Lead west through an alley next to the police station, the trio of Advance Scout Verne, Paladin Danse, and Meathead passed over a rusted chain-link fence lying in pieces on the ground.

"ArcJet is just a short hike to the west of here," Verne said, leading the way. "If we take this road, we should be able to avoid the larger packs of ferals infesting Cambridge."

"Soldier, a word." Paladin Danse asked.

"<What?>."

"What's your name, soldier?"

"<Nate.>" Meathead said.

"Is your vault operational, Nate?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Is there a possibility that it could be restored?"

"<There's always a possibility, but right now the amount of effort needed to get it running again isn't worth it.>"

"That's a shame. Vaults are known for their double-sided experiments, but they make excellent bases that can be fortified."

"<It's never fun being on the receiving end on those types of experiments>," Meathead said, "<The place is a crypt, and the bodies there are better left alone.>"

"What happened?"

"<Nothing went to plan,>" Meathead said, his face wearing down. "<The residents were all tricked into being cryogenically frozen, myself included. While we were on the ice, those who weren't frozen realized quickly that there weren't enough resources to keep going for more than six months. After that, there was a mutiny. The reactor gets damaged, I think there was shoot out in there, God knows why. But time passes, I don't know how long, but the Institute wakes us up by tapping on the glass. Kellogg, he took my kid, shot my wife, and then terminated the rest of the vault population.>" Meathead made a clicking noise, "<Click, all life support offline, nitrogen fills all the pods, and they die. The last words Kellogg said before leaving were, I was the backup, but to what, I'm still not entirely sure, but either way Vault 111 is fucked.>" Meathead lied, not yet trusting the Brotherhood, nor their intentions for being in the Commonwealth.

They picked up into a jogging pace and kept moving west along the Charles River. They passed the bridge leading to Beantown Brewery and passed rusted cars with broken-in windows.

"Traveling this far from the police station is a risk, but getting that transmitter up and working needs to be our top priority," Paladin Danse explained.

"We should relocate, but the energy readings Scribe Haylen detected were disturbing, to say the least. I wasn't particularly fond of what I felt in Cambridge either." Verne mentioned.

"We'll make do, Verne."

"<What type of energy readings?>"

"Thematic, Short-lived and broadcast on a frequency only obtainable with sophisticated levels of technology."

"<For what purpose?>" Meathead asked, the real Nate already speculated that the Institute was within Cambridge, and producing a massive synth army, yet no one knew how they were getting their troops around or supplies back to their base. "<If we know the Institute is within Cambridge, and we know that no one's been able to see the movement of their combat synths in or out of their actual base, what does that tell us?>"

"They're being damnable clever about it!" Verne shouted from the front.

"We're concerned that whoever or whatever is creating those energy readings might be a potential threat, so it's our job to investigate."

The trio passed a grouping of four metal tubes rising up from the ground and painted blue. Four Pulowski Preservation Shelters, these were nuclear protections on a budget for the people who were caught unaware when the bombs fell. These telephone booth sized shelters didn't offer anything except for a safe place to put a locked door between the user and the world outside it. Moving beyond a yellowed bus with wheels sinking into the cracked pavement, they came upon the second bridge leading to Beantown Brewery, this one was part of the train tracks that expanded over the road beneath it.

Raiders were milling beneath it, and before Meathead could say anything to either Verne or Paladin Danse, they both open fire on the raiders. Verne was equipped with two side holsters at shoulder withers level, both with laser pistols mounted inside that Verne could fire by biting down on the trigger an inch from the tip of his snout like a chewable microphone.

The five raiders were shot dead in less than fifteen seconds, and Verne and Danse kept their fast jogging pace up.

Meathead held his SMG close to his chest and ran after them, listening to whatever tidbits of information Paladin Danse was willing to part with about the Brotherhood of Steel.

\111/

"It may surprise you, but over the years, two other teams were sent here by the Brotherhood to gather technology. The first team's mission was a huge success. They came back with crates full of pre-war artifacts and historical documents."

"<What kind of artifacts?>" Meathead asked.

"Books from Boston University. They found plenty of history that we didn't know existed, and gave us back information on people we only knew the names of in Washington. The second wasn't so fortunate. Shortly after they arrived, we lost contact with them and haven't heard from them since."

