Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, the air is delicate.

Among the most coveted positions at any number of painfully selective think tanks in the United States were those at Big MT and its accompanying Hopeville, Nevada, state of the art research facilities, in no small part due to the air of mystery surrounding its work and research.

The research itself not as much of an interest to one of the company's executives, and its chief financier in particular, the fact it seemed to grow all the more profitable with sales to the United States Federal Government was more than enough to satisfy him. To one Mister Frederick Sinclair, that the money he had poured into the company was well past merely tripling over for the eighth year in a row was confirmation enough that the endeavour had been well worth it and nearly thirty five years of frustration and losses.

His office at the research facility was, alone, proof enough of that in and of itself.

Sat at a fine and ornate desk of mahogany, in a suit from Paris worth well over fifteen thousand dollars, Frederick Sinclair read through the emails sent to him by his facility's researchers, military contacts, and fellow investors. Every so often, he smirked to himself at the subject lines and the senders; Experiment Proposal Approved – Vault 22 To Host Agricultural Endeavours And Bio-Chemical Weapons Research For Big MT, sender hugostolz ; Stealth Suit MK I, MK II Development Update, sender ; X-8 Canine Cybernetics Project Update, 12. August. 2075, sender ; Sierra Madre End July Profits And Casino Traffic Update, sender giovanacazador . Opening and reading through some, marking others for later perusing, and deleting and ignoring a few from disgruntled scientists and irritating collaborators, Sinclair paused when his mobile phone lit up, smiling when he saw the sender. Sweeping it up and opening the message, he quickly responded when he saw the photograph attached to it; ever theatrical, posing seductively in what he suspected to be new lingerie inspired by the Greek goddess Aphrodite was Vera Keyes, with a short message below it reading Returning to Sierra soon, I hope? About ready to call her to ask for more, Sinclair stopped short upon receiving an access request to his office. A little annoyed, he set down and set his mobile to sleep as soon as his reply to his muse was sent and permitted the request, narrowly watching Dr. Jeremy Mobius enter.

Methodical and tight laced as ever, Dr. Mobius shifted the large file under his right arm and his computer bag on his shoulders, closing the door to the decidedly lavish office behind himself. Unfazed and well used to the critical and often irritable gaze of Sinclair, Dr. Mobius kept a calm and steady pace as he walked towards the man behind his desk, right down the long Persian rug running from the back of the office, down the two steps up to the back where the financier's desk was stood, and all the way to the door into the office in compliment to the perfectly polished dark birchwood floors it was overlain. Showing no sign of his amusement at the knowledge of the man and his office having been born out of what had at the organisation's early days been a client—corporate relationship and become a significant enough investment to become one of its most high profile investors and executives, Dr. Mobius sat down across from Sinclair when the man gestured for him to do so, shifting his computer terminal slightly on his desk to be able to look fully at him. Waiting for him to speak, Sinclair watched closely as Mobius set down his computer bag beside him and set the file on his desk, pushing it towards him. Taking a few initial glances over it, he did not notice when Mobius' gaze glanced up and behind him at the illustrious portrait on the wall just behind Sinclair, set in between and above the book shelf lined wall; the financier in his much younger days long since passed, athletically built and in a perfectly pressed brown suit and bow tie with thick dark hair and a refined moustache; much in contrast to the much older, larger, clean shaven and balding man before him.

"Have we received any further directives from General Wellesley?" Sinclair looked up from the file to closely eye Mobius. "He – supposedly – is set to be involved in the arrangements for the experimental laboratories in Vault 22."

"A few, though most of them are about security," Dr. Mobius replied. "Until further notice, both the Think Tank and laboratory complexes are to be on severely restricted access. The same is being done by the military itself at our...donor site of Little Yangtze. The FBI and Nevada State Bureau Of Investigations have been receiving a lot of worrying tips lately about rumoured ACLU activity in the area, and are concerned they're going to discover the location and attempt to break into it."

