Covenant
January the 9th, 2288
11:26

Getting past the gates had been surprisingly easy, if tedious and annoying. All it had given him was a reaffirmation that the town was, in fact, trying to determine whether or not they could let people in based on how they responded.

What amused him was, even though he had attempted to see if he could trick their test into thinking he was a synth, he apparently passed with 'flying colours' according to the man at the gate.

A seasoned liar, he knew the man at the gate had been telling the truth. Stretching himself out as he walked, Deacon pulled his sunglasses out from where he had tucked them into his shirt. Flourishing them out before sliding them onto his face, Deacon began to shake out his (falsely) long, blonde hair. It was always enjoyable to have long hair, if only because he enjoyed (occasionally) smacking people in their faces with it. Sass. It was one of his favourite things, and, considering the grim subjects they had discussed, it was one of the few things to lighten the mood for him when he and Dan had returned from slipping out to see the remains of Stockton's caravan. The last of it had just about completely decayed, and something about standing in front of where a group of innocent people were slaughtered and one of them kidnapped had left him with a rage he hadn't felt in a long time, rage he hadn't felt since he had turned his back on his fellow gang members. Sass was the only thing standing between him and abject horror and rage towards the people in the town, the permanent residents of the town, and, in particular, the mayor, who deflected every question, even the ones that should have been simple and easy to answer.

"Brian, these are Janet Haylen and Laurent Rhys" Dan said, raking his hands through his hair. "Brian's working with me, trying to figure out what the hell is going on here."

"Lovely to meet you," Haylen said, reaching over to shake his hand. "I had thought there weren't any other people particularly interested in a town like this."

"More so curious about what goes on within a town like this," Deacon said with a flip of 'his' long blonde hair. "I take it you are too?"

"Very much so," Rhys agreed, passing something to Haylen behind his back. "I see you're one of Dan's…colleagues?"

"Sure," Deacon said with a shrug. "How'd you get roped into this?"

Rhys bristled. "We're simply looking after mutual interests. If it weren't for that, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I am curious," Haylen put in, sending Rhys a pointed look. "We've barely uncovered a thing in the time we've been here, although, admittedly, it's only been just over three weeks. Do you have any leads?"

"Depends on what you're here for," A woman's voice said, and they all turned to see where she was standing, leaning against a building, smoking a cigarette. "I may have a few."

Dan frowned. "I don't appreciate the eavesdropping, or the attitude."

"Would you prefer a more proper introduction?" The woman sighed, tapping excess ash off her cigarette and slipping a pair of thin red reading glasses out from tucked into her coat and onto her face. "Or, considering you're a caravan master working out of Bunker Hill for," She pulled out a notepad from her pocket and flipped through a few pages. "A Mister Jacob Stockton, would you –"

"How do you –" Dan warily began, unable to hide his discomfort.

"I listen, something you might want to do more of," The woman said, slipping her notepad back into her pocket and taking a draw on her cigarette. "You don't learn a damn thing by asking questions or investigating alone. Although, if this is what you call investigating, you're doing a piss poor job at it."

Rhys stared at her in disgust. "Do you have any manners?"

"I do," The woman icily replied. "But I usually reserve them for people who deserve to be shown genuine respect. I don't have time for pretence."

"And I don't have time for someone muddying the waters when people are dead for no good reason," Dan said, matching her tone perfectly. "I'm here because I am trying to find out what happened to innocent people who didn't deserve to die, and because I need to find the one person who did walk out of the whole damn thing alive."

"An honourable enough cause," The woman said. "The name's Annette Davis. Tell me – who are we looking for?"

Dan eyed her suspiciously. "You don't already know?"

"I understand you're looking for people from Stockton's caravan, several of whom were brutally murdered," Annette said. "But you've been, reasonably, of course, careful. Letting too many people know exactly who's been taken versus who's been murdered could easily compromise the case."

"Quite astute," Rhys said mildly. "Though your tone is still rather sour."

"Agreed," Dan and Annette met each other's gaze with equal suspicion. "The big one we're looking for is Stockton's daughter, Amelia. I didn't find any bodies of the…feminine persuasion, so there is hope. But there's also a chance it's something deeper and, frankly, disturbing."

Annette glanced between him, 'Brian,' Haylen, and Rhys.

"Go on…"

Haylen sighed. "We believe it's possible there is a connexion to the Institute."

"The Institute?" Annette frowned. "I haven't heard that one before."

"You don't know about the Institute?" Dan dubiously probed. "You must be new around here."

"As it happens, I am," Annette said sharply. "I've followed leads from where I am from in the Capital Wasteland to here, but I have never been in the Commonwealth before nor am I familiar with it."

"You're from the Capital Wasteland?" Rhys eyed her, fascination entering his voice. "What could have possibly drawn you from there to here?"

