Diamond City
April the 25th, 2288
1:23

Six months.

It had been about six months since she had been released from cryostasis, since she had left Vault 111.

Things still didn't feel right.

Sleep had not come easy since the day she left the Vault. Even reuniting with Codsworth, even meeting Preston, even finding purpose as part of the Minutemen had not made it any easier for her to sleep. Even now, knowing who most likely took her husband and son, and having a plan to find him, things did not ease. Some nights, her mind was merciful, and, though she slept lightly, she did not dream. Every so often, at least since being in Diamond City for a few weeks, she wouldn't be woken up in the middle of the night and would get the closest to the kind of sleep she had before the War. Those nights were few and far between. More often than not, the night was a cycle of a few hours of dreamless sleep and a few hours of dreams, dreams of life before the War or nightmares about the day everything changed. The day they entered the Vault. Losing Shaun and Nate. The worst of them were the nightmares of what could be happening to the two of them, now, with Kellogg's cruel sneer taunting her just as it had when he took them.

For as much as she tried, there were nights when Nora knew sleep would not help, no matter how much her body screamed at her she needed it. Too scared to fall asleep and into the mercy of what dreams could make themselves shown and too tired to do much else, she went through the pages and pages of documents they had recovered from Kellogg's home. Each time, she hoped she would find something, a way to understand what happened, why, and who the man was. It seemed impossible. How could he possibly be as old as these documents suggest? The thought was painfully confusing. Flipping through page after page, file after file, Nora tried to keep going but found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. Text, words, numbers began to blur. Frustrated, she shoved the files back into their boxes. After a minute, she all but fell back onto the floor, her head being the first to the floor, on one of the pillows strewn about her room in the Dugout Inn. Staring up at the ceiling, she watched the lights flickering from the ceiling fan, hoping following its steady motion would lull her to sleep.

It didn't.

Running her hands through her hair, Nora reached up to tug the blanket down from the bed, the room a little bit cold. Cold. The cold had never bothered her, not before the War. Swimming during the early hours of the morning before the pool was heated in her hometown's aquatic sports centre had always helped her feel better, even when she felt anxiety clawing at her. Anxiety about school. Anxiety about competitions. Anxiety about family. Somehow, diving into the cool water while the sun began to rise was a reminder of why she loved life. And it was how I met Nate. I swam, surfed…no one could keep me out of the water. Him being at the beach on the same day as my competition in 2074 was…I couldn't have been more lucky to meet him. That was then, the life before. Life after…was disorienting. Some days, despite it being nearly half a year since Vault-Tec's systems malfunctioned and she found herself alone, it was hard to reconcile the world she knew the first twenty four years of her life with the one she faced now. Of all the things she knew she had developed an aversion to, however, the cold was the worst of them, making itself known when she was alone.

Being scared of the cold, the loneliness, the disorientation…it's all because of Vault-Tec's lies and what they did to us. To my family. To almost everyone we knew. What was the point of it all?

Knowing the only people who could provide answers to how Vault-Tec justified their experiments were all dead only made the questions feel worse, taunting. There would be no answers. Her body a bit shaky, Nora pulled the blanket tighter around herself, almost cocooning in it. Her body kept reaching for sleep, but her mind kept wandering. Memories. The worst were from life before the War. It's not just Shaun and Nate…I'll be able to find them, I have to. But everyone else… Closing her eyes, she tried to not recall the faces and voices from the first twenty four years of her life. Family. Colleagues. Friends. I'm breathing, even if it hurts, sometimes, after running…hunting…or… She shook a little at the thought. It was too much. Even worse, a few faces and voices had been coming back, the most painful of them being that of her best friend. Dr. Kate Leavitt. We were just two girls from Plainville when we left for college…and I came out a lawyer, and you came out an organic chemist with a doctorate. I wish I had made the drive out before…you never even got to meet Shaun… Rolling over onto her other side, she tried not to let her mind meander too far down that path. It seemed impossible.

Shaun and Nate had been taken.

Their families and friends were almost certainly dead.

Everything hurt. A bit shaky, and realising she was beyond falling back asleep any time soon, Nora slowly forced herself to sit up. She kept the blanket wrapped tightly around herself, and rubbed at her eyes, blinking back tears. Struggling to calm down, she tried to steady her breathing, and stop her body from shaking. For a minute, it didn't seem to help. Still, though she was unsure how much time had passed, the cloud above her body and mind seemed to abate, and she felt a bit lighter, a bit happier. Not thinking much of it, and looking for anything to keep her mind busy, Nora stood up and pulled on her jacket and shoes before opening the door, heading into the hallway, and up the stairs to the roof access. The closer she got to the stairs, the more she could hear of the jovial shouts and laughter coming from the bar she had come to know well, mostly for the conversations and occasional drinks with Vadim. For as eccentric as he was, Vadim's ability to cheer people in his bar up was unparalleled. She paused, briefly, to take in the sounds, almost turning back to walk to the bar and join them. She couldn't. Her mind began reeling, and feeling as though she had to run, Nora quickly made her way up to and opened roof access, though she nearly closed the door on herself when she realised someone was already up there. She only eased when, she realised, it was only Cait, who seemed to be perfectly content, laying on top of a towel.

