Chapter Text
May 3rd, 2287
This roadtrip was officially fucking over, by the time Six drove through what remained of the East Coast up to the Commonwealth. Having heard about a massive crater of irradiated hell 'uniquely' named the Glowing Sea, Six had for the most part managed to avoid the damn thing almost on luck. Stopping on the outskirts of the Commonwealth, if only because the gas tank was finally empty and the fuel all drained up, Six got out and surveyed the path beyond. Despite House being the genius he often is, Six had been left all to his own devices to make his way until he could find a suitable terminal to link up to Big MT satillites in space above, to bounce signals to and from. For that, he'd need to do some sleuthing, find a place with enough power and anonmity for it. "Now how the hell am I supposed to find THAT? Fucking.." Six muttered as he dragged out his sack of weapons, managing to lift it over his shoulder.
Covering up the Highwayman with a set of trees and foilage, Six sighed, and started off on his way for Boston. Passing by a few shantytowns and a garage full of power armor junkies called the Atom Cats, Six sighed softly again. Another shithole. Was the East Coast hit with a case of fucking stupidity as well when the bombs dropped, or was the water poisoned somehow? Shaking his head, Six made his way into Boston proper, the massive skyscrapers reminding him of the Boneyard. Hours passed as he skillfully avoided Raiders, Super Mutants (okay, seriously, how the FUCK are they all across the fucking wasteland?!), until he reached a small town across the bridge to the north. Bunker Hill?
"You there. Caravan, or raider?" An armed woman in a suit called out, stopping Six in his tracks. For a moment, Six almost wanted to say raider. Just to see what she'd say, if that shitty little sawed off.. hunting rifle.. oh Graham, what in the fresh hell is that..
"No, I'm the fucking mailman. Is that a legendary job lost to the libraries around here too, or is that not an answer? Do you want me to shoot you instead?" Six blurted out. Watching the blondie blink at him, visibly going through his words, and shaking her head stepping aside. "Fine, jackass. No shooting, no trouble here. You got that?" Six only nodded, and sighed as he stepped into Bunker Hill. And for once, he isn't too annoyed at the lodging around here. Still a bit too shanty to his Vegas roots, but hell, an actual bed will be nice after the months long trip. And he thought walking was going to be long..
.....
May 7th, 2287
Four days in, and Six had vastly underestimated what this search would be. Not only was he not told anything by the people of Bunker Hill, he had also heard mention of 'The Institute'. THAT had garnered a response, all right, being told to shut up and forget about it lest he get everyone in the town in danger. Well shit. If they were that touchy about it, then they must be a dangerous organization. Trekking out into Cambridge this particular day, Six heard gunfire near the old police station. Gunfire, and laser fire. Hurrying himself up, Six got up onto a roof near the police station.. and got to see what looked like an honest clown show in slow motion. A group of Brotherhood knights fighting a horde of feral ghouls, their only guy in.. power armor that didn't look familiar to him the last one standing at the steps. Six was half tempted to let them be, as they clearly earned their just desserts..
"Graham damn it.." Six muttered, drawing out and slipping on Two Step Goodbye. Checking the glove, Six took a deep breath, and threw himself down into the thick of it. Landing in a ducked roll in front of the stunned Paladin going by the markers, Six threw his right hand through a ghoul's head. Brawling with ghouls tended to be a fool's game, but not for Six. These ghouls felt weaker too, if he thought about it. He was punching arms, legs, and heads clean off without the secondary explosive charge ever being needed on the glove. Throwing one ghoul down with a scribe counter in particular, Six noticed how the ghoul practically exploded in a shower of gore. Eugh.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of fighting, Six found himself a seat on a pile of corpses, wiping his duster coat down. The three remaining Brotherhood soldiers remained quiet as the one tended to the bald guy, and the paladin in power armor watched Six. Only when he was done with his cleaning did he look up into the eyes of the paladin. "What?"
"We appreciate the assistance.. but what's your business here?" The paladin said, shifting from foot to foot in that power armor. A derivative of T-51b, maybe? Shaking his head, Six sighed quietly and only shrugged.
