The Commonwealth
August the 1st, 2289
21:47

Eaten each other alive. They had eaten each other alive or, at the very least, would have had one of the two parties involved been human.

The former military hangar was, to put it bluntly, an unmitigated disaster of the dead bodies of raiders and the husks of the so called 'Mechanist's' janky robots. The Knight, never one to tolerate that which stood in his way or frustrated him, did all he could to mask his annoyance at their circumstances. Their peculiar robotic companion's radar beacon turned back on and subsequently flashing and beeping faster and faster, the longer they followed it through the facility, the more irritating it became. Well trained in the art of masking his feelings, the Paladin took note of everything around them, sharing in short conversation their potential uses with the Scribe, and weighing the risk calculations for a potential, later team recovering the scrap and technology left about the old hangar. Light and nimble on her feet as ever, the Scribe kept a close watch on her surroundings as they went; out of, what had seemed to be, something of a maze, they stepped into a room of old, disused tanks; a M60 MBT, a M1 Abrams MBT, a M47 Patton, and a M8 AGS were left to rust and rot in the hangar over two centuries before. Shooting down the few raiders and robots left to make themselves known, the Paladin, the Scribe, and the Knight weaved their way through the room and the tanks, stopping only when the Paladin ordered them to. He frowned at the open security gates ahead of them and at the barrels of radioactive waste shoved to the side in the room it led to, but, seeing their robotic companion entering the room, found no alternative. Wasting no time, he ordered the Scribe, first, to don a full hazard suit over her standard uniform before following him and the Knight into the room and through the closed doors at the other end of it where their robotic companion's beacon was flashing brighter and beeping faster than ever.

Shedding her bags quickly and pulling her hazard suit out from one of them, the Scribe slipped into and sealed herself in it with an oxygen mask over her face. She swept up her bags and oxygen tank almost as quickly as she had shed her bags, donning them once more. Hearing the Knight brusquely calling her over to deal with an active but fussy computer terminal, the Scribe ran over to them, assessing the state of the device as soon as she was in reach of it. Removing a password jammer from the pocket of one of her bags, the Scribe examined the computer's ports before finding one compatible with the jammer. A few minutes more of fussing with it, and the computer granted her access. Opening the commands, the Scribe let out a sigh of relief when she found one of them was to open a security gate into the next room, the one which their robotic companion seemed all but desperate to enter. It was unsurprising, then, when the door swung open, their robotic companion was the first through, eliciting a few swears from the Knight under his breath, though they quickly turned to louder, shouts at the sight of a grotesque sentry robot powering on. Startled himself, the Paladin took a small step back and threw his arms out to push the Knight and the Scribe back behind him, the robot covered in metal spikes and additional armour which, he suddenly realised, was slowing it down.

Not wanting to waste a single second, the Paladin barked orders at their robotic companion to engage the menace before beginning to attack it himself. The Knight and the Scribe followed suit, breaking off in opposite directions in the massive room they had entered to attack the menace from both sides; the Scribe to the left and the Knight to the right. Focusing on the centre plating and in between its joints where the robot was weakest, the Paladin fought just behind their robotic companion assaulting it; the farther out of way of the machine's direct line of fire, the better. Keeping as close a watch on the safety of his most trusted Scribe and Knight, the Paladin held his aim steady and true. He smirked to himself beneath the helm of his power armour when the robot stopped moving, its systems getting stuck just before it reached the incline of a ramp. Unable to barrel down or closer to its targets, the machine continued its rapid firing. Noticing its weak spots too, the Scribe knelt down, her gun as well balanced as it could be in her increasingly shaky hands, and fired on them, careful not to accidentally hit the Paladin, the Knight, or their robotic companion. The Knight, similarly, kept his barrage of bullets firing towards the now stuck sentry bot, weaving his way behind it to fire on its fusion cores the moment the unit tried to cool itself. The opportunity to do so coming sooner than expected, he kept firing but missed, his body growing tenser in frustration within his power armour.

Unperturbed, the Paladin shifted towards the right to make up for the Knight's movements, though his firing upon the unit did not relent. Her eyes suddenly finding a computer terminal towards the back of the room, near where, it appeared, the machine had been set dormant, the Scribe took a cursory look around before running towards it and hooking the password jammer up to it. Her stomach tying into knots as the system struggled, she kept looking quickly between it and the Knight and the Paladin continuing to fight the machine with assistance from their strange robotic companion. Feeling all the more ill when the computer terminal loaded, she began frantically looking through it, its commands, and its control panels. About ready to cry when she found one to shut down the defencive systems, the Scribe all but punched the keyboard once she reached the command. She ran as far to the side as she could when the computer terminal indicated it was beginning the process of shutting down the defences of the room, focusing her gun once again on the brobdingnagian machine. Its systems beginning to whirr quieter and quieter, she took another few steps back but tentatively lowered her gun. Taken by surprise themselves, the Knight stayed focused and prepared to continue fighting the machine, and the Paladin only began to lower his weapon when it became clear the machine was shutting down and going offline. The moment it did, the Scribe shouted out to them the scene should be relatively safe, to which the Paladin, first, and the Knight, second, replied in both relief and appreciation. Slowly regaining their senses, the Scribe, the Knight, and the Paladin moved towards each other again, only to pause when their robotic companion began moving as fast as it could over towards what, at a glance, seemed to be nothing more than another computer terminal.