Paladin Danse was silent for a moment, reflecting on the lost expedition. "As far as my team goes, we've lost half of our men to this godforsaken wasteland. We've been a target the moment we arrived."

"Yeah, but we don't intend to go home yet, or end up missing," Verne added.

"<Which way did you come from?>"

"We followed train tracks north from Providence, but the way is heavily dense with raiders capable of putting up a good fight, and super mutants south of Boston. That bridge we just passed under has tracks that cut all the way south to Quincy and beyond. There's a large group of raiders near the Galaxy News Radio Station half a day's walk from here. That was our first point of contact with the local troublemakers."

"Hold up, dogs ahead," Verne said, head swinging left and right. "Let's put them down." Trotting forward, the pony went off the road to the left, drawing the dog's attention as Danse fired on them. In seconds, the pack of four dogs was caught in a crossfire. Only one wild dog managed to get close enough to Verne for the pony to charge back at him, knocking the dog to the ground and stomping and kicking the dog until its face was broken and neck smashed in.

They followed the road north-west for fifteen minutes, drawing closer and closer to the ArcJet Systems building in front of them. They passed a defunct red truck and a speed limit sign that served no purpose other than to gather dust and collect rust.

"<Mind if I ask where you came from, Verne...let me rephrase that. Where did the ponies come from, do you know?>"

"I was a lucky one, and my ancestors were lucky ones, I guess. I was born into the Brotherhood of Steel, like most other brothers or sisters. It was before my time that ponies were locked up all over the United States in Vaults, bunkers, shelters, you name it. But only handfuls of us survived, we were usually the first to go when the food ran low. Some people just can't handle being a vegetarian."

"<On that same note, here's something you might not of known, Verne. The ponies were working with the Chinese during the war for Alaska.>"

"I heard that. But here's something you might not know, my race suffered a fugue after both mankind and Equestrians discovered each other. Both societies wanted to lay claim to the fact that it was they who were the first to discover the other, and not be discovered. Mankind was terrified of being invaded by an alien race, for fear that the aliens would do unto them as they had done unto others for their entire existence. Equestrian's were looking for a friend in the galaxy as to not be so alone. Once our people realized that your people were in a war that would expand across the globe, we were forced to pick sides, but even though our government chose one side, the individual ponies held free will to support whoever they wanted. I suppose it doesn't matter who my ancestors picked, it's all in the past, and the past belongs to the dead."

\111/

They entered the Arcjet Systems building and Verne and Danse scanned the lobby, looking at how tactically sound the building was.

"It was corporations like this that put the last nail in the coffin for mankind," Paladin Danse said. "They pocketed technology for their own gain, pocketing the cash, and ignoring the damage they'd done."

"<They also thought they were doing the right thing. They were at war with a country they'd never been to, working on projects that they thought would benefit their country as a whole, and were never told the whole truth of the matter. Instead, they'd only heard stories and made assumptions based on what little truths and lies were given to them. They were heavily armed, and so was their enemy. Was the Brotherhood of Steel descendants of the United States Military?>"

Paladin Danse made a face that wanted to disagree with what Meathead was saying, but he saw through the lines of logic he argued. "The more prime members, you could say that held true. Sticking to a highly militarized discipline to see them through the chaotic times after the Great War. Since then, recruiting is a bit more relaxed during times of necessity."

The trio came to a security room where six protectrons were all torn and bashed apart. Not a single one of them was in working condition, and all their plates were either ripped off, dented, punched in, or missing. Meathead looked down at the type of damage done when Verne spoke.

"Hands. A big group of people did this with their bare hands. Different sized marks scratching the paint, you see that?" Verne pointed a hoof to the claw marks, and how they were jagged or inconsistent with others. "Burn marks on the walls too, these robots worked for a while but were attacked by a group. We might be dealing with ghouls or...some scrappers." Verne observed.

Walking through tight oppressive hallways that's didn't bare any markings to the labs, or offices, they came to a room locked with two security doors linked to a terminal.

"I'll get the doors," Paladin Danse said, going to the computer.

Meathead looked up, feeling some form of life in the building, but it was mechanical. He could hear it, but he couldn't feel it.

