I don't own Fallout or any of its characters. The Fallout series belongs to Bethesda Softworks. I am not making any profit from this story.


It came to life. The first thing it saw was a hazy blur of red and bright white, and the first sound it heard was a muffled gurgling. Then came its first touch – a warm body of water.

It rose, naked. First its head left the red water, then the rest of its body as it stood up to the smell and taste of antiseptics.

Looking around, it spotted a flawless, high-tech cleanroom in which numerous workers were dressed in hazmat suits. The large machines above had worked in perfect sync, and were now on standby as the next creation would only be later on.

"Welcome to the Institute," said a light robotic-voice up ahead. It belonged to a mannequin-like worker dressed in a plain-white uniform. "Please, step this way."

It obeyed. The newest-creation walked to the entrance labelled 'PROCESSING' up ahead. It climbed in and found itself in a dimly-lit narrow tunnel. The tunnel continued for a short distance until reaching small station, in which a mannequin-like worker stood at the booth.

"Welcome, fellow synth," said the mannequin-like worker in a light robotic-voice. "For chronological reference, today is the sixth of June, 2288. For geographical reference, you are currently in the Robotics division of the Institute. Here is a quick overview of our organisation. Please try to remember it."

The human-like synth listened attentively as the mannequin-like synth spoke.

"The Institute was founded by the survivors of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology and their descendants in 2110 – 178 years ago. It currently comprises five divisions, four of which have dedicated headquarters. The divisions are colour-coded for ease of personnel identification and navigation. They are: Advanced Systems, blue. BioScience, green. Facilities, yellow. Robotics, red. Synth Retention Bureau, black. You will find their colour-coded lines throughout the Institute.

"For self-reference, your unit designation is K6-26. You are a third-generation synth, also known as a 'gen-3'. Please ensure that you remember your designation. Failure to comply may be seen as defective programming."

As expected, K6-26 made it its highest priority to remember its designation. After all, the last thing it wanted was to be decommissioned.

"Here are your work orders and apparel," said the mannequin-like worker at the booth. "Please step into the corridor once you are ready. A first-generation unit will escort you to your designated barracks."

K6-26 accepted its work orders and uniform. The former was on a clipboard and contained only a few janitorial tasks in BioScience (for now). The latter was the standard uniform of the Institute: a white-and-grey jumpsuit with orange sleeves.

After putting on its underwear and clothing, K6-26 decided to ask the mannequin-like synth a question.

"So, what generation are you?"

"Second, also known as a 'gen-2'."

After that, K6-26 left the processing station at the opposite side from which it had entered. It was greeted by a techno-skeletal gen-1 in the curved corridor.

"Welcome," said the gen-1. "This corridor connects with several barracks, research stations, and a few recreational facilities. At the far end is a door leading to the main hub of the Institute, the concourse area ..."

As expected, K6-26 listened attentively while following the gen-1 down the long, curved corridor. The synths stopped at one of the doors on the right.

"This is one of the barracks corridors," said the gen-1. "It contains rooms 85 to 90. Please proceed into the corridor for further orientation."

The gen-1 turned around and walked back up the curved corridor, towards the processing exit. K6-26 entered the barracks corridor and was greeted by a gen-2 wearing a plain-white synth uniform like all the others. It spoke in a deep robotic-voice.

"K6-26, your quarters is number 90 – bed C-1. You may take up to five minutes to familiarise yourself with the area."

Barracks 90 was at the far end of the corridor, third door on the right. It was a long, rectangular room which had the same silvery colour as elsewhere. There were ten bunk-beds in the room – five on each side. They were labelled 'A' to 'E' on the left, and 'F to J' on the right. The numbers '1' and '2' indicated either the bottom or top bunk. At the furthest end of the room, between beds E and J, was a door leading to the bathroom area.

Not wasting any time, K6-26 noted its bed as the third one on the left, bottom bunk. Then it wheeled around and left the barracks area in a hurry.

Some time later, after following the green line through the vast concourse area, K6-26 entered the BioScience division. But there was hardly time to sightsee, as K6-26 had no intention of making a negative first impression. It double-checked its work order and made a beeline for the passage mentioned on the clipboard.

