Andronicus23

War Never Changes

OOC: Next post will be for The Legion once Tib does the lead in for them.

Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle

"Pleased to meet you, Brother", Stahl said, extending her hand to Kyle, "On behalf of the Midwestern Order, I welcome you to our lands." she then added, "Please come with me. You and I, and the other rescuees will take the first Vertibird. My associate will travel with the prisoners."

"Likewise ma'm," Robert replied as he returned the gesture. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her title of 'Inquisitor' just yet, but decided that it didn't matter for the time being.

"I guess this is where we part ways," Robert gave a sharp Brotherhood salute to Harkness, "Ad Victoriam, brother." It was hard to contain just how proud he was to once more be saying that phrase with pride.

"SQUAWK!"

The sound of that annoying fat crow caused Robert to briefly glance upwards and, of course, there was that damn thing sitting atop one of the blades of the vertibird. He was about to mention something to the Inquisitor, as a joke perhaps, about the constant harassment of the birds in this town, but something inside him seemed to stop him from doing so, and he forgot the matter entirely shortly thereafter.

After a briefing time in which the vertbird was reloaded with some of the raider prisoners that had been captured, along with himself, the vertibird took off once more and they were in the air and they were well on their way. Stahl turned to him again.

"We'll be at the forward command base in Indianapolis in about fifteen minutes", Stahl said, "After what you've been through, I'm sure you'd like a hot meal and some sleep before we interview you...they are also sending someone from Omaha to speak to you directly..but if you have any questions, i'll answer as best I can."

Robert sank back in his flight seat, a bit uneasy at the notion of just what sort of interview he'd be under, but he still maintained his composure, "Brother Harkness cleared up some of my questions already," he instead replied, "And I'm sure the rest will be cleared up in good time. The only thing that I'm wondering right now, however, is how much your Order knows about the East, and what has happened there, and how much I'll be expected to fill in the blanks."

The Commonwealth - Goodneighbor, The Third Rail Bar

"Whats a guy got to do to get a decent drink around here? Charlie, you been watering down the drinks again?"

The voice of an exceptionally drunk patron of the Third Rail called out to Whitechapel Charlie, the cockney robotic barkeep of the seedy little underground pub.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're implying...but I think its best you shut yer gob or take a walk...your choice mate."

"Fuck that Charlie, get me a decent drink or I'll turn you into scrap, how does that sound?" The drunkard began reaching for a hidden gun underneath his dirty jacket coat, but stopped when he felt the cold steel of a barrel pressed to the back of his head. This was followed shortly by the icy voice of a stranger. A ghoul from the sound of it.

"I think that sounds like you've got quite the attitude on you. Best drop that before I splatter your brains all over the good brandy."

"Watch who you're threatening there pal...I'm a made guy in the Triggermen." The drunkard threatened.

"Triggermen? Ooo, is that the name of your boy scout troupe? Sounds fucking adorable if you ask me."

"Why you little..." The drunkard spun around but before he had any time to react, the stranger cracked his head good with his pistol, sending the Triggerman crashing to the floor of the pub. By this point, the commotion had caused quite a few heads to turn in the Third Rail, but after seeing that the situation had apparently been resolved, they all quickly went back to their drinks as if nothing had happened. It was just another night in Goodneighbor.

The stranger stepped over the now comatose drunkard and took his place at the bar, "Don't suppose it would be possible to get a passable scotch here..."

"Probably can manage passable..." Whitechapel Charlie replied, and he hovered over to pour him his drink, "Appreciate the help mate. Ham will be down in a jiff and throw that pile of garbage out soon. Blasted Triggermen...everthing's gone to shit since ol' Hancock got himself offed. If he was still alive, you can bet nobody would be stupid enough to pull that kind of stunt in the Third Rail.....by the way, what's your name? Can't say I've heard too many accents like yours around these parts."

"Desmond Lockheart," Desmond took a swig of the scotch and exhaled deeply, "Not the best...but not bad either. As for the accent...I'm not exactly from around here. Just passing through on business. I'm looking for someone actually."

"Looking for someone? Well maybe I can help you out," Charlie offered, "Normally I'd charge for information..but seeing as how you got me out of that tight spot back there..."

"Doubt you'd be able to help me," Desmond chuckled, "The part I need help with isn't locating him, its getting to where he's at. You see I already know where he is."

"Oh, and where's that?"

"The Institute."