"<There's something on the floor above us.>" Meathead said, putting his hand out to the side to silence the other two.

Verne and Danse looked up, staying quiet they heard something walking above their heads, and making the ceiling creak.

"Yep. Something up there. Something heavy. Hopefully, another protectron roaming around, that would be the least of our worries."

Paladin Danse went back to the terminal, typing at the keys to find a workaround into guessing the access password.

"You've been staring at me ever since you first saw me. What is it?" Verne asked, Meathead was leaning against a desk and was caught staring directly at the pony's flank.

"<You're the third pony I've seen since leaving the vault.>"

"Unless it helps us find the Deep Range Transmitter faster, it's not important," Verne replied.

"<Not even if that pony worked for the Institute? I caught him with Conrad Kellogg, a known Institute spy, and legman."

"Where did you come across this Institute pony?"

"<Fort Hagen, shacked up with Conrad Kellogg, an Institute spy who kidnapped my son, Shaun, and shot my wife, Nora. Know any good doctors? I left Kellogg hanging by the end of the rope and the pony I turned over to Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor for safekeeping.>" Meathead quickly jumped through his story again.

Verne and Danse both shared looks of confusion, and then Danse asked, "What did this Institute spy have to say?"

"<Oh the usual banter, that I'll never make it, stop while I still can, hints at the whereabouts of the Institute, and that we're all going to die someday.>"

Paladin Danse stood straight and braced himself against the desk, both arms out and leaning over the terminal at Meathead. "Do you know where the Institute is?"

"<He never outright told me, but give me two days and a GPR, and I'll lead you right to their front door. However, getting into the Institute isn't the problem. We need to deal with the arduous process of cracking that fucker open like a bank vault. But like every Vault, it's got synths, and it's got turrets, and it's probably got magic ponies as security, it's the best of both sci-fi and fantasy worlds keeping us out. The only reason I haven't gone there myself is that I know that the C.I.T. ruins are overflowing with mutants, raiders, and synths, but those are just for show. The real problem comes from the second we try to send someone inside. They'll turn them into a mutant, then release a synth look alike. Until either of us come up with a way around that issue, to beat them to the punch, then it's way too risky for myself.>"

"After we get in contact with the main chapter of the Brotherhood, we'll make sure an army of the best-trained soldiers eliminates the entirety of the Institute, and make sure that type of technology never falls into the wrong hands."

Meathead hummed at Paladin Danse's declaration, he's heard that same line from the real Nate when he was describing his time in the army when a weapon or valuable piece of technology was in the Chinese hands, but the U.S. Army wanted to take it and repurpose it for their own needs and gains in the war effort.

"<Where is the rest of the Brotherhood anyway?>"

"That's classified."

"<Same shit, different day. War never changes.>" Nate said, gaining a cursory glance from Danse and Verne.

"What do you know about ponies?" Verne asked Meathead. "How did you know about the War for Alaska?"

Meathead looked down, "<I fought in it. I've been trying to tell you...Paladin Danse anyway, that you're both looking at a bonafide United States Army Veteran.>"

"So what's that make you? A man who doesn't age? A synth with human memories?" Paladin Danse asked, looking up from the computer.

"<A survivor of a fucked up Vault-Tec. experiment where we were cryogenically frozen." Meathead responded, "And then left to die. If it weren't for the Institute, I might still be frozen, and there's a good chance someone else who didn't like playing nice would've come along in another dozen years and thawed us out.>"

"Why do you say that it was the Institute?" Paladin Danse interjected.

"<Because, they had big fucking logos on their clothes of the Vetruvian Man->" Meathead trailed off, looking at the counters around him, and laying on the technician's equipment was a white and grey laser pistol. "<Like this!>" He said, holding up the Institute laser pistol.

Paladin Danse opened the security doors and five Generation One synths were on the other side, prying metal panels off the walls and pulling up copper cables from the floors. "Damn Synths compromised the facility! Fire!"

Meathead ducked into cover as all five synths switched into action, two of them carrying shock batons while the other three fired their laser pistols.

Paladin Danse in his power armor deflected or absorbed most laser fire, immune to the fear of being burnt alive by a laser shot. He fired back with his own laser rifle, the red beams blasting into the Gen Ones. Meathead fired thirty rounds from the Institute designed laser pistol, finding it was sighted well, and not as a hassle to manage the recoil as his Tommy gun. It lacked the same punch of an SMG but was efficient at melting the synth external components. Stowing the laser pistol, he switched to his Tommy Gun.