Seeing a brain suspended in preservative and a large, singular, grotesque eye in between its lobes attached to a computer array, however, drew them swiftly over to it.

"Well, you don't look like any of the Rust Devils," The head snippily remarked as the three approached with their robotic companion. "Too sophisticated. What are you doing here?"

"Don't try to play stupid, unit," Rhys gruffly said, pointing his gun at the head. "You know why we're here, and, I'm sure, why we need your radar beacon."

"You must be tracking the Mechanist, then. How very interesting," The head sneered. "If you get me out of here, I'll consider relinquishing my radar beacon. As a gesture of good faith only, that is."

"You'll do what we say, or we'll put a bullet through you sooner," Rhys snapped back, only pausing when he felt a firm hand on his shoulders pulling him back. He sighed when he realised it was Danse. "We should have just put a bullet in Dr. Li's head, too," He muttered, stepping away for the Paladin to approach the robot. "She's a traitor, and always had been."

"That's not who we are, Rhys," Haylen said, though unsure if he heard her. "What we did might have been misguided enough as it is…"

"As a Paladin of the Brotherhood Of Steel, I am ordering you, unit, to forfeit what information you have on the Mechanist to us," Danse frowned beneath the helm of his power armour when the head did not reply. "Or face immediate destruction and forcible confiscation of your radar beacon."

"I'd rather keep myself intact today, thank you," The head irritably replied. "You Brotherhood are brutes, from all the information I've gathered. Do you always resort to solving your problems with such violence? Then again, perhaps it's all you're capable of. I've heard humans use only ten percent of their brains at a time. What does that other ninety percent do? Just sit there? What a waste."

"That's a myth!" Haylen uncomfortably called out. "That theory was disproven scientifically centuries ago and before the War!"

"Even so," The head condescendingly said, largely ignoring her comment. "I have brainpower you brutes could not even begin to comprehend. It would likely cause your nose to bleed. Regardless, based on my limited experience with you personally, I estimate a sixty five percent chance of making it out of here. Not optimal. An increase in effort could have a positive impact on the odds. But let me phrase this so even dullards like you can understand. You want information to make yourselves and, presumably, your boss happy. I want to keep my brain in one piece. So, maybe we can cut a deal."

Danse snorted. "How do we know you'll keep your end of any 'deal' you could offer us?"

"Even though there's a human brain floating in bio-gel in my head, I'm still bound my original programming," The head said. "It pains me to admit it, but one of my directives states I cannot lie. Ever. So, while I'm not the most charming robot you've ever encountered – and you can and will call me by my name, Jezebel – the last thing I am going to do is violate an agreement we've made. With that out of the way, do we have a deal?"

"Tentatively, yes," Danse said shortly.

"Then I'll tell you everything I know about my own construction, the Mechanist, and all the bits that cunt 'Ivey' wants to hear, and, in return, you keep those tools away from me and put me back onto a body," Jezebel said. "You get what you want, and I don't get dissected like some kind of laboratory experiment. Speaking of Ivey, the leader of the thugs here? She's the one who ripped my head off, so I demand we rip her head off. It's only fair."

"Only fair," Haylen managed a half laugh to herself. "Damn."

Goodneighbour
August the 8th, 2289
17:11

"The Institute…it's crazy. Not as crazy as up here but…there's so much there, things I don't think anyone can even imagine exist anywhere else. It's…it's interesting but…but I'm glad I left. I'm glad I'm free."

A little scared, a little enthralled, and more than a little relieved to be sure of his own safety, H2-22 – or, as he realised he much preferred to be called, Henry Sanford – looked between the three women he was sat across from. Though she had, for a few minutes, reminded him of one of the SRB's most senior scientist, the eldest of the three women had managed to put him the most at ease. She spoke calmly, clearly, and reassuringly. Even her mannerisms were of the same calm and well practised form. The woman to her left with hair so long it was, even braided, brushing her ankles had also put him more at ease; something, he was sure, had to do with the way and unfamiliar accent with which she spoke but, every so often, slipping when something sharper began to make itself shown behind her eyes, something he could not seem to place. The women to the right of the eldest of them, however, was much different; she was soft, and, while her accent felt unfamiliar too, the only thing about her leaving him even a little uneasy was how intensely she observed him. Trying not to let the thought torment him, he began to try and place their dress; history, it seemed, had been the only thing in the Institute both intriguing to and not kept from him. The eldest of the three women wore nearly all white, but the emblem on her lab coat was unusual; something, he told himself, he had seen before but could not quite remember where. The woman to her left wore a light pink blouse and dark pants beneath her lab coat, though it lacked any emblem. The two of them, he suspected, were dressed modernly. The woman to the right of the eldest of the three, however, wore a high collared, lace adorned white blouse with long, puffy sleeves and a dark green skirt that dusted the floor; impractical and antiquated, yet –

"It is not as elegant up here as it is in the Institute, I gather?" The woman in antiquated dress said, patiently waiting until he nodded. "I think I understand. It is not as elegant as I was picturing up here from my Vault home, either, and instead quite…confusing, at times, and much less orderly."