"Cait?" Nora hesitantly pressed, a bit surprised when the woman sat up and turned to face her. "What are you doing up here?"

"I got kicked out of the Taphouse," She shrugged, waving her over. "I'd be happy to tell you about it, but you got to promise me you won't take Cooke's side."

"I promise," Nora said with a faint smile, sitting down on the second towel Cait had laid out next to her. "Were you waiting for someone?"

"Was actually going to use that as something of a flag," Cait replied with a shrug. "But you might as well use it. It's less likely to be at the centre of any trouble if it ain't in me hands."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Define trouble."

"Well, depends on what you want to get into," Cait said with a smirk. "I'd be happy to try and break into the mayor's office and see what he's hiding."

"So would Piper," Nora said, laughing a bit. "I can't say I blame her. Something about him isn't right. That's the way with the vast majority of corrupt politicians, but his manner of it seems…oddly cruel."

"He threw his own damn brother out of the city for being a ghoul," Cait rolled her eyes. "As if that were the problem. I don't really give a shite about politics, but McDonough is disgustingly power hungry."

"It's almost comforting," Nora said dryly. "Reminding everyone, no matter what happens, you'll always find terrible and corrupt politicians."

Cait considered that. "Take it you saw plenty of those before the War?"

"I had been hoping to get into prosecuting white collar crimes, which, in short, are crimes committed by incredibly wealthy people, most often in a business setting," Nora said, a hint of bitterness to her voice. "I never got the chance."

"And that's too bloody unfair," Cait forced herself silent when she saw Nora trying not to cry. "I take it you can't sleep because you're worried about your husband and son? It's alright. Pretty much anyone would be in the same place, if not worse. It's an awful thing, missing the people you love."

"It's not just them," Nora said quietly. "It's everyone…I miss them. I miss my family, I miss my job and colleagues, and I miss my dead friends."

Cait reached over and loosely wrapped her arms around the former lawyer as she broke down in tears, all but curling into herself. Her body shaking again, Nora tried to calm herself but found it all the more impossible to. Unable to fight it any longer, she gave into her emotions, and let Cait hold her while she cried. Their faces, their voices, everything crashed into her, and seemed inescapable. It was another life, wasn't it? I let the dreams, fantasies, of how life was going to be subsume me…and look where it's gotten me. Nate always used to say I had a way of understanding justice, a talent for it because I could step back and take in the world from the less judgemental, child's eyes. But I'm not…I can never go back to who I used to be…no matter how much part of me wishes I could. Not thinking much of it, Nora shifted slightly to be held tighter in Cait's arms, something the former cage fighter was more than happy to do. Slowly, Nora felt her body releasing some of its tension, and her tears slowly beginning to dissipate. But, even after they were gone, she found herself not wanting to let go of Cait, something about hearing the woman's heart beat and light breathing comforting her.

Why do I feel so at ease around her? Cait is –

"Nora?" Cait sighed when the woman looked up at her, eyes still bleary from tears. "I miss mine too. I try not to think about it much but, shite, I miss my dead friends too."

"What are we going to do about it, then?" Nora said, feeling the beginnings of a headache in the back of her skull. "We can't save them, and we can't –"

"We can't save all of them, but we can save a few, and avenge the rest," Cait shook her head. "We're almost done getting our shite together to hunt down that Kellogg son of a bitch. We're just waiting for your Minutemen to bring by that dog you found, aren't we?"

"And a few other things," Nora mumbled. "I know you're right," She eventually said. "But I can't stop thinking about what he may have done to them. Shaun's a baby, and Nate's a solider but…something tells me Kellogg is worse than just about the majority of the commies were."

"I'd believe it," Cait said, shifting to let Nora turn and rest her head on her shoulder. "The world really went to hell. Wish things could have gone better. Maybe we'd all be better off."

"I'm not sure it matters, not anymore," Nora's voice went quiet. "One of the last things I saw, when leaving the Vault the second time, after I retrieved the Pip-Boys with Derek, was a sign that said 'America lives on in you,' with a heart in the middle of a map of the continental US. As ridiculous as it sounds…seeing that made me horribly emotional. I don't know how I didn't break down after seeing it…but maybe I just knew what I needed to do."

Cait nodded. "And you know what you're looking for, now," She reminded her. "Which is something to be proud of."

"I want to be proud of it," Nora said, her voice wavering. "I just can't shake the fear, the sense that, if something terrible happened to Shaun and Nate, it's my fault."

"It's not," Cait promised, holding her steady. "What matters now is you still care, and are still looking for them, no matter what it takes. But…even if it's not a happy ending…I'll always stand by your side."

The Institute
April the 27th, 2288
20:02

"I'm unsurprised by the Brotherhood's actions, but I am disturbed," Dr. Madison Li said, her eyes narrowing while she flipped through the joint report from Bioscience and Robotics. "I take it you're planning more…adjustments to the Gen 3 programme?"