Charlie was stunned to silence and so was everyone within earshot it seemed.

"Hmm. Seems to be a common occurrence wherever I go. You'd think I'd just shot a man dead.." Desmond mused, and he took another drink of his scotch.

"Not sure who you're after mate, but I think its best if you forgot about it. Certainly aren't going to get much help from anyone in The Commonwealth if you're trying to go against The Institute. Not anymore at least..."

"So I've gathered. To be honest however, I couldn't give a rats anus about fighting The Institute or freeing you knuckle-draggers from whatever tyranny you think you're under. I'm only here to complete The Great Game. My list is growing shorter every year, but I can already tell this one is going to be much harder than Calvert was to put down. Especially if that cowed journalist's information was correct."

"Well I suppose not giving a toss is better than the alternative..." Charlie sighed, "Color me curious, what is your plan exactly?"

"Simple....wait for him to find me," Desmond shrugged, "Hence my stunt here. Damned if it isn't already working too. You can all drop the act by the way, I'm not an idiot."

A tense silence filled the bar, and the patrons, all of whom were previously enjoying their drinks, conversation, and good company had fallen utterly quiet, their faces transfixed with blank stares leveled at Desmond. There was not a soul in the bar that was not looking at him now, and even those who had previously appeared to be passed out or drunk off their asses were now sitting upright and giving him the same blank look as everyone else.

"Thought so," Desmond sighed and finished off his glass. He spun around on the bar stool to face the eerie expressionless crowd.

"I'm sorry sir, but I had no choice...never could have had a choice as a matter of fact.." Charlie apologized, as he slunk away from the bar counter.

A soft clapping emanated from the back room of the Third Rail, and a red haired woman in a white and red jumpsuit stepped out,

"Well now, he told me you were good...but I didn't imagine you'd be that good. I'm impressed. what gave it away?"

"Nothing really. I didn't know for sure until your clockwork people here stopped moving. They gave themselves away. Not that it really matters though... So can I guess that your name's Cait? The Irish broad that's my quarry's new squeeze? From what I hear, you've moved up in the world. Pit fighter to Institute Merc huh? That journalist in Diamond City had quite a bit to say about you...nothing nice by the by."

"One in the same," Cait replied with an exaggerated bow, "And little Miss Pipsqueak yaps too much. She should know she's not supposed to be talkin' outside of school. That was part of the arrangement."

"Hmph. Fair enough. So he sent you to kill me then? Figured maybe I might have bitten off more than I could chew this time after I talked with the journalist. If I'd only gotten here a few years earlier...he'd still be on ice right now and it would have been a cinch to cross him off my list. Instead he's got an army at his back now. Oh well, its all part of The Game. Kill and be killed and all that bullshit."

"If it were up to me you'd have been dead the moment you stepped inside The Third Rail, but...Thomas wanted me to bring you in alive."

"So he's taking me to the one place where I could never reach him? Tsk tsk, that's not the sort of decision that makes a good player of The Great Game. He's going to end up dead sooner rather than later."

"I think you'll find an SRB cell isn't a place where you're going to be pulling any sort of stunts. But you're welcome to try."

"I suppose we'll find out. So then, how are we getting there? Have you got a Vertibird shoved down your knickers or are we going by magic carpet?"

A mischievous smile crossed Cait's face, "Not exactly..."

Desmond then experienced a rare moment of genuine shock as his eyes and ears became filled with a bright blue light and a loud crack of energy.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West - Salem Clinic

“Help me. Where is Lorelei?”

"Shush, don't strain yourself," Arthur said gently, the man was obviously still suffering from the potent mix of shock, dehydration, and radiation sickness, "I'm not quite sure who this Lorelei woman is...but I assume you must care for her greatly, I can only hope the feeling is mutual..." Arthur joked, trying to inject a little humor into an otherwise bleak situation. He did however, turn to the rest of those in the clinic and added in a lower voice, "Does anyone know someone by that name? I daresay it sounds familiar...but I can't place my finger on it. Is it someone in town? We should notify them if so..."

As he then stated his intent to treat the man with various medications, Frieda jumped at the chance to assist,

"I'll get those!" Frieda burst out, and quickly fetched what he'd asked for. After bringing him the needful items, Frieda leaned in close, and Arthur could hear the anxiety in her voice,

"I should have been more careful," she muttered, leaning close towards Arthur's ear. "I didn't think about putting on gloves or anything, and I..well, I touched him, with my bare hands. What do I do? Am I going to get sick?"