Sinclair snorted. "If the FBI and Nevada State Bureau Of Investigations were as smart as they claim, they would let them get close enough to be able to charge them for interfering with a military site. Round enough of them up to put them on trial, and, with the right federal prosecutors, they could finally shut that nuisance down for good. I'm surprised the ACLU haven't been labelled as domestic terrorists at this point with how much their members interfere with the government and military operations. Some of those idiots tried to form a human chain to resist the deportation policies at the southern border, and some of their leaders are still trying to fight the annexation of Canada, claiming it was 'illegal' under international law because some of the Canadian resistance members were executed by the Army."

"They effectively shut down the Southern Poverty Law Centre under President Maddox at the end of the 2030s for less," Mobius remarked. "I don't understand why the responsibility for security falls on us and not on our military contractors, but it is what it is. So long as we keep getting subjects for experimentation, it's a fair enough price to pay."

"But still an aggravating, extra expense on our part," Sinclair said with a frown. "That said, I understand the need for security in our facilities. General Wellesley said to keep our research facilities in particular as secure as Los Alamos, but we need to take parts of them even further."

Mobius nodded. "Unfortunately, we can't be too careful."

"No, we can't," Sinclair said, irritated at the thought. "After the myriad of arrests of doctors and researchers across the country for performing lobotomies – among other procedures – we have to be especially careful. Some of what we do here makes West-Tek's military funded experiments seem positively ethical."

"Speaking of West-Tek, a few of our joint projects are progressing nicely," Mobius said, pleased when Sinclair faintly smiled. "I spoke with Dr. Von Felden and Colonel Spindel earlier today, and they will be sending some of the results of West-Tek's biological experiments over by the end of next week so that some of them can be prepared to be 'donated' to the researchers who will work in Vault 22. I also received word from Vault-Tec that the selection of the scientific teams there will begin soon, and the team members should be chosen and assigned to the Vault by the end of the month."

"That's certainly good news," Sinclair agreed. "Speaking for myself, I'm rather pleased by our recent acquisition of more Vaults from them. If we have to keep things so secure here, we might as well have other, just as secret laboratories outsourced from Vault-Tec. Certainly makes maintaining secrecy from our government benefactors easier."

"It does," Mobius said mildly.

"We're also still in line to potentially receive even more Vaults for divvying out your research fancies," Sinclair leaned forward slightly, eyeing the other man closely. "I don't know if you've heard, but Vault-Tec's projects are nearing over two hundred Vaults across the country. The annexation of Canada certainly opened up more space for them expand without having to petition the Canadian government for the rights to land there. And, deny it as some of their executives will, their collaboration with other companies after our…shall we say agreements were made back at the end of '67 have been great for their business and, frankly, ours too. West-Tek have even more projects in the works with them than we do, at the moment, and we've certainly made quite a profit off of our collaborations with Vault-Tec thus far."

"More to the point, we've made several good discoveries and advancements in traditional weaponry and bio-chemical weaponry production," Mobius pointedly added. "The military are sparing no expense taking some of the finished products off our hands, and I have no doubt they'll be useful in combat. Hopefully we'll wipe out the Commies by the turn of the century. I would like to be able to focus on research beyond those with militaristic applications, which will be much easier to do once we put down Russia and China for good. We've done away with most of their allies. We should be poised to end the War soon."

"Until then, keep our military contractors happy," Sinclair said, reopening the file and beginning to page through it. "They're the ones throwing money at us like hot cakes, and it'd be stupid to squander that. For all the work we do alongside West-Tek, they're also our competitor and we do not want to lose out on lucrative contracts with the military to them. Now. The board asked me to take a look around the facilities. I assume that's the other reason behind your visiting me today, Dr. Mobius?"

"Yes," Mobius said, picking up his computer bag. "If you would come with me."

Appraising him a moment, Sinclair stood up and collected his mobile when Mobius began to look sufficiently deferent, even dipping his head ever so slightly. When he knew the financier was not able to see his face, Mobius rolled his eyes. Pompous ass. His keys chiming against each other when he pulled them out from his waistcoat, Sinclair locked up his office as soon as he was himself through the door. Making their way to the lift down to the ground level of the corporate offices, Mobius made little attempt at hiding his disdain for those they walked past; anyone from executives, lesser financiers, interns, and assistants were nothing but a distraction, and an unwelcome one at that. His disdainful expression did not leave his face after he and Sinclair entered the lift and it began its descent. It did not ease, either, when they exited the lift and began to leave the corporate offices to walk over to the largest of the buildings forming the research facilities. His gaze cast upwards upon seeing the sign marking it coming into view; Big MT Research And Development Centre. Stiffening at the sight of the smug look dawning on Sinclair's face, Mobius slipped his ID badge inside his lab coat and, slowly, let them in through manual access, a bit of amusement trilling through him upon hearing the impatient tapping of the financier's seven hundred dollar shoes against the concrete.