"Just saw a group of Brotherhood getting their asses handed to them, and figured I ought to do my one good deed for the day. Looked like you needed help." Six replied, standing up from the pile and taking off Two Step Goodbye. He knew he drew the eyes with how easy he fought alongside them, but.. oh, fuck. He hadn't even thought of it.
The paladin frowned, looking down at Six, with a slow nod of the head. "Are you from a local.. no. Are you former Brotherhood?"
Six froze, tilting his head.. and shaking his head, Six sighed. "No. I knew a good friend that was Brotherhood. They died a long time ago. Taught me a couple handy tricks." He looked up at the paladin, watching the man think it through, then eventually nod. Thanking himself that he can still spin a good yarn and lie with the best of them, Six nodded again before turning away. "Hope you three can take care of yourselves. Commonwealth's an absolute hellhole, wouldn't wish it on anyone." Six didn't wait for an answer as he turned a spare Stealth Boy on, vanishing into thin air.
Too fucking close. Shouldn't have helped them.. should have just let those three die, the quiet part of him whispers. One less threat to eventually come..
.....
October 7th, 2287
Five months. Five months had come and gone and the Courier still hasn't found any leads at all about the Institute, or CIT. The best he's done is hunt down a few bounties in his spare time, out drink the town drunk, and wonder about his life's choices. Sighing at the bar in Bunker Hill, Six is rubbing his jaw. His facial hair had begun to get out of hand, but frankly, didn't give much of a shit unless a stray hair got into his mask's filters. Nursing a drink, Six sighed, until he felt a hand settle on his shoulder. Looking back, Six's eyebrows were a frowning, as he knew who it was. "Old man Stockton? What's up, your daughter get into trouble again?"
"No, no. Just dropping a line. Follow the red line, and you'll find mutual friends in this fight." Stockton whispered, pulling back with all smiles and walking off. Six stared after him, blinking. That was code, definitely. The first sign that something might finally be swinging his way. Getting up, Six slid his helmet on and left Bunker Hill, walking down to Boston Commons. He knows he's seen a red line there, near the old train station. Eventually, Six found the line, and followed it almost religiously. Sneaking along the line undetected, Six walked, coming up to an old church. Not for the first time, he wonders if even entering would light him on fire, but stepping through Six takes a look around. Complete and utter shitshow full of ghouls, that are taken down rather easily. And down into the catacombs, as he follows a path, coming at the end?
No. It wasn't the end. An 'elaborate' seal system set up, Frowning, Six shifted the sign around a little, pressing the button down on 'R'.. hearing a chime after. With a deadpan look, Six remembers the name he's heard also whispered, when people thought no one was looking. RAILROAD. Coincidentally, Six tries the entire name.. and the fucking wall opens. Astounded, Six takes a deep breath, and walks into the too dark room, turning the glare of his mask's lenses down to nil as the lights suddenly come back on.
"Stop right there. You went through a lot of effort to arrange this--" The amber haired woman paused as Six started laughing. Even if he was surrounded by a white haired woman with a minigun and that poor boy with a shitty pipe pistol, Six couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. His laughter went on into hackles a minute later, as the amber woman's brows started twitching. "Is there something funny?"
Six almost doubled over, needing to hold onto the wall a little for support. Why did he expect anything serious, the Commonwealth is just so fucking STUPID! Coughing, Six cleared his throat, leaning up and holding his hands up. "Look lady, I don't know what you scored on a vigor-tester, but it must be something below a three. I wasn't the one that arranged this meeting, I assume one of your agents dropped a tip without telling head honcho." Seeing her face grow redder with anger or embarrassment, Six waved his hands. He noticed a white-shirted man with a pompadour and black sunglasses of all things approach from behind the amber haired woman, and continued. "Also, can I just say, if your organization is named the Railroad, why in the hell would you use the name on the fucking door lock? Are you asking to get visited by unknown strangers?"
If he hadn't already pissed her and the other woman off, he's done it by now. As the minigun tapers into a spin, the amber haired woman opened her mouth to speak, until that mysterious guy spoke up. "Woah, woah, hey Dez, can we take a chill pill here? This guy's 'kind' of a big deal up there, you know?"
