Diamond City
December the 5th, 2287
20:34

"Myrna, really, really, really, I –"

Though not particularly close, both Piper and Myrna gently took one of Ellie's shoulders and helped the hyperventilating woman sit down. On the other side of the room, one of the local barkeeps and a friend of Piper's, Vadim, was humming to himself and mixing drinks for them. The bar was, itself, surprisingly empty for the night only having just begun. Apart from a few of the almost ever present patrons, the only people present were the three women, Vadim and his brother and co-owner Yefim, and the waitress, Scarlett, who was sweeping up and humming to herself. When Ellie was, finally, situated on the couch, she began fidgeting with her long, pink scarf, seemingly needing to do something – anything – to keep her hands busy. Myrna uncomfortably sat down across from her, and crossed one leg over the other before crossing her arms, the files of information she had brought with on the table in between them. The only somewhat cheerful one among the three women, Piper walked back over to where Vadim was mixing drinks and began chatting with him before, eventually, they went back over to join Ellie and Myrna with the drinks in their hands.

"This will help, calm you," Vadim said, handing Ellie a glass of wine. "Just don't drink too much or you'll make yourself sick."

Myrna scowled at him when he sat down beside her. "Could you sit like a normal person? With your legs closed, as a start?"

Vadim started laughing but awkwardly stopped when he saw her gaze had not relented. Half taking the hint, he shifted as far away from her as possible on the couch but leaned back and stayed seated otherwise just as he had been.

"I appreciate the thought," Ellie said after a minute of slowly sipping at the wine. "And thanks for helping out, Vadim. It means a lot."

"Well, no one wants Valentine's Detective Agency to close!" Vadim said, picking up his bottle of moonshine. "And I'm always happy to help out a friend of Piper!"

Ellie managed a faint smile. "You're too kind. I really appreciate it and, I'm sure, Nick will too."

"Have him come by the bar after he's found!" Vadim grinned and turned to Myrna. "So, I hear you have some information too. From traders, no?"

"I heard some rumours from a few of the incoming and outgoing caravaners," Myrna said shortly. "All of them centre around a few locations near the old Boston Commons. Apparently, there may be organised crime around former subway stations."

Ellie perked up the faintest bit. "Really?"

"Yes," Myrna sent Piper a sour look when she sat down across from her and next to Ellie. "Are you seriously going to nonchalantly drink a beer when you've coerced me into this?"

"I told Ellie to ask you for help," Piper said, setting down her beer to light a cig. "That's not coercion."

Myrna frowned at her when she took a draw on her cig. "You'll be lucky if I don't tell Lissy or Hadley you were smoking again."

"I go on and off," Piper said with a shrug. "And not the point, Myrna. You're really edging up on earning the nickname 'crazy Myrna.'"

"How…who told you –" Myrna turned pink and cut herself off. "Damn it, Danny…" She muttered under her breath.

"I did some asking about Nicky, too," Vadim said, and Ellie let out a sigh of relief. "Myrna has more to say, I'm sure, but I asked about triggermen and Skinny Malone. That was the name you gave me, no? Well, there's a lot more of them lately. I went up to the Colonial Taphouse, Cooke said some of those men are from that Chicago, lots of triggermen under lots of mobsters including Skinny."

"Mobsters?" Ellie anxiously squeaked. "Oh, damn it, Nick said he was investigating a kidnapping, mentioned him, and Skinny Malone fits that description pretty well, and if –"

"Do you know who some of these guys are?" Piper asked, lightly patting Ellie's back with her free hand in an attempt to get the detective's secretary to breathe more steadily. "Or if they've been in the Commonwealth for a long while?"

"I don't know much," Vadim admitted. "But they have been in the Commonwealth for a long time. They aren't new from that Chicago."

"I took the liberty of getting one of those maps of the pre-War subway system," Myrna begrudgingly put in, pushing a folded up map across the table. "Make of it what you will."

Ellie picked up the map and opened it up, hands shaking badly.

"I really appreciate this, Myrna," Ellie said, setting the map down in her lap. "I know you don't like Nick much, but this means a lot to me," She swallowed hard. "Sorry, it…it has been rough without Nick around. I…I care about him a lot, and…well –"

"Sounds like someone thinks of that synth as more than a boss," Myrna said, shifting uncomfortably. "I still don't like this, but I did need the contact information for potential new traders. Though," She sent Piper a dark look. "I'm starting to think you're blackmailing me."