Entering the building, Mobius acknowledged only a few of those milling about. The few he did, by and large, were fellow scientists; one or two others were frassled and near careless looking laboratory technicians. Noticing the unease some of them began to show upon seeing him with Sinclair, irritation bubbled up in his chest. This is the man who worships the ground that loose Vera Fucking Keyes walks on. He's half an idiot. Who cares that he was one of our earliest contractors? Who cares that he's become one of our biggest investors? He knows nothing of science, not of the calibre we do. Reaching a restricted section, Mobius whipped out his ID badge and all but slammed it against the reader. The doors opened quickly, and he waited barely a few seconds before continuing to walk ahead of Sinclair, who, by the look on his face, seemed to be enjoying the discontent his presence sowed in the staff. Down the sterile and well kempt corridors they went. His mood improving once again upon being acknowledged politely by his colleagues and their employees, Mobius rolled his shoulders back and dusted himself off with a smirk of his own taking hold of his face. If Sinclair got to see what we do in the underground facilities, he'd lose the attitude he flashes at us. Reaching the end of one corridor and turning down another, Mobius paused outside one of the offices and knocked on the door, pleasantly surprised to be greeted by two of his colleagues, both of whom shot a discontented look towards Sinclair.

"We didn't expect you to be here, today, Mister Sinclair," Dr. Douglas Klein said with a short frown. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"The board requested I do their job for them," Sinclair said with a smug chuckle. "By ensuring you are doing your jobs."

Klein met his smug chuckle with one of his own. "Have they informed you of my new role, then? I am officially the determinant of our ideology."

"Ideology?"

"Yes, and, you needn't worry, Mister Sinclair, it's quite simple – science for the sake of science. That is our ideology. If there exists a viable avenue of research, no matter what it is, we will pursue it."

Sinclair raised an eyebrow. "That sounds more of an admission of your own ineptitude and lack of focus than an ideology."

Klein bristled. "I can assure you it is already reaping results. You see, when given the opportunity to pursue research they are truly fascinated by, our staff are more productive than ever. For example, while the military may be disappointed – as I myself am frustrated – by the lack of progress on reverse engineering those damned Chinese stealth armours, we've made great progress on all aspects of our cybergenic research."

"Interesting," Sinclair said, glancing at his mobile with a bored tone to his voice. "Who's in charge of the stealth armour research?"

"Dr. Oh," Klein said, rolling his eyes. "Well, at least that's what we call him when we want to mess with him."

"Dr. Calvin O'Malley," Mobius elaborated. "I would take you to be debriefed on his work by the man himself, but he has decided to bar you from his laboratories. He asked you be informed that, until you stop working, even tangentially, with Robert House, you are barred from his laboratories. Don't take it personally, Mister Sinclair. He's done the same for anyone he knows to work with him."

Sinclair looked briefly amused. "Did House stiff him out of a funding grant?"

"No one's quite sure," Mobius and Klein shared a knowing look and smirk. "But he has a portrait of House in his home with knives thrown into it."

"Does he?" Sinclair snorted. "If I lacked restraint, I might have one in my home too for embarrassing me before several other major corporate figures back at the end of '67. I'd have one of Bud Askins, too, for laughing at his comment. 'You could lose money running a casino,' he said. Well, if House looked at anyone's portfolios other than his own, he'd realise that's untrue. He's not the only successful man in the world."

"The point is, the stealth armour research is lagging," Mobius said, though he and Klein shared another faint smirk. "So, if you would like to blame us, it's not us – it's him, and the board and the military ought to be told that before they come to complain at us."