Verne bit down onto the triggers, and in the small laboratory, there were more colorful beams flying around in the small space than a rave at a nightclub. Meathead and Verne both stayed out of Danse's line of sight as he fired directly into the group, as the first two synths were knocked down and one was suddenly atomized, crumbling into a pile of red hot glowing ash and dust. Verne fired from his low position, only being a few feet off the ground, the shots went up towards their chins, instead of directly hitting them, any beams of energy were directed up into the heads, rather than dispelled across the synth's armor.

The fighting sprawled from the laboratory into a commons area technicians and staff would use to get from one part of the building to the other. More synths, this time seven robots were here as well, all halted from their previous task of stripping the building of its resources and engaging the heavily armed and armored combatants.

Nate fired small bursts from his SMG, chipping away and tripping up the synths, shooting them in the chest as accurately as he could, then switching to the Institute designed laser pistol, melting their joints, freezing up their sockets, burning holes through their chest and internal engines.

They were all gathered in the common ground, and the fire lasted three minutes. Meathead ended jabbing himself with a few Stimpaks after taking three laser blasts to the arm, leg, and head. One synth smashed an electrified shock baton into his shoulder, and made him lose his grip on his SMG before he let loose a torrent of .45 caliber bullets at the synth's legs, and let the recoil carry the gun up, eviscerating the body from knees to head.

Verne used his height advantage of being low to the ground to stay low and make himself a harder target to hit while firing twin blasts of laser bolts at the synths. At the end of those three minutes, he bucked two synths on the ground, making sure they were dead.

Meathead picked up an Institute laser rifle, scavenging their ammo off the dead synths as they moved along. They were all breathing heavily at the rounds of combat, but this spurred them into moving as quickly as possible through the factory.

They all came to a long hallway that took a sharp right and led to a staircase leading down three flights of stairs and went straight. The hallway was black, and very little light was available except the shine from Meathead's Pip-Boy and Paladin Danse's helmet light.

"The Engine Core should be just up ahead." Paladin Danse said, his ears twitched inside his helmet as he strained to listen for any more synths in the area.

"<How did you hear about this place?>" Meathead asked.

"Recon Group Vagus. They marked it as a location of interest, but couldn't make time to properly examine the building. It would've been on Recon Squad Artemis list of high-value locations, but there's no sign they were ever here. Based on other factories I've been to, businesses, companies like this, they keep their power supplies in the basement, and their best tech up top."

At the end of the hallway, there was an opaque light shining towards them. It was still dark, but the next room they were inside was massive. Hanging from the ceiling was a massive XMB booster engine, it weighed as much as the four rocket engines that made the USS Constitution fly combined. On the outside of the room was a catwalk that clung to the walls, however, the stairs leading up were now laying on the ground floor, thirty feet below them.

Meathead whistled a low tune of amazement. "<I remember when they announced this. The Mars Shot project. They were putting people on Mars.>"

"The Scribes would have a field day in here," Verne said eyes roaming around the walls of untouched computer banks and project cast files scattered around desks. This was one of the rooms in the Commonwealth where no one had been inside since the fall of the bombs, and everything looked exactly as it had as it was October 23rd, only a little dustier, and the people inside were safe from the bombs above, but their stories of what happened afterward are lost to time.

"We'll have to head down and use the elevator to go up. Scout the maintenance area of the main chamber, look for the power supply. I'll remain here and watch our backs. If any more synths come, I'll hold them off. Verne, lead the way."

Verne nodded. "Come on, fanboy, I know you have questions, and now that we're going off, it's no use putting them off."

"<You're pretty good at being mildly sarcastic, do you have any other abilities?>" Meathead replied.

"I can make dirty remarks about your mother." Verne said, "And that's not even trying."

"<Now that's baiting if I ever heard it.>" Meathead replied. "<How many ponies are they working with the Brotherhood of Steel?>"

"Roughly over a hundred. There are a lot more casual ponies in Phili who aren't in the Brotherhood, but it's rigorous to join, especially with the physical requirements. I was an obvious pick for manual labor and being a literal workhorse."

