Nate led the party of eight to the U.S.S. Constitution, where they were welcomed by the Giddys, and situated into the lower floors of the Weatherby Tower. A place to call their own, bedrolls, water, food, a place to clean themselves, a bathroom, and a weapon.

Nick and Thunderstruck with their list of locations prepared to scout for more ponies around the Commonwealth, while Serin, Hollow, and Warner could recover under the protective gaze of Curie at the Weatherby Tower.

Unloading and taking stock of everything they accumulated while separated, Nate eyed the X-01 power armor left by Meathead on the Constitution's deck with curiosity, wondering where in the world it was designed, and who went through the trouble of making it.

Hancock saw all the guns arranged in stacks and rows, he knew then that Nate and Meathead were serious about taking the fight to the Institute.

Nate shared that he discovered even more weapons, and suits of pristine power armor, along with fusion cores all sitting in the National Guard Depot, and before Nate was even done with the sentence, Meathead teleported the three of them to the parking lot outside the National Guard, ready to bring the supplies back.

After six round trips, Meathead was exhausted, burnt out, and breathing heavily, but the compounding guns and ammo made for an impressive sight. He stumbled the first few steps after returning to the USS Constitution, but their armory easily outweighed most Bostonians, and was on par with Goodneighbor in terms of firepower.

"We could cause a lot of trouble with all this rampage you've got stockpiled here."

"Oh, this is barely even the start," Nate said dismissively. Looking up to the sky, it was still daytime, but Nate knew overhead there were satellites still in orbit, there were still missiles buried in silos across America. A few suits of power armor and a stash of guns was a drop in the bucket. The more Nate thought about the Glowing Sea, the more convinced he was that something went terribly wrong the day the bombs fell.

His mind went back to what he said 12 days earlier, the early detection warning system. Part of the Civil Defense, the sirens, the vertibirds racing overhead. They should've had ten minutes from the time the sirens went off, to the time the bombs detonated.

It was a given that Nate knew where to find most military bases in the whole state, especially since hundreds of thousands of people drove past one military base in particular on their way along Interstate 95.

There was a red sign warning: Authorized Vehicles only, and a turnoff the highway without a designated highway exit sign.
You could see the base from quite a ways away, but it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a big, black pyramid. Inside were M-28 warheads supposed to be used in a countermeasure against incoming nukes. Nate was solely convinced that whatever happened on October 23rd, 2077, Sentinal Site did not work as it was intended.

\111/

Once Hancock realized what everyone else was doing, he asked his new wandering buddies where they were off to next.

"The Railroad."

"Oh, why didn't you say so?"

"Because I've looked just about everywhere else for a radiation suit for the Glowing Sea." Nate shook his head, there were always more places he could look, but he would be blindly searching for it.

"Good thing I don't need one."

"<Me neither.>"

"Is that so?" Hancock asked.

"<Crispy on the outside, moist on the inside, finger-lickin' good.>" Nate laughed and Hancock cast a glance between the two of them.

"<Bobbi No-Nose was also nice enough to leave behind a railway rifle after she broke her neck.>"

"How'd she break her neck?" Nate asked

"<She ran into my hand.>" Nate's response was to only laugh harder.

\111/

The Freedom Trail leads directly to the North End Church, despite its quiet wooden, stone, and steel exterior, there were signs of activity all around. Namely, the muddy and dirty footprints on the concrete, tracks of dirt leading right up the front steps.

A burning lantern left outside the door, either to honor the historical significance of the building and what men before did to alert others of invaders, or to signal other members of the illusive Railroad that they were in, and the building was safe.

Relatively, the ground floor had three feral ghouls with legs already broken to act as guard dogs the moment Nate, Meathead, and Hancock stepped inside.

"<I feel a life force beneath us heading west, towards the altar. We alerted the lookout and he's moving through the basement.>"

"This church was used since before the Revolutionary War, it's got a basement that connects right up to the sewers, and I'll bet you could go from the sewers to the subways tunnels and utility beneath that. The first sign of invading force that's too big to handle, it'll be a good escape route. Hancock, do you deal with the Railroad much?"

"Yes and no. I pretend I don't see them running people and synths through Goodneighbor, and they pretend that they're not even there in the first place, otherwise, the Institute would come crashing down the door with an army of synths. In exchange, they keep tabs on things, and make sure people make it to the front door."

Following the trail of dirt and footprints leading down to the basement, there was a vacant chair with a small pile of discarded seed pod shells, and the core of a fruit by the chair's legs.

The basement was old enough to have burial catacombs, with grave markers in the brick tunnels dating bodies back over 500 years. The air was cold, but also stifling as well. When reached a brick wall held together with concrete that was newer than every other wall, with the footprints and amount of dirt on the floor all leading to the one dead-end, hidden behind a secret door.

