[color=fff200][b]The New York Syndicate (Secretly The Institute) - New Vegas, The Gourmand[/b][/color] The Convention was starting to wrap up following the announcement of an armistice between the NCR and Legion. Don Borgio actually seemed a bit disappointed with the early dismissal, but intrigued by the possibility of more negotiations in the future. "Very well then," He sighed after the Legion representative had spoken. He then waved down a nearby waiter, "I'd like the check, please. If you don't mind." "Then to Kimball, a fool who knew no equal, may he at least find some peace where he goes." The man from Alaska announced with a toast. "Yes to Kimball," Don Borgio replied, raising his own glass. The Don then turned to his two children, seated on either side of him, "Lets be off. I'd like to make it back to New York as soon as possible. We've got much to do my children. Much to do." "Of course," Antony said with a nod, "Here father, let me help you with your coat." "[i]Grazie[/i], Antony," The Don replied. As he stood up, he looked over to his daughter, who had a vacant expression on her face. It looked as if she'd seen a ghost, "Lucia my dear, what is it?" Lucia sat silently staring for a few seconds, before slowly mouthing the words, "I...I don't know...I feel....I feel strange." "Its this damnable Mojave air," The Don replied with a huff, "Come now. You'll be right as rain once we get back home. Grab your things. We're departing immediately." "I'm not sure I want to go..." Lucia continued, "I think...I think I'd like to stay here...in Vegas." Lucia then felt a gloved hand on her shoulder. She turned to see one of her father's goons standing directly behind her. Looking at her with an intensity that she'd never seen before, "I think you had better listen to your father," The man said, in an emotionless tone of voice that struck her as very odd. For the life of her Lucia couldn't seem to remember his name. In fact, she couldn't remember either one the two bodyguard's names. Lucia simply nodded and grabbed her effects. Her father hadn't seemed to notice the exchange, oddly enough, and was already on his way out the door along with Antony. He was cheerfully humming Sinatra's "[i]New York, New York[/i]" and Lucia had to crack a smile, perhaps he was right. Maybe it was the Mojave air. She [i]was [/i]ready to go home. ------------ As the Borgio family left the Gourmand, the two bodyguards turned to one another. "Z4, there is an issue with the female Synth. Her memory reset may not have been fully clean. I will signal SRB once we've taken off from McCarren. Ideally, we should be back in Boston within six hours." "Let them know we will be ready for relay as soon as the transmitter comes in range. The plane will go down, as planned, in Pennsylvania. Should anyone be tracking our flight, that should dissuade any curiosity." [color=00aeef][i][b] Hours Later... Board Room of The Directorate - The Institute, Underneath The Ruins of CIT [/b][/i][/color] Seated around a pristine white table on one of the upper levels of The Institute's concourse, The Directorate had gathered following the successful return of the Synth 'diplomats' from Vegas. Each of the heads of The Institute's divisions were present: Dr. Clayton Holdren: representing Bioscience, Dr. Alana Secord: representing the Synth Retention Bureau, Dr. Madison Li: representing Advanced System, and Dr. Allie Fillmore: representing Facilities. Seated at the end of the table was the final member of The Directorate: The Director himself: Dr. Thomas Milburn. A man in his early forties with light streaks of silver in his finely combed hair and wearing a thin pair of rounded glasses. He wore a starch white labcoat atop a neatly pressed pre-war sweater-vest and pants. He very much looked the part of a bookish college professor, one who had, quite literally, stepped out of the world before the bombs had fallen. Behind him, seated off to the side with her legs propped up causally on a nearby end table, was a woman who looked distinctly out of place when compared with the individuals seated around the table. The red-haired woman looked much more like a mercenary than a scientist, and wore a form-fitting red and white jumper and a holstered energy pistol strapped to her waist. She appeared decidedly disinterested in the meeting, and instead seemed to be focused on reading a well-worn pre-war pulp magazine. Splayed out on the table in front of The Directorate was a stack of meticulously complied manila folders. Each folder consisted of a dossier on the major world leaders and attendees to the New Vegas Convention which were filled out with as much detail as could be gathered. A picture of each of the individuals was attached to the first document in the folder, and a number of other photos, taken by hidden cameras on the synth, were tucked away within them as well. Each member of The Directorate was going through the stack: opening the folders and examining the