The Commonwealth
June the 20th, 2288
17:11

The bizarre and jarring sight of body after body of raiders within the perverse art gallery had been unsettling enough, worsened by the realisation of the paintings scattered about having used a massive amount of blood substituting paint.

Going up the stairs to find more dead raiders, some laid out on autopsy stretchers, while disturbed, neither Nora, Piper, Cait, or Nick were surprised. The creaky, splintering wooden stairs felt out of place with the, while not particularly well kempt, rest of the building, a few light fixtures on the walls with fading paint, and what remained of roughed up furniture, hinting at a past of at least some luxury. Questions running wild through her head, Nora tried to recall if, at any time, she had been in the building before the War. When she felt sure she hadn't, anxiety about their surroundings eased a little. The more they took a look around the building, however, nothing felt particularly comfortable nor safe, even for a brief second or two or three. The gritty smell of blood and the nauseating scent of decay permeated every room. Still unconvinced she wouldn't puke, Piper slowly weaved in and out of each room they passed through, avoiding as much of the gore as possible. Just as uneasy, Nora was no more than a foot or two ahead of her, seemingly trying, more than anything else, to keep up with Cait. Her usual, apparently unfazed self, Cait only paused when she noticed some plywood on a wall was loose. After tugging at it for a few minutes, she finally got it off and, to her surprise, found a tight passageway hidden in the wall. Walking to the end of it with almost uncharacteristic caution, she called out for the lawyer, the detective, and the writer to follow her, having found a ladder down to a half lit, apparent basement below.

Not hesitating to descend to the apparent basement, adrenaline rising in her with every rung down the ladder she went, Cait waited down at the bottom, soon followed by Nora, and laughed when Piper, the second she was low enough to safely do so, dropped the rest of the way down. Dusting herself off, Piper reached into her bag and pulled out a flashlight, the few lights on the walls around them flickering on and off. She turned around suddenly, startled, upon hearing someone start swearing, relieved to find it was just Nick, having trouble getting down the ladder with his exposed mechanical hand. When he was within reach, Nora and Cait helped the aged detective down the rest of the way, and the three of them joined Piper no more than a few feet away from them. Flicking on the light of her Pip-Boy, Nora slowly began deeper into the room, waving Cait, Piper, and Nick over when she found another tight corridor, the faint sight of red safety lights at the end of it. Seeing no other way out of the room than going down the corridor or back up by the ladder they descended into the room from, Nora pulled out her gun, and made her way down the corridor, Cait never more than a step or two behind her. Shouting and gunfire rang out the farther down the corridor they went. Behind them, Piper turned off her flashlight and kept one hand on her holstered gun as she followed after, and Nick, unsettled by the noise and ever the more suspicious of what happened in the gallery proper, kept looking back to ensure they weren't being followed. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, however, it was clear the shouts and gunshots had been coming from what was now likely no more than a few metres away.

Peeking her head around the corner, Piper glanced around to ensure they hadn't yet been seen or heard. When she saw no one but the noises did not stop, she nervously took a few steps back, taking in the sight of the tunnels ahead of them. Even in the dim light provided by a sparce number of still functioning safety lights, it was clear one of them had caved in, mounds of dirt and brick visible just past its entrance. A second seemed accessible, but was at the bottom of a series of steep drops, and a third was nearest to a nook almost completely hidden by another one of the gruesome paintings. Cait let out a disgusted yelp when she accidentally stepped in some human remains just past the entrance to the third tunnel, but went silent when she realised the voices had gone quiet, too. With unusual grace, the former cage fighter began walking almost noiselessly into the tunnel the moment she knew Nora, Piper, and Nick were just behind her. Rounding a corner and careful not to step into any more of the pieces of dead bodies haphazardly strewn about, they paused upon realising there was, not too far ahead, bright, white light, the kind which usually required a new or, at the very least, clean set of lightbulbs. The noise had started again, louder and louder the closer they got to the clean light, and, sure enough, there were a few raiders fighting each other in the large, circular room the light was coming from.

Weapons drawn, Nora steadied and fired a first few shots at the raiders before they noticed they were not alone. She jumped out of the way of one of them running at her with a large piece of a pipe in hand, and began firing at one of the others. Almost amused by the sight of the raider charging at them with a pipe, Cait took out her shotgun and kicked them in the stomach before shooting them several times in the chest. Swift on her feet, Piper shot at a raider charging at Cait with a knife drawn, yelling at the former cage fighter to duck out of the way before firing again, this time causing the raider to stumble back. Across the room, and having already taken down one of the raiders, Nora turned to fire on the raider stumbled by Piper. When she missed and her gun jammed, Nora panicked, dropping the pistol and reaching for her revolver, still holstered on her right side. Nearly stabbing the lawyer in her frenzy, the raider was instead shot down by Nick. No more than a minute or two later, it was nearly silent in the room, the only noise coming from themselves and the hum of electricity. Taking a quick look to ensure the three raiders were, in fact, dead, Nora, Nick, Cait, and Piper began to relax a little, while the heat of the moment faded away.

