#also why coursers still getting killed like we have syringes lets help them to be free

[nthflower]

I killed bunch of gunners and they all died saying I am a victim of violence with synth voices

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 12 cont’d

Med-Tek Research was surrounded by ferals.

“This is why I haven’t gotten it by myself,” MacCready muttered. “There are even more inside. Hey, maybe there’s a benefit to bringing a synth. I mean, not like there’s anything on you to chew. You could -”

Valentine scoffed, “First time I met a feral, I hoped it would ignore me because I wasn't made of meat. Turns out, they'll eat anything.”

“Of course they will,” MacCready sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I appreciate you changed your mind after finding out they’d still try to eat me.”

“Yeah, well, the boss likes you.” He aimed his rifle. “You guys ready?”

Between the three of us, the ferals were dispatched and the way made clear for us to head inside. I thought nothing of the ferals at first - many medical facilities are often filled with ferals, due to the population being unable to escape when the bombs fell. However, Med-Tek had a more sinister background.

The facility was in lockdown; our initial task was to find the executive terminal and turn it off so that we could proceed into the labs. After a hard fight through countless ravaging feral ghouls roaming the dilapidated and darkened halls, we found the terminal. I lifted the lockdown… and paused to look at the data I’d found.

“Come on, we don’t have time,” MacCready impatiently whispered. He was right, and I’d seen more than enough. We made our way down to the sub-level, where the bulk of the research was done. A nauseating smell assaulted us; it was clear we were the first people to descend in likely centuries. We soon realized, however, that there were quite a few people who had never left. We found a series of rooms, all sealed, all with ferals inside.

“Must have been locked up in here when the bombs fell,” Valentine said, “but why?”

“The terminal in the executive office,” I explained, “recorded an authorization of lethal force on anyone who tried to escape the facility after it was put in lockdown, anticipating the War. The executive then made his own escape.” I didn’t bother trying to contain my disgust, “The terminal also recorded patient procurement costs rising.”

“They were bought!?” Valentine was outraged.

“And experimented on, likely without consent. Then left to die, locked away.”

“Only they didn’t die.” MacCready fumed, “What the hell was wrong with these doctors? How could they just “switch off” their morality?!”

“I don’t think it was called the “Hippocratic Suggestion,”” Valentine agreed.

“I’m in full agreement,” I said, “but there were a great many things before the War that would put the criminal activities of the Commonwealth to shame. It just took the world ending to bring them to light. Come, let’s find the one bright point in this godforsaken place.”

In a lab on the lowest level was a single small red syringe labeled Prevent; the miracle cure. MacCready was overwhelmed. “We did it... holy crap, we actually did it! We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live. I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back for this... I owe you big time.”

“Still balancing the books?” I asked, bemused.

He grinned a little, “Always.”

“You just worry about getting that cure to your boy,” Valentine said. “That’ll be payment enough.”

He was touched, “Thanks. I'm… I'm getting tired of taking instead of giving. Maybe one day I'll learn to get my priorities straight.” He took a breath, “Anyway, the last step ahead of us is getting the cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor. With her caravan contacts, she's the only one I trust to get this to Duncan on time. This is the last favor I'm going to ask, I promise.”

We got out of that horrible place, prize in hand, and ran to Goodneighbor as fast as we could. Daisy, who must sleep even less than I do, was counting her stock. She greeted MacCready fondly, a sentiment that MacCready returned, and was thrilled to hear about our success. The cure in Daisy’s capable hands, her reassurance that it would be delivered as fast as possible, and it was as if a great weight lifted from MacCready’s shoulders.

“I still can’t believe it,” he said to himself as we left the store. “Here. I know you keep saying I don't owe you anything, but I do, more than I could ever repay, so… take this.” He handed me a carved toy soldier. “My wife Lucy gave it to me, back when we first met. I know it's a strange reward for risking your life, but it means a lot to me.”

“A soldier?”

“Yeah. I, uh, told her I was a soldier and she made it for me. Never could bring myself to tell her the truth... that I was just a hired killer. The soldier story was the best thing I could come up with. I didn't want to lose her because of what I was.”

“Did she ever find out the truth?”

“No. It doesn't really matter anymore... she died a few years back.”

“May I ask how?”

