A Collab between [@Jeddaven] and [@Andronicus23] "You ever think about what it was like here before the war, man?" Achak whistled, leaning back into the creaky, wooden chair beneath him as he sucked down gulps of delectably pristine water from his canteen, drops of sweat listening on his youthful, lightly tanned face. His uniform, coloured with muted summer greens and browns, was far less pristine, spattered with muck, dust, and grime. "Backwater and dilapidated, you mean?" The man next to him scoffed, dressed similarly, a freshly machined assault rifle planted in his lap. He looked about the same age, perhaps a day or two older - but Alex's skin was so deathly pale Achak wondered if he'd ever even been outside as a kid. He was one of the few people in the unit who needed to reapply sunscreen over and over and over again, after all. Achak rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, asshole. I mean, there’s the ghouls first of all. Then there’s the walls, the defensive ditches, the barbed wire... This used to be a peaceful little rural town, now it’s an isolated hamlet in upstate New York that’s constantly fighting off... Raiders and shit.” Alex shrugged, downing a mouthful from his canteen. “I don’t really know, man...” He said, gesturing at the thick, wooden palisades about the small highway-side --- K5-45 had made her way down from Far Harbor towards what her pre-war maps had indicated was once the state of New York , part of The New England Commonwealths. Her journey through the rural Northern Wastes had not been an easy one and without the enhanced senses and survival capabilities that came with being a Gen-3 Synth, she doubted she’d have survived the trek. Raiders, hostile tribals, and all manner of unknown creatures had harried her way all along the coast. She regularly sent back valuable reports to The Institute, who’d been keen on her descriptions of various local groups in the region but were also increasingly interested in fragments of information she’d gathered on the nation known as ‘Ronto’. Ronto wasn’t completely unknown to the people of Far Harbor. Apparently every once in a great while a trader or merchant vessel who was familiar with it would stop in at the port town to trade and resupply. As such a few known Rontonian goods had made their way into their hands: beer housed in squat glass bottles, a few distinct firearms, and other various knicknacks were all prized by the Harborfolk for their uniqueness. However beyond their wares there was little more to go on. Ronto was known to be a large nation somewhere up North with a reputation for its military might. That alone was enough to pique The Director’s interest. Such people would be highly desirable to have as allies should the rumours prove true. Following the directions given by a tribal tracker had led her now to an apparent frontier settlement of the Rontonian people. Standing before the palisade, it was clear that, despite probably being a relatively unimportant backwater, the town was well fortified and garrisoned. That certainly gave the impression that the rumours were all too true. Dressed as she was in a far harbor woodsmen outfit, she would certainly stand out as someone who wasn’t a local, but her appearance would not immediately give away who, and more importantly what, she truly was. K5 made her way towards a pair of longing men who appeared to be soldiers, and approached them cautiously, “Hello, my name is Kendra….I’m from a town aways to the north of here. I was hoping to rest a bit and resupply, but If you’d be willing to take me to someone in charge, I’d also like to speak about if there’s any way we might establish some kind of trade relationship. A caravan route perhaps?” K5 looked awkwardly about her, trying to find some way to throw something in that might be a tag more convincing, “I’m guessing this is some kind of outpost settlement...so I assume you might be interested in such an offer?” Stilted and clumsy, she thought. K5 nearly let out a muffled curse. She’d been Scav-team guard, not an infiltrator, back at The Institute. Interacting with the human surface-dwellers in casual conversation was hardly something she had regular experience with. All she could hope was that she’d sounded genuine enough to not get thrown out... Achak glanced at Alex, and Alex at Achack, the two men exchanging confused, slightly surprised glances. They didn’t speak, but the thoughts exchanged didn’t need to be spoken - it wasn’t often that strangers approached them asking to establish a trade relationship. Every once in a while, a scrap dealer tried to talk their guns away from them, but... Clearly, this was different. Silent, Alex pushed himself to his feet, nodding at Achak. The darker-skinned man followed, quietly clearing his throat as a small caravan of Brahmin passed by them - caravans were a regular sight in roadside towns like these, roadside truck stops that had little reason to exist aside from service stations for people travelling cross-country. That meant there was little of not there, even after the war - but it also meant that even the Chinese military wasn’t all that willing to expend nuclear warheads on such tiny, insignificant towns. In the post-nuclear wasteland, however, such waystations became vastly more valuable, many such places fortified just like this one. “Just a moment, ma’am - to the north of here, you said? I’m guessing you’re not from under the great lakes, so... Vermont? Maine?” Achak asked, while Alex reaching for a small, worn walkie-talkie at his belt, displaying the past of Ronto’s flag just below his right shoulder on his uniform, contrasting sharply with the warm, greenish brown of his jacket. “Maine, yes, a town along the coast there,” K5 replied quickly. Offering a nod in greeting, Alex stepped away - to get in touch with the outpost’s commanding officer, he assumed - leaving him to engage the traveller in conversation. “My colleague shouldn’t be more than a minute, maybe two - protocols to go by, yknow, to get you in touch with the right people. It’s a good thing you got here when you did. There’s a whole lot of them in these parts, eh?” He nodded, gesturing to the assault rifle in his hands. Unlike many such things in the wasteland, though this one had clearly seen some use, it was relatively free of grime, and the rounded, stamped metal body didn’t particularly resemble any pre-war American designs. Instead, it looked like a strange hybrid of a mishmash of pre-war rifles, as though someone had torn up a bunch of blueprints and mixed them together. “A whole lot of what?” K5 asked sheepishly, looking about her from side to side, “Raiders you mean? Yes...I had a heck of a time navigating through trying to keep away from them. But traveling by myself let me keep a low profile and I mostly stuck to roads and trails off the beaten path, it was easy enough to slip through their checkpoints. As violent and unpredictable as they can be, you can still learn their patterns and behaviors well enough to keep yourself safe.” K5 looked back at Achak, noticing the look he was giving her, “I uh...that is to say. I suppose I was mostly just lucky really.” "You sound like the Pathfinders, Miss Kate." Achak chuckled. "Suppose you can - I mean, we're all trained how to deal with raiders - but it's usually not us frontline infantry that are huntin' down raiders, eh? That's the Pathfinders and the Mounties." He said, snapping his fingers. “Pathfinders?” She looked confused. Something told K5 she needed to make a note of this and include it in her first contact report. " Ah, that's right! You might not know - Pathfinders are the boys in charge of securing trade routes and recon. Mounties is slang for our Federal Police!" He said, smiling. "If you're lucky, you'll get to see one in their dress uniform. Bright red jacket, big brimmed hats..." He whistled, reaching down for his belt to grab a quick sip of water from his canteen. "Maine, you said you were from? What's the name of the tow-" " S'cuse me, ma'am." Came the sound of the other man's voice, mercifully interrupting Alex. "You're in luck. There's a woman from the Trade Department in town today - border security's going to run you through a basic security exam before you meet her, though. Nothing invasive - just a quick scan for weapons and explosives, if you'll follow me?" He said, gesturing down the cracked sidewalk running along the road cutting through the center of town. “Of course, of course,” K5 nodded, “No problem at all. Please, lead the way.” --- Thankfully, the journey didn't take terribly long. The soldier led K5 down the dusty road, along a shoddy - yet shockingly well maintained - sidewalk, past a handful of old buildings and numerous caravans passing through the small town, eventually stopping at a small, white-painted structure, the words "DEPARTMENT OF TRADE AND IMMIGRATION" Emblazoned across its front in big, red letters. He pushed open the door and led her into the structure, two similarly dressed soldiers standing to either side. Inside, however, security was even more tight - a handful of armed men and women milled about, dressed variably in either military uniforms or bright, scarlet-red jackets and wide-brimmed stetson hats. K5 was quickly ushered through a metal detector, her possessions temporarily confiscated, and then led into a room down an adjoining hallway. It was a simply-appointed thing - a few chairs lined the sides, and two armed, scarlet-jacketed officers stood to either side of the inside of the door, bulky revolvers at their hips. The man and women were silent, almost deathly still, briefly turning only to watch K5 enter and for the door