Piper shook her head. "If I were going to blackmail someone, I'd be a lot less obvious about it. Besides, Nick isn't really a synth, Myrna, not like that. He despises the Institute more than anyone, and he's helped countless people in Diamond City for years!"

Myrna scowled. "I'm not going to be happy about this. And it's a one time thing, especially since you already gave me the contact information, Piper, and I'm taking no arguments. Unlike the two of you, I'm not fooled into thinking synths can be just like us."

"Synths aren't too bad," Vadim said, waving a hand. "Just long as they aren't Institute gags. Nicky is absolutely not an Institute gag."

"If it were up to me, no synths would be allowed in this city," Myrna said, glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping on them. She did not relax even when she realised no one around them was interested in their discussion. "I don't serve synths, and I'm not afraid to call someone out for being a synth, especially when they're so obviously one. I even reprogrammed Percy to be able to fight, recently, so he can keep me safe and keep the shop open while I sleep safely at night."

"You're being ridiculous, Myrna," Piper said, rolling her eyes and taking another draw on her cig. "Synths aren't people to be afraid of unless they're Institute spies, and there aren't many of them. Only Institute spy in the city is McDonough."

Myrna eyed her suspiciously. "You're naïve. Geneva always orders the same thing, always buys the same things, always dresses too primly."

"You're not being helpful anymore, Myrna," Piper said with a slight scowl. "Do you have anything else to tell us about where Nick is? Something other than talking shit about him for no reason?"

"It is a real reason," Myrna snapped. "Synths are not human. But, yes, I have a little bit more. One of the caravaners I spoke to – I think her name is Carla – told me the triggermen have been becoming more and more of a nuisance in general. Supposedly, they're being hired by some raiders out of the Combat Zone. But I don't think he's there."

"Nicky is not at the Combat Zone," Vadim reassured Ellie, who had briefly looked about ready to panic again. "I go there often. I even have passes to back rooms because they call me 'the very important person' because of the caps I've dropped there in bets over the years. Yefim says it's silly, but I say it's family tradition. Bring Nicky by the bar after he's found, I'll tell more then."

"We've got a narrower search area, now," Piper added, nudging Ellie to keep sipping the wine in her shaking hands. "And, Vadim?" She turned to him and Myrna. "You guys sure it's narrowed to there?"

"I'm completely sure," Myrna said coldly. "And, now, I'm going home to forget this ever happened."

Goodneighbour
December the 7th, 2287
22:53

For someone who had once been a mayor, the fall from that to gun for hire was steep.

On the other hand, it did allow him to frequent a particularly good bar.

Between the sexy songstress in a little red dress and the sarcastic, irritable robot bartender, Robert Joseph MacCready found himself right at home. After a bit of back and forth over the course of a few months, he had even convinced the bartender to let him kick his feet up on the bar, so long as he wasn't shoving his feet in the faces of the fellow bar patrons. It had become something of a routine, to spend at least the early parts of the night in Goodneighbour's increasingly infamous Third Rail. Time there was a welcome distraction, too. Sleep was a land of nightmares and guilt, and being fully awake and alert brought anxiety he wished he could outrun. Nothing was quite right. It hadn't been in a long time. What made everything worse was the way the world seemed aware of it, and the one truth he found himself unable to reckon with was almost paralysing. Though he saw him nearly every day, took care of him alongside the woman who had become an unlikely friend, facing his son left him feeling sick. He was only four, yet Robert Joseph MacCready was sure his son saw through him, saw the person he had become, a person he was sure Lucy would not recognise.

We had been really young, hadn't we? Too young, probably. We hadn't been out of Lamplight long, but –

"Ah, Magnolia!" He said with a somewhat nervous smile as the songstress stepped off the stage and towards the bar. "Resting your pretty voice?"

"Are you trying to flirt with me again, MacCready?" She replied, looking rather amused, sitting down beside him. "You're still clumsy about it. Try again another night. You might finally figure it out. Or not. A girl's got to dream, now don't she?"

