Diamond City
March the 1st, 2288
13:14

"Hopefully you've rested up well. Seemed you really needed it."

Nick Valentine stood up when he heard the windchimes on the door into his office ring out, offering Nora a smile when he saw it was she who had entered, alongside Piper and Lisanna. Nora managed a small smile back, and sat down across from his desk after a moment of hesitation. Turning around from where she had been organising closed and current case files, Ellie waved happily to Piper, who winked before walking over to stand on one side of Nora, her wife on the other. Lisanna was almost absentmindedly looking around, every so often pushing her glasses back up and her bangs out of her face. The office was (unsurprisingly) quiet and (surprisingly) impeccably organised, months with no ability to run cases having left the detective's secretary with little to keep her mind away from worrying other than organising over and over and over. Anything to keep the hands moving. Things having been so draining in the aftermath of returning from the Vault with the curious and elusive missing detective, Nora anxiously waited for Nick to return to his desk, apparently rummaging around for something. Soon enough, he found what he was looking for, and sat down at his desk. He set down the notebook he had retrieved before pulling out a pen, briefly testing its ink flow, and writing down the case number and type. Almost transfixed, Nora closely watched the way the detective wrote, surprised by his near calligraphic cursive. When he seemed to have finished writing, he looked up, meeting Nora's curious gaze.

"I know it's been hard on you, would be for anyone," Nick said, holding his pen, ready to write. "If you're feeling well enough to talk about things, I'm ready. Last thing I want is to put you through more pain than you're already facing."

"Thanks, Nick," Nora said, pausing for a few seconds. I'm ready. I'm ready to do this. I can. I can talk about what happened. I have to. "I appreciate it, but I'm alright."

"Alright, then. I hate to say it, but, when you're trying to find someone who's gone missing, the devil is in the details" Nick nodded, glancing at her worriedly as he spoke. "Tell me everything you can, no matter how…painful it might be."

"We're…looking for my husband, Nate, and my son, Shaun," Nora said, her voice briefly wavering. "My son, Shaun, is less than a year old, though his first birthday is coming up in July, July ninth. Why would anyone take them, but especially Shaun?"

"A good question. Why your family in particular, and why only the father and an infant?" Nick's brow furrowed in thought. "Even if they didn't separate them, a baby needs a lot of care, even with one of their parents. What else can you tell me?"

Nora swallowed hard. "There was a man, a woman, and a few others. I couldn't tell much about them, and none of them said much…but I remember the man…he called me 'the backup.'"

"'The backup?'' Nick blinked, surprised. "Not sure what that means, but it sounds like we're talking a small team, professionals, the kind who know to keep their lips tight when they're on the job. Where did this happen?"

"In the Vault," Nora said, a hint of bitterness entering her voice. "Vault 111. It was some kind of cryogenics facility. Vault-Tec…they used us as test subjects. I think...well, maybe everyone else was released when my husband and son were kidnapped, but it didn't release me then, and only released me this last October, as an error. The systems didn't say when everyone else had been released but…but it couldn't have been too far apart. I still don't understand…why did they do this? Why would Vault-Tec do this, and why would anyone take my husband and son?"

"I can't speak to Vault-Tec's motivations, but I agree they must have been released shortly before you. After over two centuries, you're right. Vault-Tec's systems must have malfunctioned to not release you with everyone else," Nick shook his head. "The most important thing, though, is not only the fact you were on ice, but the fact you were, also, underground. Sealed up. And that's a lot of obstacles to get through just to take two people, even if you leave everyone else to fend for themselves. Hopefully everyone else were alright when they got out and to the surface. I doubt the people who kidnapped your husband and son were particularly interested in helping everyone else in the Vault."

"No, they weren't," Nora said, biting back some of the anger rising to the forefront of her thoughts. "And it's just another piece of the horrific puzzle the War, Vault-Tec, and whomever the hell the people who took Nate and Shaun were left behind."

"It is, but it's also just about proof this isn't a random kidnapping," Nick said, finishing up writing down several long notes. "Whomever it was took your husband and kid had an agenda. Is there anything else you remember? Maybe what they were wearing, or how they spoke?"

"I do," Nora said, pausing, briefly, in thought. "The woman and most of the others were dressed in what I think was a kind of hazard suit. The man, though, had…some sort of metal brace on his arm."