"Deacon! Where-- nevermind. Information, now." Dez, or her full name Desdemona, spoke, anger apparent with her eyebrows twitching the way they were.
"This guy has been doing odd jobs all around Bunker Hill, even stepped in to help Goodneighbor with their crime problems in the apartments. Aaaaand, if that weren't enough, he saved Amelia Stockton from those crazies up in Covenant. That earns him points in my book." Deacon replied, lips curling into a knowing smirk at the Courier. "Hell, word is, he's from out West. Rough and tumble sort of guy."
You're goddamn right, Deacon. Six knows he's already taken a liking to the guy. His kind of speed right here. "What he says. Trust me, I'm not a danger, unless you shoot first. Then.. well, who knows after that. It would fuck up my investigation into the Institute, for one."
Desdemona's gaze snapped back over to the Courier, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Deacon. We don't know this one. We cannot jeopardize our security for a random traveler from outside of the Commonwealth!"
"Then what about a mission, with me? We go back to the old place, pick up what was left behind, and I see if he's a threat or not. Deal?" Deacon replied, crossing his arms across his chest. Tapping his foot on the dusty floor, Deacon tilts his head to Six. "Trust me and my gut instinct, Dez. I think we really got a grade-a agent in the making here."
After a moment, Desdemona sighed, turning away and pointing at Deacon. "Fine. I approve. If you don't come back.." The rest is unsaid, as she and her entourage leave the room. Courier Six and Deacon stare at each other, Six still leaning on the doorway, before he tilts his head.
"Thanks for saving your bosses' ass there. Had she gotten all fired up, I might have used her spinal cord as a backscratcher." Six murmured completely deadpan, watching Deacon take that apart and laugh quietly. Yeah, laugh it up, it might have happened. Shaking his helmeted head, Six leaned off from the wall and continued. "Alright, where are we off to? I'm annoyed, and punching things is my outlet for getting off."
Deacon snorted, coughing into his hand as he walked over to Six. "Meet me up in Lexington, on the old freeway. Gotta split up, you know? Get.. incognito." He smiled, slowly realizing smiling at the Courier was going to be difficult, coughing into his hand again. Six for his part only sighed, and nodded. Checking his Pip-Boy map, it goes up north. Sighing again, with feeling, Six looked back up to Deacon. "Take a day or so, promise. You'll know when you see me."
......
October 9th, 2287
Making sure all of his gear, or what Six thought was needed, was on his person, the Courier walked up to Lexington. Right at the designated spot, Six stops, looking at a glint in the bushes.. and actually smiles under that helmet. Maybe Deacon ain't so bad after all. With the Survivalist's Rifle slung in front of him, and Hanlon's own Ranger Sequoia on his hip, Six watched Deacon come out of the bushes wearing a woodland outfit with a blue beanie on top. "Looking good there. Could give this drunk I know back West a run for his money.."
"Hah hah, laugh it up. I see you got prepared. Are all mailmen like you, or are you the exception?" Deacon said back, gesturing to Six's weapons.
"No. I'm pretty sure after the bomb collar most would have quit, if not die to it." Six replied completely deadpan, shrugging his shoulders. Tilting his head, Six pointed up the highway. "Ready to get going?"
That shut Deacon up for a moment, Six noticed, as the two went up the freeway. Not even when he stopped at a Railroad sign marker did Deacon say anything, only gesture up to higher on the freeway. Walking slower, he held up his hand a few minutes later, and spoke softly. "Let me handle this, alright? Just look.. as you are. Imposing."
Deacon and Six met up then, with an old man. "Hey, you got a geiger counter? I said.. do you got a geiger counter?!" Six rolled his eyes behind his helmet as Deacon answered "It's in the shop,", a little late he noticed. Giving Deacon a glance, the little shit looked back at him with a smirk, and pointed at HIM! "Sorry, I'm still getting used to this, he's the old timer."