"One of hell of a place to hold a party," Cait said, setting her hands to her hips and rolling her eyes. "I guess these raiders don't know how much partying is too much."

"Not quite sure partying was the problem here," Piper said nervously. "You'd think they would be a little less…aggressive if that were the case."

"Maybe," Cait shrugged, sweeping up Nora's pistol and reassuringly patting her on the shoulder. "I'll fix this up for you later. Good thing you know to always keep more than one weapon on you. Never know when something might go wrong."

"It's practical, and I…" Nora glanced towards a set of stairs descending deeper into the facility. "Are we sure we want to know where that goes?"

"Sewers, I'm guessing," Piper said, wrinkling her nose at the thought. "Didn't think I'd have to wade through sewage water today, though."

"Then this better lead to something," Cait muttered, dropping Nora's handgun into her bag and then starting down the stairs. "If we don't get caps off this creepy son of a bitch, then I'm going to be pissed we wasted our time."

Albeit reluctantly, when Nora and Nick went down the stairs with Cait, Piper went after them, though she gagged when they reached the bottom. Sickened by the smell as well, Nora held her gun in one hand and held her hand over her nose and mouth with the other, running towards another set of stairs at the end of the sewer tunnel. Used to the overbearing smell of shit, piss, blood, and vomit but disgusted all the same, Cait scrambled up to the top of the stairs, stopping only to pull Piper up, the writer looking about ready to be sick herself. Nick, too, seemed barely able to get through the tunnel, unable to vomit due to his synthetic and largely inorganic body but feeling as though he were about to all the same; the sensation was present but the act was impossible. Needing a moment to catch his breath once they were far enough from the sewer water for the stench to diminish, Nick tried to steady himself and his systems, a bit embarrassed. While they, too, had clearly disliked going through the sewer water, Nora, Cait, and Piper were physically fine once they were away from the sewage again. When he regained his composure, the aged detective followed them up another few sets of stairs, turning towards a makeshift bridge of pipes and plywood at the top of stairs.

Careful not to disturb whatever presumably weak structural integrity the bridge had, Nora made her way across it as fast and as light on her feet as possible. Piper, next, did very much the same but nearly slipped before reaching the other side. Much to her relief, Nora grabbed onto her wrists to pull her back up and to the bottom of a slight incline into a part of the facility deeper still. The second Piper was safely on the other side, Cait ran down the makeshift bridge and hopped onto the small platform Nora and Piper were already standing on. Finally, Nick made his way across the bridge, too, still feeling subsumed by the horrid smell rising up from well below the unstable bridge. Beginning to feel better the farther away from the sewage they got, Nick kept pace with Piper, Nora, and Cait as they went up the slight incline and then turned left into another, albeit much wider, tunnel. The cacophony of shouts, gunfire, and fighting returned the deeper into the tunnel they went until, finally, they reached a ledge looking down into a large room lit by camping lamps, fire burning in metal rubbish bins, and a singular safety light.

Crouching down to get a better look and listen at what was happening down below without being seen, Piper silently snaked her way around the corner and hid behind one of the large boxes on the left side of the ledge. Still at the very end of the tunnel but not far enough out on the ledge to risk being seen or noticed, Nora leaned forward every so often to try and get a better look at the group of five raiders below, four of them backing up the one with a mohawk and in heavy armour. Nick, too, focused on observing as much as he could, but, impulsive as ever, Cait reloaded her shotgun and began firing on the raiders, her eyes widening in disbelief when the one with the mohawk, the one who was more than likely their leader, looked at her. Son of a bitch was one of the worst of the men in the Combat Zone…and most of them ain't exactly a joy to be around either. Taken by surprise, the raider turned around and looked up to where he was being fired at from, stopping cold when he saw the woman firing on him. The man they had cornered, apparently feeling much more free, snatched the gun from a dead raider's body after Cait shot them to the ground, and began firing on the raiders himself. His aim terrible, Nora, Piper, Cait, and Nick, shot down the other four raiders, and, then, let the silence take over. As soon as they were certain the man would not attack them, however, they descended to where he was standing, dusting off his hands.

"Those people deserved worse than death, but this will have to do," The man remarked, smiling warmly at the lawyer, the writer, the detective, and the former cage fighter. "Welcome to my…secret art studio. I'm Maxwell Pickman."

"Figured as much," Piper dryly replied. "I'm guessing you're the one responsible for the disgusting paintings in that old art gallery?"

"Art is beautiful, not disgusting," Pickman said casually. "But it matters not what you think of my creations. I am now indebted to you for saving my life."

Nick frowned. "If you are, then, tell us, what the hell is going on here? Raiders may be the scum of the Commonwealth, but…"

"It was nothing more than a small disagreement," Pickman said with a dismissive wave of his hands. "They objected to my hobby of collecting their heads. C'est la vie. Did you see my works in my gallery? Picnic For Stanley is my proudest work. Getting the sets of eyes and the bloodied skin just right was an excruciating process, but I think it came together well."