"V…vault?" Henry nervously said. "That sounds cramped."

"No, in truth, it was quite the opposite," She shook her head. "But I should not intrude on your recollections, not when you are the one who wanted to tell us about where you are from."

"I…I think someone needs to know and…and Mister Stockton trusts you so…" He hesitated. "What really bugs me is I try to remember where the Institute is, and tried to before he brought me here because he asked me that and was so kind in taking care of me, but I can't remember it. I don't know, I really don't."

"You don't need to," The eldest of the three women assured him. "Seeing as you, also, still intend to have your memories wiped, I doubt it would matter either way."

"Forgetting it bothers me that I forgot something will be nice. And I get to start a new life. I…I'm looking forward to it," He looked between her and the other two women again. "Being a synth in the Institute was scary, at least, when I think about it now. I think forgetting them and that I'm a synth will be for the best, too. We were all expected to behave like machines, and not like ourselves. You await instructions. You execute instructions. You perform basic self maintenance. Any…"

"Anything else is considered abnormal?" The woman to the left of the eldest of them surmised. "How did they respond to that?"

"The SRB comes in," Henry said, swallowing hard. "They're the ones who watch us. To make sure we're not 'defective' and to make sure we don't run. Synths that get noticed just disappear. I…I don't know where they go."

She frowned. "Taken by the Institute's personnel and scientists, most likely."

"Yeah…" He said, staring down at his hands. "Maybe they work with them? But it's probably sadder."

"Unfortunately, I have to agree," The eldest of three women said with a sigh, turning to the women on her left. "It just occurred to me, Annette, that you said you've had contact with Institute scientists?"

"And a Courser, yes, about a decade ago," She said, the sharpness returning to her eyes. "It certainly wasn't an experience I think back on fondly, though it was not dangerous, at least to me."

Henry stared at her, confused. "I thought Cour…I thought them and the scientists were dangerous to everyone outside the Institute."

"Being human, I suspect, helps," Annette said shortly. "Did you, per chance, ever work with any of their scientists?"

"Sort of," He said, reaching for and nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. "But my only interactions with them, really, were when they gave me orders on what to clean. I would acknowledge my task and occasionally ask for necessary clarification, but that was…that was really it. I was always curious about what they did, but I never could figure it out. Not where I was, anyways."

The woman in the antiquated dress raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a little, curious.

"Really?" She said, struggling to hide the fascination in her voice. "Where did you work in the Institute?"

"I worked the maintenance tunnels," He said, a little embarrassed. "I worked there every day for as long as I can remember. The only time I spoke to anyone was to acknowledge orders from a scientist and very rarely to other synths. I've talked more in the short while I've been up here than I ever had before in my entire life. But I was always fascinated with what else was in the Institute. I heard there were concourses above the tunnels, and they were huge, big, and green, with so many synths. I…I think the word I heard a scientist once use to describe it was they live in a 'metropolis.'"

"Like before the War?" She pressed. "Such as a city?"

"I…I think so? I guess?" His face fell. "But it also sounded scary. Everyone is watched more carefully – well, we…synths, you know are – by scientists, and Mister Stockton said very few synths from those sections of the Institute ever escape."

"I see," She paused, humming to herself in thought for a moment. "If that is the state of things, do those synths, perhaps, have aid in their departure from one of the scientists? Or a handful of them?"

"You would certainly need quite the backbone to do something like that in the Institute," The eldest of the three women remarked. "Though, I will say, Curie, I hope you are right."

"She…she is," Henry said, swallowing hard when the three women all looked to him, taken aback. "I…I think so, anyways. There is one, but there are probably more. The…the one who helped me…his father was the only other person other than him who treated me like an equal. He took me out of the tunnels once. Asked me if he could scan my brain while we had a friendly conversation. I wasn't sure what to say but I agreed, partly out of fear of being taken for disobeying and partly out of curiosity. He…he was shocked when I accidentally admitted that, said he doesn't want synths to fear people because we're more alike than different."

"For the Institute, that's surprisingly empathetic. True, but unusually empathetic coming from them," The eldest of the three women said, taking a moment to choose her next words carefully. "You said the son of that scientist helped you escape?"

Henry nervously nodded. "He…he did but I can't tell you his name. I don't want him to get into trouble. I…I know you wouldn't be helping me if you were with the Institute but…still, I don't ever want to risk putting him in danger. He was the first person who ever really stuck his neck out for me. I…I don't want to forget him, but I know that…that's how this works."

"Unfortunately, yes," The eldest of the three women confirmed, though her voice was kind and her eyes understanding. "It's not possible to erase only pieces of one's memory. It's either all or nothing."

"I know," Henry said, blinking back tears and looking down at his hands in his lap. "But I still want to go through with it. I…I have nightmares, and this world, the SRB, being hunted…I just can't handle knowing all of that. Living with it. And I know I'll be safer when I can start my new life and happier but…yeah. Old Man Stockton, you, him…forgetting that's my only fear but…but I know it's for the best to…to move on."

The Commonwealth
August the 13th, 2289
11:13

Though it was a comparatively small change to all those a few miles away at Sanctuary Hills, seeing the massive Vault-Tec billboard continuing to be melted down by Sturges, the Minutemen, and the rest of the team working with the plans of one Dr. Brian Virgil was nothing short of satisfying.