"Its quite alright Frieda," Arthur whispered back, as he tried to calm her, "You needn't worry. Any radioactive particles he might have picked up from the ghouls wouldn't be enough to harm you. The condition of Ghoul-dom, thankfully, isn't contagious in and of itself either, and would instead require a tremendous amount of sustained radiation exposure to turn someone into one of those....unfortunate husks of humanity."

Arthur looked more closely at Frieda's eyes, as if studying her, and he couldn't help but make a diagnosis,

"You look tired Frieda, perhaps my..aid..might be wearing off? I could give you another...but I think its best if you get some hard earned rest when you get the chance. If you wish to remain here at the clinic I understand, however, you're welcome to use my quarters upstairs if you would like to rest without interruption. Once I get our friend here stabilized, and barring another Deathclaw attack, I think we'll be able to finally breathe a bit."

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

The Institute - Day Two

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Sanctuary Hills, The Commonwealth

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@NecroKnight

Z9-23

A disguised Z9 sat amongst the ruins of Sanctuary Hills, having only arrived in The Commonwealth hours before. She'd been ordered by The Directorate to take a small team and hunt down the location of the Beryllium Agitator. The Enclave had not yet responded to their inquires, and time was of the essence. They could wait no longer.

Coursers were not meant to blend in, but Z9 only needed to pass for a wastelander at a glance. The rest of her team consisted of three specialized Gen-3 SRB operatives, and each were armed and armored in slightly better weaponry than your average wastelander, but none of it was Institute based. In keeping with the lockdown protocol, no trace of The Institute's involvement could be known.

The individual they were waiting for, colloquially known as "Trashcan Carla" was a merchant who had previously been a cooperative informant for the SRB, and she'd often passed intelligence reports and sightings of escaped synths back to them. As a well connected merchant in the north-west Commonwealth, they were hoping she would be able to provide some insight on the matter of the agitator.

As she and her pack brahmin approached, Z9 stood up and walked over to greet her,

"Carla," She began, "I'm afraid we require your assistance once again. Rest assured, you will be well compensated as always. Nothing has changed in that regard. We've heard some intriguing reports of a valuable piece of technology having been recovered by Commonwealth scavengers. It may be making the Caravan rounds as well. Its known as a Beryllium Agitator. Have you heard of it?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Mr. Mysterious Cultist - Outside The Hull

"It's a pile of bones! This...this could be anyone you dug up! It doesn't prove a single thing you just said." She turned to address the harborfolk on the hull and around the gate. "That woman we carried in, who looks like Avery, who sounded just like Avery, I saw her...perish. She got hit by a bullet, and blood flew out and..."
Corrine turned back to the cultists. "Y'all have been operating in shadow -- in Fog -- and done nothin' but antagonize, threaten, and...well, and kill, or try to kill! Maybe this is Avery, and maybe you murdered her, yerselves, or..."

"I need more than just her trinket. These bones don't prove a thing you said. 'sfar as I care, the woman inside Far Harbor is Avery."

There was an uneasy silence for a few moments, as the armored cultist seemed to stare at Corrine. With his face hidden underneath the marine helmet, it was impossible to judge his mood or to even guess what he might be thinking.

A sudden voice called out from amongst the robed throng of cultists. Directed squarely at Corrine,

"How dare you question the Grand Zealot's word! He speaks for the Prophet! You're nothing but a...."

The armored leader simply lifted a hand, and the voice immediately gave way to silence,

"I understand," He said finally, as he lowered his hand, "You have no reason to trust us. No reason to believe what I say. I can see that you're still coming to terms with what happened back in that clearing. In your eyes, you saw a member of your community, a friend, die. Perhaps in some way that even brought you closure, because even as she fell, you knew that you would finally be able to bring her home. Finally, she would be free of the terrible cult that had ensnared her."

As he spoke, the cultist made his way over to Zelda, and extend his gloved hand. Zelda hesitated for a few moments, but she finally relented, placing the locket in his open palm with a trembling hand.

"You don't want to give her back," He continued, as he walked back over to Corrine, "You think she's back where she belongs, and you'd rather fight than give her up again. That's good. The will and desire to fight for one's family is the purest emotion one can experience. Far be it from me to deny you that triumphant realization." He began to roll the locket over in his hand and then opened it up, staring at the worn and beaten image within.