"So, I'm getting warmer!" MacCready managed to laugh. "My scheming must be working!"

"I'll never understand your persistence," Magnolia said, shaking her head. "What does a young man such as yourself want with an older woman like me?"

"Forty eight ain't old, Magnolia," MacCready said, taking a swig of his beer. "You only told me your age because you wanted to scare me off. You're going to have to try harder than that."

"I'm more than twice your age, boy," Magnolia said, accepting a martini from the robot bartender. "As always, thank you for the complimentary drinks, Charlie."

"Hancock put it in your contract," The robot bartender called Charlie gruffly responded. "You sing, you put up with the riff raff, you get drinks, you get caps."

"Riff raff?" MacCready exclaimed. "Are you talking about me, Charlie?"

"Yes," The bartender said. "But you're not the only one. And, unlike her, I'm Whitechapel Charlie to you. You haven't earnt the nickname privilege."

MacCready raised an eyebrow. "Well, what's a fella got to do to earn that?"

"Depends," Whitechapel Charlie began washing dishes out as he continued. "I have a friend who needs some work done off the books if you're willing to get your hands dirty."

MacCready sighed. "I'd walk a hundred miles if I knew there were a pile of caps waiting for me at the end. What's the work?"

"Who said anything about caps?" Whitechapel Charlie scoffed. "Presumptuous."

"Don't tease him, Charlie," Magnolia said with a smile before turning back to MacCready. "As for our tit for tat, I'll admit, I am curious: are you only interested in women well older than you?"

MacCready shook his head. "Just a few crushes over the years, mostly from my time back in the Capital Wasteland. I had a friend whose mom was smoking hot. But I like all kinds of women, plenty of 'em are my age. Not my fault older women sometimes catch my eye."

Magnolia took a sip of her drink. "And what about me caught your eye?"

"You flirting with me now?" MacCready sighed when she sent him a pointed look. "Guess it's not my night."

Magnolia chuckled. "Come back when you're not drunk, boy."

"It's a bar, that's kind of the point," MacCready shrugged. "But point taken, if –"

"Well, there he is. The man who will take any job if the caps are right for him."

MacCready groaned when the woman who had spoken sat down next to him at the bar with a mischievous grin. Almost desperately, he turned to Magnolia while she walked away and back to the stage. She only turned back briefly to send him a pointed look, one they both knew all too well. You're on your own, kid. I ain't dealing with this, I have bills to pay. For a moment, MacCready flopped forward on the bar, arms out and eyes closed. Within a few seconds, the bartender began poking at him and pushing his arms back. Taking the hint, MacCready sat back up, pushed a few caps over to pay for another drink, and did his best to avoid the woman's gaze beside him. There were very few things in the world that truly unsettled him. So far as he was concerned, most of those he had (mercifully) left behind in the Capital Wasteland. The look some people got in their eyes when talking about their plans in life, however, was one he had come to realise he could never shake.

"How many times do I have to say no, Bobbi?" He finally said with a groan. "Whatever you're up to, I want no part in it."

"Oh, has someone gone soft?" Bobbi purred. "I'm not going to sell you out to those damn gunners. Why you ever worked with them is a mystery I would be more than happy to hear the story behind, but I don't want to hear it from them. I'd rather hear it from the man himself."

MacCready scowled. "And I'd rather not talk about it."

"Well, if you won't talk about your personal mystery, then let's get back to business," Bobbi said, tossing a few caps to Whitechapel Charlie who quickly pulled out and handed her a beer. "You see, MacCready, I'm a legitimate businesswoman. Is the fear of illegitimacy holding you back from working with me?"

"It's not a fear if it's just true," MacCready said, downing his drink. "You're a mobster, Bobbi. That's not a legitimate way of doing business."

"Is that so?" Bobbi rolled her eyes. "I'm rather disappointed by your presumptuousness."

"What's even your point?" MacCready cast her a dark look. "Are you denying you're a mobster?"