After listening to the guy speak for five minutes or so, and having gotten their answers, Six and Deacon went back down the freeway. Maybe his perception of Deacon was wrong; the Railroad is a bunch of cranks short of a turbine.. "A secret base underneath a donut shop. Sounds pre-war."
"Sure was. An old DIA center, if you can believe that. Kind of fit our whole thing rather nicely. We'll have to go in from the back.. power must have been turned off to the elevator in the front, it's too good of a trap otherwise." Deacon replied, giving his rifle's bolt a twist. Checking it, Six surmised, as he nodded and looked at a too suspicious outcropping around a tunnel.
.....
Disposing of the last synth in the Switchboard, Six sat his ass down on a metal table, sighing loudly as he kicked over the metal Gen 1. Knowing that the Institute was the ones behind the Synths, as per Deacon, Six at least had a name to pin to these metal little shits. Might mean that CIT transitioned into the Institute, much like how Big Mountain got that name change to the Big Empty post war. At least he knew that now. Letting out a groan, Six laid back a little. "Graham damn it, I almost miss fighting Legionaries more than these cheap things."
"Legionaries? Never heard of them. Are you going to come over here and help me with the door, Courier?" Deacon called from down the hall. With another groan, Six got up, stomping over to the large safe door in the wall. Cracking his knuckles, Six was just about ready to brute force the door open himself when the locks started to unlock, as Deacon gave Six a shit-eating grin from the terminal. "Open sesame?"
"Ahaha, go fuck yourself, Deacon."
Entering the room together, the fallen corpse of Tommy Whiskers greets them. Six's attention is drawn to the prototype the Railroad wanted off in the corner, while Deacon kneels down to retrieve something beside Tommy. Walking over to the prototype, Six gave it a look, frowning all the while, and shook his head. "Got your prototype, Deacon. Whether this is supposed to be some rip-off stealth boy or the activation part needed somewhere, just take it off from my hands-- whatareyougivingme." Six trailed off, exchanging the prototype in one hand while in the other, he's being offered a Walther PPK with an attached suppressor at the barrel.
"I figured you'd want something out of this. Plus, if Tommy was going to give it to anybody, I think it'd be the badass that practically soloed the entire Switchboard, you know?" Deacon replied as he took the prototype. Stashing it into his back pocket, Deacon smiled at Six as he nodded. "Really, take it. Sell it if you don't want it, but at least take it out of here."
Six sighed, hooking the aptly named Deliverer into his duster's inside sling. Fine, another charity pistol. Outstanding. Walking back through the Switchboard, Six tilts his head to Deacon, and speaks up. "You think anyone will be back here?" Seeing Deacon shake his head, Six strode off for the central command terminal. He had the password already, and a few seconds of typing it in later, he's eying the holotape port.
"Six.. what're you doing?" Deacon asked, eyebrows raising as his hand slowly moved for his rifle. Just in case..
Sliding in the holotape House gave him months ago, Six typed in a command prompt.. and waited. At first, nothing came. Six was staring at the console, shaking his head, before turning around and seeing the projector come down. Both he and Deacon watched as the old projector fired up, and from across the continent, Courier Six is once again face to face with his boss.
"Hm, you were late by about two months. My calculations would have placed you at the Pentagon months ago. What is the situation, Courier?" Mr. House's voice came through the console. Deacon gave Six a look that was indescribable, something that made him curious. Shelving that for the moment, Six cleared his throat and typed back. Seeing as it was only one way currently..
"The East Coast is worse than anything out west. Pentagon was stuffed to the brim by Brotherhood personnel, I didn't dare get near. That was in April. For six months now since May, I've been investigating for any trace of our mysterious CIT attackers.. and I've found out that a group calling themselves 'The Institute' is responsible for those Synths. They may be a splinter of CIT, or may be another technological enemy. Currently, I have no way to find the Institute." Six typed in and spoke aloud at the same time. Hey, it helps with his typing.. and its something Deacon notices as he stands to the side.
Mr. House seemed to pause, image flickering, as he took a minute to reply. "Very well. You've done good in finding what used to be ex DIA hardware. From now on, we'll be able to communicate from here, or any further terminal you find. Ensure that you find this 'Institute' then. Time is of the essence, Courier." The screen flicked off, leaving a silent Courier and a staring Deacon alone.