"Hard to enjoy the work when you can't get past the smell of blood and guts," Cait said, eyeing him closely. "You could at least do some cleanup. Even by me standards, this is sick."

"Sick? I'm just doing what I love," Pickman smiled. "But you don't need to understand my art. It's a subjective medium, after all."

"That's…lovely," Nora frowned. "Mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"For saving my life, of course," Pickman said with a theatrical bow. "I pay my debts."

Nora, Piper, Cait, and Nick shared an unsettled look, unsure of what to say or where to begin.

"Have you ever heard of a group called 'the Railroad?'" Nora said, crossing her arms. "People who, supposedly, free synths from the Institute?"

"The Railroad? You hear rumours every now and again," Pickman considered that. "My understanding is they work through a series of symbols marking locations of their operations. Lamps are most common, I believe. The concept has actually inspired some of my more recent works. Lamps force you to consider shading and highlighting much more critically. But I'm afraid I don't know much more than their potential communication system. They're even more secretive than the Institute."

"Helpful," Piper said under her breath. "Guess we went to all this trouble for nothing."

"Far from for nothing," Pickman corrected. "If you visit my gallery again, should you look deep within my painting Picnic For Stanley, you will find my gratitude. I recommend you do."

"Letting us rob you?" Cait elbowed Piper, who still looked deeply uncomfortable. "Looks like we're running into some decent luck."

"Not sure I'd call this luck," Nora said with a wary glance at Pickman. "But I'll take any leads to the Railroad we can get."

"Agreed," Nick said grimly. "Not as though we have any better options, at least not for now."

The Institute
June the 24th, 2288
11:28

Any day starting with Dr. Justin Ayo irritably storming into the Synth Retention Bureau was one every member of the Division, even the youngest interns and staffers, knew would be far from enjoyable.

So far as Dr. Alana Secord was concerned, however, enjoyable was the wrong word and, instead, productive would be more accurate. The days where Dr. Ayo was the most aggravated were almost always the days she found to be the least productive.

Used to it as something of a monthly routine, Dr. Secord barely looked up from the map in the SRB's Strategic Command, syncing the latest updates of synth activity from the database and map into her tablet. Green. Any points where a green light flashed indicated a Courser completing a retrieval. Blue. Any points pulsing blue indicated a suspected location of unusual synth activity. Red. Any points with a persistent, unwavering red glare noted locations where synth units had gone missing. For the first time in several months, there were less than ten red points at once, and nearly all of them were around the same area, most appearing within a couple of miles from or around the town of Bunker Hill. Potential Railroad operations have been cited as deriving from that area. A discreet, human surface team may need to be sent to investigate, if only to ensure we don't tip them or the Brotherhood Of Steel off. Orange. There were only three points on the map with an omnipresent orange light, and all of them were Institute controlled locations in the Commonwealth. Making a note to check on the status of Bioscience's work at the Warwick Homestead, she pulled up the information on the other two locations to check for updates. Finding none out of Diamond City, she switched tabs to the extensive file on University Point, relieved to find nothing but a positive security update from X6-88 and a scheduled visit home for Jacqueline Spencer for the fourth of July. Turning back to the map, seeing a flash of purple light out of the corners of her eyes, Dr. Secord frowned, zooming in on the area and opening the notification.

Purple. The brief transitory between either blue or red. The signifier of an issue with a third generation synth unit.

Hearing the telltale sound of aggravated footsteps storming into the SRB's Strategic Command, Dr. Secord glanced up to see one of her few direct superiors stepping over to the Division's master computer terminal and pulling up files on other members of the Institute.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alana said once she checked to ensure they were alone and the doors to SRB Strategic Command were locked. "I swear I spend half my time smoothing out the feathers you ruffle. I'd rather not have to do any more of that until next month at least."

"With Dr. Binet's upcoming…presentation," Justin said as if the word disgusted him. "I happen to have some serious concerns regarding the synth escapes. He and his son have the absolute weirdest attachment to that synth they –"

"I'm not about to disagree on the fact the relationship Alan in particular has with Eve is disturbing, because it is, but, keep in mind, she was made to be a precise copy of his wife after she passed in the same laboratory accident that killed Dr. Virgil," Alana pointedly cut across. "While I wouldn't say it's healthy, Dr. Binet has not pair bonded with any synth except for Eve, and his ceaseless dedication to his work is not something you'd consistently observe if he were sending any synths to the surface."

Justin frowned, scrolling down through Dr. Binet's file.

"It doesn't say anything on the subject," He said as Alana stepped towards him, tablet still in hand. "But I'm surprised his, shall we say, conjugal relations with E9-25 aren't at least noted."

Alana gagged. "Why on earth would anyone need – or, more to the point, in my opinion, want – to know if he's having any form of a sexual relationship with Eve?"

"Because it might explain several things, up to and including his increasingly incessant and bizarre belief about synths being people," Justin told her, venom towards the man in question impossible to hide in his voice. "Which, in turn, could be evidence in a case against him for –"

"Seems that will have to wait," Alana cut in, pointing him towards the window overlooking the SRB's primary concourse below. "Looks to me you have something to address."