"The latter could be some kind of improvised armour. Lot of hired guns do that to look tough," Nick paused to make a few more notes. "The hazard suits, though…that's interesting. Not many mercs can afford something that fancy. Did anything else stand out to you?"

"A couple of things. One of them – the man – came right up to me from where I was, still trapped in the cryostasis pod. Bald head, scar across his left eye," Nora took a breath to calm herself. "But what I'll never forget was his voice. Low and rough. Like sandpaper across your face. He –"

"Wait," Nick suddenly looked up at her in surprise. "You didn't hear the name Kellogg at all, did you?"

"I think so," Nora flinched. "But I'm not entirely sure I didn't imagine it. Everything…it's fuzzy."

"Understandable. That said, it seems way too big of a coincidence…" He turned around to where his secretary was humming to herself. "Ellie, what notes do we have about the Kellogg case?"

"Just a second," She said, quickly flipping through a few of the file cabinets before pulling out a thick file, opening it almost the second it was in her hands. "At a glance, the description matches. Bald head, scar, reputation for dangerous mercenary work, and never being above violence. He's notorious for the amount of people he's not only scared into submission but killed over the years. Catch is, no one knows who his employer is."

"Didn't he used to live near here?" Lissy said, shuddering a bit. "I vaguely remember him. He said some pretty disgusting things to my mom. If she were anyone else, he would have probably gotten his dick ripped off for it. He should be grateful she doesn't like violence of any kind, not unless there's no other choice. Even then, she's hesitant."

"Kellogg was one of the worst people to ever set foot in this town," Piper said, sharing a disdainful look for the man with Lissy. "I'd honestly say he was worse than McDonough. I tried for…what was it, a year or so he lived here?"

"Just about," Nick frowned. "Weren't you trying to figure out where he got all of his money from?"

"Well, there was no way it was coming from an honest source," Piper shook her head. "But I was never successful. I'd still love to know what he was hiding, but having him out of the city has been a massive relief for everyone, and he's only been gone since last August."

"Kellogg is a real menace. A brute, with a seemingly insatiable lust for blood," Nick turned back to his secretary. "He bought the house he was living in town, didn't he? And he had a kid with him, too, right?"

"He did," Ellie said, flipping through the file with one hand and brushing her messy, long brown ponytail over her shoulder with the other. "The house is abandoned in the west stands, and the boy with him was around ten years old."

"There's no…" Nora sighed, her hands a bit shaky. "There's no way that could be Shaun."

"Yeah, big difference between an infant, and a ten year old, and we still don't got a clue about where your husband could be. But that doesn't mean we're on the wrong track," Nick said, taking the file from his secretary when she handed it to him. "I wouldn't put it past Kellogg to have turned kidnapping into a bad habit. Give me a few days, and then let's see if we can snoop out where he went from whatever we can find at – and hopefully inside – Kellogg's last known address…he may be a professional from everything I've gathered, but I doubt even he could have left flawlessly."

The Combat Zone
March the 3rd, 2288
21:07

The rumours about the Combat Zone had been true.

As it were, they happened to be something of an understatement.

Having fought past the few raiders outside the building, Preston Garvey tried not to let his horror and anger get the better of him. What kind of monsters think it's alright to torture stray dogs while 'taking a break?' The inside of the building was not much better, even in what he was sure to be only the lobby area. Pulling out more laser-cell cartridges for his musket, Preston slipped them into his pockets before shutting and swinging his bag back over his shoulder again. His heart was beating rapidly, and he took only a brief few seconds to catch his breath before readying his musket and stepping through the second set of doors into the main theatre. Just about the moment he stepped through the doors, a few of the raiders turned around, and got up, charging at him. Preston ducked out of the way of one of the raiders swinging a tire iron at his head, and managed to shoot her in the legs a few times. She stumbled back, and snatched a gun from another raider who had dozed off in the seat behind her. The woman to whom the gun belonged bolted upright, and began fighting with the other woman for the weapon. Preston weaved in and out of the several rows of raiders, some of them trying to attack him and others too focused on the cage fight to notice. Shooting his way through a few raiders near the stage, Preston leapt onto the stairs leading up to it, and stepped onto the stage, catching the raider about to stab a young woman in her chest by surprise.