"Scaling back synth production," Dr. Alan Binet said, dismayed. "And we will be collaborating with Bioscience in order to improve their resiliency and ability in the field. However, as Father stated, Robotics will be stepping back from the Gen 3 programme to adjust for and reduce the bugs in the Gen 1s and 2s we'll be putting in the field."

"Monitor your power consumption within the Institute closely," Dr. Allison Filmore said, taking a glance over the Advanced Systems notes alongside Madison. "As I'm sure everyone is well aware, for the time being, the priority is on Phase Three, which largely falls under the purview of Advanced Systems."

"Absolutely," Dr. Clayton Holdren said, shaking his head. "So much as I wish we didn't have to, I've submitted our plans to significantly scale down Bioscience power consumption by slowing the Synth Zoological Initiative."

"Much appreciated," Dr. Newton Oberly said, sharing a knowing look with Allie. "How are we looking in terms of power needs going into May?"

"We'll need to pull from a few sources on the surface," Allie said shortly. "That said, we should be able to make enough cuts to stay well within the bounds of our current capacities if all Divisions are cooperative."

"Meaning the SRB?" Dr. Nathan Filmore sighed when his wife nodded. "How bad is it?"

"To the point of it being ridiculous," Madison said irritably. "In the last report for the entire Directorate, the SRB reported using well over ten percent more power than they're supposed to be using. If you're wondering what the blackout the other week was caused by, it was because of the SRB's overuse."

"Their monitoring activities were supposed to stay on the low-power consuming and, I might add, successful raven, crow, and vulture synths made under the Synth Zoological Initiative, considering the synth birds require much less maintenance and do not need to be debriefed," Allie said, exasperated. "Justin sent out three Coursers without properly documenting it to get away with the power overconsumption. Alana is working on restraining his activities. He won't be happy about it, but our most important need out of the SRB in the coming month will be protecting the town of University Point, as it's a critical Institute asset."

"True," Madison said with a frown, taking a moment to add a few notes to a document on her computer terminal. "Understandably, Miss Spencer has been shaken by the incident. Her and Dr. Orman have been primarily working on weaponry development, but I may reduce her workload a little without telling her. I'd rather not see her have an emotional breakdown because of the Brotherhood's actions."

"If I may," Alan said curiously. "Would your want to protect Miss Spencer from having an 'emotional breakdown,' about the Brotherhood's actions be because you have experienced such before?"

Madison bristled. "Alan, I really don't see that to be the point of any of this, considering –"

"Lyons! I know you're in there, I know you can hear me! You open this goddamn door right now!"

"Jacqueline is incredibly young," Nathan said, sharing a knowing look with his wife. "None of us were prepared for the Brotherhood Of Steel to take such drastic and horrific actions. All other issues aside, they easily could have killed her father. I think it's more than fair to say she's terrified by the prospect of further action from them against the town."

"As anyone would be," Clayton said with a grimace. "I certainly want nothing to do with those lunatics in the Brotherhood. I think I speak for all of us when I say it will be a relief to have a Courser stationed there permanently. I'm relieved Father is taking the matter so seriously."

"He would've had to have lost his mind to not," Madison darkly replied. "The only gripe I have with him at the moment is his lack of transparency, though I'm certainly less concerned about it now, considering he informed the Directorate of this matter immediately."

"I was surprised," Clayton admitted, exhausted. "He still hasn't had the old FEV lab fully scrubbed so we can re-adapt the space for other projects."

Madison raised an eyebrow. "The FEV lab hasn't been fully scrubbed? Why on earth not? I was under the impression the investigation of Dr. Virgil's death was completed. At least, that's what I was told."

"I can't explain it," Clayton said, doing his best to hide his exasperation. "We already have plans drawn up for a more power efficient lab, one capable of handling multiple projects related to radiation-free food, made from what our scavengers bring back from the surface, as well as finishing out the old, unfinished half of the old FEV lab so we can develop a robust medicinal research facility."

"Is Bioscience still having to provide power to the FEV lab?" Allie pressed, taken aback. "I haven't seen any notes of that on my weekly reports on the whole of the Institute's power consumption."

"Or is it possible there's an error from Bioscience's records of power consumption?" Newton eyed him strangely when he shook his head. "How is that possible?"

"Probably a system error," Alan told him. "I'll make a note of it and email the concern to Father with the rest of the Directorate, of course, on the relayed message. Unfortunately, with the FEV programme being no longer active, it's more than possible the laboratory has gone into 'sleep,' if you will, consuming power in the background and being factored into the rest of Bioscience under general consumption."

"True or not, that doesn't solve the problem," Allie said pointedly. "Before the programme was discontinued, the FEV lab was the worst consumer of Institute power. There's a damn good reason I, Dr. Li, and Dr. Holdren were adamant about the programme's discontinuation before its dissolution."