Justin turned towards the window and swore when he saw both Dr. Nathan Filmore and Dr. Madison Li speaking with some of the SRB's staff, and seemingly annoyed. Closing the files and locking the master computer terminal, he waved for Alana to follow him which, somewhat begrudgingly, she did, only pausing to set her tablet back on the charger before leaving the room. Swiping her ID card to ensure SRB Strategic Command was locked behind them, she briskly followed Justin down the spiral staircase into the SRB's primary concourse. If this is because of something you did, Justin, so help me, I may very well have some choice things to say to Dr. Zimmer about the amount of inconveniences you've caused me and the Division since he departed twelve years ago. Sure enough, when they reached the floor, an anxious intern hastily directed them to one of the SRB's smaller conference rooms. Making no attempt to hide his anger, Justin scowled at both the head of Advanced Systems and Advanced Systems' third highest ranking member of upper leadership. Much calmer though a bit annoyed at work being interrupted, Alana gave the two of them a short, polite nod from where she and Justin stood on one end of the conference room's table, Madison and Nathan at the other.

"I'm sure Father will see the irony in my being barred from entering Advanced Systems without your express permission soon, Madison, and grant me the same courtesy," Justin sharply said the second the door was shut. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a personal visit from you and Dr. Filmore?"

"Drop the act, Justin," Madison said, walking over to and handing him a rather full file. "First off, would you care to explain why no more than five Coursers have been in and out my apartment the last few weeks? Or why some of my things have gone missing after those visits?"

"I have reason to suspect you may compromise Institute security," Justin coldly replied. "With how rattled you've been by the arrival of the Brotherhood –"

"You're still harping on that?" Alana gaped at him. "With all due respect, Justin, even I think you've been going way too far with all of your investigations into Institute personnel, and claiming it's because of the drastic security threat posed by the Brotherhood is seeming less and less believable by the day."

Justin sent her a dark look. "You going soft on me, Alana?"

"I'm being pragmatic," She irritably said. "Now," She turned back to Madison and Nathan. "I'm assuming there's another issue."

"There is," Nathan said, unfazed by the glare Justin sent him. "With Dr. Watson preoccupied with several of Advanced Systems' special projects at the moment, I was asked to inform you that your demands about reducing our power consumption are unreasonable, and we can't cut back anymore."

"Father said something similar," Madison smugly added. "I was given full permission to inform you our weapons development projects have been officially raised in priority against your synth scout teams, in no small part due to the number of synth escapes."

"I'm working on solving the issue of synth escapes," Justin said through gritted teeth. "Soon, nothing will go on here I don't know about, and you would do well to not attempt to bypass or kill any of my proposals for new security measures or the tighter monitoring of our network. This is a serious issue, and, for all his talk, Father has never taken it as seriously as he should."

"Whether that's true or not, it doesn't change the fact Dr. Li, Dr. Watson, and I have all agreed – and received approval from Father and Facilities – both for Advanced Systems special projects and especially Phase Three – the demands you've sent us regarding our power consumption are unreasonable," Nathan calmly put in. "There is no way to square those needs, even at the lowest possible power levels, with your demands for near total control of all Courser operations now Kellogg is dead. And after the blackout a few –"

"The blackout was your fault?" Alana said, incredulous when Justin made no attempt to deny it. "What the hell was the cause of it?"

"I simply needed to have some more discreet Courser operations run, operations which are reported to the Director only, not the whole of the Directorate," Justin said with a disdainful look towards Madison. "And I happen to have had good reason for it from other…intelligence operations."

Railroad Headquarters
June the 29th, 2288
10:10

"Enough is enough, Glory. I don't care what you, Desdemona, or anyone else have to say about it. These 'memory recovery' procedures have been eating away at you, whether you'll admit it or not. Swallow your pride and refocus on your work."

"I've spent every year since I left desperate for answers about what those bastards made me do. I've run operations since I started the procedures, and I've run them well. Don't condescend to me."

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Dr. Stanley Carrington gave Desdemona a cold, dark look when she stepped into the old crypt with Deacon, whose calm demeanour, he was sure, meant the enigmatic spy had done something questionable. He frowned when he saw Glory turn her back on him and walk over to Desdemona, speaking with her in hushed tones. Going back to his work, Carrington sat down in front of his computer terminal, and began to review recent files retrieved from data caches and dead drops. How is Desdemona is the leader of the Railroad but I am the one responsible for these critical tasks? Analysing information – never mind preparing them to be run through PAM's predictive models – is not easy, and preparing holotapes for dead drops is also taxing work. Yet, despite this, she refuses to listen to me half the time and… Catching Deacon sitting up on a ledge near his desk from the corners of his eyes, Carrington frowned but said nothing, used to his eccentricities, no matter how flamboyant or obnoxious they could be. It was only when he noticed Glory and Desdemona staring at him that he sighed, probing his forehead for a minute before turning in his chair towards them, his countenance unapologetic and aggravated, far from what, he was sure, Desdemona in particular wanted.

