"Geeze it sounds like the neighbors were moving furniture this morning. It woke me up. Well, I don't normally make requests, but we here at Diamond City sure would like to know what's going on out there. That's why we have Publick Occurences! Run by one Miss Piper and her sister, Nat. The city's intrepid reporter is always hunting down the latest scoop! So, Piper, if you're out there, stay safe and bring back a news story that'll fly off the presses. We're rooting for you. Well...I am anyway. You know Mc-who is still a little P'O'ed."

"Grab your copy of Publick Occurences today!

Now the real reason you listen to Diamond City Radio, enough of listening to me ramble, onwards to the music!

Good Rocking Tonight, by Roy Brown. But! Guess who decided to make a cover of the same song on Sun Records seven years after Roy? The King. Coming up next."

#Merry Christmas 2018

October 26th, 2287.
6:30 P.M.

Everyone in Bunker Hill knew who Nate was, and how he played a part in the rescue of Stockton's daughter, Amelia, a day before he even walked through the gate.

He was described as a man wearing a blue Vault-Tec. suit roaming around with a dog. Therefore, in the eyes and ears of the unknowing, Nate must be a vault dweller.

Which One?

One One One. It said so with the big yellow numbers his back.

A vault dweller who helped Stockton's man, Honest Dan find out what happened to the missing caravan sent north weeks ago.

Honest Dan came back with the story and told it to the few people who asked. In a small community with nothing to talk about who was coming and who was going, word of Nate making his way here after he dealt personally with the raider's from Covenant was on everybody's lips.

Honest Dan told everyone that the people in Covenant werewolves in sheep's clothing. Raiders who figured out that it doesn't pay to go out and raid, when it's easier to let unsuspecting traders and merchants come through, trade, eat some food, and stay the night. Then, once they've gone half a mile, they signal the second group of raiders that were in hiding the entire time to come gun down the unsuspecting crew.

Those were the series of events that were laid out before him while he was in Covenant.

He asked everyone he could, from the so-called Mayor with a flower in his coat pocket to the shopkeep, and everyone in between, but they all lied to his face about Stockton's caravan moving through Covenant.

Honest Dan told everyone there was a hideout, set up in a sewer chase not far from Covenant, and that they could watch people along the whole lakefront without ever being noticed. Amelia was taken because they thought she was a synth, and that they were experimenting on her to try and get her to crack.

Within an hour, the story was repeated fifty times, and the words 'working for the Institute' was thrown in there. That was the only reason, they assumed, as to why they would kidnap Amelia if they thought she was a synth. They were going to sell her back to the Institute and were trying to find out ways to tell the difference between humans and synths.

So, by the time Nate approached Bunker Hill, they'd heard the explosions and gunfire at the construction site. They'd seen the giant plume of ash and dust rise high into the air as it collapsed. Mayor Kessler of Bunker Hill sent a runner to check out the destruction and see what happened. They saw a man in a blue Vault-Tec. suit with a dog talking with the Beantown Brewery Raiders.

This was an interesting note for Mayor Kessler, as ever since the decline of the Minutemen in 2240, and after the death of General Becker in 2282, Bunker Hill has been defenseless against raiders.

Their only way to survive without being raided is to pay everyone off, bribe the raiders senseless, and get them to back off from attacking caravans.

Mayor Kessler knew that Sparta was in the Charleston neighborhood. Again, in a small town with nothing to talk about who's coming, and who's going, word spread quickly that she and her men were inside of the BADTFL regional office.
Tower Tom, Sparta's boss ran the Beantown Brewery Raiders, and for the last six months, was chasing away messengers or outright killing anyone who comes their way. They've been pushing east, and now operate on half the south side waterfront of the Charles River. Their territory stretches all the way to the wreck of the USS Riptide barge crashed right into the bridge connecting the Fens neighborhood and the west section of Cambridge. Three bridges under their control meant everyone who crossed into their turf or passed through, were seen by the Beantown Brewery Raiders and Tower Tom.

With East and South East Boston still heavily contested, the raider gangs there deal with Super Mutants on a daily basis, and there is no bartering with them. The pockets of Super Mutants all over the Commonwealth worried her since they were known to attack randomly and without provocation at any time of the day or night. However, they were only one of the threats. The feral ghouls could be locked out and avoided drawing attention from the city so long as everyone stayed quiet.

Deathclaws didn't come this far into the city, usually, and it was typically easy to rally the traders or merchants if mirelurks came close, because that meant more meat for the grill that night.

Super mutants held a special place in Mayor Kessler's head, next to the things that need to be killed on sight, and things to avoid.

Any raider gang that isn't allied to one of the four gangs that pick through the Boston ruins is on their own. Collections of people anywhere from half a dozen, to no limit on how big these gangs could get, would claim a decent building with enough supplies and scavenge what they could from the ruins.

To hear that a person actually managed to talk to an underboss of the Fens Raiders, she wanted to talk to the man in the vault suit, and hear how he was able to get his foot in the door with this violent group.