The raider whipped around to see what was going on, giving Preston the chance to shoot him. The young woman ripped the shotgun off the side of the raider's right leg, where it had been holstered, and then glanced to Preston. The two of them shared a knowing look before moving, slowly, to be standing back to back as raiders angrily began to swarm the stage. Some of them (most likely due to being drunk or high) ran into the metal bars around the stage and stumbled back. Others tried to claw their way up onto the bars to get a better angle to shoot the pair now on the stage, fighting them together. Shot after shot rang out, but the onslaught of raiders, seemingly, did not abate. Reaching into her pocket for a moment, the young woman grabbed a dose of psycho and injected herself with it before casting the syringe aside. She quickly reloaded her stolen shotgun, and began taunting the raiders who managed to push past each other onto the stage, shooting them down almost excitedly. A few raiders came at her and Preston with knives, and the two of them, struggling to keep up, kept firing their guns, hoping to avoid getting stabbed. Preston swore under his breath when one of the knives caught on his sleeve while he was reloading his musket, and he fought with the raider who kept trying to stab him by hand, for a moment, before eventually kicking them off of him.

It all felt as though they were surrounded by nothing but pure chaos.

"Don't think I got the chance for a proper introduction!" The young woman yelled over her shoulder, briefly meeting Preston's gaze while the two of them continued to fight the raiders, their backs to each other. "Good a time as any for one, these bloody raiders ain't going to give us much space for pleasantries! The name's Cait!"

"Preston!" He yelled back, barely able to hear either of their voices over the din of raiders continuing their onslaught. "How long have you –"

"I've been here about four years, and won over a hundred matches undefeated!" Cait yelled back, winking at Preston out the corners of her eyes while she reloaded her shotgun. "But you have no idea how much I've wanted to stick it to these cunts for a long time!"

"Glad to be able to help you out of this mess!" Preston yelled in reply, charging a few shots on his laser musket before shooting down the slowly thinning number of raiders who had made it onto the stage. "It seems these raiders are dug in here pretty good!"

"They are!" Cait yelled, pausing to let out a triumphant war whoop when she shot down two raiders in quick succession before one of them could hit her in the chest with a tire iron. "They're the reason this place is a real shitehole! Glad to see someone hates these raiders as much as I do!"

Taking not another moment to hesitate, Cait and Preston refocused, opening fire on the raiders trying to climb up the bars to jump onto the stage. One by one. Shot by shot. Time seemed to be just about paused, nothing moving onwards apart from the gradually smaller and smaller number of raiders still trying to attack them. Everything seemed to be almost caught in a never ending cycle, where the two of them kept shooting down raiders only for another one to emerge. A shot, not one of theirs rang out. The feeling suddenly vanished. Preston stumbled back a bit, clutching at his right shoulder. Swearing under his breath, he reloaded his laser musket and tried to steady his aim again. Though he could feel himself wavering, he managed to get his sights on a few raiders, shooting at and finally taking them down after a minute he could have sworn was at least two or three. Nearby, Cait continued to shoot out the last few raiders. She let out a short cheer when they fell to the ground, dead, and she holstered her stolen shotgun with a triumphant smile. Seeing one last raider run towards the stage, gun drawn, Preston shouted for her to get out of the way, and Cait just barely skidded out of the way of a gunshot to her chest. Fury filling every inch of her body, she tore her twin switchblades out from where they were on either side of her hip. She lunged on the raider as they ran onto the stage, and pounced on them, stabbing them far more times than was necessary before struggling, for a few seconds, to catch her breath. Once she had, she noticed where Preston was struggling to try and tie up where he had been shot on the shoulder, and, after sheathing her knives, pulled a scarf off the body of one of the raiders, coming over to help clean up his wound.

"Don't move," She said, waiting for him to hold steady before beginning to wrap up where he was bleeding from the shoulder. "I've seen worse, you'll be fine. Some of those raiders are real nasty blokes, with even nastier ammo. One of 'em even shot right through one of me steel boned corsets, one time. Joke was on him, though, considering I more than beat him in the fight…if you know what I –"

"What the hell's going on here?" A new voice demanded, heavy footsteps stepping onto the stage. Cait groaned, and Preston stared at the newcomer in surprise, not having expected to see someone so primly dressed. Seeing him, the man frowned. "I'm not sure if I should kiss you, or have my little bird here feed you your own entrails!"