"I still don't understand why the FEV programme went on as long as it did," Alan said, almost aloofly. "I was under the impression we had no need of it after it was deemed unlikely to amount to anything in the summer of 2219. After I took over Robotics twenty years ago, I was, frankly, surprised to learn we still took some reports from the FEV programme. There was no need for a failing programme to continue, certainly not after our breakthroughs in synth development post-2227."

"Well, what's done is done," Clayton said, tiredly rubbing at his neck. "We have, clearly, much more pressing concerns than the long since dead FEV programme."

"If it's a drain on our power consumption, it is a major concern," Allie said. "But you're not wrong. With the Brotherhood taking violent action against the Institute and the potential for an unprecedented slow down of Phase Three because of it, we need to direct more of our attention to getting Phase Three online as soon as possible regardless of what setbacks we may face."

"Including those from the SRB's unreported power consumption," Clayton muttered. "Those Courser dispatchments without record is worse than what may be happening with the slowed scrubbing of the old FEV lab. We weren't aware of the issue. They knowingly used three Coursers for apparently no reason without consulting the rest of the Directorate."

"He certainly won't get away with that again," Madison said dryly. "With the placement of a Courser at University Point, we'll have a just about permanent field operative active. I'd like to see Justin try to get away with not documenting Courser activity."

"I don't understand it," Alan sighed. "I would have been fascinated to perform scans of those Coursers upon their returns and debriefings. Then again, Justin may not have wanted it documented to circumvent my efforts to determine the presence or lack thereof of Courser brain activity during sleep. I'm quite excited to gather more data on their dreams."

Madison frowned. "Are you seriously still going on about synth dreams? Alan, with all due respect, if the Gen 3s are sentient, there are probably better, less subjective signs."

"True," Newton said, laughing. "How many times have I said it? In complete honesty, the Gen 3s are so lifelike, I sometimes mistake them for real people. It really does make you wonder if they're sentient."

"And we all wonder that," Allie said, pausing in thought. "But it can't be our primary concern right now."

Railroad Headquarters
April the 29th, 2288
11:29

"All things considered, our only chance to do anything in the Institute is with Patriot. If we can, it would be ideal to make direct contact with him before attempt to infiltrate the Institute."

Surprised by himself, Carrington nodded and was pleased, for once, with Desdemona's judgement. He waited for PAM to come into the headquarters' primary meeting room from within the mainframe room. He pursed his lips in a bit of disapproval when Desdemona popped the cap of a Nuka Cola and pulled out a cigarette and her lighter. Desdemona's lack of concern for her health is shocking. A bit of annoyance rising in his chest again, Carrington took a moment to calm himself, more used to restraining himself than he liked. Unperturbed as always, Deacon and Tinker Tom were almost conspiratorially talking, drawing something up. The only one who was just about entirely silent was Glory. Though he had expected her to regret going through with the experimental memory procedures with Amari, he had not expected her to be quiet and subdued long term. It was disconcerting. Glory being silent was uncomfortable, and, in many ways, it seemed she could snap at any moment. He glanced back at Desdemona, a bit surprised to see she was holding exhaustion in the whole of her body. She took another look over their current map of the Commonwealth and known or suspected locations of consistent Institute activity. Then, she turned back to all of them, stubbing out her cigarette with a heavy, tired sigh.

"Patriot is, in many ways, our secret weapon," Desdemona finally said, brushing her fingers through her hair. "The Railroad owes Patriot a great deal of debt, which is precisely why we need to be able to contact him directly."

"I have a pretty solid idea of how we can do it," Tom said, taking his goggles off and back up onto the top of his headgear. "I've created an encrypted holotape with a message only he'll understand. Only problem is we can only use it if we manage to get into the Institute."

"Which leaves us with no solution to the contact issue," Carrington irritably reminded him. "That plan hinges on us being able to use a holotape within the Institute in order to close the contact loop. If we can do so – and only if we can do so – closing the loop won't necessarily be even our primary objective inside the Institute."

"Unfortunately, he's right," Desdemona said, eyes narrowing when Carrington turned towards her with a slightly smug look on his face. "What we need to make our priority is identifying their weaknesses, specifically by getting all the information we can about not only them, but their plans and synths. Identifying Patriot will have to wait."

"We know a little," Tom excitedly said. "I've been trying to create an interpretive list of all the code words he gives synths! If there's a pattern there, I'll be able to find it."

"If we can figure out what some of those words even mean," Deacon said with a shrug. "I've had to go and research some of the shit he says to try and understand it. There were the easy ones, you know 'monument' and 'lighthouse' speak for themselves. But 'Harvard?' It took me a few days to find what that one meant. Turns out it was the name of a university in the pre-War Commonwealth."

"The Institute has access to all the information in the world. I'm not surprised he referenced something obscure as a code word or, at least, obscure to us," Desdemona shook her head. "If the Institute weren't so selfish, and weren't putting their energy into making synths to hold hostage and control, they could do the Commonwealth a lot of good."

"It doesn't matter," Glory said, her voice quiet but furious. "Even if they were doing good, they've nullified it with the way they treat synths."