"Also, as you also don't seem to be particularly interested in attempting to understand my ideology for the Think Tank, Mister Sinclair, I suspect you'd be far more interested in work you can see with your very eyes," Klein said, barely registering the annoyance that crossed the other man's face when he pointed him to the door. "Dr. Mobius, I'm sure, Dr. Richardson and Dr. Borus, in particular, would be more than happy to discuss and show off the results of their cybergenic research. Perhaps Borus will even let the two of you pet the dogs."

"I have no interest in petting any dog under Borus' training," Sinclair said, looking to Mobius. "For your sake, I hope the two of them are more talkative about themselves and their research than another idealogue. We don't need more 'intellectuals' on soap boxes."

"I imagine you don't," Mobius said mildly, stepping out of the laboratory first and leading him down another corridor and towards a lift. "Though Dr. Richardson usually works in the X-8 Centre, she and Borus have a smaller office here, primarily for work…farther away from the test subjects."

"Are any of their test subjects human?"

"Given what I know about Dr. Borus' treatment of the animals, I sincerely hope not."

"Is that to remain unreported to the board?"

"I'd recommend it, Sinclair," Mobius said, swiping his ID badge when they reached the lift. "Dr. Borus is…a disturbed individual, as I believe I've cautioned you before. The fact he's the youngest of our leading science staff – twenty four, to be specific – makes that worse, and I don't think that would be lost on the board. In order to prevent research from being disrupted, painting Borus in the most generous light possible would be for the best."

Sinclair let out a short, mirthless laugh when the doors to the lift opened and he entered it with Dr. Mobius.

"I still maintain he could make a fascinating scientific experiment in and of himself. I imagine he would be leading the 'guards' if he were to be put into that California psychological experiment still infamous now over a century later."

"The Stanford Prison Experiment," Mobius deduced, careful not to show any signs of approval. "Yes, I suspect Dr. Borus would fit the profile of one of the 'guards' incredibly well, albeit with a preexisting, disturbed persona."

"Borus' persona is, by all accounts, more than simply disturbed," Sinclair remarked. "My impression is and has been that he is a budding psychopath. That dog, Gabe? It went from being his only friend to his first test subject, and the only one that isn't so much of a vicious nuisance that it needs to be put down within a few weeks. I doubt much has changed."

"In the few months since you last saw any of our work in lieu of the board themselves?" Mobius pursed his lips when the doors to the lift opened. "You would be correct, but no one can deny our cybernetics, biochemical, and bioengineering departments – all of which Dr. Borus has a significant hand in – are making immense strides. That doesn't, however, change my own frustrations."

"Your own frustrations?" Sinclair said, following him down the corridor the lift opened into.

"Yes," Mobius said irritably. "I recently learnt – if all the rumours are true – our cryogenics research works here are at least a decade behind those being developed at or already developed by Vault-Tec."

"What use would Vault-Tec have for advanced cryogenics beyond preserving their leadership should the world be consumed in nuclear fire?"

"If I had to take a stab in the dark, that and experiments on just how long a person can last while suspended," Mobius said, buzzing the door to a large office, waiting for the intercom to click on. "Dr. Borus, this is Dr. Jeremy Mobius. The board have requested Mister Sinclair look over our work for them before their next meeting so he can provide them a briefing and suggest funding cuts or boosts. Let us in, would you?"

The intercom turned to static. Another buzz rang out. Finally, the doors into the laboratory opened, and the still boyish face of Dr. Borus greeted them. Something darker lurking in his smile, the nails of his fingers tapped against the back of his clipboard and, atop it, his tablet. His thick rimmed, rectangular glasses were kept nearly crystal clear, and his shoulder length dark hair was tied up well in a short ponytail gathered at the base of his neck. Minding her own business and still working at the other end of the room, Dr. Gail Richardson curtly greeted Mobius and Sinclair before quickly returning to her work, eyes narrowing to focus on the dissection of yet another one of Dr. Anthony Borus' ill fated canines. Her stomach lurching at the reminder of how he had tracked one down with a bloodhound and nearly let the dog eat the other dog alive, Richardson kept her hands moving and her mind racing and working. Only when she felt the eyes of the two men whom Borus had given reluctant laboratory access staring deep into her did Dr. Richardson sigh, hoping, still, to avoid the gazes of Sinclair and Mobius.