to quietly swing shut behind her. Across the white room, sitting behind a light golden-brown desk, was a a middle-aged man with pale skin, a pearly-white smile sitting below a pair of dull green eyes meeting her. For all his age, the man looked to be relatively fit, though far from muscular, simply in good physical condition. Clearing his throat, he reached up to switch off the radio set on his desk. "Special Envoy Callum MacDonald - it's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." He said, gesturing for her to take a seat in the plush, somewhat worn leather chair opposite him. "I'm told you're from a community in Maine, seeking to trade relations? I'm not sure how much you know about Ronto, but I'd be happy to answer your questions to the best of my ability, as long as you can do the same. Does that sound fair?" “My name is Kenda and yes, I’m happy to oblige,” K5 replied with a nervous smile. A slow panic began to set in for her as she realized that she had no idea where to go from here. The method of how to approach the Rontonians she’d known, but now what should she say to their Envoy? She had no clue...nothing had been told to her about what to say or how to say it. Should she divulge the nature of The Institute? Inform them directly about her mission? Her mind was abuzz with fear and concern. And then suddenly, cold logic washed over her and replaced her fears and trepidation with precise knowledge. She felt an innate pull within her synthetic mind as the preconditions for this new subroutine were met. She stood up and her expression dulled, then her eyes went glassy. To the Rontonians, it was like she was becoming possessed. “People of Ronto,” K5 began, the voice emanating from her quite different from the one she’d been speaking with, though still female, “Standing before you is unit K5-45, one of our Synths: synthetic humanoids constructs. If you are hearing this message, then the unit has achieved its designated mission and made contact with a member of significant enough status within your nation. We are The Institute: a group of likeminded scientists and engineers who seek to redefine the human condition. To uplift us to a world beyond the dregs of the apocalypse. We seek your cooperation and friendship to safeguard our future. The Synth standing before you is proof of the scientific accomplishments of our Institute: and an invitation to discover more. Should you have questions, the Synth will now be primed to answer them. If what you hear is intriguing enough, you may ask the Synth to put you into contact with us or arrange for a face to face meeting. We look forward to such correspondence. K5-45….reset personality matrix.” With that, K5 slumped over, her arms and torso hanging limp while her feet remained in place. After a brief few seconds, she stood back up straight and came to a parade rest position, with her hands clasped behind her back, “Unit K5-45 at your service,” she stated, her voice had returned but it remained emotionless and cold. Her previous nervousness and awkwardness was completely gone and replaced with an almost sterile visage. The RCMP officers, throughout it all, maintained their stoic visages - for the most part, at least. The sudden change in K5's attitude was disturbing to say the least, but they'd been trained to remain cool and collected in far more traumatic situations, their hands reaching toward (but not grasping) their revolvers. The Envoy, on the other hand, hadn't. He was a mere diplomat, and not a soldier, his combat training limited to resisting interrogation by Raiders and little else. By the time K5 had finished her abrupt speech, the poor man's chair had scooted a whole two feet back, his pupils shrink into pinpricks for fear that the 'synth' - whatever that was - might've been about to explode. He quickly realized, however, that that made absolutely no sense for a diplomat, and that he was not, in fact, busy being exploded into (at least) a few million pieces. Clearing his throat, he pushed his chair back into its place as the RCMP officers watched, noting the positions of their hands. Hopefully, if the 'synth' did turn hostile, their high-caliber revolvers would be able to put it down quickly enough. "Kendra... K5... K5... I'll start with a few questions, I suppose. That message you just delivered. Was it transmitted to you, or preprogrammed?" He asked, quickly sketching out a few notes on his notepad. This encounter definitely warranted an extensive report. "Second... Synths. Your people call them synthetic humanoids, but our metal detectors didn't find anything. Does that mean you're [i]biological[/i]?" He sighed. This was going to be a very strange day, and the eggheads at the University of Toronto were almost definitely going to interrogate him about it later. “The message was the result of a