"How many in there?"

"<Five...with a big group further down.>"

"Alright, let's go make some friends."

Nate stood his gun up by the doorframe, then pressed against a brick impression, to get the false door to slide open.

Knowing people were waiting in the dark, silently tense, waiting for him to move upwards so that way the door to their base wouldn't be wide open and close behind the duo.

Nate paused for another moment, Rapping his knuckles six times against the brick to knock and make noise.

"Think they know it's us?" Hancock asked.

"Vault-Tec. Calling." He said loudly.

\11/

The response was silence until Nate, Meathead, and Hancock entered a small room 10x15 feet. It was dark, but then a sound like a flare firing to life, emitting an intense brightness that momentarily blinded the both of them.

Nate and Meathead were both locked into place, wrists and ankles forced down by their side by an unseen force. Hancock was frozen to the spot, for only a moment, until the magical grip released upon seeing who it was.

They both knew that by fighting, they could break free because this was magic holding them down. A white unicorn with a pink mane and one long curl to it was the orchestrator of the flash-and-grab.

Next, the room was engulfed with bright humming halogen lights running off a humming generator in the distance.

They were in the target zone of two Railroad agents training weapons on them, with a woman who held the same type of gaze as Overseer McNamara when she allowed Nate into her Vault. Suspicious, yet also carefully optimistic.

"Stop," the red-haired woman who addressed them was carrying a weapon as well, a knife strapped to the outside of her gun holster, where the handle of a metal laser pistol was shoved into.

"You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting, but before we go any further, answer my questions. Who are you?"

"Nate; You know who I am."

The red-haired woman nodded once, and the white unicorn's grip ended, allowing Nate and Meathead to move their arms and legs.

"Who told you how to contact us?"

"No one, people talk. There are holotapes with your voice on it saying to follow the Freedom Trail, there're Railroad hobo lantern signs all around Boston, the Boston Common has a tour guide from the Pre-war, telling tourists to follow the Freedom Trail. All those things, along with one of your agents tailing me for a bit, but we never sat down and chatted." Nate held up his pointer finger and thumb, in the shape of a gun, pointing past Desdemona, inhaling sharply through his nose, Nate guessed, to Meathead's astonishment, of taking a random shot in the dark, that this agent was there with them right now.

"Tell the man following me I have his scent."

Feeling caught, a man waiting a dozen feet down the brick corridor turned out from his cover and walked towards them. Deacon smelled like a stable, but not that anyone except for Nate and Meathead would recognize the smell.

"I'm Desdemona, the leader of the Railroad."

"...And what gives?" The man announced, intruding on their first meeting.

"Deacon, where have you been?" She asked, turning her head to address him.

"You were having a party, I was looking for my invitation." Deacon was wearing a white cotton t-shirt that didn't look too yellowed from age and sweat, faded blue jeans, black sunglasses, and had stark black hair, but it was a wig.

"I need intel on our newcomer, who is he?"

"This guy? Unless someone's got another Vault 111 suit, and unless he's been swapped out by the Institute in the last day, then this guy is the man who hung Kellogg off the tower and is making waves in the Commonwealth."

"I do a lot of community outreach," Nate said, trying to gauge Deacon.

"Don't I know?" He replied, but the way he spoke was buffeted with a desire to know and retain secrets. A little coy, but letting on that he knows more than what he's saying.

"You joined the Brotherhood of Steel, cleared out two super-mutant bases, one by blowing up the whole building by working alongside the raider, Sparta. Nate here took out Faneuil Hall, a known mutant hangout. Fighting the Triggermen in Vault 114, Killing Swan at the park, and bringing down the raider bosses Jared at Corvega and Tower Tom at the Beantown Brewery while buffering Red at the Federal Stockpile. To add it to the long trail of burnt bodies both mutant, feral, and raiders, and smoke in his wake, James Wire from Libertalia was last seen being cut to pieces by a rescued pony in the streets of Goodneighbor, and that was just this morning. He's got the stamp of approval for getting a job done with tenacious speed."

"You should see what I do in my free time," Nate said, accepting the compliment.

"So you're vouching for him?" Desdemona asked Deacon.

"Yes. Trust me, he's someone we want on our side." He said, all the while smiling, unable to keep the enthusiasm from showing on his face.

"That changes things, so tell me, stranger, why did you want to meet with us? Palo Santo, that's enough." The unicorn with the white coat and pink mane suspended her magic, letting Nate and Meathead regain control of their limbs.

