#i like to imagine the other mercs think agent and vic are in a secret relationship but suck at hiding it

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

i think zombie victim can have a little arm falling off. as a treat :)

(and maybe agent can tenderly sew it back on, both of them trying to reconnect the half decayed tendons and muscle)

Vic didn't realize the heater was on + was overworking himself (can't feel anything due to dead nerves) and is embarrassed about it

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 8

The Personal Journal of Mr. S. Holmes

Diamond City, The Commonwealth, 2288

The journey south was quiet, at first. Getting out of Boston does not facilitate conversation to begin with, but even so, there wasn’t much for the mercenary and the Mayor of Goodneighbor to talk about. Still, fighting raiders does bring out something of a bond between people I suppose, because once we were outside the city proper Hancock spoke.

He apologized for the “dictatorial shit” from before, having his guards ready and waiting for Bobbi to rob him blind. He really does take the idea if everyone being allowed to do anything they please seriously. No, not anything. It's a particular code of acceptable behavior, but a code nonetheless.

He told me about the previous mayor, some character named Vic. Overpowered scum with a squad of thugs to keep people in line. Hancock witnessed them kill a drifter in cold blood. To this day, he's ashamed he did nothing, even though he likely would have been killed as well. Instead, what he did was nearly overdose, steal the clothes of the original John Hancock from the State House museum, convinced Kleo to loan him some weaponry and assembled a sort of drifter militia, training in the ruins. The next time Vic’s men “went on a tear,” Hancock and his army burst from the windows and rafters where they'd been hiding. It was a coup; Vic’s men were slaughtered, and the former Mayor hung from the balcony of the Old State House.

As he stood there, looking at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below, the newly christened Hancock said the words that would become his city’s motto; Of the people, for the people. They made him Mayor on the spot.

He finished with the declaration, “I just hope you get where I was coming from. I ain't out to bring harm to anyone that didn't earn it.”

I remained slightly skeptical. “Our definitions of 'earning it’ may differ.”

“Nah, we're on the same page.” He grinned, “I’m just a bit more straightforward in dealing out the punishment, that's all.”

Warwick Homestead is on the point of a peninsula east of Quincy. To our benefit, the Gunners still inhabiting the town were locked in battle with the Brotherhood of Steel, giving us the opportunity to sneak around the town undetected. As we made our way down the peninsula, I said, “I should warn you, I'm not certain what sort of reception we'll receive.”

“Well, that's encouraging,” MacCready quipped.

“Spill, trouble,” Hancock said, “These people asked for your help, right? So what gives?”

“They asked for the Minutemen’s help. It is an important distinction.” I explained, “Our destination is Warwick  Homestead. The patriarch of the Warwick family is Roger Warwick, father, husband, and according to a terminal within the Bioscience division of the Institute, a synth.”

They stopped in their tracks, looked at each other, and back at me. “You mind runnin’ that by us again?” Hancock said.

I sighed, “You were both aware I was inside the Institute? That’s how I managed to blow it up.” Rolled eyes indicated I should get to the point. “Some of the scientists were experimenting with modified strains of crops, and using Warwick farm to test them. They replaced Roger Warwick with a synth agent to oversee the experiments. Everything went well apparently, Roger and the crops were to be retrieved and all evidence of the initiative purged.”

“They were going to kill everyone,” MacCready stated, disgusted. Hancock swore.

“That seems the likeliest scenario, yes.”

“Well if this guy starts shooting, he’ll be the one purged.”

“Wait a minute,” Hancock said, “the Institute’s gone, so didn’t you save this guy’s family?”

I continued walking. “Those are the two options, yes. Either Mr. Warwick will be hostile to the man who destroyed his creators, though I don’t think he’d be foolish enough to open fire, or he will be glad to spend the rest of his life with his family.”

“Hey, boss. What are the chances of a nice straightforward job with a decent payout at the end after this?”

“Slim to none, MacCready.”

“Figures.”