pre-programmed subroutine, which ran once its preconditions were met.” K5 replied stoically, “As regards your second question, I can only confirm that a metal detector would not work as a method of detection. Any further questions on the Gen-3 Synth program should be communicated to the Director.” Something they wanted to keep secret, then, he assumed. Disappointing but expected, considering how advanced this sort of technology would necessarily have to be. "Gen-3" implied a third iteration (at least)... Ethical implications aside, he was here to gather information, not to condemn these people. "On to the easier questions, I suppose. How is the "Institute" governed? Ronto is a parliamentary democracy." K5 nodded and answered quickly back, “The Institute is governed by The Directorate, a board of scientists consisting of the heads of each of The Institute’s research and operation divisions. The Directorate sets policy, defines rules and regulations, and allocates Institute resources. While mostly autonomous within their own divisions, each Division Director answers to The Director of The Institute who makes decisions for The Institute as a whole. The current Director of The Institute is Dr. Xavier Crawford, formerly of the Advanced Systems Division.” While all true, K5 omitted the details regarding how The Directorate had been wiped out in its entirety following the events in The Commonwealth. While it still technically existed, The Director controlled affairs across divisions almost entirely now. "A sort of technocracy, then? Interesting, but I guess it's not all that unusual considering the context of being able to construct and develop synthetic people, of all things. Onto the next question - is the Institute presently at war with any states in the wasteland?" K5 paused briefly before answering the next question, considering her words very carefully, “We have many rivals who seek our technology for themselves or who might wish for our destruction. Groups in The Commonwealth and entities such as The Brotherhood of Steel which covet technology and abhor AI constructs. However, at present, we do not consider ourselves in a state of open war with any of them. Regardless, we seek allies who might be willing to help us prevent any future conflict. ” "Allies... Alright. Alright. I think we can work something out. We'll need precise locations, of course, and while I can't make promises, I think Toronto will be interested in pursuing this further, Miss... K5." He said, quietly tapping his chin. "A few more questions, though, first." He said, bringing his pen back to paper. "We know you have reason to be secretive, but to dispatch a delegation, we'll need to know where your people are located, unless we'll be meeting on neutral ground?" “For security purposes, I cannot specify a location myself: more specifically, I’m physically unable to give you a location verbally. However, among my possessions is a device known as a Deep Range transmitter. It has encrypted coordinates which can be provided to your leadership. The Director would like to warmly offer his hospitality and is prepared to meet your diplomats at The Institute itself, if that is agreeable.” "It is, as long as your institute has an airstrip." He explained. "Moving by plane is one of the few ways we're allowed to cross that sort of distance without a massive escort." “One will be made available,” K5 nodded, “I will warn that the weather in the region can be...unpredictable. But we do whatever we can to assist in guiding your aircraft to a safe landing." "Unpredictable?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. Something about the way she said that implied something more than mere unpredictable was happening... What were they hiding, exactly? "What do you mean by that?" “Ocean bound radstorms blowing in from the North Atlantic are a frequent occurrence this time of year, and the area is usually inundated with thick rolling fog, which makes visibility poor in even the best conditions. Thankfully The Institute has managed to partially control the latter, and the former can be mitigated with sufficient radiation shielding on buildings and clothing, along with regular distribution of anti-radiation chems. As I said...unpredictable...but not impassable certainly,” K5 replied. "[i]Radstorms[/i]... Huh. That could be a problem, but we've managed in the past. In that case, K5, while I'm just the messenger, I'm confident my Prime Minister will be interested in sending an ambassador to meet with your people." He said, quietly drumming his pain against the desk. “Excellent, I’ll ensure The Director is informed and will be prepared to welcome the ambassador when they arrive.” “...Right.” He replied. “If you follow my bodyguards, they can see to it that you get your things back. It was a pleasure meeting you.” It wasn’t.