"If you must know, I am following a lead connecting a few towns in the Commonwealth, this one included, to the Vault I grew up in," Annette said, a hint of upset briefly crossing her face. "I had no choice but to leave it when I was nineteen, in search of my father, who had been nearly killed by the man who was Overseer at the time. My…my father's best friend – Jonas – who, frankly, was a second father figure to me, did not make it out alive. About two years later, I returned after my...girlfriend had become Overseer and opened up the Vault for trading. It was the only home I ever knew, and I was scared of what was out there after what I witnessed. However...I left about a year ago, and have been investigating the Commonwealth's potential connexions to the Vault ever since."

"Damn…" Deacon let out a low whistle. "That's…disturbing."

Annette snorted, taking another draw on her cigarette.

"Brian, isn't it?" She waited for Deacon to nod. "Disturbing is an understatement, but, if it were that alone, I wouldn't be here in pursuit of answers about something that happened a decade ago."

"Why are you here, then?" Dan eyed her closely, crossing his arms. "And why are you – from what it seems – profiling me?"

"You have your secrets, and I have mine," Annette said. "As for your other question, I think we might be looking for the same thing. Not necessarily specifically, but the answer as to why things here are done the way they are, by whom they are done, and to what end. Now…tell me about this Institute?"

"Everyone in the Commonwealth is afraid of the Institute, and their synths," Dan said grimly. "Synths are, to be clear, synthetic people made by the Institute. Real advanced machines, might as well be human because no one can tell the difference between them and us. As I said, everyone in the Commonwealth is terrified of them but, come to mention it…I've been here a long while, and nobody's even breathed a word about them. Only reference we've seen in this whole damn town to the Institute is this – seems like their little 'test' is designed to try and identify synths. To what end…who knows."

Annette took the folded up piece of paper from him, and shook it out, her eyebrows raising as she read down the list.

"And this…Railroad?"

"Most likely an urban legend about people who rescue synths from the Institute," Dan said. "As for why they go to great lengths to not talk on the Institute or synths here but have this test…we're not sure."

"They may be part of the Institute," Haylen said. "But it seems the only people who knows about this test's purpose and keeps track of it are its administrator at the gate and the mayor."

Diamond City
January the 13th, 2288
2:22

"You know something? Vandalism sounds like it's fucking deserved right about now."

Cait took another round of shots, and flopped forward on the bar, briefly closing her eyes. Between attempting to bribe the rotation of prison guards and nearly getting arrested herself, she was not only exhausted but furious. Even winning fifteen fights back to back (with a more than unhealthy dose of psycho) against variously mad, aggressive, violent raiders hadn't made her feel any better. At most, all it did was release some of the anger she felt towards the arrest of one of her few friends. Her fingers beating up and down against the counter of the bar, Cait tried to shove down her feelings as far down as she could, though she knew it was making her antsy for another fight. The bar was lively enough for nearly (she reckoned) three in the morning, but not lively enough for there to be a good or interesting fight to be had. Most of the annoying patrons, so far as she was concerned, were kept to themselves in one corner of the bar, drunkenly singing as a barbershop quartet and surprisingly on key. Yefim was cleaning, as was Scarlett in between her taking orders for food and drink, and Vadim was humming to himself in a language she didn't understand while he wiped down the bar as people around her came and went. Forcing herself to sit up, she handed the shot glasses back to Vadim, who awkwardly and sympathetically patted the top of her head with one hand and took the shot glasses away for cleaning with the others she had already downed.

"How's work?" Vadim set the shot glasses into the sink before he pushed a bottle of moonshine towards her. "Any good fights coming up?"

"Good fights are coming up if you're interested in a show," Cait said with a devious smirk. "Tommy tried to introduce scenery into the matches at the Combat Zone. Took about five minutes before we started using them for weapons. I should ask him to make a wood cutout of McDonough. I'd love to break his head over a raider."

"I would take a video," Vadim grinned and pulled a camera out from under the bar. "I found and repaired one of these pre-War toys. You can even watch them back on a bigger screen if you can figure out how to connect one of these to a computer terminal."

"You and your technology pet projects never cease to amaze me," Cait laughed. "You know those old cinemas? If you get a video of me breaking a McDonough cutout over the head of a raider, do you think you could play it for all 'em here in the city?"

"Maybe, lapochka," Vadim shrugged. "But I don't know. It was already very frustrating to figure out how to repair."

Cait shrugged, taking a swig of the moonshine. "You know," She joked. "One of these days, I'll beat your record for shots. I'll best your record, just you wait."

"From what I hear, you could do it. Let us know when you take on the challenge, because I sure as hell will bet on you."

Cait turned around only to cheer when she saw the man who had spoken was Zeke, accompanied by Rowdy and the rest of his gang. Vadim cheered too, and started clapping, whereas Yefim and Scarlett shared a knowing look, the last time the Cats had trashed the bar still a little too fresh in their minds.

"Zeke," Cait smirked. "Where've you been all me life, handsome?"

"You know where," Zeke replied with wink. "You've made your way down to our turf before. You're always welcome. You might as well be an honourary Cat."