"You know my stance, Desdemona," He said curtly. "When planning operations, especially those requiring the kind of delicacy as ours, a certain degree of clinical detachment is necessary. So much as I accept Glory wants to know as much about herself as possible, I am at least aware of the risks. You can feel free to live in cheerful ignorance, but I will not."

"You think I don't know the risks?" Glory said, seething, her voice unusually quiet and low. "It's not only about me, Carrington. It's about knowing what they do to us. What they use us for! And how we can find out anything to get the edge on them!"

"I hate to take the Doc's side, but he's not wrong about it taking a lot out of you," Deacon said, unfazed when Glory scowled at him. "You passed out for nearly two hours after last week's attempt. Amari was worried your vitals were going to slip. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great you'd do anything to help other synths. But a little time away from this and working strictly in the field, with them, could help. Remind you why you do this."

"Also," Carrington put in before she could protest. "Your fixation on this 'Molecular Relay' you remember being spoken of is not helping. Just because you remember hearing about it doesn't mean you'll be able to remember what it even is or how it works. Even Tom, of all people, has no sensible idea of what a 'Molecular Relay' could be."

"If there's a chance, I want to know," Glory stubbornly replied. "What if it gives us insight into something big – where the Institute is, for instance?"

"Even if we were to find where the Institute is, it would not solve the issue of entry," Carrington coldly reminded her. "And I don't think I need to remind you how ludicrous Tom's suggestion of it being – just about – a teleporter is!"

"That would be ridiculous, I'm not disputing that," Glory snapped. "What I'm saying is it could be a communications system, one that could lead us to their front door!"

"And what would we do, then?" Carrington said, struggling to mask his irritation. "Entering the Institute ourselves would be suicide and, for you, it would be worse. They would completely erase your memory and send you back to being a Courser. Do you honestly want to risk such a thing?"

Hands shaking, clenched into fists, but unable to think of anything more to say, Glory stormed off, heading towards the back of the old crypt where, near the escape tunnels, they had managed to construct a few, albeit miniscule, bedrooms. Swearing under his breath but relieved to have the chance to return to his work without interruption, Carrington turned back to his computer and began going through the most recent entries logged on operations. Uncomfortable with the silence, Deacon looked between Desdemona and Carrington, who, every so often, would glare at each other. Having been unperturbed by the argument, Tom looked up from the gun he was working on, surprised when he saw Desdemona hesitate for a minute before following after Glory. Briefly curious but turning back to his work and opening his sketches for the modifications, Tom hummed to himself and tuned the world out again. Shifting back and forth, waiting to be handed the next set of holotapes for a dead drop, Drummer Boy stayed silent, all too used to the disagreements between the Railroad's two leaders but never comfortable with it. Where Carrington was more than content to get back to work, however, Desdemona was not. Hesitating before stepping into Glory's bunk, Desdemona barely got out of the way of a knife Glory was throwing at a cork board, sighing when she saw the brief look of guilt that crossed her face, almost as though Glory thought she had nearly hurt her, even if accidentally.

"Sorry," Glory said quietly, setting her other knives aside. "Talking about this shit ain't easy. How can I not get angry with him? Carrington's goddamned tests never went anywhere in trying to figure out what went wrong inside my head, what the Institute made go wrong inside of me. Amari is the only one who has been able to help, and he has no idea why I need to know. He doesn't care to."

"Carrington has always been this way. He looks at things objectively," Desdemona fell silent before sitting down across from her when Glory waved at her to. "Often at the expense of acknowledging people aren't capable of living in complete objectivity."

"He doesn't care," Glory said, running a hand through her hair. "I've spent years in this hell of having parts of me that have been unknowable. I don't care if it kills me. If it helps synths, the same people I hurt doing the Institute's dirty work, then I'll do it. I'll keep going with it. Amari won't let me die. And, if I do give out, then I've paid up for what I let the Institute do to God knows how many synths I dragged back to the Institute."

"You have nothing to pay up for, Glory," Desdemona said calmly. "And the last thing I want is for you to feel you have to. You're a good person, Glory. Do you need time to step back? If you –"

"I don't need to step back," Glory snapped, though she swallowed hard when she saw the hurt on her face. "Why do you care, Desdemona? You're the one who always says we need to focus on saving as many synths as possible. That's what I want to do."

"I care because I don't want to lose you," Desdemona said gently. "Not only as an agent, Glory, but as someone close to me. A –"

"A friend?" Glory raised an eyebrow when she flinched. "Just another confidant, then?"

"No," Desdemona said, hesitating. "As someone I love."

"What?" Glory said, surprised when she hanged her head, looking caught between embarrassment and shame. "Damn you, Des. Why would you keep that secret from me?"

"Because I don't want to interfere in our work," Desdemona said with a tired sigh. "And because you've been through more than enough, Glory. I have no desire to put my own feelings on –"

"Did you ever think I might feel the same?" Glory shook her head with a small smile. "Again, damn you Des, because I do."