"I am a mobster," Bobbi said, taking back some of her beer. "And that's a legitimate way of doing business. Now, why don't you –"

Far too tired (and far too irritable), MacCready stood up quickly in an attempt to get away. Bobbi, however, in no mood to take no for an answer from the man she knew was good with a gun, took back the rest of her beer and let the bottle drop to the floor. She then grabbed MacCready by the wrist, and all but whipped him around. MacCready let out a startled yelp, and turned to face her, only to find her pushing a gun up against his chin. Panic sweeping through him, MacCready moved to smack the gun out of her hand but it went off in the process as Bobbi tried to retain her grip on the gun. A bullet flew up into one of the fluorescent lights, and shattered the glass. A few customers let out irritated shouts, one screamed, and Magnolia even stopped singing. Still panicked, MacCready began wrestling Bobbi for the gun, and, after a minute, managed to get it in his hands. He then threw the damned thing across the room, and began trying to wrench himself out of her grasp. He was too slow, however, and Bobbi began to twist his arms but, suddenly, let him go and pushed him down upon hearing someone coming down the steps.

"What's going on here?" A voice said, pausing only when Bobbi ran past, stopping for only a second to sweep up her gun. "Woah, woah, who's on the f –"

"Look, pal," MacCready started, stumbling a bit as he got off the floor, holding his head. "If you're preaching about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun…then, maybe, we can talk, but only if –"

"Don't worry, I'm not doing any of that. Just steady yourself. Then follow me."

It was then, when MacCready saw the man who had been speaking to him, he felt frozen.

"Shit," He swore under his breath. "What'd I do this time, Hancock?"

Abernathy Farm
December the 9th, 2287
7:26

"Thanks for coming. Name's Blake Abernathy…and this is my family's farm."

"Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen," Preston smiled and extended his hand to the man before them. "And these are Derek Branson, Nora Norwich, and, of course, Codsworth."

CW-928, unit model 'Mister Handy,' better known as Codsworth, waved the best he could with his mechanical arms. Beside him stood Nora and Derek, who were just a few steps behind Preston. Every day since he had been reunited with Nora had been better than the last, and being not only reunited with but, now, working alongside her to help others in the Commonwealth made him feel better than he had in a long time. The Minutemen gave him hope, too. After a few seconds of silence, Blake Abernathy began to guide them around, to give them the tour of his family farm. For Nora's part, seeing the farm was both an inspiring sight and a sobering one. Two hundred and ten years ago, this was a small park, one where we took Shaun. Hell, farther down and near the pond is where we had conceived him. Now everything has been just about levelled. I wonder how much of the old pond is still there. Maybe… Briefly brushing up against Preston drew her away from her thoughts, and she startled, only to feel rather silly when the look he gave her was not one of annoyance but of concern.

Concern for others, for everyone around them. That's who the Minutemen are. And it's an admirable thing to see with all the damage that's been done by the aftermath of the War.

"How long have you been farming here?" Nora finally asked, grounding herself away from her meandering thoughts. "Everything seems incredibly well developed."

Blake smiled. "We've been farming here since just about the day the bombs dropped. I'm proud to say my family has been diligent and devoted to creating a self sustaining homestead, one we can even occasionally trade from. But, at the end of the day, we're simple farmers. We don't have much. We just want to be left alone from raiders. That's part of why we're armed."

"My hope is we'll be able to alleviate that burden on you and your family," Preston said, pausing to take a look at the brahmin feeding at their troughs. "Your lives shouldn't have to be lived in fear."

"They shouldn't, but it feels as though fear is the only constant these days," A woman said, setting down her shovel against one of the many fences on the property. "Connie Abernathy," She said once in arms reach, shaking Preston's hand. "Thank you for coming. We weren't sure anyone would, and certainly not after our power generator blew out."

"Glad we saw the lights signalling for aid before then," Derek replied. "If you'll permit it, I imagine Codsworth could be able to repair your generator."

"I most certainly can!" The robot cheerfully chimed in. "It would be an honour to be able to help in any way possible."

Connie managed a faint smile. "Go around the back, near the melon patches. Our generator is there, can't miss it. It's the only thing we have that's practically covered in wires as much as it is rust."

"Understood!" Codsworth exclaimed. "I'll get right to work!"

Blake briefly watched the robot scurry off before turning back towards the group. "We really appreciate the support," He finally said, motioning for them to follow him again. "To put it mildly, it has been a rough year, though it did get worse recently. Connie and I…we…we lost a child, recently."