This same conversation between Nate and Sparta was also watched by the Charleston Raiders based out of Monsignor Plaza, a block away from Mass Chemical building, who had a second-row view to the building being demolished. The power gap that Nate created needed to be filled was capitalized on the death of a dozen super mutants and their base. They prepared to fight, knowing that more super mutants might counter-attack, and took to the streets.

The two unrelated gangs were watching the destruction of the construction site with bated breath. With one problem gone, they were empowered to move quickly throughout the neighborhood within the hour and drive out all super mutants, and keep the rhythm going by killing every ghoul, synth, or monster that tried walking the streets of their neighborhood.

This gave the settlement of Bunker Hill a new problem, the mutants were gone, and now they wouldn't be hunted for sport or food, now they had to deal with raiders. In most people's books, they'd rather deal with a sentient human who could be reasoned with, rather than a super mutant. Most were still cautious, wary that the raiders were trying to trick them, but it gave people hope that they could go farther throughout the streets of Charleston and Cambridge without worrying about trouble.

Amelia told her own version to her father, saying how the Doctor holding her captive got what she deserved, and that Nate was the type of person who wouldn't stand for injustice. He argued that he didn't care if she was a synth or not, he got her out of there.

Yunassis 'Old Man' Stockton took all this in from his daughter with the palms of his hands pressed together in prayer, thanking the Lord she was safe, and to bless the man who helped act out His divine will against those who sought to harm others.

Whatever happened to Covenant, the den of thieves deserved whatever justice Nate delivered.

Word of the construction site being destroyed spread like wildfire. From the people on their way out of Bunker Hill, headed north towards the small settlements of Country Crossing, Finch Farm, and the Slog, they told them how a guy and his dog lead a team of raiders against the super mutants and managed to destroy the building with very little effort. The reason everyone knew, was because of how loud it was. People miles away could hear the foundations crumble and feel the ground shake for a moment.

Raiders from Monsignor Plaza ran a group of three raiders west with a crate loaded with Jet, all the way to the heart of their territory to the Kendall Hospital in central Cambridge. Their main rivals were now learning of a change in position from the Monsignor raiders who were fighting with both the Fens raiders, primarily located out of Beantown Brewery.

Spreading the word that there was a new guy in town and that he was a genius, he and Sparta collapsed a seven-story building filled with a dozen super mutants, with one mini-nuke.

A few raiders asked 'Well what the hell does this chump look like?'

"Wears a Vault Suit. One one one. And he's got a dog."

This news went east, towards James Wire, operating out of Libertalia, a raider stronghold locking down the roads to Nahant and Nordhagen settlements, and Zeller with his Army in the East Boston Preparatory School.

The only raider gang not aware of the construction site destruction were the Corvega Raiders, they were locked in a three-way standoff deciding who would take over the gang after Jared's death.

So when Nate finally passed into the awareness of the guards stationed at lookout points around Bunker Hill, he was carrying quite the reputation of being efficient, tactical, and a smooth enough talker to outpace a gang of hostile raiders from killing him on site.

In the new world, those were very valuable traits.

The perimeter of Bunker Hill is surrounded by a large wall, only allowing access through the main gate on the south side and a small door on the east side.

Merchants were set up in the former museum hall and gift shop, expanding outwards with a few shacks and pens inside the walled area for brahmin. The two-headed mutant cows still only carried the combined brainpower of a single cow.

Nate saw a woman standing guard idle next to a barrel fire, rifle across her chest, resting in both arms. They spotted each other from a long ways away, and when Nate finally reached the memorial steps, she called out.

"Caravan or Raider?"

"On my own."

"Fine. Freelance, eh? All right, come on in. No gunfire. Are you the same person who took down that building earlier?"

Nate nodded.

"Are you going to be here long? I want to talk to you about the woman you spoke with. The market's open. You can do as much bartering and trading as you like. Come find me when you're done with your business. I'll be here on the watch for another hour."

"I'm actually trying to find the safest route to Fenway Park," Nate said, she turned her head to the left and raised her eyebrows in confusion. She was about to ask for clarification when Nate added, "Diamond City."

"Talk to Old Man Stockton, he'll point you down the right streets. I'm sure he'll be more than willing to talk to you after everyone heard from Honest Dan about what you did to help him save Amelia."

"They made it back okay?"

"Yes, and they're already gone. Honest Dan is following a caravan west, and Amelia took off north this morning."

"I'll save the reunion for later," Nate said, knowing that they may never meet again. "What raider gangs do you know about?"

"I got a list on a portable terminal in my house, but of the people smart enough to actually get these idiots to listen to them, there's Zeller, James Wire, Jared, and the one I really want to talk to you about, Tower Tom. One of our runners spotted you speaking to one of his lieutenants, Sparta, earlier today. He's killed, my men and messengers."

"I'm expected at their base, Beantown Brewery after I track someone down."

"Who?"