"Speaking of which," Carrington said, turning to her and falling silent when he saw the unusual, heavy anger in her eyes. "How did the operation go? You've been back for a few days, and still haven't given us much in the way of a report."

"You mean the operation out of the Medford area?" Glory said, frowning when he nodded. "It went terribly. Almost the worst it could go."

"What happened?" Desdemona said, caught between worry and fear. "And are you alright, Glory?"

"I'm fine," She said, crossing her arms. "B6-21, however, is not. She and the tourist got jumped by a scavenger while I was taking care of business. The scavenger drew a gun on her, and the tourist used her as a goddamned shield. The only good thing to come out of it is A9-34, the other synth we were trying to get to the Memory Den. She made it there safe and sound."

Deacon grimaced. "So…I'm going to guess neither the scavenger nor tourist are still alive?"

"They're not," Glory said coldly. "And neither of them deserves to be. B6-21's death is on their hands. I have no problem admitting to killing them. They deserved it."

"Glory," Desdemona hesitantly began. "Did you have to kill them?"

"Those strung out assholes killed an innocent person," Glory said, her voice shaking. "And I have no doubt they would have let A9-34 be killed too, just because they cared more about themselves than doing the right thing. A9-34 is unharmed and will be able to safely escape the Commonwealth. That's what matters, and you're welcome."

"Killing anyone should be the absolute last resort, Glory," Desdemona said with a heavy sigh. "It should never be the first."

"You keep throwing my ass into the deep end!" Glory said, biting back the urge to shout. "I can't protect myself, our people, and the synths we're rescuing without sometimes hurting one of your goddamned, precious humans!"

"Which is exactly why we need to figure out how the Institute makes those synth birds spying on people, like Tom's always talking about," Deacon said, taken aback when Glory looked between him and the others. "I'm not joking. If we could get one of their creepy little birds, then we could probably reverse engineer them."

"I get the feeling Institute technology is at least a bit more advanced than that," Carrington said dryly, unamused when Deacon shrugged. "We have only two people, actively, in this organisation with any semblance of technological knowhow. Even if Tom and I put our heads together and focused in on the matter – provided we could even get our hands on one of their birds – we likely wouldn't be able to come close to reverse engineering them."

"True," Desdemona said, reaching over for her all but forgotten Nuka Cola. "But, if we could find a way to get one, we would still be able to get a significant amount of information about the nature of the Institute's technology, particularly when it comes to stealth. It's part of why we have been hoping, for years, to get our hands on a dead Courser again. Decrypting one of their chips would be immensely useful, and Tom seems confident he can do so now without the data completely corrupting in the process."

"You want a dead Courser?" Glory smiled. "I'd be happy to find and kill one."

"Because that's not a terrifying idea at all," Tom said with a shudder. "Have you seen what Coursers do, Glory? They –"

"I was a Courser!" She snapped, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "And, knowing that, I think I'm more than capable of finding a way to kill one with my own bare hands!"

"I'm all for there being one less active, pro-Institute Courser in the world, but…" Desdemona said, her voice softening when she met Glory's eyes. "Not at the expense of your life. We need you, Glory, and so do any number of synths. You've saved the lives of hundreds of synths. Don't risk throwing that away on a long shot."

Glory swallowed hard. "And what if I had help? Deacon, maybe?"

"The two of you are not going out there to risk your lives on the slim chance of being able to kill a Courser," Desdemona said morosely. "I'm sorry…but my decision is final."

The Commonwealth
April the 30th, 2288
17:08

Though by no means a short distance from where the Minutemen had begun to regroup in Sanctuary, the trek out to the farm of a family in need of assistance was smooth, damn near a miracle in the Commonwealth.

No one among them, however, understood and savoured the feeling as much as Preston Garvey.

Life had never felt to let things go smoothly for very long. Every so often, as he kept telling himself was reasonable and logical, he would find himself dwelling on and unable to escape the past, not only since the Quincy massacre but his life before heading into the Commonwealth proper to join the Minutemen to begin with. Home. It wasn't something he felt too strongly about, though a sharp pang of guilt coursing through his veins every time he found thoughts of the place he had grown up in suggested otherwise. Far Harbour. One of the strangest places in the Commonwealth, now I think about it. It's probably a good thing we never were allowed to venture too far away from town. There's something about the fog… Rocky. For as long as he could remember, life in Far Harbour and the Commonwealth proper had been rocky. It had felt easier, easier before Quincy, and, before then, easier before the infighting had begun. Yet, for as difficult as things had been, it did seem they were beginning to turn around. Seeing the family farm growing ever closer on the horizon, he tried to set his own thoughts aside to focus on their mission. Taking a look over his shoulders to make sure they were still there, Preston let out a sigh of relief when he saw Derek, Sturges, and the handful of others who came with them were no more than a few paces behind him. Smoothly. Things were still going smoothly.

And it somehow felt normal.

"You know the rule, anything that ain't on the workbench is fair game when I'm cleaning."