"You lost a child?" Nora barely got out. "I'm so sorry."

"We are too. It was my daughter, Mary…" Blake let out a heavy sigh. "She's buried out back of the house, now, all because of some damned raiders. Only twenty one years old, and they shot her down without a thought. So…you can understand why I'm glad to hear the Minutemen are back, although…a bit too late for my Mary."

"That's terrible," Preston's gaze hardened as gunshots rang out in the far distance. "Do you know where they're hiding out? We came across a gang of them over in Concord a little less than two months ago, and clearing them out was…it was brutal."

"We have a few guesses," Blake said. "But we know for sure some of them are hiding out in that old US Airforce outpost, Olivia. I…I don't have much to offer, but…those raiders that killed Mary, they took her locket, too. It's been in Connie's family for generations. If you could get it back, it'd mean a lot to us."

"Satellite Station Olivia?" Nora paused when he nodded. "I know where that is. I'm sure we'd all be glad to help. Things like that…they can't be replaced."

"No," Blake agreed. "They really can't."

"We're more than happy to help find your daughter's locket for you and your family," Preston warmly put in. "Helping the people of the Commonwealth is what we signed up for. It's what the Minutemen are all about."

Blake smiled. "Glad to have you back, then, son."

Son.

Nora pushed aside as many of the feelings beginning to bubble to the surface in her chest as she could muster. It's a turn of phrase. Why does it…why am I…? Things had felt as though they went in and out more often than not, whenever she let her mind wander. In some ways, she supposed, it was natural. No one could wake up after more than two centuries only to remember their spouse and child being taken and only to find themselves to be the only one of everyone they had ever known left inside and be without questions, without a burning desire to know why. Almost all of the questions still lingered and taunted her. Why did my pod malfunction? Where did everyone else go? We were all released around the same time…weren't we? We had to be…didn't we? Disassociation. It was something Nate had experienced after returning from a ten month service in Alaska, shortly before Shaun had been conceived. They had both been told that disassociation could happen, would likely happen, after bearing witness to traumatic events. Yet the word did not sit right with her. Still a bit shaky, Nora steadied herself out, wrapping one hand around her bag and the other around her gun. Grounding. She was grounded, and the reality was things had changed but, still, she was there. Alive. Part of something important. And –

"I'll be back when I know more," Nora had said. "But no one here is giving me answers about Shaun and Nate. Sanctuary needs help, a lot of settlements do. I can't let them down. I can't let the Minutemen down. I owe them my life."

"Well, I want an interview when you come back to Diamond City," Piper had told her. "And, if she's with them, say hi to Mama Murphy for me. Last time I saw her was a few years ago in Goodneighbour, and she said she was looking for them."

"She found them," Nora had replied, smiling when Piper let out a sigh of relief and gave her a smile of her own. "And I'll let her know."

"Thanks," Piper had said. "She…knitted me this scarf, the one I always wear. Let her know I still love it."

"I will," Nora had promised. "Don't worry. As soon as I see her, I'll let her know."

"You know, things are going to go a lot smoother with you guys back around. As much as I wish it could have happened sooner, having you guys back around should really send a message to those damned raiders," Blake remarked, turning to Nora. "You just joined up with them, right? I have to hand it to you. Having it in you to stand up to raiders is a big deal, at least, for those of us who don't have the means to live somewhere like Diamond City."

"Just doing my part," Nora said, shaking herself out. "We can't make things better if we don't all try our damndest."

"Well said," Blake nodded. "I had thought you guys were gone for good, but…now I have a little bit more hope."

"We won't let you down," Preston assured him. "And don't worry: we'll get your daughter's locket back from those raiders as soon as we can."

Covenant
December the 12th, 2287
12:21

"Surprised anyone is willing to talk to me given what everyone seems to think about me around here, let alone two people, but, hey, who would I be to turn down conversation?"

