[color=ed1c24][b]Vulpes Inculta, Indianapolis International Airport- Concourse A[/b][/color]

[center][i]“The eyes of mighty Caesar are upon you Vulpes, do not fail him. My armies march ever eastward. The vanguard will be in Indianapolis before the Ides. I wish to have your full report when I arrive, and then I will break the city. I will show Brotherhood and Cult alike how The Legion wages total war.” - Legatus of Triumphant Caesar and his Eastern Legions, Aurelius[/i][/center]

Vulpes read the unsealed message written in latin that Aurelius had sent. The Eastern Legions were closing in on the city. Reports were already coming in of their presence on I-74. From the description of the standard made by the locals, Vulpes guessed that Legio XII Infernus led as the vanguard. If the 12th was leading, that meant that Aurelius was most assuredly at the head along with them, as he was wont to personally command his own legion. Time was short then, he needed to finish gathering the information he and his Frumentarii had been collecting so he might present it to the Legatus immediately on arrival. At which point...the assault would commence and blood would flow.  

As Primus Frumentarius, it was Vulpes duty to work closely with the Inquisition to attain the information he needed. To that end, Inquisitor Stahl had been most helpful. Despite being a woman, she’d proven herself remarkably clever and resourceful. A most unusual trait for the fairer sex. She would make a fine wife for a Frumentarius, he’d thought to himself, his mind now treading down a far more dissolute path as it conjured up an image. Normally such primitive thoughts were beneath him, but they occasionally still wormed their way in. Of course as head of the Frumentarii, he would never betray the trust Caesar and the Legatus had placed in him by causing trouble with The Brotherhood in such a manner. Yet the temptation was there. 

Snapping his attention back to his duty, he stared down at the envelope of material he’d been handed by the Inquisitor as he made his way down to the debriefing room where the Lancer-Sergeant was being held. He was not being charged with a crime or anything of the sort, but his history and status as a former member of the Eastern Chapter were under investigation, if only because The Brotherhood wished to know that they were dealing with the genuine article. The strange encounter he’d had with the cultic woman had caused no small degree of concern as well.  Still, as he understood it, this debriefing was more of a formality than anything, and irregularities were not expected. Vulpes had been asked to perform the debriefing both as a show of good faith to The Legion, and to bring an outside perspective. Of which he was more than happy to do. 

Vulpes turned the handle on the debriefing room door and stepped inside. Seated at the table with a single unarmed guard to watch over him was the man he assumed to be Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, formerly of the Eastern Chapter of The Brotherhood of Steel. An unmistakably confused expression crossed Robert’s face when he saw Vulpes enter, dressed in full Legion armor with his machete gladius sheathed at his side. Vulpes suppressed a smirk as he noted the man’s intense confusion,

“Ave amicus, is something the matter?”

“No...no not at all,” Robert stammered out, “I mean...they told me that you….that The Legion was...different, but I didn’t...wasn’t sure what to expect I guess.”

“And now you do,” Vulpes replied curtly as he sat down, “You may wish to get acquainted with the look of a soldier of Caesar. I daresay that will become a much more frequent sight in the future...” 

“I understand...apologies if I caused offense Mr...uhh..”

“Inculta, Vulpes Inculta. Primus Frumentarius of The Legion. That is all you need know for the time being. And from the information I have been given, your name is Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, correct?”

“Correct.”

Vulpes began shuffling through the documents he’d been given on the Sergeant, “Formerly of the Eastern Chapter, you say you served under Elder Roger Maxson?”

“I did. In the Eastern Chapter, a Lancer is a rank given to vertibird pilots. I flew regular missions right up until Maxson was killed in action, along with most of the chapter. Men and women I’d serve with for years...and was damned proud to.”

“Sergeant Kyle...I’ve read your file thoroughly which contained all the relevant information The Brotherhood was able to get on you, along with your own account of how you ended up here. I won’t bore you by asking you to repeat it in its entirety. There are however, some interesting pieces of information that I wish to probe you for details on, if you would be so kind.” Vulpes’ tone of voice was calm, polite and even friendly, but there was an icey undertone of cynicism to it that threw Robert off-guard...and frightened him. 

“Why did Roger Maxson travel to The Commonwealth with his army?”

“To fight The Institute, or at least, we thought it was to fight The Institute. Now I’m not so sure I guess, but everyone understood that to be the plan. Even those who didn’t go with Maxson knew why.”

“Yes exactly, this ‘Institute’ is what I’m most interested in. Who are they and why did Maxson feel the need to lead such a large expedition northwards to counter them?”

Robert leaned back and thought for a few moments, “Well...I can’t say I honestly know much about them, but from what Maxson told us. The Institute is, or was, some sort of secret society of scientists. They were supposed to be hiding somewhere in Boston and creating all manner of dangerous technology. The type of technology that we in The Brotherhood think needs to be eliminated or at the very least strictly controlled. Maxson believe it was his duty to bring The Institute to heel once and for all and drag the boogeymen out from under the bed and into the light.”

“And so what happened when you arrived in Boston?”

“Well...nothing actually. Nothing at all. We never found The Institute. Maxson had us scouring every corner of The Commonwealth searching for leads. All the while we were burning precious fuel and food resources spinning our heels. Eventually we began to think that, maybe, Maxson was wrong and The Institute didn’t really exist at all. Many people in The Commonwealth told us the exact same thing: that they were just a myth. Finally, I think Maxson began to lose it. He became obsessed with finding them and so he began to turn on the people of The Commonwealth, believing they were “harboring” them somehow. Soon he began to demand tributes of food and supplies, but then that turned to forced conscription...and then things got out of hand from there.”