"You should know, however, that I have that same desire as well...." With a resounding snap, he closed the locket and offered it to Corrine.

"Keep it, and Avery as well," He motioned to the open coffin, "I leave you to decide what you wish to believe. Either believe that your friend left your community to seek a greater purpose elsewhere with another family..and died for it..or believe that she died long before she could ever make that choice. When and if you make it, I only ask that you consider my request again. Until then...we return to The Mother."

"HOLD IT!" Yelled a voice from the hull. Standing on the parapet, was Rose, holding a hunting rifle aimed straight at the cultist, "You aren't going to leave until I get some goddamn answers." Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she was struggling to hold the gun steady.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THE SYNTHS!" She cried out, "Where's DiMA? Where's Nick Valentine? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM?"

"Nothing. As I said..." Came the calmed reply from the cultist.

"LIAR!" She yelled back, "....won't let you leave. Can't let you leave..."

Rose squeezed the trigger, but the expected shot didn't come. Instead, her attempt was met with a dull 'click'.

"Wha..." She looked down confused, and let out an enraged scream before tossing her rifle to the ground, "I'll kill you..." She seethed, "I swear it..."

At this, as if at a signal, one of the Fog Condensers nearest to the spot on the hull near Rose began to flicker and sputter. Within only a matter of seconds it had died with a final pop of electricity that sent a shower of sparks cascading to the ground around it in spectacular fashion. The fog that had been previously swirling around it coalesced and began to wash over the hull like a breach in an invisible wall. The thick fog rolled in, and covered the spot where Rose had been standing. No one was more surprised than she was, but she didn't move, but instead remained rooted to the spot.

She disappeared into the Fog, and there was silence for the briefest of moments, before the Fog Condenser once more gradually spurred to life, although it was obviously barely functioning now. The Fog condensed around it once more, and then rolled back and away from the town. However, something was wrong.

Rose was gone.

The mysterious cultist turned back to Corrine once again, unfazed,

"Your town is living on borrowed time," He said, "Tell your people that they must make their choice soon. Far Harbor can not remain as it is. Someone must make them choose..."

With that, the assembled group of Cultists turned and walked back into the fog-covered ruins of old Bar Harbor, melting back into its protecting envelopment and leaving the denizens of Far Harbor questioning what they should do.

War Never Changes

Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, HWY 3 Bridge

"THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ANY OF YOU! UG-QUALTOTH WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL, AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT...S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

Robert looked astonished as he saw that the crazed cultist woman was pointing directly at him, babbling some inane words about being 'soulless.' The MWBOS soldiers around him quickly apprehended and cuffed the strange woman however after ensuring that she didn't have some sort of bomb on her.

"Her eyes," Robert remarked to Harkness as he recovered from the shock of his first real encounter with a devoted member of the cult, "She had to be utterly insane. And what was she babbling about? Abominations and Ug-Qualtoth? I mean I've seen some crazy things in my time with The Brotherhood: chemed up raiders...even the President-loving zealots in The Enclave, but that...that was something else."

SRB War Room, The Institute

"Play the footage again."

"THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ANY OF YOU! UG-QUALTOTH WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL, AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT...S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

Director Thomas Milburn and Dr. Alana Secord stood watching the large screen inside the secure SRB War room. Agents manning terminals analysed and replayed the footage over and over again, trying to figure out what exactly had just transpired.

"Again."

"AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT...S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

"Sir, she's pointing directly at the Synth. I don't know how to explain it other than..."

"Again." Thomas cut her off abruptly.

"Yes sir."

"S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing..."

"The easy explanation is that she just got lucky. Or, more likely, she has no idea what she just pointed at and might as well have picked any member of The Brotherhood..." One of the agents offered.

"Agreed. Its a coincidence, nothing more." Another threw in their opinion.

Thomas simply folded his arms together and lowered his head in thought,

"Its possible," He said finally, "Of course we know next to nothing about these cultists, so its also possible that they've somehow found a way to identify Gen-3's from humans. In either case, the important thing will be to observe how The Brotherhood reacts to this."

"I can have a retrieval team on standby if needed sir," Alana said.

"That won't be necessary, not yet at least. Not until we know more about what just happened. In the meantime however, closely monitor the situation. Lets find out what they do with the cultist, or if they even take her accusation seriously."

"Yes sir."