In a way, Nora told herself, Vault-Tec were burning just as they had burnt her, her family, and, she had no doubt, far too many others.

Wrapping her arms around herself as she walked through the morning rain and towards the store of the former gas station, Nora Jacqueline Norwich managed a faint smile at Cait when, walking beside her, the former cage fighter twirled her way through the door, holding it open for her. Letting it slam shut behind the two of them and the old, rusted windchimes ring out, Cait let out a light sigh of relief to find only Sturges in the backroom, taking notes on the blueprints and intermittently petting Dogmeat. The friendly creature barked happily upon seeing her and Nora, and affectionately licked Sturges' free, gloved hand still petting him when he looked up and turned to greet the two women. Setting down his pencil, he gave Dogmeat a few scratches behind the ears before loosely embracing Nora in greeting, followed by smacking both of his palms against Cait's and matching her mischievous grin. Pulling over a stool, Nora sat down near the back of the room, leaning back against the wall and smiling a little more when Dogmeat came over to her and began pawing at her hands. Cait pulled herself up atop the unused countertop across from the one where Sturges was at work, and took a look about the room, briefly closing her eyes and wrapping her hands around the countertop to listen to the rain starting to pour down harder outside.

Turning on the small light table on the counter before him, Sturges lifted up the stack of thick plastic slides and began taking notes once more on the information they relayed; each piece on it labelled some of the pieces of what, he was now certain, was a large reflector platform as the machine's base. Still unsure if he had misplaced them among the original files and plans he had been given or if he had made them on a midnight hunch and forgotten about them due to passing out soon after, he nevertheless continued working with them. What was most frustrating about all pieces of the plans were the lack of dimensionality; the relative sizes of each piece of the device were, to an extent, inferable from the plans but the actual size required for them was much hazier. Not eager to let irritation get the best of him, Sturges paused to run his hands through his hair, chewing at his cheeks in thought. Shifting his attention back to the information on the reflector he was near certain he had solved, he leaned forward a little, comparing them to the, albeit messy, narrow hexagonal shape of it dictated by Virgil's plans for the device. Side by side, he took a few more notes before suddenly setting his pencil down again upon hearing a knock at the door. A little surprised to find Desdemona and Tom to be waiting when he opened it, he ushered them into the large backroom of the gas station he had turned into his office, leaning back against the counter and waiting for either of them to speak.

"I wanted to, first, thank you again for being so cooperative and diligent about keeping my true identity and Tom's an absolute secret," Desdemona finally said when Tom shut and locked the door behind them. "The last thing I want is for either of us – or any of you and certainly this…operation – to be found on the Institute's radar because of something that I know sounds so small."

"You're perfectly welcome, Dorothea, you and Theodore both," Sturges politely replied. "And I appreciate the cooperation and deference you've both shown to myself and the Minutemen working on this project for Nora. I know it ain't always easy to set aside your pride, but this is one of them things more important than your own pride."

"It is," Nora said, casting a wary, dark glance at Desdemona. "And I'm just relieved that, for now, progress keeps being made. With how much there is to it…I'm well aware making it is a massive ask."

"It is, but it ain't nothing a hell of a lot of elbow grease and some damn good minds can't handle now we're putting ourselves to work with it," Sturges said, high fiving Tom. "I'll admit, I had some reservations about working with you, but you've got a lot more going on in your head than I thought you had at first. Definitely shouldn't lead any first conversation with someone with conspiracy theories going forward, though, just as some friendly advice."

Tom uneasily laughed. "Can't really call them conspiracy theories when they're true but believe what you want."

"Sure, sure," Sturges said, though he eyed him strangely for a few seconds before clasping his hands together and regaining his composure. "So, I've made some decent progress on the base of this machine, what our friendly Institute departee called a 'reflector platform.' Trouble is with determining the exact specs, best materials to use for it, and how to interlope it with the more…confusing parts of the plans. But, hey, progress is progress."

"Got anything else figured out?" Tom asked, pushing up some of the contraptions on his headgear. "I'm still stuck on the transistor station it looks like is in there, the thing the Courser chip is meant to…well…"

"I have," Sturges said, opening a drawer and pulling out one of his notebooks. "You can take a look through what I've worked through and check my maths and all if you need to. I know it ain't elegant, but that's what we've got. A console – not unlike the kind you'd have for a larger, high powered computer terminal – is what I think you're talking about, and it looks like encrypted RF transmissions that get routed through it, and at least partially read by the stuff in that Courser chip."

"I'm impressed you've sorted that out," Nora said, sharing a momentary smile with him. "Honestly, the amount of progress you've made in a matter of weeks is impressive."

"Just putting to good use what I know," Sturges replied with an affectionate, brotherly nudge of her nearest arm with his elbows. "Can't let all my parents and then myself taught me go to waste, and, I'll admit, I ain't known for saying no to a challenge and this is one hell of a big one, even with information from someone who knew what they're doing."

"Seems you know what you're doing too, though," Cait reminded him with a pointed look. "Don't go scaring the lass."

"Far from my intention," He replied. "Just stating the facts."