"Don't know his name, Bald man, a scar running from eye to chin on his right side, carried a .44 magnum bull barreled revolver with a custom grip. Wore a long green trenchcoat. His beard was just starting to look scruffy. He shot my wife and kidnapped my infant son. Seen anyone who looks like that?"

"Fraid not. How long ago did this happen?"

Nate sighed. "Anywhere from three days to fifty years ago."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Long story, short. You heard of cryogenic grenades? Well, Vault 111 had enough liquid nitrogen to keep us on ice for centuries. Baldy comes along, pops open the freezer, grabs my boy, and locks us in. I have no idea when it happened."

"I'm afraid I can't help you there. Come back in a little bit and I'll talk more. I'm still on watch." Kessler said.

"All right."

\111/

"<All eyes on you, Nate, everybody here is interested in you, one way, or another...>"

"Be sure to tell me if anyone here wants to be more than buddy buddies if you know what I mean," Nate said, not making eye contact with Meathead. He spoke softly and didn't move his lips much.

Meathead barked twice and nodded, running off away from Nate, and barking at the brahmin cows.

"Meathead! Quit barking at the cows!" He hollered, Nate saw caravan workers tying satchels of food and water to the brahmin's packs, loading them up. His eyes were on Meathead, and scanning everyone else. Nate figured the ones working with the brahmin were traders, merchants about to head out into the Commonwealth. He picked out two people Meathead might have alluded to as being interested in him.

They were judging him giving him a once over and sizing him up, Nate smiled and called Meathead back. He watched how they slowly rolled their heads, tracking him as he crossed the lawn around the Bunker Hill Memorial after his dog.

Meathead stopped by the cow pen, leaning forward and peeing, "Good boy, Meathead."

"Come on! Meathead! I'm about ready to pass out if I don't get some food!"

Nate stooped down as Meathead came up to him, whispering, <Lotta synths here.>

\111/

In the northwest corner of Bunker Hill were shacks built on top of each other, a walk up bar elevated by wooden panels and a few bar stools bolted into the wooden planks were on the first floor. On the side of the shack was a staircase leading up to small cabins with a railing on the second floor with a few doors with numbers painted on them. The owners, a father, Joe Savoldi, and his son Tony Savoldi go back and forth talking about the Institute and the Railroad.

"...And what, you think that's noble or some bullshit? They're a bunch of fucking idiots!" Joe called his son out. "You ain't throwin' no life away to go join no Railroad! You. What'sa matter?" Joe looked at Nate as he took a stool. Behind them were electrical ovens with their insides ripped out, and fires built inside. Smoke went up and out pipes in the back, as cast iron disks sat on top of the burners, trapping the heat in. Pans were on the stove, cooking food.

"Food and booze," Nate said, licking his lips.

"Tony, make the customer some food! He's Stavin'!" Joe shouted.

"All right! What, I can't see him? You don't see me looking at him looking at us?"

Tony rebuffed. "What? I see you standing there staring at him, staring at you with your thumb up your ass!"

"Whatever your making and whatever's hot. I ain't picky unless it rhymes with cat, bat, or rat."

"How 'bout dog? I got fresh dog." Tony said, looking down at Meathead. Meathead swallowed and whined.

"I actually like my dog, thank you very much. I'll pass."

"Then what the fuck do you want?"

"Fucking food without Fido's head looking back at me on my plate!" Nate said. This was the first Bostononian he's heard all week, and it was somewhat refreshing. "And booze! You got booze or do I gotta go squeeze your momma's tits for a drink?" Nate charged back.

"Fucking hell. All I do around here is help crusty old caravan workers, no offense, go blind off rotgut." Tony complained, "At least the Railroad is fighting the Institute, so why not save synths?"

"Might as well go join the Deathclaw Preservation Society, and the Save the Mirelurks! Dumbass!"

"Sounds like you've had a little too much of the good stuff, and haven't had a gun shoved in your face recently and told to give up everything you have," Nate said.

Joe reached under the bar counter and put a bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka on the counter and said, "Damn Right! Here."

Two coffee cups, with a few splashes of Vodka, "Cheers to that, Vaulty. You had your chops busted recently?"

"On my way here, I poke my head into the BADTFL office, and there's a whole heap of raiders, lead by some flaming chick named Sparta. She says drop your pants and run, I say, I can get her into a locked room they've been banging their heads against the door for the last day, trying to get the thing open! Behind it was everything under the sun, drugs, money, booze, ammo, liquor, and the only thing standing in the way between them and all that was me and a door that only I could open, so naturally they wanted to kill me and be done with it."

"So how'd you get out?"

"I got into the room and laying right there on the table was a Fat Man. A loaded Fat Man! And it was a small room too, there was nine of 'em. They all knew that if they so much as twitched, they and the rest of the building would come down on their head."

"That's good advice, always carry around a big fucking gun that could kill everything in the room," Joe said, nodding.

"I talked my way out of it. Hard thing to do, but remember, they're raiders. They don't just want to be high today, they want to be high every day. I told them I could clear out their super mutant problem."