"Keep me informed of any developments. I've other things to attend to for now," Thomas said as he left the war room and then walked out the secure door leading to the SRB facility. As he crossed into the concourse, he was greeted by a welcome familiar face.

"You called darlin?"

Cait stood there armed and geared up in her red and white military jumpsuit, a modified Institute pistol was strapped to her hip along with several plasma grenades.

"That I did," Thomas said with a smile. He ran his hand along her face. He remembered when he had first met her, battered and bloodied as she was fighting daily in the Combat Zone. They'd been through much together since then. He had saved her life, and she, in turn, had saved his more times that he cared to count. He would need her help once more it seemed.

"An old 'friend' of mine seems to have arrived in The Commonwealth, and he's already searching for a way to reach me. Are you up for a hunt?"

"Always," She replied with a devilish grin.

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

I'm just waiting on a response from The Enclave right now.

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

The Institute - Day One

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Town of Nahant, The Commonwealth

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@Leos Klien

A lone wastelander approaches the fortifications at Nahant, wary of the hate laden eyes that were undoubtedly now fixed on her. Both from the barricades themselves, and most probably from hidden locations around the area as well. She didn't doubt that the militaristic Enclave had a overly-secured perimeter. While the wastelander might have appeared disheveled and perhaps even malnourished when given a cursory glance, she was far from the usual primitives. As an Institute infiltrator Synth, she was one of the few remaining Gen-3's still left in The Commonwealth and tasked with reporting back to the SRB on the region.

As she approached Nahant, the Synth gave a subtle signal to her observers. A simple gesture that had been agreed upon as a way to communicate between the two groups that would let The Enclave know that the individual in question was an asset of their erstwhile rivals turned friends.

Once she was allowed close, the Synth quickly gave the shorthand version of her intended message,

"I need to speak to the Lt. Colonel," She said, "The SRB has received some....disturbing intelligence reports from here in The Commonwealth. Director Harland sends his regards."

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

Hmm. I might say this would leave your factions too powerful.

@NecroKnight

I guarantee it won't be as buddy-buddy as that. They certainly have common ground and reason to pursue some sort of alignment with each other(I mean, they're pretty much the only the people they can really talk to right now where they don't have to worry about getting put in front of a firing squad for crimes against humanity), but The Institute is under no illusion about who these people are and what would likely be happening if they'd met under different circumstances.

I'm imaging for instance what might have happened if The Enclave in Fallout 3 had sent the same ultimatum they gave Vault 101 to The Institute. My guess is that The Directorate's response would have been something along the lines of "Fuck off" and then prepped the Coursers.

Edit: Updated by sheet as well to match @Leos Klien

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

The Institute - Day One

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Vault 118 - Bar Harbor, Maine

"A better future underground"

Director Victor Harland sat staring at the pre-war Vault-Tec poster on the wall of the Vault 118 overseer's office which proudly proclaimed one of the company's many overly optimistic mottos. The naive propaganda of the pre-war America was one of the most annoying things about picking through the bones of the old world.

"A better future underground..." He scoffed, "The only future underground, would have perhaps been more apropos."

Victor stood up and walked over to the large round glass window which was set against the side wall of the Overseer's office, and looked out into the Vault's great atrium. Down below, he could see Synths, reprogrammed robots, and Vault Institute personnel alike, scurrying about like worker bees, doing their upmost to improve the Vault and make it as homely as possible for The Institute personnel and their families which had been forced to use it for refugee. They had been hard at work renovating the Vault ever since they'd arrived. The Facilities Division had become more important than ever in this effort, and all personnel on non-essential projects had effectively been drafted by Facilities to assist with the "CIT Relocation Initiative": the flowery name that the Directorate had chosen to give their forced flight from The Commonwealth and their establishment in Bar Harbor.

Already much had been done. The Vault's reactor had been repaired and its efficiency boosted by nearly double. The reactor was nothing like they'd had back home, but it was adequate to power what they needed for the time being. Likewise, the Vault's water purifier was found to be in a state of neglect, but was still functioning. Strangely enough, while the robotic former residents had very little if any need of water, they'd used quite a bit of it over the years. From what Victor understood, this had apparently been due to the Robobrain's tendency to "relieve their glory days" and so things like re-filling the water of the indoor Vault beach had been made a priority.