"Funny seeing you somewhere you aren't dragging Vera Keyes," Dr. Borus said with a bright smirk at Sinclair. "For someone who worships the ground that slut walks on, you are not doing a great job of it, apparently."

"Vera lacks clearance to know about any of what we truly do here."

"Tell the truth, Sinclair."

"I am."

Silence; tense silence befell them.

"You know why I'm here, Borus," Sinclair said, crossing his arms and the look on his face darkening. "I am telling the truth, much as I wish I weren't."

"Why? So you can blow money you barely have or don't have on private flights and sex with Keyes?" Borus let out a yelp when he was kicked by Mobius as he walked past him. Gritting his teeth, Borus forced a smile. "I demand you attempt to follow along with me, however, and make it snappy. I don't come to work every day to coddle the board's little pets."

"Had I not been one of their earliest clients and begun investing, you wouldn't be here," Sinclair smugly replied with as much sting. "Would you prefer to be working for the military directly?"

"None of us would," Dr. Richardson said, taking a tablet from Borus. "Well, for a start, we've just about perfected the creation of cybernetic dogs."

"The X-8 Cyberdog Project's strides, however, are probably too complex for you to understand," Borus said, pushing his hands through his hair and glaring at Sinclair. "But, I'll admit, some of them were surprising. Some of the staff need to get used to seeing the brain of the creature, but the amount of control it could give us over them is…pleasurable."

"Dr. Borus and I have also successfully completed a few crossbreeding experiments," Richardson said, opening her tablet. "I would take you to see them, but I doubt Dr. Borus would permit it. That said, here are a few videos of the results," She smirked to herself when Sinclair grimaced at the first video. "Those insects – we're calling them 'cazadores.' They have also been enlarged from the initial…resulting specimen. They were the result of crossbreeding, of course, with the dominant specimen intended to be the tarantula hawk wasp."

"A fitting name," Sinclair half heartedly replied.

"And these beauties," Dr. Richardson said, scrolling to the next recorded specimen. "We're calling 'night stalkers.'"

Sinclair glanced at her. "And what laws of nature did you violate to create them?"

"Made a claim on rattlesnakes and coyotes," Dr. Borus said, laughing. "Don't worry about the rattlesnakes – we synthesised the DNA of all our crossbreeds in the laboratory after months of trial and error. We aren't delusional. Trying to get a rattlesnake to sexually consummate with a coyote would be impossible and take a long time for such an encounter to finish. Quite the opposite of your encounters with Vera, I'm sure."

"Unnecessary, Anthony," Dr. Richardson said, turning her tablet to sleep. "And, Jesus, you couldn't be more disgusting if you tried."

"My job isn't to stroke egos," Borus irritably replied, snatching up his laptop. "I will be going back to work. Hopefully you will soon as well."

Richardson sighed. "You'll find Russell, Jocelyn, Brendan, and Adam much more agreeable," She said, mostly to Mobius. "They're practising their presentations to a handful of universities, in the conference room down the hall. I would attempt to entertain you longer, but I would rather not have to calm Borus' anger for the next fortnight at least by being late in his eyes."

"Not a problem, Gail," Mobius said, rolling his eyes. "You're, once again, still the only sane one."

"Keep him in line," Sinclair told her. "If he says anything perverted to me again, I will be taking it up with HR, who I am sure will not be eager to tolerate him."

"I'm sure they won't," She said with a strained smile. "Well, fare thee well."

The moment he and Dr. Mobius left the room, she let out a sigh of relief that quickly waned; as glad to have them out as Dr. Gail Richardson was, however, Mobius and Sinclair were themselves nonplussed at the short discussion. Sinclair took a look at his mobile, following Mobius out of the laboratory, and smirked to himself at the newest text messages from Vera. Seductive lips, recreating Botticelli's Birth Of Venus at the edge of one of the finest beds in the Sierra Madre, Sinclair quickly replied. Briskly striding towards the conference room, Dr. Mobius took a brief glance at his beeper. Seeing no notifications, he quickly shut it back off. To little surprise, though they had not left it completely open, the door to the conference room was unlocked. His colleagues glanced towards the door upon hearing him open it, though, to Mobius' exasperation, they all suddenly straightened themselves out and up upon seeing Sinclair. The financier smiled a little at the sight; it was, at the very least, amusing and, certainly, a much more pleasant reception than given by Dr. Anthony Borus.