"So that big bang was you! You're the reason Mayor Kessler nearly shit a brick after hearing the building come down."

Nate raised his coffee mug. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Nate and Joe both shot back the vodka, and he poured two more rounds.

"So what'd the Institute do to you? They grabbed my son and I'm looking to hang the bastard from the highest skyscraper in the city with the longest rope I can find."

"Those Fuckers!" Joe said, taking another shot of vodka.

"They got Gary's wife. He works for Cricket, and while he was out on the road, she went missing." Tony said, gritting his teeth.

"It's not like stopping the Institute is a bad thing, but, dealing with the Institute, or the Railroad, it's not your job to save the wor'ed. Might as well put a bullet in your skull! It'll save you the time!"

"Leave that to people like me. Tony, be thankful, be grateful, get down on your knees and put your head to the ground and be humbled, that you know you're safe and don't have to go out there every day to find your family, or to make a living the hard way. Be lucky you have a dad who cares about you so much, he's willing to smack you in the back of the head when it sounds like you're about to do something stupid."

Joe squinted at Nate, almost scowling and wrinkling up his nose. "I like you. You need a room?"

"I need some food is what I need. You got some kinda motel here?"

"Tony! I told you to get this man some fucking food!"

"He didn't fucking tell me what he wanted dad! Vaulty, What do you want?"

"What do you got?"

"I got noodles."

"Then I guess I'm getting noodles!" Nate said back.

Nate watched Tony Savoldi grind up Razorgrain wheat in a small hand mill until it was light fluffy flour. He ground out all the large pieces, sifted out the flour, reground the large pieces into medium-sized pieces, ground it some more, filtered it, and kept the light flour off to the side.

"How many caravans come through here?" Nate asked Joe, he slid down the counter with Vodka in hand and mug in the other. Pouring more into both their cups he said, "All of em. Bunker Hill makes the world go round."

Tony kept milling and milling it until it was all almost the same consistency. He retained the semolina, the hard grains that were left after the rest of the wheat was ground up.

"We got a raider problem, we pay 'em off. We got a supply problem, we buy more, and charge extra. You talk to Stockton yet? Now I know for a fact that he was all for what you did in getting Amelia back."

"You heard about that?"

"Fucking everyone heard about that. Fuck those Covenant motherfuckers. Honest Dan told us what you did, and that you were gonna take care of the town afterward. So. How'd you do it?"

Tony took one cup of razor grain flour, one cup of semolina, a chicken egg, salt, pepper, and mixed it together. After the ingredients were mixed, he cracked one egg into the mixture and turned the flour into a dough.

"Fire. Is that how you deal with problems around here? Pay the raiders off?"

"Protection, more like it. Doesn't mean a Bunker Hill Boy can't sling a pistol with the rest of 'em, but bullets are expensive. Talk is cheap." Joe said. "We're always one broken deal away from this place going to shit, but I guess we got some old spirits hanging around, keeping us safe."

Rolling all the dough out flat through a press, the thin sheets were cut into long strips and then tossed into a pot of boiling water.

Three minutes of watching the noodles boil, Tony took a small wild onion and chopped it up, and scraped them into the pan along with thin slices of carrot. He took the noodles and poured them into a plastic bowl and picked it up. Setting it in front of Nate, there was plenty of steam coming off the top and he could feel his stomach calling out for food.

"So were you the one who started this bar?"

"Yep. Before we sold rotgut, we came from a line of Minutemen, my Grandpa, Brent Savoldi, was the last one."

The fork Tony gave Nate was a flat steel fork, punched out of a large steel plate that was part of a mass production line of cheap forks that could be easily sold to the lowest common denominator.

"I met a guy in Concord who said he was from the Minutemen, well, Minuteman. He said he was the last one. And he's probably dead by now."

"Was he a black?"

"Yes, he was black. Preston Garvey."

"Fucking kid. I told him and I'll tell you, he was pisssin on a dumpster fire. Those pieces of shit took what was good and paraded around until the whole thing came crumbling down. My Grandpa died fighting raiders outside of Malden, and fuck anyone who says they didn't end right there. The spirit got sucked right out of the Commonwealth after they fucked up here twenty years ago and couldn't hold the Castle." Joe pointed straight down. "But hey, if you're ever up in Malden, and you see some old white bones in the Northeast part of town, that's where they found the rest of his squad. If you're ever up there and find anything of his. I'll fucking build you a room right here in Bunker Hill."

The offer went in through one ear, and out the other, but fortunately, the Pip-Boy made a little note for him, filing it away as Nate's thoughts wandered to bizarre places. He was sitting at home at the dining table, the silverware back in their home in Sanctuary Hills was Italian made, the design was curved, and guests and family coming over never knew how to hold the utensils properly. They were so accustomed to having to fight against their silverware because of how difficult it is to hold flat silverware, that when they picked up the wide curving fork and knife, they didn't realize it was supposed to rest in their hands. Nora mentioned it would be good for their hands fifty years down the line when they were turning old and grey.