"Damn right she is," Rowdy said, elbowing him before hopping onto one of the barstools beside Cait. "Is seeing all of us as magical as the last time you got to hang with the gang all together?"

"Well, it's always a trip to see you and your gang, Rowdy," Cait teased. "There's nothing quite like the smell of power armour grease and testosterone."

"We're a hell of a lot stronger than just that," Duke rolled his eyes. "Are you forgetting how I took down some gunners and a deathclaw in the same fight?"

"I do, don't you worry," Cait said, playfully socking him in the arm. "Watching you slug it out with that damn beast was impressive. Too bad me money was on the deathclaw."

"You want in on a secret?" Roxy whispered, taking up the barstool on the other side of Cait from Rowdy. "Our money was on the deathclaw too. Thankfully, all the son of a bitch did was tear up Dukie's power armour – something we know how to fix right up in a jiffy."

"Your idioms are always the funniest," Vadim chuckled, pouring shots for the rest of the Atom Cats who were now coming up to the bar as well. "It's as though you live in a pre-War movie! Reminds me of some of the old ones Yefim and I saw as children, from a century before the War, actually."

"Yeah, all those disc things definitely can keep you motivated," Johnny said, tossing some caps to Vadim for a beer. "Some of 'em have even inspired some of my power armour designs. I could talk your ear off until the sun comes up…or goes down, depending on the time."

"Speaking of talking people's ears off," Roxy said, pausing to clink her shot glass against Rowdy's and then down the shot. "Where's the journalist lady?"

"Ain't she usually down here a few times a week?" Zeke frowned. "She being a square tonight?"

Cait snorted. "I wish," She said. "She's back in the Piper suite."

Rowdy sighed. "They still calling the slammer here that? Damn, I don't envy her."

"Blame the mayor," Vadim told her, rolling his shoulders back as though he were getting ready for a brawl. "He had her arrested over an article."

"Shit, man," Bluejay let out a low whistle. "That ain't cool of him."

"I feel most bad for Nicky Valentine's secretary," Vadim shook his head. "You know, the detective? He's been missing a while and his secretary has been inconsolable since Piper's arrest. She already was struggling to find Nicky, even with new information from me and a few others, and now feels it's hopeless without Piper's help."

"That's terrible," Roxy pulled out a bag of caps and pushed it over the counter towards Vadim. "Think a hundred caps will help get her out?"

"No," Vadim pushed the bag back to her. "I already tried. They want to keep her there for a while. I even offered them some free chems, but they said no. They almost arrested Cait when she tried!"

"Those blokes have it coming, wouldn't even budge for Piper's fucking family," Cait muttered. "Just wait until she finds out what's happened to her daughter in law while she and her husband have been away."

Vadim snickered. "She will tear them a new one."

"Well, we won't be leaving without giving it a try too," Zeke said, high fiving Cait when she perked up with a faint smirk dawning on her face. "Fuck all these guys, all she did was write an article calling the mayor a synth. Man's a real piece of shit, not being able to take being made fun of or criticised."

"True," Rowdy said, shaking out her hair. "I mean, how many times have we been called synths? Too damn many to count. It has been good at keeping at least some of those gunner shits at bay. Guess they don't want to risk fucking with the Institute to try and get their mitts on our power armour. I swear, gunners are just one small step up from raiders…and I used to be a raider, for fuck's sake!"

"If you are synths, tell the Institute to give us the formulas to make more interesting chems," Cait said with a laugh. "I want to try something to make me smarter, tougher, and more charming at the same time. Maybe I'll finally be able to scare all the men away from staring at me arse all the time or asking me to shag, if you know what I mean."

"Hell yeah we do. Damn, though, some guys really are the absolute worst," Bluejay said, clapping her on the back. "You're a real one, Cait, don't you ever go and fucking change."

"Reminds me," Vadim added, laughing himself. "If you talk to the Institute, tell them to teach me how to make new chems. Goodneighbour's mayor, Hancock, always asks me if I have anything new for him to try. Rumour has it his chem experiments are what turned him ghoul."

"I will do so immediately, beam me up, Institute," Rowdy joked, winking. "I have work to do, bitches!"

The Institute
January the 16th, 2288
18:01

It wasn't particularly late, but, after another day of not having anything he had to do, eight year old Quentin Filmore was exhausted, so much so he even missed having schoolwork.