"You do?" Desdemona stared at her in disbelief. "Since when?"

"About two years ago," Glory said, standing up to pull the knife out of the cork board. "You were the only person who gave a damn about me beyond my work. The only person I knew I could trust," She went on, putting the knife away with the others. "That's not true anymore – just ask Deacon, strange as he is, I trust him with my life – but there's something about you I can't put away. And I…didn't realise what it meant, after having spent my entire life cold until I got away from the emotionless environment of the Institute, until he told me about his wife, Barbara. And what he did for her."

"Really?" Desdemona managed a small smile when Glory nodded. "Well, I suppose now you know why I've always been desperate to keep you, in particular, safe."

"I do," Glory said, an unusually calm note in her voice. "And I'm glad for it."

University Point
July the 4th, 2288
15:17

The people in the Brotherhood Of Steel or, even, willingly tied to them whom had earnt the respect of Dr. Madison Li were few, and nearly all of them were dead.

To say she was shocked to see one of them not only alive but in the Commonwealth was, then, quite the understatement.

Bidding Jacqueline off to see her father whom, seemingly less anxious than usual, himself was outside and enjoying the town's festivities, Madison paused where she stood, unsure of what to think. Seeing he was not in anything the Brotherhood would have approved their servicemen to wear was a relief, and all but confirmed her years long suspicion he had, in fact, gone on to leave their ranks. The fact he was evidently not a part of the organisation despite the Brotherhood's rather aggressive arrival in the Commonwealth, too, was a good sign. Yet it was the clear absence of the woman she had never known him to be easily separable from which she found most surprising once the disbelief wore off. Glancing around, she tried to shed her discomfort at the state of the town. You'd think, two centuries after the War, no one would still be celebrating Independence Day and, yet, apparently it's one American tradition not gone away with. Adjusting the sleeves of her blazer and brushing some dust off her pants, she stayed where she was, taking in her surroundings, before, finally, approaching the man she had not seen in nearly a decade when he turned around from talking with a few of the townspeople, his gaze nearer to her and his face just about the same as it had been then. Taken aback by a light feeling of nervousness, Madison sighed, and walked over to him, her heart rate spiking.

"I certainly didn't expect to see you here," She said, faintly amused. "I take it you no longer are taking orders from the Brotherhood?"

"Haven't in several years," He replied with a surprised smile. "Good to see you, as always, Madison."

"Likewise," She said. "I take it you've been here a while, Derek? Though, I'm sure, not living in this town."

He laughed. "A few years. Have lived in Diamond City ever since."

"Considering there's less of a pest problem there, I'm sure it's a welcome change," She remarked. "Or do you miss the sounds of Rivet City Security scrambling to put down an infestation in the middle of the night?"

"Never in a million years," He said, briefly and affably embracing her. "Can't say I'm not happy to see a familiar face. It's always a welcome –"

Impulse a catalyst she had thought long since done away with, the brief seconds it overtook her were also ones she never thought she would get, and, so, the spunky façade faded. She leaned up a little to kiss him seconds before he let her go. Her heart racing, the scientist let her lips linger on the former soldier's, disappointment beginning to bloom in her chest when he did not kiss her back. Still hoping something – anything – would change, she lightly pressed herself against him, only to feel the disappointment return when she felt nothing from him. No tightening where their hips met, no change in breath or heart rate, and no drawing her closer nor pressure against her lips. For a few seconds, it felt as though things had stood completely still, and, to sudden, unexpected dismay, Madison realised it was shock, on his part, when he finally pushed her away as carefully as possible. Discomfort with herself rising when she saw the befuddled and disbelieving look on his face, Madison took a small step back. Discomfort soon left her when, hearing footsteps falter near them, she turned to see the petite figure of the former soldier's wife staring at them, shaken. It was the look of horror almost instantly appearing on his face, however, which left her feeling ill at ease, dread beginning to spread through her being, no more so than when she saw the dismay on the face of the woman she had known well less than a decade prior.

"What I regret most was never telling him how I felt," She quoted, her voice wavering. "Were you only referring to James when you told me that?"

Madison hesitated. "Hadley, I –"

"What are you doing here?" She said, paranoid caution slipping into her voice. "And why –"

"I'm here because I'm the one…responsible for escorting my most unlikely protégé to her visits with her father. As for…" Madison trailed off seeing the upset on her old friend's face. "I don't know. If it's any consolation, he wasn't aroused."

"I'd sure hope not," Hadley said with an uncharacteristically bitter edge to her voice and all but clinging to her husband when he tightly wrapped an arm around her. "After being married for thirty years, after having four children together and having hoped for more, I'd absolutely hope my husband wouldn't reciprocate or be interested in being kissed by someone other than me."

"Hads," Derek said gently, tucking a stray lock of hair from her ponytail behind her ear. "I'm so sorry, I –"

"You have nothing to feel sorry for. I know precisely the kind of man I married," She said, warily glancing at Madison who held herself and looked caught between embarrassment and shame. "I can't believe, all this time, you wanted my husband."