“You’re under no obligation, I consider our contract fulfilled.”

“Yeah, but this still beats drinking myself to death in Goodneighbor, so. Let’s go help an ex-Institute synth and his family.”

The farm is built on the remains of a sewage plant, resulting in the most fertile soul in the Commonwealth. With it comes a stomach churning aroma, but one adjusts. Roger Warwick greeted us pleasantly enough, though he clearly didn’t realize who I was. He told us about the farm, and said that after super mutants had wiped out most of their crops, he and his family were starving. “No man should watch his wife and family suffer.” The crops were restored now, but the super mutants were still a threat. He’d put out a call for help to the Minutemen, though he didn’t expect anything to come of it.

“I’m happy to say you’re wrong,” I told him. “The Minutemen have arrived. We’ll take care of those super mutants.”

He was surprised. I imagine we didn’t look anything like what he was expecting. He told us the direction the mutants had come from, and we headed out.

“Seems like a family man sort of guy,” Hancock said as we left.

“Yeah. He also doesn’t have any idea who you are,” MacCready said.

We focused on the mutants, taking them out with devastating efficiency, but it was well past nightfall by the time we returned to the homestead. A trader had stopped for the night as well, setting up camp with her brahmin near the gate. I recognized her as Cricket, a somewhat deranged merchant who specializes in anything designed to do damage to living things. She was also one of the Institute's informants regarding escaped synths. Ironic she would stop here. Warwick was waiting on the steps of the treatment plant, converted into a living space. We could hear the family inside, cleaning up and preparing for bed.

He was hopeful, but also wary. “You’re back. Either you haven’t taken out the mutants, or… good news?”

“Super mutants won’t be bothering you again. At least, not that particular group,” I said.

He breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you. That’s great to hear. I guess the Minutemen really are here to help.” He stepped down, and gestured we follow him, leading us a little away from the door. “Cricket told me she saw the General of the Minutemen headed out from here, with the Mayor of Goodneighbor and some mercenary.”

“Some merc,” MacCready drawled with a grin, “great.”

“You’re him,” Warwick pressed, “the one who destroyed the Institute.” It was a simple statement, waiting for a simple answer.

So, I gave it to him. “Yes.”

He was quiet a moment, then said, “Well. Thanks.”

It wasn’t quite the reaction I’d expected. “You’re welcome… Mr. Warwick, I know about your purpose here on this farm. I had a chance to explore every department of the Institute, including BioScience.”

His expression hardened. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it, but just leave my family out of -”

“Whoa, slow down, brother,” Hancock stopped him, “it ain’t like that.”

“Could be like that,” MacCready muttered.

“Ignore him,” I said. “I only brought it up because I want to know if you need help. Is your cover secure, are you happy here?”

Warwick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “… yes, everything’s fine. There was some trouble before - Bill, our foreman, he was getting suspicious, started trying to turn my wife and kids against me, but then with the Institute gone and the trouble with the mutants, it all sort of stopped. I guess he figured there wasn’t much point in splitting us up anymore.”

“We could get rid of him, just in case,” MacCready said. “I don’t care if you’re metal or flesh, no one should split apart your family.”

Warwick wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “That’s not necessary, I think everything’s going to be fine.” He looked at me, “And yes, I am happy here. I know I’m not… they’re still my family.”

I nodded. “Good. If you need anything, there’s a Minutemen checkpoint north of here, near Neponset Park.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, “It’s a relief not to worry about any more late night secret meetings, waiting for every visitor to say a passphrase, all that nonsense. Now I can just live. Anyway. Come on inside, we’ve got a few spare sleeping bags set up for you.”

MacCready was asleep, snoring lightly, while Hancock made a quick walk around the farm. All three of us are dissatisfied with the farm’s defense systems, or lack thereof, which I intend to remedy in the morning. Hancock returned and quietly snuck past the sleeping family to join me in our far corner.

“Hey,” he kept his voice low, “you look like you could use this.” He offered an inhaler of jet.