"<Does that make you feel anything?>" Meathead asked, already he could tell Verne was impassive towards the subject.

"What else am I going to do? Eat grass and neigh?" Verne replied. They came upon the engine control room, and there was a dusty console with a red button surrounded by black and yellow stripes. There were no other buttons around it, but they were both able to get a good idea of what it did.

"What the heck is that?" Verne asked, looking across the room to a desktop where a mismatched collection of machinery was welded together with three separate air intakes, and a large nozzle to shoot out air at a rate that would make any leaf blower jealous.

Next to the strange machine was a white and orange holotape labeled 'Junk Jet'. Meathead tried hefting it up and felt the thirty pound, glorified air blower was heavier than it needed to be. Dropping it back down onto the table, he shook his head and let Verne take a closer look at the machine as well.

"What is it?"

"<It looks like someone who combined a rocket engine with a hairdryer and ended up with this bastard.>"

"Any tactical uses?" Verne asked, glancing up at Meathead.

"Not that I can see." They both left the odd device on the workbench and followed their ears towards a mechanical humming of motors, where the generator room was. Inside were two fusion generators, both operating, but all the lights in the room were red. Knowing that red lights for almost any industrial complex meant it was operating on lower power output, Meathead checked the computer terminal attached to the generators and saw the flashing error message that went up over two hundred years ago.

'[Warning: Connection with main generators lost. Please activate auxiliary power.]'

Meathead tapped the prompt and the two generators suddenly spun up louder, moving faster as script rolled across the screen.

[Accessing Auxiliary Generators...Complete]
[Rerouting power from Auxiliary Generators...]
[ Verifying grid integrity..]
[...Complete]

[Power has been restored.]

The lights all across ArcJet Systems returned to life, and the entire facility jumped back to life as any working console was given the energy to work again after remaining untouched for so long.

"<Yes!>," Meathead said, returning to the engine control test room. Overhead, automated messages alerting the facility played.

"[Thermal Engine fueled, primed, and standing by for your command.]"

They saw Paladin Danse through a window of safety glass and tried to get his attention, but he was aiming up with his laser rifle.

One synth fell from the floors above, landing on the ground, picking itself up and instantly going to attack Paladin Danse.

Meathead and Verne couldn't hear the sound of the synth colliding with the floor, but in their minds they could hear it clearly.

Paladin Danse was still aiming and firing laser rounds up when three more synths rained down and crashed onto the bottom floor of the testing chamber.

Then six all at once where there were now nine synths on the bottom floor. "Verne! Push that red button! Danse! Get your ass over here!" Meathead shouted, running out to the main floor with his Thomson submachine gun. He fired into the crowd of synths that now numbered fifteen in total, and more were crashing down from above.

"Holy Shit! DANSE, MOVE IT!" Firing one hundred rounds in ten seconds, Meathead fired a path for Paladin Danse to come sprinting straight at him as the voice of the mainframe above sounded off the next warning.

"[Command Accepted. Countdown procedure initiated. Engine test firing in Five seconds.]

Paladin Danse forced a glance upward at the rocket engine directly above his head, aimed right down at him. He was standing on the center platform with fear striking him more than anything else. Laser blasts of blue light were burning his power armor, even with extensive shielding, his armor was taking a beating after two months, and only minor maintenance.

Without a machine shop, he was forced to focus primarily on making sure his own frame of T-60 power armor was always functioning, at the risk of losing protective capabilities.

[Five...Four...]

Firing fifty more rounds of .45 caliber bullets, Meathead screamed for Paladin Danse to get moving, Danse's feet were forced towards Meathead, it felt like he was being pushed.

He couldn't tell his legs were wrapped in a green magical glow, propelling him towards the blast doors, while also shoving synths to the side.

Once he realized he was moving, he took off into a dead sprint, charging at Nate who backed away from the doors and had one hand on the security safety blast doors to the room.

[Three...Two...one...]

Meathead pressed the button, closing the doors as Paladin Danse burst through, dragging two synths along with him as the doors secured shut behind them.

The synths that were still functioning were firing at the doors, pounding on them, thumping uselessly against the blast doors.