"Well, despite my reservations, you've certainly more than proved your worth, Mister Presley," Desdemona said, appraisingly looking between him, Nora, and Cait. "What is the timeline of the project looking like?"

"If we can get this reflector platform figured out soon, we should be able to move on to the console, which I suspect will be the second easiest to figure out, though easy is...pretty loose," Sturges said, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. "The hardest part to figure, far as I can tell, is going to be what actively sends the 'beam,' I guess you could call it that does the zapping to the Institute, and building and calibrating a relay dish that will properly interface with all of that to get it right. So, my hope is to have this thing ready and raring to go by the new year."

Nora turned to him, surprised for a few seconds but then looking relieved, relaxing a little more when Cait looped an arm around her waist.

"God, I…" She shook her head. "I hope you can pull that off."

"Don't rush it, though," Desdemona said, albeit mostly to Tom who looked more eager by the second. "I doubt the Institute will risk any chance of this being able to happen a second time, and this will likely be her only chance…" She turned to Nora. "As I believe I already told you."

"And I told you," Nora stubbornly said, crossing her arms. "I don't care how it works, so long as it does, and there is just about nothing left I won't sacrifice to get into the Institute and bring my son home."

Desdemona sighed. "We have to be careful, Miss Norwich. The last thing we want – regardless of what you may think of me or…Theo – is for you to die trying."

"I won't, but, if I were to…" Nora hesitated, glancing between her and the work going on all around them. "If I have to be a living sacrifice for Shaun…then I will be, and if I survive, I survive."

"But recklessness and throwing this one chance you have away out of stubbornness won't help him, Miss Norwich," Desdemona said, pausing to soften the tone of her voice. "If you need to take a step back from being here, from directing this, then I will too, if that's what you'll need to view this as fair and on your terms."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Miss Norwich, I am," She calmly replied. "Though I'm sure you aren't inclined to believe me, I do not want you to suffer, or for this endeavour to not pan out for you."

"I'll keep her honest," Sturges said, turning to Nora. "I'll keep you up to date on everything happening here over the radio. The best thing about the Castle being up and running just about all the way, now, is that we have a full line of communication for all of us Minutemen."

Nora hesitated, looking between him and Cait.

"And we can communicate between each other on our Pip-Boys now, too?"

"We can do some checks, but should be," Sturges assured her. "And, wherever and whatever you do to try and feel yourself and all right as rain, I've got a firm hand on the project. Hell, I managed to fill in some of the gaps on the engineering with the platform the other day after I started taking the time to clear my mind a little every day by having lunch with some of the birds and Dogmeat, sitting just by the old sign of fuel prices outside."

Nora smiled a bit. "I'll certainly feel better about things with you keeping everyone in check."

"And I will," Sturges promised. "You're going to get where you need to be, Nora. I'll ensure it."

"Might be fun to pop in on the Cats to get away from Sanctuary for a little," Cait whispered to her. "If you need a little more time to grieve there, though…I can stay with you for that too."

"Maybe…" Nora fell silent before finally nodding and turning back to Sturges. "Fine. Mind if we check in on the way…when we finally head out?"

"Not all," Sturges said, briefly setting a comforting hand on her shoulders. "Like I said, we're doing this for you and your boy, and, I promise, I'll make sure everything is seen through for you because the good Lord knows you're doing what you have to and are doing the right damn thing."

Far Harbour
August the 17th, 2289
6:46

When her eyes adjusted, she realised she was laying on her back, and, when she took a look around, she realised, to her relief, she could still see herself from her messy hair cascading down her back and partially in front of her face down to her toes kept imprisoned in her boots.

It only took a few seconds longer of regaining her bearings to realise they had gotten the first step right.

She was in the simulation.

More than a little awed by what she was standing in, around, and on, Ada Branson stopped and stared; blocks rose and fell in synchronicity, others stayed where they were. Streams of light went up and down and down and up, while others went from left to right and from right to left. It was not dark, either, and, instead was almost unsettlingly bright, at first. Still focusing, Ada felt her eyes opening and closing rapidly, fluttering to keep them from being overexerted. When everything appeared and felt stable, she slowly began to take a few steps forward. One after the other, trepidatious enough to testify to her fear of falling and the simulation failing, glitching, or both. She paused after only a few steps and took a look behind her at where she had come from. For a moment, she simply stopped and stared; the stream of what she was sure to be data flowing upwards looked almost like a teleporter of sorts or a gateway to somewhere; more memories, perhaps. Running her hands through her hair, she began walking forward again as soon as she was certain once more that what she was standing and walking upon would not suddenly dissipate and lead her plummeting down how ever deep what was below went. The thought alone making her feel nauseated, she pushed it aside. Kept walking and slowly trying to examine and put together her surroundings. When noise broke into the simulation she knew could not and was not coming from her, however, she stopped short and let out a short, startled scream.

"If you are listening to this, then you made it inside of my memory banks," The voice of the strange synth called Dima said with the cadence of a well seasoned professor answering the questions of a student. "Take a moment. I know it is a lot at once. But, that said, permit me to explain. The architecture you're seeing is data. My data. When I'm plugged into the chair, this is what I see. You are using an earlier version of that technology – a brain wave scanner instead of a direct neural wire."