Cait scowled. "I told you to quit calling me that!" She snapped, tying off the scarf before helping Preston back to his feet. "Fuck you, Tommy, really –"

"Are you fucking high or something?" The man threw up his hands in exasperation. "Why am I asking? Of course you are!"

"Still won the fight, didn't I?" Cait bit off. "Even cleared out the place of the usual shite always leering at or tying to kill me with only one other person to help! You're a fucking coward, never willing to defend or help me even –"

"You're strung out and getting sloppy, is what you are," Tommy coldly told her, turning to Preston. "You think she's right and you were helping? Keeping those idiots entertained was what kept the lights on."

"To hell with 'em!" Cait crossed her arms. "More'll come. If you're going to keep putting me up to this shite, at least give me a quick breather, and then I'll be ready to go."

"A breather? What? So you can slam more of that junk into your arm? No, no. You know what? I think this was a blessing in disguise," Tommy snorted, frowning when he looked back at Preston. "How'd you feel about taking over her contract?"

"Her what?" Preston stared at him in horror. "So, the rumours you're holding people here against their will are true?"

"It is," Cait said, glaring at Tommy. "You –"

"Two hundred caps, but you get the purse from the last fight," Tommy said, holding a piece of paper and a bag of caps out to Preston. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled out two small bags of a hundred caps, tossed them to him, and then tore up the contract before handing Cait the bag of caps Tommy had handed him. "What are you doing?"

"Giving her the freedom to choose her own life," Preston said coldly. "What kind of person are you to do this to another human being?"

"A real son of a bitch," Cait said, flipping off Tommy before suddenly hugging Preston. "You know, something? I think I might even like you."

"Just doing the right thing," Preston said, awkwardly hugging her back. "If you need anything…just let me know."

Cait smiled. "In that case, let's see if anything interesting is happening in Goodneighbour. I could use a real good drink after all this."

Cambridge Police Station
March the 5th, 2288
17:11

"While we were not able to discern where the location of this alleged 'Compound' is, both due to the inability to locate our contacts from the Brotherhood once we arrived in Covenant and due to the sudden departure of the three people we had been investigating with in the town, we nonetheless have substantial information from our numerous and lengthy conversations with them."

Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen stood at attention, giving the overview of their report, before relaxing slightly and sitting down at a table with Paladin Danse once he had given them the permission to. The Scribe took off her field backpack, relieved to be able to wear her Brotherhood uniform again, and unzipped the compartment she had since stored the bag with their holotapes in. The Knight, though he would not dare admit it, was equally relieved to no longer have to keep up the façade of being any other person in the wasteland. It's insulting, when people treat members of the Brotherhood as though we're the same as any other person in the world. He sat completely rigidly, barely moving even to look between Scribe Haylen and Paladin Danse. He faintly nodded in approval when the Scribe set the bag down on the table, and began to pull out the cleanly and clearly labelled holotapes from within it. There were precious few things more satisfying to him than an objective being carried out well and with thorough documentation. I certainly won't miss the people we had to interact with for that information. The blonde man, Brian, was far too shifty for my liking, the same with his companion, Dan. As for the woman…I have never met someone else quite so arrogant and atrociously disrespectful in my life. He waited until the Scribe had finished neatly laying out the holotapes before speaking.

"As we mentioned in our written reports our Brothers brought back to the police station during our brief hand offs once a fortnight, the town known as Covenant has developed a programme by which they attempt to identify the Institute abominations known as 'synths,'" Rhys dutifully said. "We have also come to a more concise understanding of what a 'synth' is, from the perspective of the people of the Commonwealth, that is."

"I recall a mention of there being more than one type of synth," Danse looked to Haylen. "Scribe, do you have that information recorded?"

"Recorded, and memorised," Haylen replied, waiting to continue until he nodded. "The people of the Commonwealth see synths as three 'types' or 'gens' which I suspect is shorthand for 'generation.' The 'first gen' synths are what we would most likely expect a synthetic human being to be – a grotesque metal skeleton having replications of a few vital organs, including partial brain matter."

"Fascinating," Danse said. "Please continue, Scribe Haylen."