The first room on the left was a storeroom. K6-26 wasted no time in getting its cleaning trolley in order and pushing it out into the passage. It got straight to work in sweeping the soil-stained floor of the long passage, then mopping it.

About an hour later, K6-26 had just finished its mopping when the nearby bathroom-door opened. A male scientist strode out.

"Synth, the latest food-supplement didn't go too well with me." He clicked his fingers and pointed at the door. "Get to work."

As expected, K6-26 took its cleaning trolley into the bathroom. Its olfactory senses were assaulted by a foul, pungent scent; but before K6-26 approached the blocked toilet, it saw its reflection in a mirror on the left.

It stared curiously. The synth had short dark hair, a pale, heart-shaped face, and brown eyes. But it quickly tore its gaze from the mirror and focused on the task at hand.

The sight was as bad as the smell. A heap of yellowish-brown faeces was mixed with toilet paper and dark-brown water.

Can't delay, K6-26 told itself in its head. Can't be seen as a failure.

About twenty minutes later, K6-26 had finally unclogged the toilet and cleared most of the stench when the bathroom-door opened. The male scientist from before had returned, and was now joined by two of his peers.

"Now only?" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "We expect better from our machines!"

The other two also shook their heads in disdain. Then a female scientist spoke.

"Perhaps this unit is defective? The previous one took only fifteen minutes to clear a similar blockage."

"Quit standing around, synth," a second male-scientist told K6-26 as it packed its cleaning trolley. "There are two more passages and three storerooms in need of cleaning. Hand me those work orders."

As expected, K6-26 handed over its clipboard and got its completed tasks marked as such. It waited until the scientist scribbled down new orders, then rushed out the bathroom with its trolley and clipboard.

"That's right," said the female scientist as K6-26 left. "Better hurry, or else it's mindwipe time."

The trio guffawed.


A few hours later, K6-26 had completed all available tasks and was due for lunch. It returned to the concourse and was finally able to take in the sights. The vast cylindrical chamber had four floors, with many corridors wrapping around the outside of the cylinder. The central open atrium had trees, fountains, and a large helix elevator running from top to bottom.

There were four main divisions along the perimeter of the concourse, each colour-coded as the processing synth had explained. BioScience was green, Advanced Systems was blue, Robotics – red, and the Synth Retention Bureau, the most feared one of them all, was black. There was also the Facilities division in yellow, but they lacked a dedicated headquarters.

Other areas in the concourse included the director's quarters and boardroom to the east (where Father could be seen holding a meeting), many residential-apartments for the humans, and four common-areas on the ground floor. The commissary was to the north, the clinic to the west, the lounge to the south, and the shop was to the west.

Grrrr.

K6-26's stomach rumbled. Unlike the fantastical dreams of Dr Max Loken, the gen-3s still required sustenance and sleep (though K6-26 was still wide awake). Therefore, K6-26 descended the steps ahead and turned right to enter the large commissary. It was half full.

"Greetings, synth," said the gen-2 cafeteria worker. It spoke in a light robotic-voice. "I shall prepare your sustenance package at once. You will be having an assigned portion of supplements 50, 60, and our current latest food-supplement, 93, as 94 has now been discontinued."

There were two large food-synthesisers in the kitchen. Each of them had three dispensers labelled 'Protein', 'Fiber', and 'Fat'. The cafeteria worker squeezed out a moderate portion of each type onto a plastic plate, then added a plastic spoon.

"Here you are," said the gen-2 as it returned to the counter. It placed the plate onto a plastic tray, then added a spoon and a rectangular nutritional-bar to the tray. The bar had been taken from a white serving-box containing twenty of them. At the back of the box, a lengthy note read:

'One bar contains your daily nutritional requirements of the following:

Isoleucine * LYsine * Leucine * Methionine * Cystine * Phenylalanine * Threonine * Tryptophan * Valine * Histidine * Arginine * Beta-carotene * Thiamin * Riboflavin * Niacin * Pantothenic acid * Pyridoxal * Biotin * Folic Acid * Cobalamin * Ascorbic Acid * Ergocalciferol * naphthoquinoids * Calcium * Chloride * Chromium * Cobalt * Copper * Iodine * Iron * Magnesium * Manganese * Molybdenum * Phosphorus * Potassium * Selenium * Sodium * Zinc * Choline * Fiber'

"Here is your hydration package," said the gen-2, sliding a bottle of water across the counter. "Please report any adverse effects immediately. And remember to finish your meal timeously."