"So, the blocks, then…" Ada said to herself, kneeling down and pushing her hands against what she was upon. "Must be a set of data, a piece of the memories. But –"

She suddenly leapt up to her feet, strange green and turquoise creatures, of sorts, running past her and towards where a break in the blocks were, those ahead walkable but the break apparently impassable for the strange creatures. Slowly approaching them, unsure if they were aware of her, Ada tried to lift one up after a moment of hesitation, only to find nothing in her hands and nothing reacting to her attempts to touch them. Guess throwing them across or jumping with them in hand isn't a possibility. Letting out an annoyed sigh, the teenager sat down on the edge of the blocks of data, her legs dangling over into what either existed or did not exist below. Pushing aside the nauseating feeling that came with the fear of falling or becoming trapped in the simulation because of it, she took another look around herself, scowling at the break in the blocks the creatures could not pass despite seemingly wanting and needing to, and then at a wall of red and hazy blocks in the periphery of the right side of her vision. The frustration getting the better of her, she leaned back onto the blocks behind her, and pushed herself all the way onto them again, staring up at the movement of other blocks of data above and below her. Rolling over onto her left side, she shook her hair out of her face when she noticed the increasingly bright glow of a few of the other blocks of data around her. Pushing herself up onto her feet again, she walked towards them and, to her surprise, when she attempted to lift one up, she found herself able to, holding the block as though it were a large package in her hands.

Adrenaline latching onto her almost as quickly as a faint smirk appeared on her face, she walked over towards the break in the blocks where the creatures waited and, to her disbelief, watched them run over and across them when she set the block in between the break, closing the gap and the one she had lifted, somehow, staying in place.

"Damn it all," She said, laughing when she went and swept up two more blocks with her hands, one on top of the other and them impossibly easy to carry. "This'll render everyone speechless."

The creatures laying in wait again, the teenager approached two more breaks in the blocks, filling each of them with one of the boxes in her hands before kneeling down to watch them move across them again, the creatures moving almost the same as a slow grounded bug but with the speed of an airborne dragonfly, their colours shifting between more green than turquoise and then more turquoise than green with nearly each movement they made.

Strange as it was, it also was mesmerising.

"Good. The indexers are making their way alright thus far," The voice of the strange synth called Dima broke into the simulation again. "The indexers are those friendly, green sprites milling around, and have one purpose. Do you see that yellow column in the distance? That's long term memory storage. That's your goal. The indexers must retrieve the data in that yellow column and bring it back to the memory access point. You need to get them there and back safely. Once they have reached it with all the data in the memory, this programme will translate it into something you can understand."

"And if I could see your face, you'd probably look like Motherboard," Ada snickered to herself. "Am I playing Hacker in Cyberchase, now, and the little sprites are my Digit, Buzz, Gigabyte, and Delete in a rare episode where you need my machinations to successfully complete a mission?"

"You'll need to deal with the security systems to get the indexers to the memory storage," Dima's voice continued without the capacity to acknowledge her comments. "That red firewall is blocking you and your indexers from reaching the data. Do you see that green beam of light? That's a decoder beam. It can destroy the firewall. You just need to direct the beam to its vulnerable spot."

Turning to take a closer look at the firewall in question, it was only a few seconds before the teenager began to laugh, almost hard enough for her body to begin to ache. The words of the synth continued to tell, but she paid little attention to them and instead sauntered towards the firewall, where the indexers waited and kept trying to pass through it, only to be bounced back each time. Attempting to punt one through the firewall, when she was unsuccessful she turned around and looked into the decoder beam, searching for its origin. When she found it, she sashayed towards it, and began to climb the blocks of data around and leading up to it. When she reached it, she stared down the small gap in the firewall that hungrily awaited the beam to take the rest of the firewall down. The decoder beam feeling, somehow, even lighter than the blocks of data, Ada stood up with it in her hands, and slowly made her way down the blocks of code she had climbed up onto to reach the device. Her thick, dark hair and its tight curls briefly getting in her way, she shoved it back with her elbows before trying to refocus on getting into just the right spot to feed the beam through the small gap in the firewall. Frustration taking her again when no obvious spot began to show itself, she sat down on the blocks of data she had been standing on, and set the beam in its block down on her lap. She rolled her eyes at the continued attempts of the indexers to break through the firewall and, then, resisting the urge to throw the beam at the gap in the firewall, scurried up towards a position she, much to her annoyance, had to return to after making it halfway down the blocks of data.

The moment she reached the spot, she began to try and focus the beam on, into, and through the weakest link in the firewall. Another few minutes of frustration and a desire to, if it were at all possible, burn everything around her down to get the damned memories by force, she managed to find and hold the beam in place long enough for the firewall to become compromised. As it dissipated, she threw the block with the decoder beam aside, caring not if she could have use for it later. Seeing the indexers begin running towards the data holding the memories, the teenager leisurely made her way back down to the blocks of data they walked on. She crossed her arms and leaned back against a small stack of data blocks while she watched the indexers growing closer and closer to the data, impatience reaching for her when their movements seemed to become much more slow and disjointed. Waiting for something to happen, Ada slowly made her way towards the flowing memory holding data where the indexers were meant to go, startling when one suddenly rushed past and weaved in and out between her feet. Swearing when she nearly lost her balance as a result, Ada kept moving towards the indexers and the flowing data, her arms still crossed and impatient annoyance etched onto her face. She let out a sigh of relief when one of the indexers entered the flowing data and emerged with a strange, gold tinted glow enveloping it as it began to make its way to the data stream from which they had emerged. She let out an aggravated shout soon after, however, when a painfully loud and high pitched buzz began to ring out in her ears, followed by the sudden appearance of strange red and black orbs that looked almost like eyes. The first indexer nearly at and quickly crossing into the first stream of data with the fragments of memory it had, the orb turned itself on the indexers entering the flowing memory data.