“Go on,” Vulpes encouraged, “How did it get out of hand?”

“We began to meet resistance from the local populace. Farmers not wanting to give up portions of their crops...mothers not wishing to see their sons taken and trained to be Brotherhood fighters…pretty soon we were fighting The Commonwealth itself.”

“And how did it end?”

“Badly, obviously,” Robert replied, his eyes widened as he thought back, “I was out on a routine verti-patrol when it happened. Logan Airport was attacked by local insurgents. We think, or at least us survivors thought, it was some kind of cooperative attack between elements of a local militia called The Minutemen and a mercenary group called The Gunners. Neither group had got along well in the past, in fact The Gunners had done a number to The Minutemen not long before we got there, but as they say ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ and both of them had cause to hate us. I don’t know what happened exactly, but they brought down The Prydwen with hidden explosives I was told, and after that The Brotherhood’s defense just crumbled. Everyone at the airport was massacred, including Maxson. After that, the survivors attempted to rally but we were hounded at every step and too few in number to mount any kind of effective counter attack. Pretty soon I was the only one left…”

“And so you came here after all that?”

“Yes,” Robert nodded, “I felt it my duty to report to the Midwestern Elder what had occured, and to join the fight here. Even if my brothers and sisters are dead...I know that The Brotherhood itself still lives, and that’s good enough for me.”

“One final question, if you please,” Vulpes said, not lifting his eyes from the paper or even checking to see if Robert had agreed, “Do you believe The Institute actually existed?”

“No..I don’t think they did,” Robert sighed, “I think Maxson was wrong...and I think he cost the lives of everyone under his command because he refused to accept it.”

“Thank you,” Vulpes nodded, “You’ve been most helpful.” He then proceeded to pack up the document and close them all back up into the envelop before standing up and stepping out of the debriefing room, “I bid you vale Sergeant Kyle.”

“Uhh….vale? I mean...goodbye.”

[hr]

Vulpes returned to Inquisitor Stahl with his report, handing her the detail notes he had prepared.

“I do not believe that the Lancer-Sergeant is a cult spy or anything of the sort,” Vulpes mentioned as he let her read through the document, “He is not lying, of that I can be certain of. He has neither the tone, or posture, nor the slightest hesitation in anything he says. I can only conclude then that he believes everything he is saying to be true. I will be honest Inquisitor, the only thing I find strange about his story is the matter of this ‘Institute’ that he refers to. It makes little sense to me why Elder Maxson, who I can only assume was an experienced Brotherhood commander, would risk so much manpower, equipment, and resources traveling north on a lark. Surely he must have had some sort of evidence of their existence to risk so much? Evidence, perhaps, that none but he and his inner circle were privy to. But then to travel all that way, find nothing, and then steadfastly refuse to leave? Its...its not the moved I would expect. I feel as though we are missing some piece of the story that could explain this. Then again, tactical blunders have been made by many so-called great men throughout history. Perhaps this is just another in a long line of commanders who are forever cursed to be relegated to footnotes…”

“In any case my work here is done. I’m sorry I could not be more help,” Vulpes bowed, “I’m afraid that I must ride to the Legatus at first light. We shall meet again soon Inquisitor, when our armies arrive here...we shall deliver the city into your hands. You can be sure of that…”

[color=6ecff6][b]Desmond Lockheart - New York City
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[center][img]http://a54.idata.over-blog.com/1/69/11/03/BackRoom/back_room7.jpg[/img][/center]

Desmond winced as he finished off the last of the Manhattan he’d ordered. A shiver ran down his spine and he nearly gagged,

“What a piss-ridden cocktail,” He growled as he set the empty glass down, “These post-war fucks wouldn’t know a decent mixed drink if they had to make it to save their life….at least the smokes are decent.”

Desmond puffed a few times on a hand-rolled cigarette as he stared around the longue at a number of well-dressed patrons. He was...unsurprisingly...a bit underdressed for the establishment, but few seemed to mind. The occasional dirty look was worth it to have a quiet place to drink and have a smoke..even if the drinks tasted like piss water. Hey, at least they weren’t trying to kick him out for being a ghoul. That was a courtesy he didn’t often get. 

After taking another puff of his cigarette and letting the smoke waft around him, he flagged down the bartender, waving him over,

“You wouldn’t to happen to know where I could catch a ride to The Free Commonwealth would you? Visiting an old friend and such. Long story.”

The bartender rolled his eyes, annoyed to have to play travel agent to his foul-mouthed ghoul in addition to being a bartender,

“Might ask those gentlemen over there, I hear they're in from The Free Commonwealth....you can tell because they’re giving dirty looks to everyone that’s actually having a good time....and they were trying to pass out Bibles earlier...”

“Them?” Desmond pointed to a number of strangely dressed individuals seated to one corner of the bar. The Bartender nodded.

“The fuck? Where the bloody hell am I headed to? The Quaker Oats Kingdom? Goddamnit Thomas...” Desmond smashed his cigarette into a nearby tray and grabbed his hat and bag, “What kind of fucking ‘magical adventure’ did you send me on…”