The fact that such a thing as an 'indoor beach' had existed here alone was ridiculous enough, and the more he had come to know this Vault, the more Victor had come to despise it. Here was a testament to the folly of the pre-war generation. The excessive luxury, the horrendous wasteful use of resources for the over-indulgence for sport and pleasure, and the gaudy trappings of a society that was quite obviously full of itself.

That would change now. Down would come the ridiculous red-velvet curtains and the chandeliers. The 'indoor beach' had already been drained and plans to turn it into a possible hydroponics greenhouse were already underway by Bioscience, who were planning ahead for when their stock of nutritional supplements ran out. Things would become more sensible now: more utilitarian and orderly. The Institute wasn't opposed to enjoying a few well earned comforts in life of course...but this....this nonsense from a bygone age would stop.

Victor thought back to what he'd believe The Institute had been striving for. Back before The Brotherhood's arrival. A new world. A world that would be led by the guiding principles of scientific advancement and dedicated to the progression of the human condition. "Mankind Redefined", that had been their motto. To redefine the very definition of what it meant to be human: to change the nature of the human experience itself.

"We'll never stop striving for that," Victor muttered under his breath, "Now that I'm Director, I'll continue to uphold your legacy...Father."

The sound of the Overseer's office door sliding open caused Victor to break out of his meandering thoughts and turn to see who it was. Into the room stepped over his SRB Coursers, a stern looking woman which short shaved hair and dressed in the usual armored uniform. With the death of Justin Ayo and Alana Secord, and as a leading member of the SRB, Victor had been the next-in-line, as it were, to succeed to the Directorship of the Bureau. And with the Bureau's function as an intelligence agency essential to the CIT Relocation Initiative, it had been natural for him to be a prime candidate to succeed Father as Director as well. As such, he was now both Director of the SRB, as well as Acting Director of The Institute.

"Director Harland," The female Courser greeted him, "Request permission to give my report, sir."

"Yes, go ahead Z9."

"Thank you sir...Courser Units Z3-66, X2-53, and Y4-99 all returned successfully. SRB Agents debriefed them immediately upon returning, as per protocol. Attempts to penetrate further into the Fog has proved difficult, and the units report that the toxicity levels appears to increase substantially further into the island's interior. Some of the larger and more aggressive creatures have also been spotted deeper inland as well, and from our Synths currently investigating the town of 'Far Harbor', we've learned that the locals know these creatures as 'Fog Crawlers'. They appear to be an heavily mutated form of the pre-war Stomatopoda. Unit Y4 was also able to confirm the location of 'The Nucleus' but did not approach as per orders."

"Hmm. Cease further expeditions inland for the time being. We've learned enough I believe to understand that this island is an extremely hostile landscape. The best I can compare it to is perhaps the 'Glowing Sea' impact zone in The Commonwealth. Hardly an ideal relocation zone, but as we've detected no immediate contamination problems in the Vault...I suppose it doesn't matter. It may even help to shield us from aggression should we ever be discovered. Is there any word from The Commonwealth?"

Z9 nodded, "We haven't heard anything more from Nahant as of yet, but the informants we still have in The Commonwealth have been picking up on a number of interesting rumors. Specifically these are in regards a possible Beryllium Agitator, which according to our sources, may have been acquired by a group of unknown scavengers. I was not privy to the full details, but as I understand it, this is the device which the Mass Fusion operation had intended to acquire?"

"The very same," Victor nodded, "It was corner-cutting solution to the issue of time when it came to implementing Phase 3. I can't say how valuable it could be to us now, but if it could be acquired, then recreating Phase 3 might very well be possible."

"I understand that further investigation is warranted then?"

"I'll speak with the Directorate. But yes, it very well might be. I don't want to play our hand too strongly however, especially not for something that, while valuable, is not necessary at this stage. The security of this Vault takes priority over any other concern."

"Understood sir. To that end as well, I've begun implementing the security sweep protocol that you've asked be put in place. SRB has taken over internal security from Facilities Division entirely now."

"Hmm good. That should allow them to focus solely on the Vault's required maintenance then...." Victor knew that SRB might very well be seen as overstepping its bounds by overriding another Division's authority, but he believed it was a necessary step. He wanted to consolidate any and all security concerns directly under his own division. If that meant a few stepped on toes and bruised egos, then he was more than willing to trade that for having full control over something that he believed to be far to vital to allow for mistakes or delays.

"Anything else Z9?"

"No sir. That's all for now."

"Good you may return to your duties then."