Another indexer emerged bathed in a light gold tinted glow, only to suddenly be pulverised by the orb with what, she could have sworn, was a laser.

The other indexers that emerged began to move as fast as possible, and some of them managed to escape the orb, only for more orbs to emerge after two more indexers safely crossed into the first stream of data.

She kicked at the nearest blocks of data to her with as much force as she could muster, and her voice broke out into angered shouts as the orbs continued to destroy the first indexers they could find.

"The system has been alerted to your presence," The voice of Dima said with a cautionary note to it as it broke into the simulation again, eliciting another irritated exclamation from the teenager. "You'll need to turn on the defence constructs this programme has placed into the simulation so that the memories can be easily retrieved. They are there to prevent the system's sentries from doing everything they can to stop the indexers from returning to the access point with the data. So long as…"

Not bothering to pay longer attention to the words of the strange synth, Ada took another look around and, seeing a few oddly shaped turrets had pushed their way out of some of the blocks of data without her noticing them at all, walked over to and smacked her palms on the top of them. When they did nothing, she scowled at them, and began swearing under her breath. Sure, I can turn them on, it won't be a problem at all. Fucking liar. Climbing on top of a few of the blocks of data to get a better look at the indexers as they continued to run towards the data stream holding the strange synth's memories and back, she crossed her arms, and scowled at the oddly shaped turrets and the small swarm of black and white and red eyes starting to form around the data stream. Seeing another indexer finally and safely cross into and through the first stream of data from whence they came after a few minutes of poor luck, Ada turned back to the questionable turrets, trying to identify any pieces of them capable of taking down any of the orbs. Fumbling her hands over the one nearest to her and punching it a few times to try and force it to activate, she stopped when her fingers caught onto something on the back of it. She leaned towards it to get a better look and, upon finding it to be a button, jammed her thumbs at it. A whir indicating the turret coming to life was soon followed by the sound and sight of something firing on the orbs.

The turret was doing what it was meant to, finally; she ran towards the others to slam them on as well, only for the orbs and the turrets to suddenly disappear. Whipping around towards the first stream of data and seeing the smallest bit of the back of an index disappearing into it, the teenager took another look around her. When it became clear the environment she was caught in was stable, Ada relaxed a little and made her way back towards the first stream of data, only stopping and gritting her teeth in irritation when the voice of Dima started speaking again.

"Memory retrieval at full capacity and complete. Verifying…looks good," Dima's voice said, the teenager briskly walking back across the path and towards the data stream she had entered the simulation from. "You can now use the original data stream as an access point to the next memory. Memories needing retrieval…ninety three percent still to be retrieved."

"Shit," Ada swore to herself, crossing her arms and scowling into the distance just before the stepping into the original data stream. "I'm going to be doing this for what seems like fucking forever, aren't I?"

Even though the system did not and could not respond to her words, that in and of itself seemed to be the answer.

The Institute
August the 24th, 2289
13:09

"Here is the latest update on both the activity of the Minutemen at the former petrol, diesel, and nuclear coolant station previously serving, primarily, the town of Sanctuary Hills and M7-62's update on the potential Institute recruit Dr. Li proffered to you last July. After a little over a year of surveillance, M7-62 and Dr. Secord feel confident in their analysis of him."

Handing the two physical files to the Director, the Courser quickly left the Directorate's primary meeting room where he and his father were. When the doors shut and locked behind her, Nathaniel Norwich took the first and smaller of the two files from his son, and smiled when he saw, at the top of it, were surveillance photographs, albeit slightly grainy ones, from their avian watchers. His face fell, however, when he saw one of the woman he and his son were so carefully leading to the Institute with the junkie she had continued to travel with; despite the grain, it was clear she had kissed her. The same dull pain that had jabbed him the first time their intelligence had indicated the growing closeness between her and the junkie returned, soon followed by anger. Kellogg. It was his fault. Him and his damned words. I didn't want to believe it, believe that Nor had come to think I died at his hands, but she has. How long has it been since I was first told so? Maybe it doesn't matter. It's not her fault…it's his. Maybe we should have killed Kellogg ourselves. Running his hands through his hair after turning through more pages in the file, Nate sighed, the heavy feeling subsiding to a bit of relief at some of the other photographs and pages of information. The man who had saved Dr. Li and Dr. Spencer was still leading the project. He had received and was working with the information they had leaked to him after a need for it was confirmed by watchers. The other Minutemen were working steadily with him and, slowly, things seemed to be coming together.

As they were meant to.