"Well, couldn't you have asked –"

"If I had to stop and ask about –"

Caught by surprise, the woman and the man who had been talking amongst themselves turned quickly on their heels when they heard footsteps approaching. Realising she had drawn her gun, the man slowly pulled her arms down and smiled at the group as they got closer. Soon enough, he stepped forward to meet them halfway. The woman stood back, a bit wary, and glanced back towards where a younger man – her son – was tinkering with their power generator. After a minute, she set down her gun and walked over to join her husband, pleasantly surprised to find the group were not caravaners and, more pointedly, not a threat but members of the Commonwealth Minutemen. Wasn't sure they were still around, not enough to do anything, at least, but…seems they are. Thank God. Maybe they'll talk some sense into – She raised an eyebrow when one of the men politely tipped his hat to her and her husband, and, amused by the surprised look on her husband's face, elbowed him a little. Seems eccentric, but at least well…intentioned. Do they really take the whole 'tie to history' thing seriously? Himself surprised, and far more so than he had anticipated, her husband began to ramble about their home, their family farm, but, abruptly, went silent with his gaze shifting to scowl at the old iron factory in the distance.

"Damn eyesore," He said, attempting to supress his anger. "Apologies, haven't even taken the decency to introduce myself," He said, turning back to the group. "I'm Abraham Finch, this is my wife, Abigail, and over there's our son Daniel."

"Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen," Preston replied, shaking hands with the couple. "We heard you were looking for help. What's going on here?"

"Too damn much," Abraham said darkly. "But recently? The eyesore ain't the only problem over there. You ever heard of the Forged?"

"The Forged?" Derek repeated, puzzled. "Are they a militant order?"

"Thank God not," Abraham said, biting back another wave of anger. "No, they ain't anywhere close to that organised…or intelligent. They're raider maniacs, most of 'em have a lot of burns. Seem to think the more burnt they are, the more successful they are."

Sturges frowned. "I've heard of raider gangs like that before. They're never up to anything good."

"No, they really aren't," Abraham agreed, his eyes narrowing when he glanced back at the factory again. "Bad enough they're raiders, worse with them obsessed with fire and metal. I consider us lucky they haven't come to torch us in the middle of the night."

"Take it they're holed up there, then?" Preston said, pausing for a moment until Abraham nodded, and titled his head towards the defunct factory. "What's in there?"

"The old ironworks," Abraham said, crossing his arms. "They were a menace enough, sometimes robbing, sometimes leaving little 'presents' for us in the form of sabotaging something of ours, but it's come to a head recently because of my bastard son Jacob."

Abigail sent him a pointed look. "The fighting between you two or not, he's still our son."

"Sure, he is," Abraham said irritably. "Still snuck out in the middle of the night to join them, which would've been bad enough on its own without him stealing my granddad's sword."

"Sorry to hear it," Sturges shook his head. "Things are always worse when they get personal, especially with family involved."

"They certainly would be less aggravating if family weren't involved," Abraham said, taking another look at the farm. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to get back to. I'm sure Abbey can fill you in on the rest."

"Abe –" Abigail scolded, sighing when he simply walked away. "Well," She said, turning back to the Minutemen. "I guess we could consider it a good sign he at least mentioned him. Don't…bring it up to Abraham but, if you find our boy, you bring him home. I'll get the two of them sorted out."

"Of course," Preston said, shaking her hand again. "Is there anything we should know?"

"About our boy?" Abigail hesitated. "To say the very least," She eventually got out. "The two of them were at it again, and Jake must have taken off to the ironworks like he had been going on about. I never thought he would actually do it. Thought, really, he was trying to intimidate his dad. Guess it wasn't so."

"So, they fought, he stole the sword and snuck out, and now he's joined the Forged?" Sturges grimaced when she nodded. "That's not a good turn of events."

"And it's left me and our other son in the awkward position," Abigail said tiredly. "In a perfect world, Daniel and Abraham would be planting, harvesting, and preparing crops, I'd be managing the home, trade, and finances, and Jake would be practising shooting, fixing up some of our defences. Tinkering. Funnily enough, tinkering is the one thing he and his father get along doing."

"You mean the one thing they don't want to kill each other doing," A young man said, walking over to join them. "Danny Finch," He said, taking off his hat for a moment. "They've been fighting for years. Honestly, I'm surprised this didn't happen earlier."

"Well, hopefully they'll sort this out," Abigail said, glancing back at her husband. "Abe's stubborn, and so is Jake, but I'm not going to let them tear each other apart."

"We'll bring him home safely," Derek reassured her. "It'll take time, but we'll find a way to bring him back. Knowing where he is and who he's with is important, and having that information already is good."

"I just wish we could have done something about it ourselves," Abigail shook her head. "Jake's our youngest, only nineteen, and the thought of losing him is…it's too much."

"No one should have to go through losing a child," Preston said, flinching when sounds of gunshot rang out from, he reckoned, nearby the factory. I sure hope Nick is able to help Nora find Shaun. That baby needs her just as much as she needs him. "Derek's right. We'll bring him home."