The Scribe and the Knight briefly shared an uneasy glance before sitting down across from the young man they had been told went by the moniker 'Honest Dan' or, simply, 'Dan.' Whether that were his real name or not was up to question. For someone in his line of work, mercenary work, neither the Scribe or the Knight doubted he would have any qualms about lying about his identity and/or his employers. No, it had grown apparent to the both of them, Dan was far from a simple caravan master. Something in the way he carried himself and in the way he spoke felt far too intentional, far too refined for them to believe him to be a mere caravan master. Yet they both knew it was important to get something of a read on him. He was familiar with this part of the Commonwealth, that much was evident, and it was increasingly clear to them he was more than familiar with the settlement. Even more pertinent to the Scribe and the Knight was the potential he had inside knowledge about the alleged 'Compound' a few Field Scribes had noted shortly before they and the rest of Recon Squad Gladius arrived in the Commonwealth.

If that 'Compound' not only existed but tied the settlement to synthetics and the Institute, then it needed to be identified.

"What makes you say that?" Haylen said as she and Rhys sat down across from him. "Everyone here has been perfectly polite, haven't they?"

"Sure," Dan said with a shrug. "But it's in their faces and their body language. They don't want me here."

"You're a caravan master, though, aren't you?" Rhys eyed him closely when he nodded. "Why wouldn't they want you here? You bring trade and people into the area. If we were to take it from a purely selfish and economic perspective, the boost to their revenue would alone be beneficial."

"It would," Dan agreed. "But they aren't trying to compete with Diamond City or even Bunker Hill, no matter what they say. And, sure, they also say they get a lot of traffic, and maybe there's truth to that. But that's not their reason for trying to expand their presence. You two local? Because, God damn it, I hope not. I've had enough of these hicks."

Haylen raised an eyebrow. "You have a problem with the people here? We aren't from around here, not at all, but –"

Rhys lightly kicked her in the shin under the table to quiet her. "Is there something about the town that puts you on edge?"

"All the fake smiles and fancy talking puts me on edge," Dan shook his head. "The sooner I'm out of here, the better, but I don't think I'll get the chance anytime soon. I've been here for a few months, and still have nothing. Nothing relevant for the job I'm here for, that is."

"I suppose, for someone whose job ordinarily keeps them on the move frequently, this must be a difficult demand for you to fulfil," Haylen said, turning on a holotape to record under the table before handing it to Rhys, who was closer to the irritable caravan master. "If you would be willing to say, what job are you here for?"

Dan sighed. "I signed on with Old Man Stockton to find his lost caravan back in September. What's left of it is just outside town. Only things that have been moved were the bodies of the dead. I helped return them to their families in Bunker Hill and their belongings. But the slaughtered brahmins and the goods inside them are probably still there. Depends on whether or not someone's raided them."

"Is raiding a significant problem around here?" Rhys questioned. "I understand, of course, raiders are a pervasive issue throughout the Commonwealth, but is their activity worse around here?"

"No, they're barely seen around here these days," Dan said. "I suspect that's due to Covenant's presence. Raiders tend to go for easy targets, and any area with a fortified settlement armed with a full defencive system is not an easy target by a sheer numbers game."

"Well, that's good to know," Rhys said mildly. "You said you've been here since September?"

"Since the fourth of September, yeah," Dan said, treading his hands through his long, messy hair. "It has been a long – if you can excuse my language – fucking time. I usually don't stay anywhere that ain't home for more than a few weeks, a month at most. This is the first time in ages I've had to do something like this. It's maddening."

"I can only imagine," Haylen remarked. "So, you've been here since then to search for a missing caravan?"

"It was still missing when I arrived," Dan said grimly. "But it only took about two weeks to prove it wasn't missing but massacred. That was when I had made my first report to Old Man Stockton. By the start of October, I was back here. And I've been here just about ever since. I guess you could call this my base of operations."

"Have you made much progress in that time?" Haylen pressed. "I can't imagine you would stay here if you weren't making any progress."

"I've made some progress," Dan hesitantly admitted. "I've come to find out, for certain, the last stop the caravan made was here. So, I've been trying to keep putting together the story but I keep getting the run around. No one here wants to talk, not for long."

Haylen nodded. "What do you know so far?"

"A few things," Dan said, pushing a handwritten list across the table towards them. "Take a look at this."

"Did you write this?" Rhys lowered his voice as he looked over the list. "Or…"

"I…well…" Dan sighed and lowered his voice to be audible only to the Knight and the Scribe across from him. "I stole the list from one of the desks inside one of the communal homes here."