"All right, I will. I'm not heading that direction any time soon, but if I get the chance, I'll go over the place with a fine tooth comb."

"Thank you," Joe said. "The Minutemen used to hold their own against the Institute, Battle of Jamaica Plain was a thing. The whole Commonwealth knew about that one.

Well...they used to know. I do. It went from the Castle, all the way to Lake Cochiba-"

"Lake Cochituate." Tony interrupted.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, TONY! I'm telling a story to the customer! All the way to Natick. That was a fucking long day."

"Sounds like it, what happened?"

"Synths were crawling all over the place, the Gen ones. They were showing up like no tomorrow, and nobody knew where the fuck they were coming from. It was turning your back around and boom, there was another dozen of them."

"They fought at the Castle. They fought at the University. They fought at Jamaica Plain, They fought at Shaw, it was a straight line all the way to the river, where there used to be a bridge, but that got jacked up a long time ago. Then things went to shit after the super mutants kept coming a few weeks later, but fuck if we weren't all fucked from then on. You been south of Boston yet, Vaulty? It's a fucking crapshoot. I'll tell you right now, that from the Castle to Natick, it's all fucked with super mutants and synths. Damn Institute, if it weren't for them, or the other, then we'd still be trading easy with Quincy and all the way to Providence!" Joe sighed, exhaling.

"Even the raiders started being too much for them after that." He swallowed, looking at the nearly empty bottle of Vodka on the table. "Now the Minutemen are a punchline to a bad joke. Fuck em."

Nate picked up the fork, stirred his noodles, and raised it up out of the light broth and blew on it. Chewing it, it was hot and nearly burnt his tongue, but he was so grateful to have food in front of him. Even if it was only water, noodles, onions, and carrots. Hardly a meal, but so satisfying and hot, that it filled him.

\111/

As Nate ate his bowl of noodles, the only other traders in this pit-stop on the way to something greater were smoking old cigarettes and talking about the newcomer.

Old Man Stockton was leaning over his counter, surrounded by shelves filled with everything salvaged from the Commonwealth, and still usable. Within arms reach was two ledger notebooks filled with transactions, one for small day-to-day transactions, the other was caravan orders to settlements out in the Commonwealth. The greater Boston area may have been a wasteland, there were still people living in it, and they needed food and water, just like everyone else.

Both hands on the counter, he stared at the three yellow numbers on Nate's back and chewed on the inside of his lips and cheek while he thought things over. His dog noticed him and was staring at the trader. Meathead nipped at Nate, making quiet little yips or growls that made him look down and smile.

"What is it bud?"

The dog glanced over at Old Man Stockton and he turned around in his chair, elbows resting back against the counter as his eyes swept across the hall and their gazes met. Nate grinned and crossed the hall, "Great to see you. You must be Amelia Stockton's father? Honest Dan and Amelia got back safely, I hope?"

Old Man Stockton looked down at his ledger, then back up, wearing a thin smile that didn't stretch too far.

"Oh yes...yes she did. Gave me quite the scare, but I suppose I'd rather be terrified and know that my daughter is safe, rather than be sad that she's dead. You have my thanks, my man and Amelia both told me about the dark business happening with Covenant." Stockton turned his head to the right a few degrees, "They mentioned you would handle them, but failed to mention any details."

"The wolves in sheep's clothing didn't want to lose their hunting grounds, especially when a shepherd tries to protect his sheep. They would rather give the shepherd the meat from the sheep, and take the wool, the bones, and the first born until all the flock is dispersed or dead. If you have nothing in your animal pen but hungry wolves, who only want you to give them more lamb, when you need the flock to grow so you may shear them and collect the wool, you lock the wolves in and douse their fur with oil. Then you light a match and turn your back away from the wolves as they run around the pen, howling and screaming, running into each other, catching each other on fire."

Old Man Stockton's lips came close together, and he nodded slowly. "Fuck 'em. There's too little in this world for there to be a place like Covenant to exist."

Nate exhaled audibly through his nose and swallowed.

"I believe I owe you my thanks for rescuing my daughter and insisting that she be protected with the suit of power armor you provided to her."

"Is she faring better, now that she's back?"

"Yes, thank you for your concern. Tell me, shepherd, what's your name?"

"Nate, this is my dog, Meathead."

"Tell me, did you happen to bring a Geiger counter with you?"

Nate held up the Pip-Boy for Old Man Stockton to see, shaking it twice, he heard something rattling around inside which prompted him to say,

"Nah. Mine's in the shop." He chuckled.

Meathead laid down by Nate's side, looking up at him with wide eyes and placing a paw on his boot.

Old Man Stockton's face ticked like he was finally finished chewing on the inside of his mouth.

"What type of person are you, who appears out of nowhere and assists a stranger who asks for help?"