"It's not just me or mom who need him home either," Daniel said, pausing a moment before lowering his voice. "The satellite array over there? There are Brotherhood teams out there, every so often. We usually don't mind them, they keep the mutants at bay but…they're 'asking' for physical support, from our crops, from what we scavenge ourselves, and we're not sure how long we can refuse their demands even though we can't afford to hand our resources over. Even if we were to cut back significantly on what we trade, we still wouldn't be able to help them and get by."

"How long have the Brotherhood been there?" Derek asked, not bothering to hide the anger rising in his chest. "We've heard they've been in the Commonwealth for a little while, now, but we didn't realise their activity was more than simple…scouting operations and some potential pre-War tech retrieval."

"Wish it were that," Daniel grimly agreed. "But, unfortunately, they seem to have far from good intentions here."

"I was worried that would happen," Preston sighed. "Damn the Brotherhood. Why don't they go back where they came from? All they seem to do is make things worse."

"I'd usually say the safest thing to do is stay out of their way," Derek said, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses when he looked over towards the satellite array. "But, evidently, that's not possible."

Preston nodded. "I kind of doubted the Brotherhood's intentions in the Commonwealth as a whole were peaceful, but they're…they're showing their true colours."

"It's a goddamn disgrace," Derek swore under his breath. "We'll deal with them. They won't bother you or attempt to rob you again."

"Thank you," Abigail smiled. "Glad to know the Minutemen are back."

"We are too," Preston said, shaking her hand. "And we won't let you down."

"As long as you get them off our back, we'll be thrilled," Daniel said, scowling at the satellite array in the distance. "They have no shame."

"Which is where they've gone so wrong," Derek said. "The lack of respect for human life is disgusting. For supposed 'guardians' of human life, they're remarkably selfish. The way they changed after…well, I don't suppose you folks have heard of the Enclave."

"Afraid not," Daniel said, curiosity piqued. "They some sort of pre-War organisation?"

"The remnants of one," Derek replied. "They were the remnants of the United States Federal Government after the War, and were incredibly corrupt. The Brotherhood were the only group in the country willing to fight them, and they won. We destroyed the last of the Enclave in 2279, and restored peace, law, and order to the Capital Wasteland and, as far as I'm aware, the South and Deep South, though the Brotherhood's forces there had put down the Enclave in those areas earlier than we did in the Capital Wasteland. However…many in the Brotherhood, including in their leadership, have lost their way in the years since. I was forced into retirement by them in 2282, which was when my family and I ended up here, in the Commonwealth."

"Damn," Abigail let out a low whistle. "They really are a far cry from what they used to be only a decade ago, then. Really, more than anything, it's demoralising to think on."

"It really is," Preston said with a resigned sigh. "They're the shoot first, ask questions later types, no doubt about that."

"Makes you hope the Institute is real," Daniel said dryly. "If they are, they're probably the only people who can kick the Brotherhood out of the Commonwealth."

"Danny!" Abigail scolded. "The last thing we want is to invite those bastards to bother us too!"

"They ain't interested in farmers, if they're real at all," Daniel shook his head. "And, honestly, I'd be more inclined to trust them if only because they ain't pretending to be great saviours by grace of God."

Diamond City
May the 1st, 2288
10:01

After having to delay their departure to the Commonwealth's 'great green jewel,' finally stepping through the gates of the city was almost a relief.

Still, something about it left both Dr. Annette Christine Davis and Robert Joseph MacCready uneasy.

For Annette, the little she had heard about Diamond City had been a mix of both people longing to be able to afford to live in a home in the apparently luxurious 'upper stands,' and anger towards the mayor of the city. Almost amusingly, Hancock had gone on a tirade (while, she suspected, very high) against Diamond City's mayor from the balcony of the Old State House, during which he had talked at length about their relationship growing up. From the sounds of it, those two could not be more different if they really are brothers. Though I don't doubt Hancock became a ghoul from experimenting with narcotics. He clearly does enough of them out in the open for the possibility to be more than there, likely, even. He wasn't the only one in Goodneighbour who had been all too eager to warn her about the 'great green jewel.' When she had been told they were going to the city to see if a job offer would pan out, Daisy had been stern, almost motherly, telling the both of them to be careful of the city's security. What had surprised her was the other warning Daisy had given her. Be careful what you say to people. People here don't mind you telling them what you're really thinking. It's a whole different world there, especially with the rich people. The warning still took her aback. Not only had it been unprecedented, but it had felt all too familiar. Uncomfortable with the thought and the feelings it entailed, Annette had pushed it as far to the side as possible, focusing instead on getting to the city as quickly and safely as possible.

It wasn't the only feeling she was trying not to dwell on.