"You're the only ones fighting the Institute, or from what I hear, undermining them; I want to take every single person from the Institute, and drag them up to the surface, kicking and screaming." Nate prophesized. He could envision the bright day play out in front of him, his fingers wrapped tight around the hair and scalp of any number of foreheads, male or female, them thrashing in his grip as they screamed, pleading to not be taken to the surface.

"I'd like to say that nobody comes here out for blood, that everyone's here to help their fellow man, though that would be a lie," Desdemona replied.

"That's good because I'm not out for blood, I just want to baptize them in the Charles River until their sins are washed away. But it may take a while, let's hope they can hold their breath."

"You have a lot in common with too many of us, I'm afraid," Desdemona said, looking down to the ground for a few moments. Long enough for Desdemona to count how many layers of hell stood between them and Kellogg.

"If we're going to be dealing with you, I need to make sure we're on the same page. You know what a synth is, right?"

"I've pieced a lot together in the last two weeks from rumors, but what do you know?" Nate asked.

"The Institute created them, Synthetic humans. They're mostly organic, part machine. Somewhere along the line, they became more than just constructs. They think they feel, they look like you and me, but the Institute treats synths as property, as tools. We seek to free the synths from their bondage. Give them a chance at real life. I have a question. The only question that matters, would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if that man is a synth?"

"What about living slaves? Things you know 100% sure are alive and in chains?" Hancock asked.

"If we're confronted with it, and have the resources, manpower, ability, and experience to lift a person from a slave pen or bust up a chain-gang, then yes. We'll do it. There are always those who will seek to abuse those at their most desperate. We try to help those instead. We know of the slaves and the sentient ponies at Nuka-World, but we need all forces focusing on dealing with issues here. Once we have our foothold in the Commonwealth, then...we plan about what may come until then and how to deal with it. So, will you risk your lives for another?"

"Yes."

"Well said. You're right about us, we're the only ones brave or stupid enough to fight the Institute, and we could use more brothers-in-arms. But right now, we don't have time to train a new agent, there are, however, other ways you can contribute. In turn, we can help you. You may speak with Deacon and Palo Santo for details. You're free to go. If you need to meet with us again, we'll know you're coming."

Killing the floodlights, the power was switched over to grounded lights drilled right into the brick and rock tunnels that drew less energy, and put less strain on the generator. But there was a few moments of total darkness for everyone as one was turned off, and the other wall lights were turned on.

Desdemona and the Railroad agents eased back, going further underground into the catacombs underneath the church, leaving Deacon and Palo Santo with Nate, Meathead, and Hancock.

"Hope you didn't mind the reception," Palo Santo said, rolling her eyes up to Deacon, "But, it's hard to know who's who, these days."

"I'm surprised more people haven't caught on to the whole Freedom Trail," Nate said.

"Exactly, kind of killed our chance at a friendly first impression, though." Deacon said.

"What are you talking about? I must've seen you at least three times."

Meathead remained silent through the encounter, quieter than the church mice nested around them. "Geeze, your dog's quiet." Deacon commented. Noticing that for a dog, he was barely panting. Long, slow, measured breaths.

Palo Santo flashed Deacon an annoyed look, "Are you going to tell him, or what?"

"Since Lexington went quiet, turns out there was a big shootout at Corvega, now would be the only perfect opportunity to go there before the buzzards start to show. Under Lexington is a base we used until the Institute found us. During the panic and flee, we lost a lot of good people and left a lot of important tech and gear behind. The jobs too big for one guy, or at least, I'd feel a lot better with backup. Could I do this one-handed? Sure, I'd give myself a 50/50 chance of doing this without a scratch, maybe. But that other 50%, it might end up with me running a 100-meter sprint with a grenade clenched between my buttcheeks. Backup is backup."

"Either way, what my partner is asking is that you help with the fighting...and when you're done," Palo Santo lamented, "I get to be the pack animal that hauls everything important back. Whoopie."

"Santo means well, you're normally much more cheerful; she's a lot more jolly." Deacon said, switching between Palo Santo and Nate's group, "She just likes the smell of old books, practicing magic, and long walks on the beach, but she lost a lot of research and friends when the Institute attacked."

\111/

Deacon leads the trio back to the surface, then mapped out a walking path to Lexington. Nate was making annotations and notes in black ink on a road map of Boston and the greater surrounding townships. It was filled with red dashes across roads, showing that they were blocked, green boxes with diagonal lines running through them were around buildings that were radiated, jagged lines and triangles on roads for debris. Tiny arrows for safer routes. X's were crossed over destroyed or dangerous buildings.

Tracing a line to an overpass in Lexington "Under this overpass is where we'll meet, once Santo and I make contact with our other Railroad agent in the area to see what route to take, then we'll move in. We'll see you there."

Next Chapter: Ch. 69 The Switchboard Estimated time remaining: 14 Hours, 34 Minutes