"I'm a bit of an old-fashioned American patriot, I guess. I love my country," Nate looked up at the ceiling caving in, towards the red, white, and blue banners and stood up taller. "And I can't stand people who try to subvert progress towards a better future. I remember a time where I could go from here to Fenway Park in ten minutes. Now...well...I suppose I should be asking you about the safest routes to Diamond City."

"What's in Diamond City, for you?"

"Answers to questions I have, mostly. I'm tracking a man. At least, trying to. What's the best way to get from here to there?"

"From here, you'll want to cross the bridge and go past the North End Graveyard, then stick to the main streets along the north end of Boston. The buildings are tighter together, but if you stay quiet and move fast, you can be there in an hour. Raiders control sections of the North, but things are always changing. Super Mutants took hold of Faneuil Hall, and the only thing that came back was the brahmin. The safest place to duck your head into is Goodneighbor. You know where that is?"

Nate shook his head once. "Old State House, Scolly Square." Nate nodded. "From there, just follow the road west all the way past the Boston Common. Once you reach the Boston Common, however. Just run. You're deep in the shit and there are vultures all around you when you get to the Boston Common. Go at night too, far less chance of running into someone. You might get spotted, but if you just keep running and don't look back, you'll make it." Stockton yawned,

"The Boston Common has too many roads leading to it, but sometimes I've walked right through the middle of the park without hearing a single peep from any direction. Well, stranger, I'd say go now, but I need your help. Care to help me with a small matter?"

"What do you need?"

"I'm sitting on some product that's been on the shelf too long, and I need to move it tonight. I fear that although the death of the super mutants not far from here was good for the neighborhood, there's always more coming. I want to use this time in the calm of the storm to move my shipment and be back here before first light."

"Where is it going?"

Old Man Stockton held out his pointer finger and stuck it in his ear. "I'll tell you not here. If you can be at the Cambridge Church, I know you must have passed it coming here, the broken highway is collapsed and is resting on the roof. If you can be there at midnight, or even before then, I'll be along shortly with the package."

"What's the going rate for something like this?"

"Two hundred caps, plus, you'll undoubtedly make contact with a few of my trading partners. They're good people and can set you up right. I was expecting someone a little more armed when I heard the man who took down the super mutants and rescued my daughter were one and the same."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Don't I know?" Stockton replied, "Maintaining security here and preventing any delays is crucial."

"I don't think any of us really do," Nate said. "And no one likes delays. Is there anything of interest around here? Anything worth mentioning to avoid or at the very least, a spot where I won't get shot at if I try to stand still?"

"Plenty of places like that, I suppose, if you haven't seen the boat, yet. That's about it."

"What boat?"

Stockton exhaled through his nose in a haughty laugh. "Go up the inside of the memorial." He said spiraling his hand up. "If you don't see what I'm talking about, then you must not be very observant. They got bots on that boat and by extension, keep the road up to Revere and Nahant clear." He pointed straight at Nate, "You can see the sentry bot on the deck from the top of the memorial. But don't think you can just waltz right onto the ship. They're programmed to kill anyone who ge's near it. Go. I need to ready the shipment." Stockton said, dismissing him.

\111/

Nate and Meathead walked up the spiral staircase leading up inside the interior of the obelisk in the center of Bunker Hill. Brick windows or erosion gave light to all directions looking outwards, and when they were both a significant way up, Nate asked Meathead, "So what did you get from everyone?"

"<Old Man Stockton was very reserved. Genuine. Threw out some weird vibes, a modest amount of respect and contentedness. He was glad that you did what you did. Tony and Joe love each other very much, I don't even think they realize it. Mayor Kessler is worried but relieved that the super mutants are dead. The two caravan workers I sensed were judging you, they wanted to know what you were going to do next>."

"Well, the closer we west we can dip into Boston, the less chance we deal with everything else," Nate said, looking out over a small section of the town. From high up, he could see north and west, and make out the thin smoke from the still burning embers of Covenant. There was the BADTFL building, along with the Greentech Genetics building, the neon lime green building was easily the tallest building in Cambridge. There was the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, and the large rotunda still standing above it. Nate gripped his hands and kept moving up the stairs, looking out every window. Looking south, they saw the road and bridge leading from Charleston, into the North End of Boston. Above everything was a collapsing superhighway, the metal girders sagging from neglect, and entire sections missing, broken off and fallen to the ground.

Nate hummed and Meathead asked, "<What is it?>"

"TD Garden's collapsed. No more Boston Bruin's games." He said, "Maybe I can still dig out a jersey." Pointing over into the city, Meathead couldn't tell one collapsed building from the other, but Nate was sure of it. They climbed a few more steps, looking outwards when Nate stopped at the window facing east. "Oh wow. That boat."

No more than five blocks away, resting in the cradle of the Weatherby Savings and Loans bank, was the USS Constitution.

Nate looked at the ship longer than Meathead did, his first thought was 'How the hell did the ship get there?'

And along the back hull of the ship were two massive rocket thrusters, with two auxiliary bow thrusters in the front. He blinked twice, looking at the metal jutting out the back and the wiring. Shaking his head, he couldn't believe the old three-masted war frigate built in the late 1790s, served in the war of 1812 against the British, and then dry docked and put on display at the Boston Naval Shipyard still existed.