Without further delay, K6-26 grabbed its tray and approached the large seating-area. It found an empty table for four near the wall and got started on its meal. The bar was chewy and dry, and had a wheaty taste. It was best eaten with the pastes, which each had their own flavour.

Not bad, thought K6-26.

The protein paste had a meaty flavour. The fibre paste had some kind of vegetable taste. And the fat paste was a greasy gravy.

At some point during its meal, K6-26 saw a male scientist arrive and approach the cafeteria worker.

"Greetings, sir," said the gen-2. "Welcome to the commissary. Would you care for food-based products?"

The scientist eyed the kitchen machinery thoughtfully. "A decent helping of supplements 60, 76, and 91 will do. And as for the bars, make sure they're dark chocolate."

"Certainly, sir. I also have a small selection of various Nuka-Cola products on offer. Would you care for one?"

The scientist nodded. "I could use an Orange for sure."

"Yes, sir."

K6-26 watched as the gen-2 got straight to work in dispensing a large amount of paste from each tap. It then added two chocolate bars and an ice-cold Nuka-Cola Orange from a refrigerator.

"Here you are, sir. I hope that you will enjoy your meal."

The scientist took his tray and strutted past three tables where several synths were eating. Once at his table, he popped open his Nuka-Cola Orange and savoured his custom-made meal, to the envy of the synths. Of course, the synths knew better than to respond.

A machine had to know its place in the Institute.


It was back to BioScience after lunch. By now, K6-26 found it easy to focus on its work and ignore potential distractions. It went through one task after another – including rearranging a storeroom or two, packing tables in several passages, and cleaning desks in the offices. It knew better than to access the terminals, though, especially with both the research staff and the coursers passing through.

Speaking of which, K6-26 wasn't sure which one unnerved it more – the humans or the elite synths. There was no telling who could speak K6-26's recall code for whatever reason, and the thought of being wiped or decommissioned sent shivers down K6-26's spine. As such, it made sure to put great effort into even the smallest task.

Hours passed, and before K6-26 knew it, the clocks showed that it was evening.

"That's enough," said one of the senior researchers in BioScience. The female scientist signed the latest work-order on K6-26's list and waved her hand dismissively. "Come back after dinner."

It was back to the concourse and then commissary for K6-26. This time, the cafeteria worker issued food-supplements 90 and 91, along with a nutritional bar and a bottle of water. K6-26 finished its seafood-based meal alone at a corner table, returned its tray to the gen-2, then left the commissary.

It was back to BioScience for more hours of cleaning soil, rearranging furniture, polishing desks, and doing whatever else was expected of a synth. K6-26 performed its duties well into the evening, and was finally permitted to leave around nine o'clock.

Minutes later, while walking through the concourse, K6-26 spotted a most extraordinary sight in the distance. It saw a hulking suit of silvery, curved mechanised-armour approaching the elevator.

"Erm ... excuse me," K6-26 asked a passing male-courser on the outside of the concourse. "What is that?"

The courser looked in the direction of the suit. "That is Father's parent in their power armour – model T-51b. Do not pester me with unnecessary questions."

The courser continued its patrol around the perimeter. K6-26 stared in awe as the T-51b stepped into the elevator and rode it to the top level, where the molecular relay would be.

Power armour must be mandatory up there.

K6-26 took a moment to imagine what the surface might look like. It pictured a barren world plagued by disease and radiation. The sky was probably a sickly green for much of the time, and there were probably all sorts of infected, mutated lifeforms up there. The whole world probably smelled like diarrhoea.

Shuddering, K6-26 tore its gaze from the helix glass and rushed to one of the side corridors, off the concourse.

Better get back to the barracks. Can't be seen as defective.