A slight crease forming in her brow, Dr. Jocelyn Dala took only a short moment to shake the man's hand, barely noticing her colleagues doing the same. She primly sat down before her laptop, opening and reviewing a few files before looking back at her presentation. It's been a long time since I've been back to Caltech, but this should be a solid talk. Some of the drugs we developed being on the market now, as well, should make answering questions on our work easier, although thank God I won't have to attempt to recruit any post-doctoral students. Standing near her and antsy, hastily going through his own notes, Dr. Adam Figgis tried to minimise his concerns towards some of the work of the man calmly leaning over his own laptop; calm as ever, Dr. Russell Yates adjusted the projector screen to load a report on one of their joint projects. Seeing it to be the sonic weapons research, Figgis relaxed a little. The most talkative among them, Dr. Brendan Calis almost glibly spoke of his own work and collaborations, sweeping his arm towards the table, faintly nodding in approval when both Sinclair and Mobius sat down.

"Jeremy says you already were shown our 'night stalkers,' as Borus calls them," Calis chuckled. "Did you know he created them on my request?"

"It wasn't –" Dala irritably began.

"Brendan dared Dr. Borus to splice together mountain lions, eagles, and condors. After that failed, he got the bizarre and frankly disturbing idea to combine rattlesnakes and coyotes," Dr. Yates said calmly. "It is not, however, relevant. The result is what it is, and not under my purview."

Calis sent him a dark look. "Must I constantly remind you to not cut me off, Dr. Eight?"

"You're being almost as unreasonable as Dr. O'Malley, Brendan," Figgis tiredly put in. "You and Dr. Zero-Oh can resent the rest of us on your own time. As it happens," His tone darkened when he looked to Sinclair. "It's good you stopped by. I sent them a lengthy email on the matter, but I believe they will take it more seriously after my telling you so directly: the board will need to open up more security measures and funding around Project Burke and Project Hare."

Sinclair looked almost amused. "Are they not progressing?"

"They're progressing quite a bit, actually," Figgis replied. "However…we need to ensure the details behind them are able to be safely kept from the government."

Mobius frowned. "Why?"

"The government partially slashed our budget for Project Burke, which we thought we would be able to absorb but couldn't quite do so," Figgis shook his head. "Which has unfortunately forced us to acquire test subjects from…well, I suppose the conventional term is 'grave robbing.' As for Hare…we've had to rely on some more unorthodox sources for corpses, though I will say the mob have come through quite generously after killing those they give us."

"How quaint," Sinclair said dryly. "Do we have any other secrets we need to keep from good Uncle Sam?"

"Some of the animal research," Dr. Calis grumbled. "All in all, it seems to be going into even more questionable territory – if that's even possible – the government should be kept in the dark of."

"Their issues aside, the rest of us are in a strong position going into the end of the year," Dala said, lowering the screen of her laptop slightly. "Part of what I'll be presenting at Caltech surrounds that which we've peer reviewed the efficacy of from Med-Tek Research. Those will be heading to the FDA for approval soon; one of them is a drug that looks as though it will be called 'fixer' which should treat addiction. Though not something we can talk about the details of, we've also co-developed a medication and series of vaccinations to treat and prevent diseases caused by a high potency, mutated set of the MMR viruses. Seeing as the symptoms of one of those diseases were ghastly – blue boils, for one – I'd call it a success."

"Even though Med-Tek's idiots grew those strains in the fucking lab," Calis swore under his breath.

"We also successfully claimed research from Poseidon Energy's HELIOS One and ARCHIMEDES Projects," Dala continued, ignoring him. "Some of it has shown potential usefulness for my mineralogy research, of which I'm quite proud."

"And, though we've had more setbacks than I'd like," Yates said, sharing a brief, approving look with Dala. "I can confidently say the work in my holography department is progressing slowly but well, and our sonar and sonic weapons are showing significant potential. Now. With your undivided attention, Mister Sinclair, I believe we can give you more than you'll need to prove our usefulness to the board."