Things had been strange since the incident with the Coursers. Once an hour, one of his parents would step into the family apartment to see if he were alright, usually his father, who was incredibly awkward about it. Jacq was listening to music in her earbuds while she drew up blueprints in the living room, and he wanted to hang out with her but felt bad every time he distracted her or didn't understand the things she was talking about. It's like that one song Jacq likes. What are the words? Something along the lines of 'it's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me?' It's true. I guess that's me. Too tired to think about much for too long but not tired enough to actually fall asleep, Quentin stared up at the ceiling fan for a few minutes, trying to focus on it and the way it moved. After he could no longer focus on it, he sat up and shook out his hair, still damp from having showered. He stared at his reflexion in the window when he stood up, and shivered a bit, wrapping his arms around himself. The words 'I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror' are also from that song, aren't they? Jacq said songs talk about feelings. Did the songwriter feel this way too? Hunching his shoulders up to his ears, Quentin finally walked towards the living room where Jacq was, as was becoming routine, typing on her computer terminal with blueprints on the desk beside her. She turned around when she heard footsteps, and pulled out her earbuds, smiling when she saw Quentin. He half smiled and waved, hesitating before stepping into the room. When he did, Jacq saved her work and got up from her computer terminal, and sat down on the rug near the couch, waving him over to sit down next to her, which Quentin eventually did, albeit still holding himself, his hair hanging in front of his eyes.

"Are you alright, Quentin?" Jacq gently poked her adoptive brother in the arm. "You've been…really quiet and shy lately."

"I don't know," Quentin said with a morose shrug. "I'm kinda looking forward to when we go back to school next week. I've never heard of an entire year going on an impromptu break before."

"They just want to make sure everyone's okay," Jacq said encouragingly. "Things will go back to normal, soon, I promise."

"But they wouldn't have to if it weren't my fault," Quentin shook his head. "Everyone's going to hate me when we go back to class."

"No, they won't," Jacq reassured him. "Want to know a secret?"

Quentin perked up slightly. "Sure, I guess."

"Now people know nothing bad happened, a lot of them think you're cool," Jacq said with a wink. "You survived an encounter with Coursers. I overheard Dr. Thompson telling her husband the other day she was worried Alice would want to try something like that because she thought it was cool you survived."

Quentin laughed a little. "Sometimes Dr. Thompson tells him not to talk about his trips to the surface because she thinks it'll encourage Alice to try and sneak up to the surface next time he goes up."

"See?" Jacq teasingly elbowed him. "You did something stupid, but your friends and classmates aren't going to remember that, they're going to be glad you got them out of school for a few weeks and some of them, to quote my friends on the surface, are going to think you're badass."

"I hope so," Quentin said with a slight smile but his face suddenly fell. "Jacq?" He said quietly. "Do you think mom and dad are mad at me?"

"Of course not," Jacq stared at him in shock. "Why?"

"They don't want me left alone, they get all weird when we try to have dinner as a family," Quentin sighed. "I…I really screwed up, and I know they already get shit because of me sometimes. I've made everything bad, haven't I?"

"You haven't," Jacq said, standing up to get him a glass of water. "They're just worried about you. You're their kid, and…"

Quentin took the glass from her and started to sip it, pulling his legs up to his chest. Jacq watched him for a few seconds before sitting down next to him again. Neither of them noticed, however, Dr. Nathan Filmore had been just outside the door to the family apartment and heard everything. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door just long enough to see the kids were alright before starting back down the stairs to work. What kind of parents are we? Sure, we were angry, at first, about what he did but we were more scared than anything else. We're just glad he's alright, now. Allie and I spent years trying to have a baby before Quentin was born…he can be a difficult child, but we still love him and only want to see him safe and doing well. I always want more time to spend with him, but I just can't be in two places at once. Is that why? I'll have to talk to Allie…she's the one always encouraging me to take a break to spend time with our son anyways. He sighed, scanning back into the Advanced Systems Division, only to be surprised to see Father there, speaking in hushed tones with Allie and Madison. He startled, briefly, when Enrico Thompson tapped his shoulder to tell him Janet had gone to bring Quentin and Jacq a treat. He laughed a little, Janet Thompson being somewhat infamous for her seemingly uncanny ability to know what a person needed whenever they needed it. As it were, Janet had stopped to get a box of macaroons for the Filmore siblings and was humming to herself while she walked up to their residence. Her fingers tapped against the doorbell, and she smiled when Jacq answered the door and let her in.

"Don't tell your parents I brought you guys these before dinner," She said, pressing a finger to her lips with a smile. "Keep it a secret?"

"Absolutely," Jacq said with a fist bump. "You're great, Dr. Thompson."

Janet winked. "Tell that to my girls the next time they get mad at me for making them go to sleep at a reasonable hour."

"Studying?" Jacq said with a smile. "Or something else?"

"Video games," Janet laughed. "Enrico introduced them to it as a father—daughters bonding activity, and, now, I sometimes have to tell all three of them to go to sleep. You two take care of each other, alright?"

Jacq nodded when the woman began to leave the apartment, waving one last time before shutting the doors behind her. Quentin sighed, and leaned back against the edge of the couch from where he sat on the rug. After a moment of hesitation, he accepted one of the macaroons Jacq handed him, and slowly began to nibble at it.

"You know, one of the best things about the Institute is everything – from art to writing – from before the War is accessible," Jacq said, ruffling her adoptive brother's hair, briefly startling him. "And people still create down here, not just do the hard sciences like a lot of us do. Maybe your brain just works differently."