"Of course, sir," She said, lifting up one of the holotapes. "This is the tape we've recorded the discussions on the type of synths on. I'll leave it here for you to listen over at your leisure. Now. The 'second gen' synths are a bit confusing, in the sense they do not look nearly as inhuman as the 'first gen' synths, but they are still clearly inhuman. I should note neither 'first' or 'second gen' synths are able to experience conscious thought. That is what makes the 'third gen' synths so dangerous, at least in part. They not only look indistinguishable from a human being, but are programmed to be able to act like one, and experience conscious thought."

"Anything able to pass as a human and be conscious is a major threat," Rhys cut in. "Which is why I have noted this as proof of the Institute needing to be dealt with by the Brotherhood. The existence of their 'synths' alone is proof the Institute is creating abominable, technological nightmares, but the 'third gen synths' are, in particular, a disgusting abuse of science."

"I'm glad you and Scribe Haylen have documented this information, then," Danse shook his head. "I'm sure Elder Maxson will be pleased to hear of the results of this investigation. These are immense strides in our survey of the Commonwealth. Allow me to thank you for the work you've done thus far. I have a new objective for the two of you to begin, but I would like to hear the rest of what you have learnt from this investigation before I take a listen to your holotapes so I may write my summation report on this matter for Elder Maxson."

"As you wish," Rhys said, sharing a long look with Haylen. "The town's test to attempt to identify synths is a surprisingly simple, psychological exam. They give this exam to everyone at the gate before allowing people entry. From there, they analyse the results and take those who are likely to be synths to their 'Compound' for interrogation and physical identification. Their efficacy continues to rise. Had we been able to find their full research and 'Compound,' we would have taken it to be analysed by the Brotherhood."

"We believe the people investigating alongside us within the town gave up on the possibility of finding this 'Compound,'" Haylen added. "This is because, as our conversations continued with them, they were not only growing increasingly frustrated by the lack of headway on the matter but weary. The only lead they had involved the sewers, but we took a look at the sewers in question and saw no entrance to them, rendering it significantly unlikely this 'Compound' could be there."

"A reasonable conclusion," Danse agreed. "What do you know about the people with whom you were investigating the town?"

"They were not residents of the town, but also investigating the town," Rhys said. "One of them was a caravan master who believed his caravan had been slaughtered by the town. Another was an apparent colleague of that caravan master. Both of those people were men. The other was a woman."

"Interestingly," Haylen continued. "The woman revealed she is from the Capital Wasteland. We are disinclined from believing either of the men gave their real names, but we're fairly certain this woman was who she says she is. She said her name is Annette Davis, she grew up in a Vault, was briefly a civilian medical student under the Brotherhood at the Citadel during the last years of the war with the Enclave, and currently practises medicine out of the Vault she grew up in, having returned to it after the Enclave was defeated. She said she was trying to see if there were a connexion between something that happened in said Vault and the town in question."

"I believe I've heard that name before," Danse said, pausing for a moment in thought. "There was an Annette Davis who was taken in by the Brotherhood as a civilian medical student in exchange for the Brotherhood sparing resources to locate her father. I'll have to ask Elder Maxson to send over an image of her so we can see if the woman you came into contact with was the same person, albeit presumably older than the documentation of her we retained as she was a resident of the Citadel."

"If it is at all useful, I can provide a short summation of her…personality for you to include in that request," Rhys promptly nodded when Danse gestured for him to continue. "She was, in a word, bitter. She also spoke rather condescendingly, and coldly to everyone. It was quite apparent she believes she is above everyone around her. I was less than impressed. She clearly needs to make time to learn her place."

"Sounds like it," Danse said with a frown. "Thank you for the additional information. It'll certainly be useful in the identification process. Sounds like quite the memorable woman. If we know where this Vault she practises medicine is, I suspect we'll be able to find her from the physical descriptions and, as you just relayed, her personality."

"Yes," Rhys said, allowing silence to sit for a minute. "You said you had new orders for us? If you are ready, I'm sure Scribe Haylen and I can begin as soon as possible."

"We can be ready within a day or two," Haylen confirmed. "Whenever you have the new orders, we'll prepare to leave to carry them out."

"Understood," Danse said with a faint smile. "Your orders are simple: go into the field and read energy levels near or around sites these 'synths' are most frequently seen. Once we have that data to back up our other findings, I suspect Elder Maxson will expedite the Prydwen's arrival in the Commonwealth significantly. Ad Victoriam, Scribe, Knight. Ad Victoriam."