Meathead and Paladin Danse stomped the synths into submission, finishing them off with laser blasts to the head and chest until they stopped moving.

[Engine firing].

There were two sparking ignitors placed beneath the engine, and thermal gas raced out of the exhaust, finally catching on the gas and ignited.

The deafening roar and force of the XMB booster engine shook the entire building, making the doors glow hot and compress inwards as Meathead and Danse took a defensive step away from the door. Hoping that the door wouldn't explode off its frame and crush the two of them, and then be burnt to a crisp.

The test phase lasted ten seconds, and the doors reopened, pushing away piles of molten slag and black ash along the ground.

Verne came running towards them, "Oh my god! Are you alright?" He asked, looking the duo up and down.

"Yes...we're fine...My power armor saved me from being blasted by their lasers..." They went out and saw that while most of the synths were either burnt to a crisp, ash, or melted, but the weapons they carried were not.

Meathead kicked one of the pistols, it was still warm, but it was made of better material than the synths themselves.

"<One, two...eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Twenty synths. Fuck that's a lot of them.>" Meathead said, counting all the guns left on the ground. Enough for a small armory, it would be worth saving them for later.

"Let's keep moving. I don't know how the Institute keeps track of their synths, but I don't need to be a genius even when twenty of anything suddenly go offline and don't report in." Paladin Danse said. They all crossed the scorched black testing floor and piled into an elevator, letting themselves be carried up to the main control room.

\111/

They came to the observation room and found the Deep Range Transmitter plugged into a computer terminal that was broken. Pulling out the connectors, Danse overlooked how it was wired into the computer and then gave it to Verne.

"Alright. Let's get out of here. We'll take the service elevator to the surface." Paladin Danse said. Meathead looked up at the ceiling, not realizing that they'd taken over six flights of stairs going down, they were far underground.

Piling into another elevator, they ascended to the surface and came out of ArcJet systems to the east of the actual facility in a small concrete bunker, surrounded by long-dead security guards.

Paladin Danse took off his helmet and wiped his face.

"Well, that could've gone smoother." He relented.

"<For as many synths as there were, that was about as smooth as it could be.>" Meathead shuddered, looking off to the southeast towards the North End. Rubbing his forehead, he wipes the hair out of his eyes.

"That sweep was sloppy! We were unprepared and caught off guard, but your extra gun gave us the edge."

"<Thank Verne, if he hadn't of activated the engine, we would still be fighting them off down there.>"

Paladin Danse looked down at Verne with some recognition of the act. "That engine could've killed all of us. It was a very dangerous move."

"<Well then, blame me cause I was the one who told him to use it.>" Meathead said, accepting responsibility and sticking up for Verne.

"It makes no difference who activated it, or who used it, it was still life-threatening to all of us. I can only say I appreciate your assistance, the extra gun is what gave us the edge during those fights with the synths throughout the main building. I'm not sure if we could've accomplished the mission alone." Paladin Danse said to Meathead.

"Yes. Thank you." Verne said, raising a hoof to him.

Meathead reached out and paused, "Make a fist." Verne said.

Meathead nodded, making a fist and bumping it against his hoof.

"That being said, I believe we have two important matters to discuss. First and foremost, I think you'll find this weapon useful. It's my own modification of the standard Brotherhood Laser Rifle. It is the Righteous Authority. May it serve you well in battle-"

Behind Paladin Danse and Verne, a giant flash of white light filled the air, followed by the bang of an explosion and a mushroom cloud billowing up from the southeast.

\111/

"<Jesus. I hope that's no one I know.>" Meathead said, watching the horizon grow darker after the mushroom cloud dissipated, he swallowed and shuddered to think about what type of trouble Nate and Piper got into in the short time he was away from them. "Thank you for the rifle, but I don't think I need it."

"That isn't the only weapon at my disposal," Paladin Danse replied. Meathead thanked him in return and holstered the laser rifle.

"We've got a few dozen more laying around the police station," Verne said.

"Brotherhood soldiers always carry a backup," Paladin Danse said, nodding. "Now...as far as the second matter goes, I wanted to make you a proposal. Our op could've ended in disaster, but you kept your cool and handled it like a soldier."