Haylen and Rhys shared a nervous look before they began to read over the list.

SAFE Report September 2287
28% failure rate, delta -1% (need more data samples)
Unnamed Travellers (2): 1 failure, logged
Slog Ghouls (5): 1 failure, definite false positive
Stockton Caravan (5): 2 failures, resolved (Railroad or Institute?)
Mister Tims (1): 0 failures
Finch Farms (3): 0 failures, working long term trade deal
Boyd (1): 1 failure, logged
"Honest" Dan (1): 0 failures

"Railroad?" Haylen said, folding up the note and sliding it into her pocket. "I've heard of the Institute, but what's the Railroad?"

"The Railroad are supposedly a group of people who help synths escape the Institute," Dan replied. "But they're also, more than likely, something of an urban legend. Whether they actually exist or not is up to debate. It could easily be the Institute's way of continuing to manipulate the Commonwealth."

"Interesting," Rhys said, glancing to Haylen. "Out of curiosity, do you know much about this Institute?"

"Not more than anyone else does," Dan said darkly. "People say the Institute are the Commonwealth's bogeyman, and that's not inaccurate. They most likely snatch people, and are the people who create synths. But I don't know anything else more than that. No one knows where they are, or what their motivations are. If I had to take a guess on that, though, I would say science for the sake of fulfilling one's own curiosity. They definitely don't care about the Commonwealth, not unless it benefits them."

"Do you think Covenant might be part of the Institute, then?" Haylen queried. "If they are, also, so fixated on synths?"

Dan stared at her, stunned. "I had never considered that," He said, horrified. "But, you know something? You could be right. I don't got proof Covenant's involved with what happened, other than that list, but I know they are. They have to be. But I hope to God they aren't part of the Institute. That would make all of this much worse and much more disturbing than it already is."

Railroad Headquarters
December the 13th, 2287
23:32

"So, egghead," Deacon pulled up a chair beside Tom, who was sat in front of his computer terminal. "I have to ask: what crisis are you solving today?"

"Depends, still trying to get Des to approve my babies going out and about," Tom said, chewing on some liquorice he had made. "She still says MILA isn't necessary! I can't believe it! MILA is how we're going to know what the Institute is doing at all times!"

"Tom, I already said it, but I'll say it again," Desdemona said, looking up from the maps she was going through. "Unless you can add some form of surveillance technology to ensure the security of our routes in, through, and out of the Commonwealth, we can't waste what few resources we have at the moment sending people into the field to set up your toys."

He groaned. "Come on, Des! What would you even want me to add to them?"

"She's said that before, too, Tom, I'm almost certain," Glory said, sounding exasperated. "Your 'MILA's would need to have cameras, motion sensors, weatherproofing to protect those instruments, and be able to be attached to a self sustaining, secret power network to send information back to us. Have you made headway on adding any of those things?"

"Slowly," Tom said with a shrug. "But MILA will give us data of all sorts, data way more valuable than what we'd get from just some low tech, pre-War surveillance gear!"

"I'll play devil's advocate for once," Deacon said, reaching over and wrapping an arm over Tom's shoulders with a sly grin. "Hear the man out, you guys. Don't be such sticklers."

"You've got to be kidding," Glory muttered, sending Desdemona an apologetic look. "Should I get Carrington to shut them up?"

Desdemona sighed. "I doubt it would do anything," She said dryly. "I think we're well beyond the point of reason in this conversation. It's late, and everyone's exhausted, I'm sure."

"Hey, big D!" Deacon called over to her and Glory. "You listening?"

Desdemona eyed him strangely for a moment. "Yes, Deacon," She finally said. "You have our undivided attention."

"What's going on?" Carrington came in from the mainframe room and grimaced when he saw Deacon and Tom. "What in the world are the two of you up to?"

"Desdemona still won't approve my MILAs," Tom informed him. "We're trying to convince her to."

Carrington raised an eyebrow. "I truly wish I could believe you weren't serious."

"Well, if you don't want to hear about how my MILAs will help show the Institute is mutating the water and messing with the atmosphere, why don't we talk about my Nano-Blood theory?" Tom pried Deacon off him and stood up to take something out of a drawer. "I'm coming really close to figuring out a solution to that problem!"