Quentin eyed her strangely. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe maths and formulas and physics don't make sense to you immediately, but something else does," Jacq replied. "Have you ever tried anything else, outside of school? I was reading about it the other day with Rosalind, how there isn't just one kind of intelligence, and how it's a spectrum. And you're not stupid, Quentin. I saw your IQ score test result –"

"You what?" Quentin gaped at her. "Didn't they just test me the other day?"

"I may or may not have eavesdropped on Allie talking about it with Nathan," Jacq admitted. "Don't tell them I told you, but you tested really high, Quentin. You're not stupid. You just aren't grasping things the way other people do, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"I…I guess," Quentin said awkwardly. "I don't know, but, thanks, Jacq. I…I'm glad you told me. And don't worry, I won't tell mom or dad you said anything."

"They love you, Quentin," Jacq promised. "They're just trying to figure out how to be there for you and keep you safe and out of trouble. My dad did the same thing…it can feel weird, at first, but it goes well in the end."

The Commonwealth
January the 18th, 2288
20:23

"There are definitely super mutants over there, at least a few," Preston set down his binoculars and shook his head. "Best thing to do would be to take them out from a distance before we make our way into the plant."

"We could come across a stroke of luck," Derek said, beginning to put things from their makeshift lookout post in the bags again. "I've seen some vertibirds, recently, and they are absolutely from the Brotherhood. It's possible they may take the super mutants out by the time we get there."

"The mirelurks will probably be just as bad," Nora said with a grimace. "I never liked crabs, or, honestly, any other crustaceans, before the War. I absolutely despise them now."

"My first job when I joined the Minutemen was helping clear out an old power plant near a settlement being woken up in the middle of the night by mirelurks," Preston said, joining them in packing up their makeshift lookout post. "I have a really gnarly scar on my left calf from where one of the mirelurks bit and then kept hitting me. The good news was we were able to stop the infestation and exterminate all of the mirelurks. The bad news was I couldn't walk right for a month after."

"When did that happen?" Codsworth said curiously. "I take it you healed quite well."

"I healed up just fine, thank God," Preston said with a slight shudder. "I was twenty three when it happened, so it must have been around the summer of 2280. Mirelurks are surprisingly vicious."

"No kidding," Nora agreed. "Even the dead ones are…uncanny to look at."

"Their infestations are a real menace," Derek said with a frown. "In Rivet City, back in the Capital, they were a massive nuisance. Between the Brotherhood and the city security team, they were able to be kept in check and never managed to hurt anyone, but they were a nightmare to deal with. Anyone willing to volunteer to kill them got paid a lot of caps for it, because no one wants to wake up in the middle of the night to mirelurks banging against your home's walls. He didn't do it often, but one of the members of the Rivet City Council, Harkness, was especially good at keeping the mirelurks away."

"Harkness?" Nora raised an eyebrow. "Who's he?"

"Other than being on the Rivet City Council, he's the chief of security for Rivet City," Derek said, zipping up one of the bags. "With the way he dedicated himself to training and the prowess with which he maintained and improved upon weapons, he could have been in the Brotherhood. Elder Lyons had tried to recruit him a few times, but he was so dedicated to the city he turned him down. Part of it or not, though, he was highly admired."

"Sounds like it," Preston said, pausing to make sure their surroundings were still clear. "We need more people like him in the world, people who just want to help others and make things a little bit better every day. Reminds me of what my mother always told me – you have a choice every day to be someone who helps or someone who hurts. I've always tried to live up to that, being someone who helps at least one person every day."

"You are," Nora smiled and Preston did too, just a little. "You wouldn't be trying to bring the Minutemen back together if you weren't, and you certainly wouldn't be so dedicated to helping even the smallest settlements who ask for aid if you weren't."

"Thanks, Nora," Preston said happily. "I do my best."

"And it shows," Codsworth put in. "I couldn't be happier Miss Nora found you and the Minutemen. Life has a funny way of helping you out, even when you least expect it."

"It can," Derek said, laughing a bit. "Part of how I met my wife, actually. I joined the Brotherhood to get away from home – my parents never did anything but fight and I was their only child, kind of always caught in the crossfire – in Chicago but got injured during training a little ways outside the former Capital in the Virginia Commonwealth. A few people, who I thought at first were caravaners, helped me back to the Citadel and one of them reset my leg. The men who found me were one of Hads' brothers and her dad. A few weeks later, they introduced us. Meeting her was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I'm sure she'd say the same," Nora winked. "Based on the way you two talk about each other, and the fact you have four kids."

"Speaking of kids, let's try to find a good place to set up a real camp for the night," Preston said, putting the last few things into one of the bags before zipping it shut. "I'd rather not get any closer to the plant or any…infested areas unless I have to before I go to sleep. Just in case I want to have kids one day."

"There seems to be an old railway check station a little ways up ahead," Codsworth noted. "It appears high enough off the ground and secure enough to be safe from attack by vermin."