Taking a gander at the much larger file, his son paused every so often to take a few notes down on his laptop, closely examining each bit of information from even the very first page. His lips slowly curved upwards in an approving smile when he reached the detailing of the boy's projects at Diamond City's Science! Centre, under its two directors. Analysis of expected chemical compositions of common plant species versus mutated, atypical chemical compositions of heavily irradiated specimens of the same species. Similar work, Shaun noted, to some of Bioscience's smaller, low priority, ongoing experiments at Warwick. Analysis and attempting reverse engineering of Institute technology, in particular older laser weapons carried by the first generation synths. Flipping a little ahead, Shaun turned back and wrote down the approximate date of confiscation of the weapons – December 2287 – and their serial numbers and date of manufacturing – the laser gun, produced 2254, regularly tuned up until its confiscation and the knife, produced 2255 for use with that old model of weapon. Almost amused at the endeavour, Shaun continued to read through the file, pausing again in surprise. Examination of advanced cybernetics in the severed torso of Conrad Kellogg. Trepidatiously, he continued to read through the notes on the endeavour, only to, after a few minutes, remove the files on it and push them over towards his father. Taken aback, Nate tried to mask his satisfaction at the knowledge of what had become of the man he most –

"Dr. Li. Dr. Secord. Good, I appreciate the both of you taking the time to come and discuss this matter despite how busy both of your Divisions are."

"We are considering bringing someone into the Institute," Alana said, her voice clipped as she and Madison Li sat down at the table with the Director and his father. "And, in particular, someone we would not have taken notice of if it were not for Dr. Li. This is not under our usual reasons for considering and bringing someone into the Institute, and that break in routine makes it worth observing closely. I had no concerns nor thoughts on any of the other sixty some people whom we've brought into the Institute this year, but the fact Dr. Li thought this young man should –"

"I trained this boy since he first started showing an interest in science at two years old," Madison pointedly reminded her. "Before, I should add, his family lived in Rivet City and when they only attended school there. I spent eight years working with him, and, even as a small child, he had a great deal of potential and I am sure he still does."

"What M7-62 has reported to us this past year inclines me to believe the same," Shaun calmly put in before Alana could reply. "I assume you read over the report already?"

"More than once," Madison said shortly. "I was, in particular, interested in his working to reverse engineer Institute technology."

"That was what caught your attention most?" Alana said, looking over at her, surprised. "The fact he has been able to do any inspection and basic analysis of the cybernetics in Kellogg's chest is, I would argue, the most impressive. When the report on him was forwarded to the Directorate for consideration, Alan wanted to get his hands on the research itself because he was shocked anyone would even attempt to analyse those cybernetics."

"The scientific community on the surface have probably been exposed to something similar before, if not quite the same. The amount of research they gained access to that had been done by the Enclave, for instance, comes to mind," Madison said. "Even before they were – thankfully – put out of existence, members of the scientific community taking Enclave technology and research existed, and even more were interested in pre-War research and technology. They aren't as far behind us as you might want to think."

"Perhaps not," Alana half way conceded. "But the cybernetics Kellogg received over the years to keep him alive and in his prime had to get increasingly complex and built upon each other, because, if they hadn't been, having to remove and place new ones in would likely have killed him. Opinion on the general capacities on the surface aside, however," Alana turned to the Director. "I have not objected to bringing in any of the new members of the Institute this year, and I will not start now."

Nate raised an eyebrow. "So, as with the others we've brought in this year, you believe this boy will be an asset to the Institute?"

Alana frowned but nevertheless curtly nodded. "I am."

"Understood, Dr. Secord," Shaun turned to Madison. "Am I correct to assume we already know your position?"

"Yes," Madison replied, narrowly looking between him and his father. "You already know my answer."

"In that case, we'll have to later discuss how best to bring him to the Institute," Nate said, faintly smiling as he closed the file. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"There is," Alana said, sharing an uneasy glance of agreement with Madison. "I noticed there has still been no approval granted for Courser activity in the field despite two new synth escapes this month. Why is that still in place when we – in the Directorate, of course – are now more than well aware of what happened to the last Courser we put in the field?"

"The number of synth escapes have been so low since you took over the SRB, Dr. Secord, and, unless there becomes an absolute, urgent need, I would like to keep that order in place to prevent the Brotherhood from potentially gaining access to another Courser," Shaun said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "The chances of them recognising and taking a normal third generation synth are incredibly low, but they know what to look for in finding a Courser."

"Seeing as none of our operations will be up for sabotage, I would like to be able to keep the number of third generation synths out there as low as possible," Alana replied with a frown. "Coursers retrieving the handful of ones that go rogue are how we maintain that at the moment."

"And," Madison put in, making no attempt to mask her anger. "While work on finishing the scrub of the FEV lab is finally in progress, the truth about what happened to Dr. Virgil still has not been formally acknowledged, and I expect – whenever Coursers are put into the field again – no attempts to locate or kill him will be left standing."

Nate glanced to his son. "We're in no position to refuse the Directorate's requests any longer, Shaun."

Silence.

"We'll prepare to reinstate Courser operations and openly acknowledge what happened to Dr. Virgil immediately, Dr. Secord, Dr. Li," Shaun finally said. "It should be done by the end of the first week of September."

Madison's lips flattened into a thin line. "It will be."