Then, Deacon spoke up. "That wasn't Robert House, was it? Pre-war CEO of RobCo? How's he even still alive?"
Six sighed, pulling the holotape, and standing up. "Probably best to bury it, Deacon. You don't want to know. 'Least you know that I wasn't bullshitting you earlier, huh?" Both men were quiet, as they left the Switchboard minutes after.
.....
October 23rd, 2287
For the last two weeks, Six had been cooling his heels. The Railroad was decent enough, but he could tell Desdemona really did not like him much at all, even after helping out on a couple missions. Carrington was a douchebag, Tinker Tom made the weird ass kid at the 188 look sane, and Glory? They had maybe engaged with some 'friendly' arm wrestling matches. Up until Glory ended up with a wrenched arm. Things were good.. a little too good. His Pip-Boy had started to pick up a signal, going up north. Coincidentally, Deacon had informed him of a potential settlement that he could claim for Railroad business. An old pre-war suburbia, Sanctuary was the name. His gut instincts were telling him to ignore it, that no way is it smart to hunt down a signal again. Might end up with a collar around the neck again. Or his brain being removed. Or stopping the launch of nuclear weapons. Eventually, he had stopped those thoughts by forcing them down, and left for the north.
Sanctuary wasn't terrible. Run down, for sure, and a few bloatflies in the houses. Nothing he couldn't handle. All that was weird was the floating Mr. Handy still trimming away at a bush in front of a blue colored house. Stepping over to it, Six waited.
"Oh! A visitor. Sorry, sir, but the missus and master is away. Up to that Vault with the babe, I remember." Six heard, and nodded. His days of exploring vaults were long gone, really.. but it wouldn't hurt to look at one final one, right? How fucked up could it really be?
Six really, really, needs to stop fucking saying that.
......
October 23rd, 2077
Sirens were all she heard among the cries of the unfortunate, of those who couldn't have gotten into the Vault. Nate, he's in front, he's carrying Shaun, leading the three of them up the hill. "Hey! We need to get in, we're on the list! The list!" She couldn't recall if the Vault Tec employee had yelled before they got to the front of the line, or how she ended up on the platform for the Vault. Staring into her husband's eyes, those welcoming, warm eyes that promised safety even now. "We're okay, honey, everything's going to be okay!" Then the bomb went off behind him, a final image plastered in the back of her head. Mushroom clouds rising over the horizon..
The Vault was cold. Shivering as she walks beside Nate, being handed their vault suit, she followed beside her husband. Into a room full of sci-fi creations, she's still shivering. She doesn't understand why, but the atmosphere inherently puts a sense of warning in her. Slipping on the form fitting vault suit, she swallowed, walking up to Nate holding their son, for one final kiss. "Scarlett, it'll be fine. Just a quick decontamination, right? We'll be okay.." Scarlett would never forgive that coming from Nate's mouth. Her instincts were telling her differently, but with little choice, she climbed into the pod opposite Nate and Shaun, watching her baby boy and husband freeze over the same as her..
....
????????????
Scarlett's azure eyes blinked open as the ice melted away. Why was she awake, and the pod not opening? Who were these people walking up to Nate's pod? The weirdly suited one, and the bald man. "This one." The fully suited one spoke, Scarlett watching as Nate's pod opened. Her husband coughed, holding onto Shaun tightly even then. Nate coughed more, blearily looking between the two. "Hand the boy over."
"No, no, hold on, I've got him. I've got him!" "Let the boy out of your arms, I'm only asking you one more time."
No. Not this. Not on top of losing her home. Please, anything but this. PleasepleasepleasePLEASEPLEASE!
A single gunshot rang out, Scarlett screaming wordlessly in her pod watching Shaun be taken away. The bald one, the one with that scar over the eye, their gazes seemed to meet then.. and the evilest grin spread across his caucasian features. "Heh.. we still have the backup." Scarlett pounded away at the pod door to little avail, the ice freezing her back up. Back into an empty void, asleep until the time would come..