"If you want me to leave, I can," Madison raised an eyebrow when Hadley shook her head. "You want me here? Why?"

"Because I have a million questions for you, and most of them have nothing to do with…" Hadley sighed, a bit unsteady. "Who's…" She fell silent, choosing her words with precision. "First, who's this 'unlikely protégé' of yours? Are you working on projects in the Commonwealth similar to Purity?"

"Similar to Purity? No. As for my unlikely protégé, her name is Jacqueline Spencer and I'm, among other things, helping her prepare for her doctoral thesis. She's also on a team of mine working on nuclear reactor efficiency."

"Reactor efficiency? Sounds like it could help a lot of people."

Caught off guard again, Madison narrowed her eyes at the two men approaching them, only to be stunned to recognise one of the two.

"Aren't you one of the Minutemen?" She said, critically eyeing Preston, who nodded. "I'm surprised you know anything about nuclear reactors."

"I helped maintain the one in my hometown for years, before I left," He cordially replied, shaking her hand. "Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen. I take it you know Derek and Hadley?"

"Yes, from when I lived in the Capital Wasteland," Madison uneasily replied. "Although I left the region a little less than a decade ago."

"Can't say I blame you," A second man said, approaching the group. "I went down that way a few years ago after following up on a lead about some damn good, cheap scrap, and it was…interesting. I saw the thing the Brotherhood brought to the Commonwealth, and it was just as massive and impressive then. I definitely got the sense they ain't someone to be messed with."

"At the same time, we can't let them bother the people of the Commonwealth for selfish gains," Preston went on. "Which is why we're here. I spoke with the mayor – sounds like they're needing all the help they can get, especially because the Brotherhood bothered them before their leadership's arrival."

Madison raised an eyebrow. "Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt for there to be an extra layer of security here. Given how…relentless the Brotherhood are, any deterrents against them are a good idea."

"Extra layer?" Sturges eyed her strangely. "The mayor made it sound like we're the only –"

"I hope I'm not making an unfair assumption but there was a…strangely intense man near the mayor's office everyone seemed to be desperate to avoid," Preston briefly paused in thought. "And the only people I've heard of who'd still write a doctoral thesis are…"

"Gerald Spencer, your 'unlikely protégé's' father, said she was kidnapped a few years ago," Hadley narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "You're with the Institute, aren't you?"

Madison took a small step back, startled. "And if I am?" She said. "What does it matter?"

"No one knows much about the Institute," Preston calmly interjected. "Honestly, there are a lot of folks who aren't even sure they're real."

"People assume the Institute isn't real?" Madison said, rather amused. "Well. Rest assured, Mister Garvey, the Brotherhood are a shared enemy. You have nothing to worry about, but, for your own good, I'd suggest not pressing the people here much further. They have enough to worry about as it is."

The Commonwealth
July the 6th, 2288
12:29

Of all the things to interfere with the construction of the gantry to prepare for work on Liberty Prime, a gang wearing power armour painted with flames and carrying a CD player attached to excessively loud speakers was not one either Proctor Elisabeth Mischelle Ingram or Proctor Marshall Walter Quinlan had counted on.

Almost amusingly, at first, the Proctors and the teams of Scribes and Knights working quickly realised the group chose, of all genres of music, to play songs from pre-War musicals on repeat. The novelty, however, grew tiresome, and, after hearing one too many songs about defying fate or becoming a villain, it became clear the situation needed to be addressed. Yet, after several Knights returned with their power armour badly damaged and a few of them requiring medical treatment, the Proctors decided, despite not wanting to give the group any semblance of legitimacy, to confront them personally. The uninjured Scribes and Knights given their orders to continue work and call up to the Prydwen if an emergency arose, Proctor Elisabeth Mischelle Ingram and Proctor Marshall Walter Quinlan walked to the other side of the former Boston Logan International Airport. When the gang squatting at the edge of the Brotherhood's operational territory was in sight, they shared an irritated look before approaching them, the noise from the gang's speakers worse up close. To their shock, one of the gang members shut the speakers off when they noticed them, and took off the helmet of his power armour with a flourish. Squinting a bit in the bright afternoon light, he quickly accepted the rather large sunglasses a woman sitting in a lawn chair handed him, and slid them onto his face with a slick grin. After he handed his helmet to her, he walked towards the Proctors, smirking and brushing his hands together.

"Look who finally decided to acknowledge our presence," The man drawled, extending his hand and shrugging when neither Proctor Ingram nor Proctor Quinlan made any attempt to shake it. "Alright, nosebleeds. Just where do you think you are?"

"The former Boston Logan International Airport," Quinlan condescendingly replied. "Or would you prefer I be more specific? Does latitude forty two point three six five five eight nine and longitude negative seventy one point zero one zero zero two five suffice?"

The man laughed. "You're in Atom Cats territory," He said, waving his fellow gang members over. "And this is one of our main scrap yards."

"Atom Cats?" Ingram snorted. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you're not permitted to be here."

