled her hair. Nat grinned when she saw who her sister was with, and winked at Lissy who gave her a short nod, their code of sorts telling each other they were thinking the same thing. Piper's going to let Geneva really have it today if she gets under her skin. When her older sister finally let her go, the thirteen year old took the keys from her and locked up the office. The second the doors clicked locked, Nat tossed the keys at her sister but missed, and the keys flew over her head, thankfully caught by MacCready who teasingly pulled the keys away from Piper when she went to take them back before relenting and handing them to her. Slipping them back into one of her coat pockets, Piper half heartedly scowled at the former gunner before turning back to her sister and waving her to follow her only to suddenly jump in front of and push her back when a poorly aimed firework went off flying in their direction. Though her sister began swearing under her breath, more startled than she would ever care to admit, Nat started laughing.

"That," She declared. "Was fucking awesome!"

"Don't get any ideas," Piper told her. "I'd rather not have the jail cell next to mine become called the 'Natalie suite.'"

Nat pouted. "I don't know, has a nice ring to it."

"No, it really doesn't," Lissy said, adjusting her glasses. "The last thing you want, Nat, is to be spending time in the lockup with your sister."

"See?" Piper said pointedly. "It's not just me that thinks you joining me as one of Diamond City's regular arrestees would be a bad idea."

"I still can't believe how notorious your arrests have become," MacCready remarked, laughing when she scowled at him. "What? Still mad about Hancock telling you he thinks –"

"Hancock thinks anything that pisses off McDonough is great, regardless of what it is," She said though she laughed a little. "Besides, you really want to go there?" She teased. "You know, considering how awkward you've been when talking about the sweet woman you're 'working' with? Also," She said, more seriously. "Is she alright? I was surprised she didn't come with you today."

"Annette's staying with Duncan, alongside Daisy, since she's a doctor and Daisy has the shop to run, not just…" He sighed, jamming his hands into his coat pockets. "He's got a bad cold and…well…"

"He'll be okay," Piper gently told him before waving her sister back over to them. "That why you're just going to be here for the day? I'm happy to pay you for the week early, you know."

"Especially knowing how much you worry about him," Lissy added. "Besides, what are old childhood friends for?"

"I…" He managed a half smile, looking between her and Piper. "Fair enough. But don't get me wrong, I'm still annoyed Piper never brought you up before."

"Oh, come on," Piper groaned. "How many long conversations have we ever had before recently? I'm pretty sure there were only a handful, and on the times we did run into each other in Goodneighbour, we mostly talked about weapons or the Publick. I didn't even know you had a kid until recently!"

Nat snickered. "As long as the three of you cause trouble for McDonough, I don't care how you guys first met. Making him squirm and realise he's not as powerful as he thinks he is makes you guys good to me."

"If you don't keep an eye on her, she will probably become your alternate in the lockup," MacCready said, elbowing Piper. "Might want to watch out for that."

"Yeah, yeah," Piper waved a hand dismissively as she, Lissy, Nat, and MacCready stepped into the lift up to the mayor's office. "Either way," She said, leaning back against the railing a little. "You're a good person, and I know that, at the end of the day, you're just trying to take care of your son. So, please, remember all this is flexible and I am more than happy to pay you early. Besides, I'm sure you want to spend more time with him and your lady friend."

"Well, I –" MacCready jumped, startled when the lift began lurching a little. "Are we entirely sure this thing is safe?"

"It is if you're not drunk," Nat happily informed him. "Solomon tried to be a gymnast getting off it about a year or so ago but didn't realise just how far off the ground he was before he tried to vault his way down. He ended up with a concussion and needed his nose and jaw reset by Dr. Sun, who got really angry about Solomon brushing it off as not a big deal just because he had been high on jet and drunk on some questionable looking liquor he found in the trash."

"He did all that on a dare," Piper added. "Not saying it was a good idea, but it was a pretty good marketing stunt. Business was booming for him nearly six months after the incident."

"That makes me feel a lot better," MacCready said dryly, more relieved than he was willing to admit when the lift reached the top and they were able to step out and into the reception area. "Still don't trust that thing to be safe, though."

"Oh, joy," Geneva narrowed her eyes upon hearing the commotion and pursed her lips when she saw him, Piper, Nat, and Lissy. "I see Piper's taste in friends hasn't improved at all."

"Afraid of a little trouble, Geneva?" Piper replied with an equally disdainful look at the secretary. "Am I still crowding the reception area?"

"You always are," Geneva said, setting her book down with a harsh thud. "And, if you're here to once again attempt to hassle the mayor's courier, I'm afraid you're too late. He came and left early this morning," She turned to MacCready. "You need something, honey? Housing permit? A respectable job?"

"A respectable job?" He rolled his eyes. "If that means doing just about nothing for barely any caps, you've definitely got the wrong guy."

"Well, considering the mayor is in no mood to talk about anymore of this synth nonsense, that eliminates Piper and Lisanna as having a legitimate reason for being here," Geneva venomously replied. "And, since you seem more than content to continue doing whatever it is you mercenary types do, it seems you're eliminated from having a legitimate reason for being here, too. As for Natalie, I hope she'll learn from her sister's mistakes."

Piper scoffed. "Mistakes? Think my biggest mistake has been not saying I'm with the Institute, because McDonough would probably have come running if –"

"You ever think you could get a man's attention easier if you used softer words, honey?" Geneva said, standing up and raising a hand to silence the younger woman. "Maybe shout a little less, for a start."

"Ah, yes," Piper said, stepping slightly towards her. "That reminds me of this article I'm writing about the mayor's affair with a certain air headed, blonde!"

"I'd like the inside scoop on that article," MacCready said, amused when Geneva turned to scowl at him. "What? Don't tell me you're starting to think we're the ones with a respectable job!"

"Maybe you should try again later," She said, dusting off her skirt before turning back to glower at Piper. "And, even if I did know anything about the mayor's courier, I certainly wouldn't put my neck on the line for any of you. No matter how good a reason, Lisanna is a spoiled brat, Piper is nosy with no respect for other people's privacy, and you, sir, are nothing more than a disposable gun for hire. So, no, I would never risk my job, let alone my life, for people as replaceable as all of you."