Railroad Headquarters
March the 7th, 2288
10:23

"The good news is Amelia Stockton is safely home, and we, unintentionally sabotaged the entire operation that got her kidnapped in the first place."

"And the bad news, Deacon?"

"The bad news is we'll now have to avoid any operations near the damn town because they know at least Dan is partially responsible for their little operation going out with a bang. And I mean that in the sense of the scientist leading the project being dead, Des."

Desdemona raised an eyebrow when she looked up from the report she had been reading from Stockton, only to see Deacon rather nonchalantly brushing out the long, blonde wig he had worn during the just over six week operation. Looking back at the report she had laid on top of their map of the Commonwealth, Desdemona frowned, her mind racing. It's almost unbelievable. An entire group of people, hellbent on killing synths. In a way, they're worse than the Institute. Something about the situation was unsettling, not only from the lack of previous intelligence but the outcome of the investigation into the town. And to think we had hoped they only wanted to avoid having synths in their settlement to avoid any contact with the Institute. I knew it was unlikely, yet… Covenant. It had been a question in the back of everyone's minds for a long time. Since the first time they had heard about it, the odd entrance requirements, and, later, the whispers about the town's entrance requirements being used to identify synths, there had been questions. Questions about why, questions about motive, questions about whether or not they were associated with the Institute. Somehow, the reality was worse than they had imagined. Somehow, if the town had been an Institute puppet, a way to discreetly reclaim synths, it would have been better than the reality of it being a trap to lure, identify, and kill synths. At least, if the town had been an Institute puppet, it would have made sense, it would have been expected.

"Well, good thing is the bitch who was killing synths is dead," Glory said bitterly, greasing her minigun. "I want to thank the woman who killed her personally. Any idea where she went after you and Dan went back to Bunker Hill?"

"Sadly, no," Deacon said, briefly glancing up from his working with his wig. "I helped her out of there after I calmed her down. She had something of a breakdown after she killed the bitch who was tormenting synths. Sounded like she knew her at one point."

Glory rolled her eyes. "How could anyone feel bad about killing someone so damn vile? I'd have been happy to do so. The Institute needs to pay, and so does anyone who hurts or violates synths. The bastards need to bleed. All of them."

"We will spill only as much blood as we have to," Desdemona said sharply, though she softened when she met Glory's eyes. "We're more than murderers, Glory," She said gently. "Remember that."

"Desdemona is correct," Carrington grudgingly agreed. "That could become easily reckless, and recklessness could open us up to detection by the Institute. We have to do all we can to avoid them finding us here."

"Whatever," Glory muttered. "At least you finally agreed to let me go as far as I need to in order to try and find out what I can't fucking remember."

"I still don't like that plan," Carrington irritably reminded her. "But Desdemona insisted you have the right to 'self determination' even when it could compromise –"

"They're her memories, and it's her mind," Desdemona cut in, sending him a pointed look. "If she wants to have Amari help her attempt to unlock whatever memories the Institute's bullshit is hiding from her, then she has a right to. Don't tell me you wouldn't want to know what is in your mind if someone had put things in place for you to be unable to find them."

"You would, Carrington," Glory said, narrowing her eyes when he swore under his breath. "And Desdemona is right. We're talking about my memories. We're talking about my mind. We're talking about my life."

"And I'll be with her," Deacon said, hanging up his wig and walking over to where Glory was sitting and working. "She isn't going to go through this shit alone."

"Because Deacon being the only one accompanying you for such a delicate operation is a truly comforting thought," Carrington said with a frown. "You could die, Glory. Losing you as an agent would be a tremendous loss for us."

"I'm not going to die," Glory snapped. "And, frankly, that's an insult to Amari's intelligence and abilities. She has never lost a patient, not even the first synth we ever ran through the Memory Den."

"There is always a potential for things to go wrong," Carrington said, not bothering to hide his increasing annoyance and exasperation. "Just because you want to know what the Institute was like, what they may have forced you to –"

"Carrington, just give her a break," Tom said, stepping away from his computer terminal and picking up a Nuka Cola and twisting off the bottle cap. "Glory's a real tough nut. Not even the Institute and their schemes will be able to keep her out of her own mind."

"Yeah, you're really underestimating her," Deacon said, kneeling down a bit to comfortably wrap an arm over Glory's shoulders. "You've had a real stick up your ass lately, Carrington."