"Sounds more concerning than promising," Glory cautioned. "Remember what happened the last time he made a concoction for some sort of health purpose? Because I do, and it was not pretty. Rest in peace to Tommy after the Switchboard, but I'm shocked Tom's shot didn't make him super fucking sick."

"This shot is way better than the last one!" Tom protested. "And it's important! The Institute has these tiny, microscopic robots in the food! And they report back to them! We have to do all of the tests we can to make sure the Institute isn't watching us! Especially because, sometimes, the tests can lie!"

"Tom," Carrington said irritably. "All of that, again, is rubbish."

"You just don't get it, Carrington!" Tom said, sending him a pointed look. "The Institute is in your blood! It's in all of our blood!"

"I wouldn't be shocked by it, honestly, if he's right," Deacon said, stretching out his arms and swivelling around in his chair. "If the Institute can create synths, and create synths as intense as Coursers, then they can probably put anything in people's blood whether they are from the Institute or not."

"And we don't know how far out the Institute's reach is, either, which makes them even more mysterious," Tom added, pulling a serum bottle with a label scrawled onto it in marker. "I mean, we have been able to place them as far out as the Capital Wasteland!"

"If I recall correctly, per the intel we received from Patriot last year, an Institute leader is active in the Capital Wasteland," Desdemona said, running a hand through her hair. "So, yes, we are aware of a vast Institute presence."

"Exactly!" Tom said, winking at her. "Which is part of why I've continued to work on my serum to limit the Institute's ability to track us! Or, anyone, really! I've been working on this one for a few months now, and I think it's going to work real well this time!"

"I'll try it!" Deacon said, pulling off his sunglasses and folding them down his shirt. "I've been watching him test it on himself, and he's been perfectly fine."

"Because that's a comforting thought," Glory swore under her breath. "You can't seriously think that's a reasonable assumption to make."

"I appreciate someone showing some initiative!" Tom said, turning towards Deacon. "Trust me, Dec, this is going to make you super duper safe. Hell, if you want, I can give you more than just this shot, even two or three more. But – screw the bullshit – I'm sure this is the shot that will kill all the little robots!"

"Tom!" Carrington stared at the two of them, aghast. "There's battery acid in that serum of yours!"

Tom shrugged. "You can't nuke an omelette without irradiating some eggs. We got algae, some yummy bacteria culture, and just a little bit of battery acid. Like I said, gotta burn 'em! Everyone says 'Tinker Tom is crazy!' until I'm right! All of those Institute scientists have centuries on us!"

Desdemona frowned. "Tom, so much as we appreciate you and your skill as an engineer and scientist, there is no logic in that statement, and seemingly no logic in the way you're trying to develop or alter or reformulate chems."

"Which is why you always remind him no one has to take it or believe his theories about aliens or shit like that," Deacon said, taking the serum from Tom. "Alright! Go for it, Tom!"

Carrington grimaced. "You're encouraging him, now?"

"Hey!" Tom said. "I take these kind of things all the time, and I'm still standing! If a little battery acid were going to –"

"Tom, you have been through immense trauma, and, while brilliant, are still an addict," Carrington sharply reminded him. "The amounts of psycho and mentats you take are incredibly high. Significantly higher than anyone should take."

"I'm doing the best I can," Tom replied, tiredly rubbing at his eyes. "And the point is I'm still here! We all are! Being alive is a victory enough, especially after the Switchboard."

"We still have –" Deacon stumbled back and, against his will, began retching. "We still!" He got out, reaching for a rubbish bin to catch most of his bile in. "There's lots we need to eventually get back! Your prototype included!"

Carrington bristled. "Please don't remind me," He said darkly. "I doubt the Institute would take it, but I would be much more comfortable if we already had it. With the Brotherhood Of Steel apparently entering the Commonwealth, I would very much not appreciate them taking it, and I suspect they would, if they come across it."

"The Brotherhood tend to seek out pre-War military sites, too," Desdemona said heavily. "And, if they know of it, the Switchboard will absolutely be on their list of places to look. I suppose, then, we're incredibly lucky to have moved location even though it was under terrible, necessary circumstances. Seems that's what everything comes back to for us, these days."