Nate never thought he would ever think about that ship again, especially since the last time he saw it was during a walking tour with Nora when they were taking the day to do all the touristy things around Boston that they never did on their lonesome, and wanted to bring someone with them so they weren't doing it alone.

He remembered the military discount he received because all the crew was designed to act as a Naval Crew, capable of putting the USS Constitution at sea and sailing her anywhere. The memory came flooding back to the summer of 2047 when hundreds of thousands of people lined the shores of Boston on the 4th of July to watch the oak sailing ship make it's two hundred and fiftieth-anniversary voyage around the Charles Bay. They loaded confetti into the cannons and blasted all forty-four cannons in rapid succession as the noise of the Navy's brass band played send-off music. He was still only a kid, and that memory stuck with him all his life and resurfaced when he saw the modified hull and robots still roaming around deck.

Nate didn't know the words to express what he was feeling, and that was okay by Meathead since he already knew what Nate was feeling without anything needing to be said. It brought back a moment of joy and wonderment, a time when the concept of war wasn't even a thing to young Nate. When he stood along the shore, looking over the railing hung with miles and miles of red, white, and blue banners. He gripped a small flag in his hand he could wave, it was the size of a wallet, with a thin black piece of plastic holding it out. He waved that little pint-sized flag all day and even took it home with him where it sat in his room for a few years until he forgot about it, and his mother cleaned his room out and took the flag away.

Nate bit his lip and swallowed. "In Seattle, before we were shipped out, Boeing and the government contracted out some hands to work on rocket boosters for their new planes...I spent three months building rockets and taking them apart...checking, double checking, triple checking, signing off on inspections and then inspecting others while others inspected my work before they ever turned it on...and then when we were in False Pass...we were building them for fun because we didn't have much else to do except wait the Chinese out. The native guys who were showing us how to survive showed us this big cannery, all broke down, but it was absolutely loaded with shit. There are enough scrap parts in there to build a battleship because...at least thirty boats were all broken down and scrapped, with everything being stored there inside the building because there was nowhere else to put them. Otherwise, it was just a long maze through the scrapyard to get to the refinery from all the junk piled around it. It wasn't even hard to assemble them, it was just looking at the blueprints, then going back and forth making sure every single piece fit."

"<Do you want to go check it out?>" Meathead asked, Nate was still looking at the ship and he nodded. "<We still have five hours before midnight. I doubt we'll come across any trouble getting there. We could be there in five minutes from here if we walked.>"

Nate looked down at Meathead. "Know any other way?" He asked sarcastically. Meathead nodded, shedding his disguise to reveal his changeling form. He sucked in a large breath and exhaled slowly as his horn grew bright green. In a pop and flash of green fire, Meathead teleported three steps up the staircase ahead of Nate. Meathead exhaled and panted. "<Ta-da...magic. But, I'm not so sure about taking a second person with me.>"

"Keep practicing, you'll get better," Nate said, now standing below him, he could look Meathead directly in the eye.

\111/

Kessler finished her shift and was waiting for Nate to come back down from the top of the memorial. She drummed her fingers against the side of her hunting rifle. Feeling the weapon in her arms, it was effective, but couldn't take down a super mutant in one shot.

She tried remembering how many people this gun has killed, and how many times she's missed. For a long time, she used to shoot just to get them to go away, then after the raiders kept firing back, after the super mutants kept firing back, after people she knew and trusted tried selling out Bunker Hill to raiders and fought with them in her own house when there was no other place to hide and she was looking them straight in the eye and she saw that they wanted to kill her and wouldn't give a flying fuck how many times she told them to go away, they were going to kill her and desecrate her body in the streets; she needed to aim lower.

She's gotten in tug-of-war matches with people trying to rip the gun from her hands and steal it from her so they could use her own gun to kill her. The thought made her insane with rage, the words she used after seeing that they wanted to kill her was 'from my cold. Dead. Hands.'

Mayor Kessler was small, weak compared to a raider who was starving and desperate, weak against a super mutant who could be shot fifteen times with the same rifle she held in her hands, and still not die. This gun was her only saving grace and defense against people who wanted to do her harm and take everything she's ever worked for. So she repeated the mantra, 'From my cold, dead, hands.'

"So, Mr. Vault Dweller. How exactly did you get the Fen's raider to talk to you, without your head getting blown off?" Mayor Kessler asked.

"I was holding a loaded Fat Man," Nate replied, Mayor Kessler was slightly disappointed that he didn't have the gun with him, she knew how destructive those things could be. "They thought twice about shooting me. Overwhelming force. Sure there were nine of them, but, if I had done that, everyone here would be talking about a different building being blown up today instead of the construction site. We were in a standoff, I offered Sparta a deal that she couldn't refuse. I added in that I didn't want to be shot in the back the moment I turned around, and she would get the Fat Man. After that, I showed her how to use it effectively."