"Sounds great," Preston said, pulling his bag over his shoulders, Nora and Derek doing the same. "Shall we? No sense in wasting time."

Nora nodded. "Lead the way."

A feeling of determination and pride rising in his chest, Preston looked between Nora, Derek, and Codsworth before the four of them began towards the former railway check station. Though it was a bit cold, there was no wind nor precipitation. If the temperature readings he had taken a little over an hour earlier were accurate, the sun setting would have only lowered the temperature a few degrees. He supposed, then, it was no less than forty degrees fahrenheit. All things considered, for an early January evening, it was good weather. Getting into a steady rhythm, their destination growing closer and closer with every step, Preston began to whistle to himself, and his mind wandered when he realised the tune he was whistling. The one from mother's favourite book. She said there had been movies with it, and she had seen one of them, once. I've always wanted to see a film. It's sad how limited a luxury it is to see them, what with how expensive it is to see one. What was the tune called again? Mother always talked about birds when she taught me it…mockingbirds, weren't they? I wonder if any of those birds survived the War… There was something comforting about keeping a tune going while walking, and he only paused briefly to smile when he realised Nora was softly humming along, struggling to stay on key but the rhythm comforting nonetheless. He returned to the tune, feeling, for a moment, as though they were experiencing what life could have been like before the War, when things were, on the surface, calmer and more peaceful.

The thing about peace, though, was it never seemed to last when it counted most.

For Preston, the first time he had come to the realisation was his first encounter with raiders, when he had been fifteen. Before then, the worst thing anyone had to deal with in Far Harbour had been the creatures and the fog. After, the raiders never came back, realising the town wouldn't cave to their demands or attacks, but the damage had been done. And mother and father died defending the town. Being the one to organise and lead their funerals…it was the worst thing I've ever had to do, even worse than all we lost at Quincy. I hope I'll live to see the day when we're able to drive people like raiders and gunners out of the Commonwealth for good. A decade. It had been a decade since he had left the only home he had ever known in Far Harbour and headed south to join the Commonwealth Minutemen. Yet, for as much as he had once wanted to establish a chapter of the Minutemen in his hometown, one day, he had never been able to make himself go back. He closed his eyes for a moment as he continued to walk with Nora, Derek, and Codsworth, blinking back tears before refocusing himself on where they were going. The rail check station was growing even closer, no longer in the far horizon. Squaring his shoulders, he returned once again to his whistling, smiling at Nora when the two of them glanced at each other, watching each other's backs as the two of them and Derek walked just a few paces ahead of Codsworth.

For Derek, seeing peace as fleeting had been routine his entire life. Between his parents' explosive arguments and all he had seen in just his first few years in the Brotherhood alone, he had been sure he understood peace was a rare feeling to be savoured. Until total war broke out between the Brotherhood and the Enclave. The world is safer, better without the Enclave, but they killed far too many good people for their defeat to feel truly satisfying. We were stood still for far too long. Leadership in the Brotherhood had to have known how things were going. Why they kept those of us in the field in the dark...it has never sat right with me. Something about it is wrong...and probably let the Enclave kill even more people than they already would have. Madison…I was never more grateful for someone being willing to shout at Elder Lyons before she convinced him to take final, decisive action. And his daughter, Sarah…she was too young to die but did so to save so many other people. Her father and I grew to have irreconcilable moral views after…but I understand why he felt the way he did. Hearing the sounds of gunshots going off in the distance, Derek stopped Nora and Preston but, soon enough, they were on their way again.

For Nora, peace was something she had always believed would last. Even during the War, even after Nate had returned from Alaska and the two of them had to confront the reality of their country being at war with another, she had never thought peace would dissipate. When Shaun was born, she had felt certain it was a sign things were getting better. They had both had thought so. And we were wrong. Still…none of it…none of it felt quite real until I collapsed onto the floor when I was released from the damn cryostasis pod. A fucking radroach. It took a fucking radroach biting my arm and seeing I was the only person still in the Vault for me to realise things were never going to be the same. That's…that's when it all came flooding back. Nate. Shaun. Those strangely dressed people and the man with the cruel sneer. What was…he called me the 'backup.' For what? What was the point of all this? Her hands trembling around her holstered shotgun, Nora tried to steady and ground herself by focusing on accompanying the melody Preston was whistling. For a few minutes, it worked, and she felt her heart rate starting to slow down to a more normal pace again. What the hell is wrong with me? I…if somehow the Commie bastards who destroyed my country are still out there, I'll hunt them down just like I'll hunt down whomever it was took Shaun and Nate. Why? Why did everything have to come to this? Swallowing hard, Nora tried to calm herself again, trying to hide the way her body was starting to tremble and –

"Stop! All of you move nice and slow, and get under the lamp light so we can see you!"

Nora tightened her hands around her shotgun and glanced towards where the voice had come from. As she, Preston, Derek, and Codsworth all inched closer to it, they saw the voice had come from a woman sitting at the top of the stairs of the old rail check station, her gun pointed at them. They stood still once she put up a hand to tell them they were close enough under the light for her to see, sharing increasingly tense looks until, finally, the woman spoke.