"Why not?" Another man in power armour challenged. "Because you got that big metal sky bird?"

"And some fancy toys?" A woman in a leather jacket and metal studded shoes said. "Don't pat yourselves on the backs too much, buster. Those lasers aren't as impressive as you think."

"Or as intimidating," Another woman said with a smirk. "Glad to be finally given the respect of a proper visit, but this has been our scrap yard for the last fifteen years."

"My biggest accomplishment as a teenager was finding this place," The first man almost wistfully remarked. "Well, with Duke, of course. Was real good for helping set up our garage."

"We did a damn good job!" The man presumably called Duke said, slapping his hand against the first man's. "It was a far out idea, taking up in the place and making it a hell of a spot to get some new digs, food, drinks, and company."

"So, unless you want to join up with the Cats, you're the ones encroaching on our territory," The other man in power armour said, sharing a short, resolved nod with the first man before looking back at the Proctors. "We've been here way longer than you. What do you even want our scrap for anyways?"

"That's none of your concern," Quinlan coldly informed them. "We have a great deal of work to do here, work which, for the protection of our personnel and our operations, is highly classified. As you do not seem to have a legitimate reason for…staking a claim on the resources here, you're out of luck."

"We do have a legitimate reason," Duke smoothly replied. "We've got gunners breathing down our necks, trying to get their mitts on our suits, and we've got a few family farms we have to protect. Who the hell are you protecting?"

"The entire Commonwealth," Quinlan said, his eyes narrowing at the sight of their nonchalant demeanour. "Though I don't imagine you're completely unaware, the Commonwealth is facing quite a major threat from the so called Institute, and we are here to put an end to their madness."

"So, what is this, a charity project of yours?" The woman in a leather jacket and metal studded shoes rolled her eyes. "Sounds more like you want to find an excuse to take advantage of the fear the folks here have about the Institute for your own gain."

Ingram bristled. "Just who do you think you are?"

"Name's Rowdy," The woman replied, blowing her shaggy dark bangs out of her face. "And we ain't feeling like letting you go and try and steal our scrap just so you can make your fancy ass toys."

"Unless you're feeling like sharing," Duke said, elbowing the first man. "Right, Zeke?"

"If they're giving them away," Zeke said, slickly removing his sunglasses to look at the Proctors. "But I get the feeling you ain't exactly the generous type."

"You're trespassing on a military installation," Ingram said, making no attempt to mask her irritation. "As such, you either have to leave of your own accord, or we will get you off of our site by any means necessary, including by force."

"Damn, how sweet of you," The other woman, standing beside Rowdy in a distressed skirt, leggings, boots, and blouse, said tartly. "So, thanks but no thanks. How do you expect us to keep improving our power armour, weapons, and home without access to any of this wonderful scrap?"

"If you're as skilled scavengers as you're making yourselves out to be, you don't need this," Quinlan said, pursing his lips when Zeke snickered. "We, however, do."

"Why?" Rowdy bit off. "Because you're this 'Brotherhood' and think we can just take your word for it?"

"So, you got a few options," The other woman said, draping an arm over Rowdy's shoulders. "You let us take half the scrap, or we continue to stand off for it."

"Stand off?" Ingram said, half amused. "You really think you're going to stand off against the Brotherhood? Do you even know what you're saying?"

"Roxy knows exactly what she's saying," Duke said, smacking his palms against hers, the two of them grinning. "Go ahead. We can wait all damn week."

"Or longer," Zeke said with a smug wink. "We've stuck it out against people for a long time before just to prove a point, and we'll do it again. If you know what's what, you wet rags will find your way back to whatever it is you're building, and we'll keep enjoying ourselves over here."

"Do you honestly think we're going to be here a week and that's it?" Ingram said, raising an eyebrow. "If that's what you think, you're really underestimating and minimising our capacities."

"Listen, lady," Rowdy said, lighting a cigarette and waving a hand dismissively. "The Commonwealth's only got room for one power armour gang, and we've had the claim for almost twenty years."

"Power armour gang?" Quinlan said, disgusted. "How could you possibly compare us to a gang of raiders such as yourselves?"

"We're far from raiders," Zeke snapped. "We fight against raiders, against gunners. Unless you guys prove you're here to help the people around these parts, then we ain't ready to trust you."

"And how are you any different from a power armour gang?" Roxy added, popping the cap off a Nuka Cola she took out of her (decidedly too large) purse. "Because all y'all have a pretty airship and all these massive capabilities?"

"She's got a point," Duke said, teasingly elbowing her before scowling at the Proctors. "I wouldn't be surprised if you've got nuclear weapons capabilities, too. And I mean like the ones from before the War."

"What our capacities are have nothing to do with you," Ingram sharply replied, letting out an exasperated sigh. "And, if you insist on a stand off, then be aware of the fact we have zero intentions of giving in to you or your nonsense."

"Really?" Rowdy scoffed. "Guess you intend to fill it with your own nonsense. Take a hike, bitch. You're underestimating the hell out of who you're dealing with in us. You have no idea what we are capable of."