"Are you telling me that you gave these raiders a Fat Man?"

"It's not like I could take it with me, those things weigh thirty pounds, and they would've shot me dead for sure and taken it anyway. This way, I can talk to them, and you want me to deliver a message to them, don't you?" Kessler's teeth were clenched together, slowly grinding away at the enamel.

"I understand, but you've made it even more difficult for me to do business with them now that I have to fear death from a mile away now."

"Tough times we're living in," Nate said, letting the comment wash off his shoulder. "I heard you trade protection money with the raider gangs around here."

"Yes. I do. What of it?"

"Why?"

"You mentioned the name, Jared. I heard a raider boss operating out of the Corvega plant in Lexington is also named Jared, are they one and the same. Is this the group you mentioned you pay tribute to?"

"Yes. Why?"

Nate smiled, "You might be glad to know he's dead. They raiders there are in the middle of a standoff, trying to fight their way to the top and decide who runs the show now that he's gone."

"What?" She said, standing up straighter. "How?"

"I'dunno. He's dead and that's all that really matters for you. I expect that when they finally sort themselves out and pull their heads out of their collective asses, they'll come looking for handouts."

"That's news to me."

" Either way, it'll give you time to renegotiate terms now if you decide to pay tribute to whoever's coming next. What about the other gangs? Where do they operate out of?"

She rolled her eyes and recited the raider bosses name from memory.

"Zeller with his army operate out of the East Boston Preparatory School, they hold the routes to Malden and Revere. Well, that or the Gunners. The Gunners are the worst thing to happen to the Commonwealth since the collapse of the Minutemen. I know that a third of the Gunners were former Minutemen after everything that happened. They just decided to say fuck it and leave. They're sick in the head, but it's easier to pay the Gunners off than try and deal with not paying them off. Zeller's Army, even though they're based out of a school, they're still dumb enough to attack every person who comes through there who isn't part of a caravan. They will try to recruit you though, they torture new recruits into joining and kill you if you don't join. It took thirteen men to find out that bit of information, so I hope you know that I don't like them. The only way I found out was when a caravan worker, Liam, I thought was dead for three years runs up and starts babbling his head off. It was the first chance of freedom he'd gotten and come running right here. He was so scared that he didn't even stop, he just kept running and went west. I never saw him again after that." Mayor Kessler spoke until she was out of breath, she didn't know what this man wanted, or why he wanted this information, but she intrinsically knew he needed this information. That may be, he was going to try and make her life a little easier.

"James Wire, he's stationed out in Libertalia, the floating boat graveyard of ships east of here. They control Nahant and everything north of there along the coast. Kill James for me, would you? He's a former Minuteman."

"I'll see what I can do. What about super mutants? I never heard of them a week ago, been on ice inside a vault most my time."

"They're always on the move, but..." She nodded, "Faneuil Hall." She counted on her pinkie finger, "Revere Satellite Station." On her ring finger "West Everett Estates," on her middle finger. "Malden." On her pointer finger, "And Trinity Plaza." On her thumb.

"They've got the Boston Public Library, Trinity Tower, and the church, all decorated with bloody totems and fucking bags of meat swinging in the breeze. Avoid those places like the plague, they make it difficult to reach Diamond City otherwise..."

Nate scowled, "Oh, I will." he said, looking down at his Pip-boy, the map pinged a few locations into the area, and he tried to visualize the routes they would take to and from these locations.

"And, try not to get yourself killed. I want you to tell Tower Tom, when you see him, to stop shooting my caravans. He has to tell me exactly what he wants, otherwise, well, I can't do a damn thing about getting to west past Diamond City and the Fens."

"I'll see about working out some sort of arrangement."

"Where are you off to now?"

"The boat. Meathead and I want to go check it out."

"Good luck getting on board, those robots killed everyone that's ever gotten close. What do you expect to do walk right-"

\111/

Readying themselves as Mr. Handy sporting a pirate's hat rounded the corner of a car sunken down towards the pavement after the loss of its wheels, and it's plasma laser glowing green and pointing directly at them, Nate and Meathead both tensed and he pointed his rifle at the robot.

It stopped ten feet away from them.

"Scanning. Scanning. Accessing Pre-War Records." The Mr. Gutsy Lookout robot shouted out as Nate and Meathead got closer to the USS Constitution. They walked along the water's edge where over the years, the tide has come way up and left debris all along the storefronts and road. There was garbage and debris, junk that needed to be crawled over or walked around, and when they got into the peripheral of the Lookout, the robot came to inspect the newcomer.

"Record Found. 108th Infantry Division. Second Battalion. Ahoy there! 'Tis Providence a member of the Congressional Army is delivered to us in our hour of need."

"What are your orders?" Nate replied.

"Standing Orders: Proclamation 3: All members of the US Army are Hereby members of the Congressional Army. The captain requests your presence on the bridge. At the double quick, sir."

"So I can just walk right up?"

"Sir, yes, sir."