"Well, you don't look like raiders," The woman remarked. "And you definitely ain't mutants, or ferals, or those gunner bastards. So, tell me: are you raiders or synths or are you normal fucking people?"

"Normal fucking people," Nora said, her voice wavering a little. "I…I take it you've had problems with raiders?"

The woman shrugged. "Not recently. What are three people and a pre-War robot doing out in this part of the Commonwealth at night?"

"We're with the Minutemen," Nora told her, and the woman raised an eyebrow. "Do you need anything?"

"Normally, I'd say Ava and I are just fine on our own," The woman replied. "But we've been having trouble with some nasty mirelurks. Disgusting sons of bitches broke one of our turrets just last week. We were going to wait it out, head down to where they're coming from at that piece of shit old water plant after the 'lurks and mutants mostly ate each other alive. Any chance you're heading that way?"

"We are," Preston said with a gentlemanly tip of his hat. "Seems a lot of settlements around here having been having trouble with their water from the plant. Could I interest you in joining us?"

The woman considered that. "Ava!" She called into the inside of the old station. "How do you feel about going to kill some 'lurks and mutants with the Minutemen?"

The other woman called Ava stepped out from inside the old station, a blanket wrapped around herself.

"You three and…uh, bot-bot there with the Minutemen?"

"Yes, we are," Nora confirmed. "I take it you're Ava?"

"I am," She said, sitting down next to the first woman. "And this is my wife, Becca. Am I right in guessing she's already caught you up on our…situation?"

"She has," Nora said. "Are you two interested in joining us?"

"Hell yeah, we are," Ava said with a grin. "Come up and join us, we've got plenty of space. In the morning, we can figure out our plan of attack. No one can think without losing their mind if they aren't well rested, after all."

Goodneighbour
January the 19th, 2288
14:41

Home to a smorgasbord of misfits enough to put on a damn good stage show without much effort, Goodneighbour was easily the safest place in the Commonwealth where nothing was ever boring. It was safe, but never lacking for entertainment or charm.

Many people flocked to the city for that reason. For Glory, however, the city was neither entertaining nor charming and, instead, frustrating and weird.

Sitting down on one of the benches just outside the city's infamous 'Memory Den' which she knew, publicly, doubled as a place to relive one's memories and a high end brothel and, under the table, tripled as its name suggested, a high end brothel, and a Railroad checkpoint, Glory scowled at people who stopped and stared at her and the woman Desdemona had insisted accompany her. Her companion stood leaned back against the wall beside where she sat, humming contentedly to herself, and, though she would not say it, Glory appreciated the steady rhythm and her companion's soft, beautiful humming. If nothing else, it provided her with a good cadence for her to clean and polish her weapons to. Every so often, Glory found herself pausing to look between the Pip-Boy on her wrist and the Pip-Boy on her companion's wrist, checking the time on both to keep track. It's nearly 15:00 and we've been here since 9:00. How the fuck do you keep yourself from getting bored or annoyed doing just about nothing for six hours, Hadley? Letting out an irritated sigh, Glory returned to working on cleaning the revolver chamber of her .44, supposing she would be far more annoyed if she had been sent alone. For a second, she smiled, realising how well she and Desdemona had come to know each other. When she glanced back at the building behind her, however, her face fell.

Five synths. Five synths, one of them being a former Courser were in there, being carefully and gently treated by Amari. Uncomfortable with her own worry for the synths Amari had been working with and whom they would have to escort safely to Bunker Hill, Glory focused in on her work. The busier her hands, the less she could dwell on her fears, or, as her companion might say, ruminate on them. The busier her hands, the less sick she felt at the thought of things going wrong. So she thought. I can't believe how scared the Courser we rescued was before going under for her mind wipe. Not many of them leave, do they? Maybe they're not as bad as we think. X7-63 had a panic attack about being caught by the Institute before Amari explained the mindwipe and how sending her safely out of the Commonwealth will prevent them from finding her. I do like the name she wrote down for the identity Amari will give her when she wakes up. Kyla. Suits her well, cute, kind of matches her with her dirty blonde hair and green eyes. Though she'll definitely have to dye the hair dark. It's too distinctive. Her finger clipping against the side of her .44 dragging her out of her thoughts when she nearly pulled her fingernail off, Glory swore under her breath. Letting the brief, dull throbbing in her finger subside, she took another look around her surroundings only to, once again, be caught between anxiety and annoyance to see no one had come out from inside the Memory Den to 'talk business' with her and start guiding the –

"Ah, so you're here too!"

Glory glanced towards where the voice had come from only to frown when she saw a young man wearing a hat with a few bullets tied to it stepping towards Hadley who, much to her surprise, smiled and started laughing.

"Don't know if you remember me, Missus Branson, but I sure do remember you," He went on, taking off his hat with a dramatic, flirtatious flourish once he was within less than a foot of Hadley, who was still laughing. "Or, since we're both adults, now, may I call you Hadley?"