Z9 gave a quick nod and bowed out of the office. Victor, in the meantime considered his next move. He was unsure of just how much he wanted to involve The Institute in the affairs of The Commonwealth, especially at this vulnerable junction. There was, of course, the matter of The Enclave to still be resolved. The Institute had known about The Enclave for some time, ever since they'd made their presence known in D.C. region but it was a surprise to find remnants of their government active in The Commonwealth. He wasn't sure he could trust them yet, or even that he wanted to, but the fact that they appeared to be interested in enacting their own revenge against The Brotherhood was enough reason to at least attempt cooperation. Trading information and non-classified technology was about as far as he was willing to go for now however.

After all this was the same group which, not too long ago, had apparently attempted to purge the world of all mutants. Which, by their definition, undoubtedly included members of The Institute. Victor wasn't overly fond of the Yankee-Doodle-blaring aggressive patriotism either. He had no intention of pledging The Institute's allegiance to a defunct, and rightly so, American state. Their backwards facing vision to try and recreate what had-been was...frankly...adorably naive. Had they met under different circumstances, he imagined that they would not nearly be as cordial to one another. Especially if their government had attempted 'annexation' of CIT.

"But least they have as much reason to hate The Brotherhood as we do," Victor muttered aloud, "We can work from there."

Vengeance...that was a strong unifying emotion indeed...

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

AKA: CIT Relocation Initiative

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History:

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History: During the attack on CIT by The Brotherhood of Steel, scientists, personnel, and Synths inside The Institute began a coordinated evacuation protocol. In order to buy time for the escape, a number of Synths were left behind to stall The Brotherhood’s forces, but many other first, second, and third generation synths retreated alongside their human masters.

With their hidden underground paradise breached and destroyed, members of The Institute had only one choice: retreat to the hated surface. Their first objective was to rally their surviving forces and take an inventory of their supplies and resources: their second objective was to get as far away from The Brotherhood of Steel as possible.

With Father gone, leadership fell to the remaining leaders of The DIrectorate who took charge of the remnants and set out to relocate The Institute’s denizens to a safer region. It seemed logical to attempt to locate and seize a working Vault which, barring official government bunkers, was likely the closest thing to their home that they would be able to find. To that end, Synth scouts were sent to Vaults in the northeast United States whose locations had been known on CIT databanks. Of the units that successfully returned, the most promising location appeared to be a Vault in what used to be Bar Harbor, Maine. The Synth that scouted this Vault had apparently been invited inside after he was mistaken by the residents as being a pre-war detective. The Synth reported back that the Vault was in excellent condition and that it appeared to be inhabited almost entirely by robots.

Wasting no time, The Directorate ordered The Institute personnel to the island. To accomplish this, they began searching for a means to travel there by sea safety. This led them to the town of Nahant, where they stumbled upon another group which was in exile due to The Brotherhood: The Enclave. A tense meeting between leaders of The Institute and The Nahant Enclave followed shortly afterwards, and after some initial hesitation, an agreement was struck. In exchange for their assistance in equipping and outfitting a vessel capable of sea travel, information about the surface, and a promise to be able to use Nahant as a 'port in the storm' in The Commonwealth, The Institute provided The Enclave with samples of some of their highly advanced technology. After the deal was made, The Institute set out for their new home.

They landed in Bar Harbor, Maine (now known as ‘Far Harbor’) after a few days of sea travel. Stealth Courser units were deployed onto the island, and with Gen-2 and Gen-1 Synth units in support, they launched an attack on Vault 118. The robots of the Vault were easily overwhelmed and seized, and it proved trivial for Robotics Division scientists to reprogram the robobrain residents and their Mr. Handy and Protectron attendants to serve The Institute’s interests.

Since taking control of the Vault and meeting the immediate needs of food, water, and power. The Institute has been keeping their heads down and observing the island as well as their old home in The Commonwealth. Working under the guise of newly emerged (and quite secretive) Vault Dwellers, they established limited contact with the residents of Far Harbor, trading some goods between them. When they send agents out beyond their new Vault home, a strict protocol of secrecy is maintained. Using Institute weaponry, armor, or equipment beyond the Vault is strictly forbidden and great care is taken to ensure that nothing could be traced back to them.

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Notable People: Members of the previous Directorate (Clayton Holdren, Allie Filmore), Dr. Victor Harland (OC), Z9-23 (OC) and other members of The Institute.