“We made the mistake of holing up in a metro station one night. We didn't know that the place was infested with ferals. They were on her before I could even fire a shot. Ripped her apart right in front of me. There was nothing I could do. Took everything I had to escape with Duncan in my arms.” He sighed, “Maybe it would have been better if we'd died there with her. I guess that’s awful to say, but sometimes…”

I understood what he meant far too well. “You miss her.”

“Damn right I do. No matter how bad things got, she was always there with a shoulder to lean on. It gave me... well, it gave me the courage I needed to press ahead... to never give up.”

“You’ve kept pressing ahead, even in her absence. You may have lost your wife, but you saved your son. Twice, now. That counts for something.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Will you follow the caravan?” I asked.

He was surprised. “I don't know. Didn't think I'd get this far… I want to see my son, but between you and me, I was a lousy farmer. He's been staying with friends of Lucy’s, but I don't think they can take me on, too. Not sure I could stand it if they did.”

“Why not bring him to the Commonwealth?”

“Are you serious?”

“Once he's made a full recovery, of course.”

“And then what? I'm still a hired gun living in bars and hotel rooms.”

“You could be a soldier.”

Valentine chuckled, “You sure got a thing for taking in strays.”

MacCready stared at me a moment, then looked at Valentine. “... he's not joking?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“There are a number of settlements that would be happy to have an extra gun,” I said, “and have more than enough resources to provide for you and your son.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am. Consider it, please.”

“I will.” He laughed softly, bewildered, “You have the world's problems on your back and here you are helping me with mine, for the third time since we met.” He stuck out his hand, “I got a lot of business to take care of before I catch that caravan.”

I shook his hand with a smile, “Good luck, Mr. MacCready. Send word to Diamond City if you need anything in the future. Or to any Minutemen base, they’ll get your message to me.”

“Thanks. You’ll be hearing from me, as soon as Duncan’s better.”

“I look forward to meeting him.”

He went back inside Daisy’s Discounts, and judging by her expression told her his plan. She gave him the information he needed, and he hurried off. She smiled at me when he left, and went back to polishing her counter.

“Well,” said Valentine, lighting a cigarette, “I’d call that a day’s work well done. Day and a half.”

“Yes. I hope the cure works.”

“If there’s any justice in the world, it will. Get a room at the Rexford or head home?”

“Neither. The Railroad has urgent business with me.”

He sighed, a cloud of smoke streaming from the gaps in his neck and jaw. “Alright, I’ll bite. How do you know that?”

“Deacon has been watching us. Drifter, no hair, sunglasses, pretending to be asleep on the bench.”

The “drifter” in question sat up in a huff, coming over to us. “Oh come on,” Deacon scolded in a harsh whisper, “don't blow my cover like that!”

“Change your style of sunglasses. Or better yet, don’t wear them. That would truly be a disguise.”

“I don’t think I can anymore. They might be permanently grafted to my face.”

“We’ve had a long day,” Valentine cut in. “So if you could cut to the chase, we’d appreciate it.”

“A bunch of Coursers escaped the Institute before it was destroyed, and every single one of them seems to have taken it personal. Pam managed to track one down to the Wattz Electronics building northwest of here. I’d go myself, but Carrington also got word of a synth refugee in need of rescue. He was captured by super mutants. I’m good, but not even I can be in two places at once.”

When I asked where the super mutants were located, Deacon named a scrap yard another five hour walk to the southwest. Valentine spoke before I had a chance. “I’ll take care of the rescue, you see to it that Courser isn’t going to be a problem anymore.” He turned to me, “And you head straight over to the hotel and get some damn sleep. You’ve already been up for twenty-four hours straight.”

“I've gone far longer than that -”

“Yeah, you've told me. The great detective putting his body through hell for the sake of a case, and before the War when all you had to worry about were idiots with guns you could probably do it. Nowadays, that sort of behavior will get you killed by an overgrown mosquito. I don’t have to stop to rest, and we don’t have time to argue.”

It rankled, but I conceded. Deacon handed him a care package for the synth, everything a refugee searching for the Railroad might need, and the two of them went their separate ways. I can’t stop thinking about the sheer number of ways this could go wrong. There’s no hope of my sleeping while he’s gone. I thought writing would help, but if anything I’m even more anxious now. It’s utterly irrational, I know full well that he is perfectly capable of getting a single person out of a bad situation… though there’s no way to know how many mutants are encamped, or how heavily armed they are. Damn it, I’m worrying too much.