"Never going to happen, RJ!" Hadley said, still laughing and taking his hat from him before fussing with how she set it back on his head. "Never mind I'm happily married, you're the same age as one of my children! I do hope you've been taking care of yourself, though. You have been careful to take good care of yourself, haven't you?"

Glory eyed her strangely. "Who the hell is this guy?"

"Robert Joseph MacCready," He replied with a wink. "Former mayor of Little Lamplight if you've ever travelled far enough down the coast to see the Capital Wasteland. I'd offer you a business card, but I'm afraid I lost all of mine when I moved to the Commonwealth about two years ago."

"Great," Glory said with a tense smile. "I take it that's how you know Hadley?"

"Met her when I was fifteen, actually," MacCready replied, nonchalantly stretching out his arms. "I had just left Lamplight, was exploring the former Capital and met one of this gorgeous woman's kids while staying in Rivet City. I helped her beat on and mess with one of those Brotherhood aspirants. Think his name was Artie or something."

"Arthur," Hadley corrected. "You and Lisanna just about tortured the kid, and he's two years younger than the two of you! I love you both, but the two of you were little shits as teenagers. Then again, she had been pranking him long before you two met. Poor Sarah Lyons had to pry her off of him when she kept pulling his arm back as far as she could until he gave her some caps to win a dare, one time. And that was when she was ten and he was eight!"

"Best friends have to be willing to be partners in crime," MacCready said with a shrug. "Besides, who wouldn't get annoyed by someone constantly talking about how they must achieve valour and be as great as their trainer?"

"Sarah wasn't just his trainer, he was her ward," Hadley chided. "But, I'll admit, Lissy wasn't always the instigator. You weren't, either, and, regardless, at least I could trust you two not to get yourselves hurt if no one was actively watching you guys lurk around Rivet City. You sticking with that sweetheart girlfriend of yours did wonders, too. How is she, by the way? Are you and Lucy still seeing each other?"

MacCready sighed. "Actually, she…" He suddenly lost all amusement from his countenance and voice. "We ended up getting married, but she…she was killed by ferals."

"Oh, kid…" Hadley suddenly hugged him, startling him for a moment. "I'm so sorry. I knew there was something special when I saw the way you two looked at each other, but I –"

"Don't worry about it, Hadley, it ain't your fault," MacCready said awkwardly when she (mercifully) released him and let him breathe normally. "I feel worse about our son not knowing his mother more than anything else."

Glory turned to him in surprise. "You…" She pushed back the urge to laugh. "You have a son?"

"A little boy," MacCready said with a bit of pride in his voice. "We named him Duncan. Since I have to work a lot…well, Daisy helps take care of him while I'm away."

"Duncan's a sweet kid. You're a good, lucky man, MacCready."

Glory groaned when she saw Goodneighbour's rather infamous mayor come up and almost fatherly slap MacCready on the back before setting his hands on his shoulders. Sending him a sharp look, Glory and Hancock stared at each other for well over a minute, only breaking it off when Hancock found himself having to blink.

"Amari's scary friend," Hancock said, rubbing his eyes. "You know, Fahrenheit still wants you to train with her one of these days."

"I don't have time for something like that," Glory pointedly reminded him. "You know I'm just about always busy, Hancock, and, when I do have free time, I like to do things that don't involve fighting people, even for practise. And, no, there is no amount of money you can offer me to change my mind."

Hancock eyed her strangely. "And people say I'm a bitter grouch!"

"If you think you're a bitter grouch, don't visit the Capital," MacCready told him. "There's this one guy in Rivet City who I think deserves an award for being a bitter, grouchy man. I think his name's Pinkerton. Anyways, way I heard the story, years and years ago he got so enraged by his science projects being deprioritised that he stormed out of a city council meeting, gave up his seat, and accused people who had been on his teams of treason for leaving his projects for one focusing on providing free, clean water for everyone in the region."

"Alright, alright," Hancock said, putting up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll admit it – that is hardcore. I admire that kind of spirit."

Glory frowned. "You also admire that one guy who drank a bottle of moonshine, vodka, and topped it off with a dose of daytripper at the same time. Didn't he end up breaking a few tables in the Third Rail because he tried to make a stripper show while drunk and high off all that?"

"He did," Hancock said with a little too much eagerness. "And he also got his picture on the wall and now eats and drinks free there because he not only survived but reinvigorated people's interest in the bar."

"Glad that happened before I started meeting with clients in the back down there," MacCready said with a shudder. "I don't think I'd be able to sleep ever again after seeing that."

"It was a magical event," Hancock said, socking him in the arm. "You really missed out, square."

MacCready rolled his eyes. "Believe me, Hancock, if I were a square, I wouldn't be alive right now to tell any of my stories, some, come to think of it, you always ask about. Trust me. I know how to be messy, even if I try to avoid it these days."