contents within with a discerning eye. "Alana, are you sure of these reports?" Clayton asked. He was holding an opened folder in his hand, "This seems....well this all seems rather far-fetched. Mercenary Companies, a new nation in Texas, tribals dressing as Roman soldiers, a nation calling itself the New Republic of...California? A Brotherhood of Steel chapter that appears led by some sort of cyborg and, worst of all, some sort of fanatical religious cult? And those are just the ones I've read so far!" "I assure you Clayton, these reports are accurate. I've had SRB Agents combing through the information we received back from the infiltrator Synths along with the Watcher Crows we sent. None of this has been fabricated or exaggerated." "I can speak to the veracity of the dossier regarding The Brotherhood...not that it is my place to do SRB's job for them.." Dr. Li replied, "This...'Simon Barnaky'. I heard mention of him and the Midwestern Chapter back when I was in D.C. I had heard Elder Lyons remark on the differences between the Midwestern chapter and those back west. I never really understood how different, however, until I read this document." "They're using Vault Zero as a base of Operations..." Thomas said as he sat back in his chair, "Hmm. I suppose the rumors of a government project there were true then." "Sir?" "Before the war, there were rumors flying about a specially constructed Vault. It contained a large amount of military surplus and robotics technology, including some of the most advanced neuro-robotics equipment known to us at the time. The assumption was that it was going to be used for some sort of specialized government recovery plan in the event of Nuclear War. If this chapter has indeed taken the vault, then they will certainly pose far more of a threat than Maxson's chapter ever could." "Well maybe they'll fry up just as easy at least," the red-haired woman remarked, without looking up from her reading. "Unfortunately Cait, 'Liberty Prime' won't be able to do the frying this time. Its a pity we were unable to save it from destruction. It was an interesting, if largely unpractical, machine." "Impractical? I'd say giant lasers comin' out of its head did the job juuuust right." Dr. Li scoffed, "It still had power issues even after I'd worked on it...they would never have been able to finish it without my help..." "And we're grateful you didn't," Thomas added. A stifled chuckle emanated from some of the Directorate's members before they returned to reading the dossiers, "This nation hails all the way from Alaska..." Allie mumbled with surprise as she took a look at a document containing images and descriptions of both North and Victoria, as well as some best-guess information about the function of the Alaskan Federations government, "How is that even possible?" "The world's far more interconnected than we assumed it would seem," Thomas replied thoughtfully, "Even our extreme predictions fell short of the mark for how advanced these surface-dwellers can be. Of course, I would never have thought such a gathering of nations possible in today's day and age period." "Advanced is a relative term I'd say..." Clayton remarked dryly, "A war was apparently immediately declared not but a few hours into this convention. If that's their idea of diplomacy I'm not sure attending a second convention will be in our best interests..." "Isolationism had kept The Institute safe for many years, but if we continue to dig our heads in the sand and ignore the outside world, eventually we're going to find someone, or something, knocking down our door rather violently." "Well...they'd have to find us first," Clayton joked. "I did." A low quiet fell over the gathered Directorate members, broken only by the sounds of Cait flipping pages. Thomas looked down and began twisting a small gold ring on his finger, before he looked back up at the Directorate, their eyes locked to him, "Someone once told me that you can never find The Institute. That The Institute will always find you first. He was wrong. Never presume that we are invulnerable here. We need allies above ground...allies who can help us navigate this insane new world that we find ourselves in..." "You have someone in mind I presume?" Li asked. A grin spread across Thomas's face, "There is one that I think we might be able to work with. An old colleague of mine who survived the war, much like myself. He's the architect of this grand convention that is the reason we were compelled to gather information in the first place." Thomas opened the folder he had before him, and slid it across the table. The picture was of a thin mustached, dour looking gentlemen standing next to a younger Thomas. Behind the two men, was a prototype protectron with a faceplate containing the words 'RobCo Industries.' Far from looking like a picture that had been taken recently, the photo appeared to be pre-war black and white. "Robert Edwin House. Founder of RobCo, and graduate of CIT."