"<Second Battalion, 108th regiment. United States Army. Power Armor division, First-class Combat Engineer Corporal.>"

Paladin Danse smiled, nodding. "There's no doubt in my mind that you've got what it takes. The way I see it, you've got a choice. You could spend the rest of your life wandering from place to place, trading an extra hand for a meager reward. Or, you could join the Brotherhood of Steel and make your mark on the world. So, what do you say?"

"<I don't think the world can handle too many more marks against the surface, it's pretty bombed out as it is. I've already made my mark on the world. What would you expect from me?>"

"You'd be under my command, and I'd expect you to follow my orders. No more mercenary work, this is the real thing. You'd have access to advanced weaponry and your own personal suit of power armor."

"<I have that already.>"

"You'd have the Brotherhood at your back." Verne said, "We'd be ready to spill our own guts to keep you alive."

Meathead looked down at the pony, then to Paladin Danse. "Offer still stands, can we count on you?" He said.

Meathead internally debated for a moment, he wished the real Nate was here, unsure of which decision to make, he agreed. "<I'd be honored to join the Brotherhood of Steel, but, I'm committed to another task at hand.>"

"What is it?"

"<Chasing down an Institute leak. There's supposedly someone or someones inside the Institute who are working to undermine them. The only reason I know is because of Kellogg.>"

"You'll have your freedom, Nate. Joining the Brotherhood now will mean much more when the Institute is dealt with later. Meet me back at the police station when you're ready for orders. Verne, let's move out."

Verne led the way forward, and Paladin Danse followed behind him, carrying his helmet under his arm.

Meathead looked to the South where the explosion came from and frowned, "<It's been less than six hours, what the hell did you do now?>"

He said to himself, closing his eyes and crushing his fist. "<How do you keep doing that?>"

Turning to the southeast, "<And what do you want?>" Meathead asked the question vanished into the air, no one was around to respond to it. "<Go back to bed.>"

\111/

Nine miles to the east, Thunderstruck the Pegasus stirred, pawing at the edge of her gel-filled cocoon. Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Her breathing was finally restful, it wasn't pained from the shock of being attacked by a shotgun round, and plummeting to the ground.

She winced at the memory but accepted that something happened to her, and wanted to wake up.

Only, she wasn't ready.

While time inside the changeling pod healed the shotgun wound, there were far worse tragedies inflicted upon Thunderstruck's skin than a lead-bearing.

Scars, whipping marks, patches of hair missing or falling out, her underweight appearance from malnutrition, parasites from poor-drinking water, the skin around her neck where a dog collar rubbed the skin raw.

The changeling pods were like safety deposit boxes, the could only be opened from the outside. She nestled closer to herself, bringing her limbs in to conserve warmth, and drifted back to a night of deeper sleep. For once in her life, she felt safe and her dreams weren't reflecting the torment from the waking world around her. Curling her wings around her, a cocoon within a cocoon, Thunderstruck felt odd, that she shouldn't feel this safe. It made her uncomfortable, not even being able to be conscious enough to as reflect on where she was, or her surroundings, but the feeling persisted.

The command to 'Go back to sleep' weighed heavily on her mind, and she quickly found herself dreaming again, but this time, the dreams were pleasant as she felt weightless floating in the Changeling sac.

Her mind made her believe she was flying, and that was the only feeling she needed to feel comfortable, slipping into a much deeper sleep where an endless landscape was passing beneath her, and Thunderstruck could keep flying till the ends of the earth, or until she felt that she had finally ran far enough from the troubles behind her.

"OooH!" Travis Lonely Miles exclaimed, sorting through a stack of holotapes, "Here's one we haven't played in a while. Hello Stranger. It's a classic...and a little more upbeat, which is what the Commonwealth could use in times like these."

"Barbara..." Travis squinted at the label. "Sorry, couldn't read my own handwriting there for a second. It's Barbara Lewis. Coming up next on Diamond City Radio,"

"But first! Arturo's Commonwealth Weaponry. ACW, Ammo for all your rifles, shotguns, pistols, blasters, hand-cannons, laser-guns, missile launchers, grenade launchers, and assault weapons! If it goes Pow~! or Pew~! Zap! Bang! or Kaboom! Then come to Arturo's Commonwealth Weaponry in the Diamond City Market, open from 8:00-8:00 at night."