"Perhaps I've simply been concerned considering the delicate operations we've been running lately. Yours included, Deacon," Carrington said sharply. "Speaking of which, we need a full profile on the woman you and Dan worked with to free Amelia Stockton, particularly considering she is the one who killed the project leader."

"It's in the report I gave Des," Deacon said with a shrug. "You can take a look at it when you're ready. I did my job, Carrington."

"He did," Desdemona said, unfazed when she met Carrington's glare. "I would even say he's surpassed expectations. It sounds as though the heart of the town's work died with the woman who was behind the violence."

"And the woman who killed her could easily be a security risk to us," Carrington replied. "We have no way of knowing if she truly is on our side or was simply acting out of her own selfish and ulterior motives."

"I'm not inclined to believe she had a selfish or ulterior motive," Deacon said, shaking his head. "I know we can never be certain, especially with someone we haven't got a whole lot of tabs or history documented on, but I find it hard to believe she would want anything to do with helping the Institute. And we do know she really hates the Brotherhood."

"Desdemona and the others may frequently trust your instincts, but they are absolutely not enough to go on," Carrington shook his head. "Keep tabs on her if you see her around the Commonwealth, Deacon, but take it slow before you attempt to make any contact with her again."

"She's not a priority to me, but will do, Doc," Deacon said, standing up and dismissively waving a hand. "I'm going to be focusing on my usual work, and staying by Glory's side for the shit with Amari. You have nothing to worry about."

"You ain't so bad, Deacon," Glory said, elbowing him. "Glad to know someone other than Des trusts me around here with my own damn life."

"Well, you know me," Deacon replied with a wink. "I aim to please."

Goodneighbour
March the 9th, 2288
23:32

If there were anything Magnolia recognised well after years of performing in the Third Rail, it would be the regulars.

There were the regulars who seemed to live at least half of their lives in the establishment, most of them living the other half of their lives around the rest of Goodneighbour. Then, there were the regulars who came in while on break from whatever jobs they had, often caravaners. There was, of course, also the mercenary who met with clients in the back, an arrangement he had made with Hancock the previous June, having left the mercenary gang who called themselves the gunners after only a year of working as one of them. Of all of the regulars, he was one of the few she was fairly familiar with on a personal level. The other she knew well was a woman, one who seemed to spend time in the bar for the sole purpose of aggravating her older brother. The nights both of them were present and having a drink at the same time were some of the most entertaining. Yes, between Emogene Cabot and Robert Joseph MacCready, Magnolia found the Third Rail to never be lacking for excitement or, at the very least, entertainment. Seeing Emogene argue with Charlie after (one too many) drinks was always amusing, and the way MacCready tried to flirt was adorable. Then, of course, there the nights when she would be the voice no one could look away from. Those were the nights she never wanted to end, no matter how exhausted she began to feel. There were also the nights where a fight would break out, and those nights were some she couldn't help but laugh at the memory of. Rarely, those fights would be caused by Hancock, and would usually end with him attempting to fight his own reflexion in a mirror.

Yet, for as interesting as she found the regulars, the people she found herself the most interested in were the newcomers.

"Now, let me buy you your first drink," Magnolia smiled at a tired and well dressed woman who had sat down at the bar, close to the stage. "Charlie always tries to pull a fast one on anyone who hasn't spent at least a day down here before."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "I take it you spend a great deal of time here, then?"

"This here is Magnolia," Charlie said gruffly, pushing a (decidedly full) glass of wine towards her. "The flower of the Third Rail. She sings, she puts up with the riff raff, and anything else you want to know about her than that is her business."

"Let's just say I like to be a good, good neighbour," Magnolia said with a smile which the woman hesitantly returned. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Annette," The woman said shortly, taking a long sip of the wine. When she set it down, she sighed. "Are you the owner?"

Magnolia chuckled. "Oh, far from it."

"Hancock's the owner," Charlie said, pausing when he saw the man who stepped out from in back. "As I live and beep…MacCready. You here to finally settle your tab?"

"Depends," He said, swinging himself up onto one of the barstools. "How much is it at? Or did you forget I paid it off three weeks ago?"

Annette laughed a little. "I take it you spend a great deal of time here?"

MacCready winked. "You know it."

"Don't tease him, Charlie," Magnolia chided, causing the robot bartender to start quietly swearing. "I thought you told Hancock you'd stop doing that."