For Robert Joseph MacCready, the anxiety of leaving had been two fold; it was never easy to leave Duncan, fear of every time he saw him being the last, but, this time, he had felt incredibly guilty. It wasn't only about leaving his son. I…please don't think I'm betraying you, Lucy. It's been hell without…but I…I can't live like this forever. I…I know you're gone. And I know you're not coming back. Still, even with the whispers, he found himself smiling when he and Annette spoke, about little things or not, and having her around was comforting. As for the city, the first thing that stood out to him was the increase in security. The second was the way security seemed to be following every step he took. I'm probably being a bit paranoid. Having to watch your back in Goodneighbour will do that to you. Diamond City. Unlike Goodneighbour's (occasionally) chaotic neighbourhood watch, the 'great green jewel's' security staff were well organised and well trained. That, he reasoned, was most likely why it made him uneasy. Last group of people this well organised and trained I was around were the gunners. And they still won't… Anxiety seizing him at the thought, he tried not to ruminate on it. For as eccentric as the man could be, Hancock always made good on his promises. Even if the gunners came back looking for him again, they wouldn't find his son, and they wouldn't find where he went. Shaking himself out, MacCready forced himself to refocus, only to stop in surprise when he saw a certain writer with a slightly sinister smile on her face watching him and Annette.

"Piper?" MacCready tried not to laugh when she hopped down from where she had been sitting on the edge of the roof of her office. "Don't tell me you're the one who's offering the job, are you? Let me guess…are we finally having that one on one interview?"

"Never in a million years, MacCready," Piper said, brushing herself off with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But don't worry – I promise this job will be not only well paid but interesting. First, though, why don't you introduce me to your new friend?"

"This is Annette," He said, smiling when he looked at her. "She and I are…working together."

Piper smirked. "Working together…sure. I'll buy it."

Annette and MacCready nervously glanced at each other, a bit flustered.

"So," Annette quickly said. "What's the job?"

"See the lift over there?" Piper said, disdainfully looking over at it and the signs leading up to it. "Goes to the mayor's office. And I need someone to help me spy on him."

MacCready raised an eyebrow. "To what end?"

"Depends," She said with a slightly devious look. "In the short term? To embarrass him. In the long term? To prove I'm right about him being a synth working for the Institute."

"I keep hearing about the Institute, and their synths, but I still don't understand what the point of any of it is," Annette sighed. "Sorry, I'm not from the Commonwealth, but, the more I hear about the Institute, the more I can't help but wonder what the point of any of it is."

"You're not alone," Piper told her. "Pretty much everyone wonders why the Institute do what they do and why they make synths. I've been investigating those creeps for well over a year, now, and I still don't get it. They really are the Commonwealth's bogeyman, feared and hated by everyone."

"And you really think the mayor here is working for them?" MacCready considered that when Piper nodded. "I guess it wouldn't be too much of a surprise. Then again, I might have just heard Hancock talk about him one too many times."

"Hancock has every reason to hate him," Piper said, with a slight grimace. "He may be my second least favourite mayor, but at least he has human fucking decency. McDonough has been running this city for the last six years, and he officially kicked his brother out – barred him from ever coming in again, really – after he turned into a ghoul and only because he turned into a ghoul. But that's one of McDonough's things. He hates ghouls."

"And you, and pretty much anything that so much as breathes in a way he thinks is 'improper,'" MacCready listed off. "I'm in. The man's the worst. I don't think I've ever met anyone who actually likes him, although, being in Goodneighbour, I've met a lot of people who despise him."

"Only people I think actually like him are a few of the worst people in the upper stands, and, of course, his secretary," Piper winked. "But you didn't hear that last one from me."

"Heard what from you?" MacCready rolled his eyes when Piper scowled. "Alright, alright," He said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "I got to ask, though, what makes you think McDonough's with the Institute?"

"Starts with the mysterious courier that comes by every month," Piper replied. "Thing is, no one has ever managed to get a decent look at him. Even if it's a coincidence, or – something I seriously doubt – McDonough somehow doesn't know the courier is from the Institute, it could still give us a lot on them."

"What do you already know about the Institute?" Annette said, trying to mask her curiosity a bit. "Other than them being the ones who make synths and are the ones usually blamed when something goes wrong, that is."

"Sadly, a lot less than I wish I knew," Piper shook her head. "Sometimes, they snatch people in the middle of the night. And, sometimes, they leave old synths behind to remind us they're out there. The skeletal ones, or the ones that look half human. Then, there are the synths you can't tell the difference between them and us, and a lot of them probably don't even know they're synths. There are also rumours about people who help synths escape the Institute, and wipe their minds to make them harder to find."

"If those people are real, I'm impressed," MacCready admitted. "Anyone willing to risk their lives to help synths escape the Institute has serious nerve. Most people just hope they never come into contact with the Institute. Myself included."

"Can't say I blame you. I still worry one of these days the Institute is going to decide today's the day to pay Piper and family a visit," She hesitated. "But I can't help wanting to know more. I mean, to this day, there's one thing nobody knows about them, and that's where the Institute actually is or how to get in. And, honestly? I would love to know. But we can think about that later. For now…I want to pick your brains a bit."

MacCready laughed. "Whose brain do you not want to pick?"

"Fair point," Piper said, smirking when she saw him and Annette glancing at each other. "But I really want to do it with you and your new 'friend.'"