Rehabilitation [Fallout 4, Another Way Series Pt 1]

Chapter 3

Nora moved cautiously towards a side room of the headquarters. Beyond the entryway was a symbol she recognized to signal danger thanks to the chalkboard on the wall just beyond it— or did it mean an agent was nearby? Nora had turned her head to look at it from multiple angles. She settled on "danger" once she realized the room was a shooting range. She glanced around the main room to see only sleeping agents. The radios had been switched off, save for one near Tinker Tom who insisted the classical radio increased his IQ as he slept. Luckily for Nora, this masked her footsteps as she crept into the range.

"Deacon?" she whispered in the glow of a red light bulb. She saw the silhouette of an arm wave in the darkness. She moved towards it.

"Hey, Nora," Deacon said in a hushed tone. He sat leaning on a wall, the butt of a cigarette illuminated in his hand. Its light reflected off the dark lenses he wore even then. He motioned for her to sit beside him. As she neared, he swept away debris from dislodged bricks and made a flat space for her to rest.

Nora complied. She sat with her knees together and back against the cold stones. Her blue vault suit had seen better days but the darkness hid its holes and stains, making it fair enough to wear as night clothes. It hugged her body as she hugged her knees. "Wanderer," she said.

"Hm?"

"Dez wanted me to pick a code-name. She had said you all know me and Danse by our work with the Brotherhood but a code-name would prevent them from learning of my involvement with the Railroad."

"Nice to know you then, Wanderer." He moved his cigarette to his left hand so he could extend his right over his body to her. She took it and gave a firm shake. He noted her soft hands despite having seen her fire a gun a few times while he followed the pair. He considered the reason she seemed so close with Danse was due to a companionship built out of necessity for someone with gun knowledge— someone who did most of the shooting. Maybe, Deacon thought, she was a sneak like him, letting Danse handle the battle as she specialized in espionage. An intrusive thought about her trespassed in his mind— a thought which he almost reached out to swat away.

"And Danse?" he asked, trying to place his thoughts back on track.

"I think he settled on Michael. Michael Parker."

"I like it." He took a drag.

"Your note asked me to meet you here?"

"Just wanted to check in. This is a taxing process, synth rehabilitation."

"I'm okay," she lied through her teeth.

Deacon rolled his head against the wall and looked at her with a smug grin. "Don't make me ask again."

Nora let a small burst of air leave her nose in a light chuckle before she turned solemn. "You heard what Maxson asked me to do. Even then, Danse was willing." She shook her head to correct the words. "Michael was willing to give himself over to the Brotherhood."

"He's dedicated, I'll give him that." He and Nora both knew that was a grand understatement. "But not you, huh?" Deacon flicked some ash from the cigarette before taking another puff.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Not me. The Institute..."

"Has something you want," he recalled from their first meeting two days prior.

"I told Danse and Maxson from the start— I was after the Institute. I needed a means to get inside. Once I did and told them what I wanted wasn't there, I think Maxson knew my loyalty was faulty."

"I'm sorry, can you shut the fuck up a second?" He dropped the cigarette in the dust. She looked shocked at the comment. "Sorry," he said, shifting to sit atop one leg and turn towards her. "Nora— Wanderer— that's incredible!" He tried to remain hushed despite his exhilaration. He put out his hands, almost hoping hers would meet them to steady him.

"For all the following you've done, you didn't know?"

"Shit, no, I didn't know. It's so hard to get anywhere near the airport. Scouts everywhere— you know that. There's a farm across from it that I sometime— no, okay, focus," he told himself. "I knew you were trying to get there but how did you end up managing?"

"Long story short, I met someone with inside knowledge and he helped me build a machine. We built walls first, to hide it from any prying eyes." She made an accusing face which he mostly ignored due to his elation at the information. "What we built was a teleporter. That's how they get in and out. No doors, no secret passageways. Coursers use a molecular relay system to teleport to and from the Institute."

"Wh-what was it like? The people, the air, the labs? How the fuck did you get out of there alive?"

Nora smiled at Deacon's excitement. She opened her mouth, about to weave her story, having nowhere better to be, but the smile faded and she looked away from him. After a moment, she said, "After Michael. I'll tell you everything."

Deacon frowned then shifted off his leg and back onto the dusty floor. "Fair enough," he said. "But I remember you telling Dez that the Institute was your enemy too. Whatever your reason for hating them—"

"It's not synths," she interrupted. "I know the Brotherhood hates you, but I don't." Deacon relished in his lie. He had sold that one smoothly. "Like I said, I joined them to find something."

"Something they stole?" he asked.

"Yeah. But they don't have it anymore." She told lies of her own in a way. She felt no obligation to talk about Shaun with the Railroad. She had told the Brotherhood of Steel about her boy and they thrived off the motherly rage that flared within her. When she finally found her son, she considered giving the Institute a chance for the sake of their relationship but something was wrong. He was so cold. Few conversations were geared towards reestablishing a bond between them. Almost all he did was ask things of her, even after playing games with her journey to find him. She was just another science experiment, just a tool.

Having spent a few days in the Institute, trying to test the waters with her son and gauge his potential to love her, she was emotionally drained. She could not tell the synths from the scientists when she went to converse with them. As far as she could see, they were people. She even saw the lab in which they were created. Human flesh as real as hers lined equally human bones and nerves. As Deacon described it, she came to understand that the cells that create a personality were present. Even the memories were real to someone at some point, and the cells that made up the synths would decide how they grew emotionally and psychologically, much like humans.

"We'll help Michael," Deacon said, standing, recognizing that the conversation could go no further before Danse had progress. He extended a hand to her. She took it and was helped to her feet. Their hands lingered a half second longer than either had intended before they pulled away. The red light's glow lined their faces. "Get some sleep. We'll talk about surgery tomorrow." He motioned towards the low-lit main room, through which she'd cross to return to the hallway lined with mattresses.

"Goodnight, Deacon. Thanks for listening." She maneuvered her way over the fallen bricks and into the main room.

"Night, Nora."