"Who is this 'Hancock?'" Annette said, curiosity piqued. "Other than just the owner of the bar, that is."

"He's the mayor of this whole bloody town," Charlie told her, sounding irritated when he glanced at MacCready, who tossed him a few caps. "Trust me, you don't want to get on his bad side," The robot bartender went on, grudgingly handing MacCready a beer. "Oh, and stay clear of his bodyguard. She's the short haired redhead with the condescending stare. Trust me, something about her ain't right...not that I'd ever admit to saying it. She's a real mean one, I'll tell you that."

"Oh, she's not that bad," Magnolia said with a laugh and a dismissive wave of her hands. "She simply takes her job seriously, and I appreciate a woman who knows what her money's worth," She turned to Annette. "So, what brings you to my part of town?"

"Not sure I should say," Annette said, hesitating a moment before reaching into her coat pockets. "Will you be bothered if I have a light?"

"Of course not," Magnolia said with a smile. "I have to get back to the stage, but, don't worry, honey. I won't let Charlie here be hard on you."

"Wish you'd say the same about me!" MacCready joked while the songstress sauntered back towards her microphone. "I could use an easy day or two!"

"You ain't getting an easy day," Charlie gruffly told him. "Someone's got to keep you on your bloody toes, MacCready."

He shrugged. "We'll see."

Annette glanced to him with a hint of a smile. "I take it you're one of the regulars?"

"I…have a bit of a business going around here," MacCready said before having a bit of his beer. "See," He went on. "I meet with potential clients in the back. Only trouble is a lot of them keep getting scared off these last few months because of the gunners."

"Gunners?" Annette raised an eyebrow, taking a draw on her cig. "Who are they?"

"They're one of the biggest gangs in the Commonwealth. Got a rep for being crazy…you know, so tightly wound you'd think they were a cult or something," MacCready shook his head. "Stuck around with them for a while because the money was good, but I never fit in. That's why I made a clean break and started flying solo, but some of them…they're relentless. Surprised you haven't heard of them. You not from around here?"

"You could say that," Annette said, tapping off some of the excess ash from her cig. "I'm from the former Capital, grew up there…and honestly never thought I'd leave. But, then again, here I am. Been gone about a year, and thought I'd head back after I…finished something I was working on, but I'm not so sure I can, now. Truthfully, I left to try and...figure some things out, and to escape a few people, one of whom was the woman I had fallen in love with in the Vault we were part of."

"You're from the Capital?" MacCready repeated, surprised. "I lived there most of my life, up until about a few years ago. Only ended up here two years ago, though. What caused you to leave?"

Annette hesitated. "You first."

"After…after my wife died, I wasn't sure where I'd feel safe raising our son. Felt alright down there for a little while, but…he's sick, and I don't know what's wrong with him. One day, he's playing out in the fields behind our farm…the next he took a fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. He's…"

"You alright?" Annette fell silent when he glanced away, blinking back tears. "Here," She all but tossed him a cigarette. "Having one of these always calms me down."

MacCready managed a small smile. "Thanks," He said, brushing aside tears he hoped she hadn't noticed. "Haven't met anyone so, well…nice in a while."

"I'm not," Annette said, taking another long sip of her wine. "You want to know why I'm really here?" She finally said, her voice unusually soft and quiet. "I need to dull my senses. I…I came to the Commonwealth looking for answers, answers to something I should have already understood. And, now I have them…I don't quite know what to do, or what to make of what I did after…after I got them."

MacCready worriedly watched her finish the rest of the wine before handing Charlie some caps for another.

"Sounds rough," He eventually said, lighting his cig. "You sure you're okay?"

"I will be," She said, leaning against the bar as she began to sway a little. "I shouldn't have interrupted what you were saying. I…I hope you can forgive me."

"Don't worry about it," MacCready gently replied. "Sounds like you're in a tough spot."

"I am. But don't…" Annette briefly fell silent, closing her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be putting any of this on you."

"It's alright…I get what you're feeling more than I'd usually care to admit. Never seems like there's anyone to talk to who gets it around here," MacCready sighed. "Happens too often, at least after having grown up in the…" He fell silent when the two of them met each other's eyes. "Feels like we're both just kids who grew up way too fast."

"Yes," Annette said dejectedly. "Yes, we are."