“Tempting, but no, thank you.”

He shrugged, sitting down next to me. “Suit yourself. You look like your head’s running a million miles a minute.”

“It usually is. Had you offered mentats, I may have taken you up on it.”

“Fortunately for you,” he produced a pack, half empty, from inside his coat, “I keep a personal stash. Happens to be my ride of choice, too.”

I nearly laughed, and accepted one.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he said with a bewildered shake of his head. “Not a lot of folks would travel with a ghoul, even one with my kinda charisma. Hell, that business when we met, with Finn? I thought I was trying to protect some drifter from getting taken for everything they had. Didn’t know I was meeting a goddamn superhero.”

I scoffed. “I was hardly a superhero, and I’m certainly not one now.”

“Eh. These days, there’s too many good folks not willing to get their hands dirty and too many assholes taking advantage of it. Look at what happened to Diamond City. Before McDonough took over, it was a half-decent place to live. A little stricter than I usually go for, but not terrible.”

Valentine had mentioned Hancock was originally from Diamond City. “You grew up there?”

“Yeah, I thought he and I had a pretty happy childhood. But then he decides he's gonna try and get elected with his anti-ghoul crusade - "Mankind for McDonough." Before ya know it, you got families with kids lining up to drag folks they called "neighbor" out of their homes and throw 'em to the ruins.”

The facts fell into place. “You’re his brother.”

He nodded. “I remember storming into his office above the stands after the inauguration speech. He was just standing there, staring out the window, watching as the city turned on the ghouls. He didn't even look at me, just said: "I did it, John. It's finally mine." Should have killed him right there, but I don't think it would have changed anything. Instead I pleaded with him, begged him to call it off. He said he couldn't. He had nothing against the ghouls, he was just carrying out the will of the people and he couldn't betray the voters. And then he smiled. That hideous, fucking mile-long smile. He never smiled like that when we were kids. I didn't even recognize him.”

I hesitated a moment. “Hancock. Did you hear about -”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. Guess everything makes sense now, knowing that he was with the Institute, but honestly? I think I'm even more angry. I mean, where do I draw the line? Was the guy I grew up with the amoral piece of trash who gave the ghouls the boot or was that just some synth makin' a play for the city? Have I been hatin' the guy all these years for nothin'? Almost makes me wish I didn't know. At the time though, I just couldn't wait to get away from him and his whole damn constituency. I still wasn't a ghoul at this point, so I didn't have to leave, but I couldn't bring myself to stay in that cesspool after that. I'd been sneakin' off to Goodneighbor for years to get decent chems, so I knew the safe routes. I managed to track down a couple of the families, lead 'em there, but most couldn't get used to the Goodneighbor lifestyle. I brought them food for a couple of weeks, but after a while, they just disappeared. Folks in Diamond City signed their death warrants and all the good people were willing to just sit by and watch. I felt like I was the only one who saw how screwed up things truly were, who couldn't just pretend things were fine.” He sighed, “I know I run my mouth, but having someone who sees the world for what it is and is willing to do something about it. It's meant a lot to me. I feel damn lucky to have you as a friend.”

I was surprised. “Friend?”

“That ain’t a term I toss around lightly. It doesn’t take much to see you’re my kind of freakshow.”

“As flattering as that is, I’m still trying to decide what I think of you, Hancock.”

He laughed. “I’ll take it. Anyway, thanks for hearing me out. You probably weren't looking for a history lesson, were ya?”

“On the contrary. I’m consistently amazed by the people who inexplicably decide I’m - how did you put it? Their sort of freakshow.”

“Can you blame us?” He lied down, a hand behind his head, hat tipped over his eyes.

I thought for a while longer, digesting everything Hancock had told me. As I watched the family sleeping nearby, the men without families beside me, I suddenly had a desperate urge to return home to mine. In all my years of long stakeouts, cases that took me away from my wife for days, occasionally weeks, I never once felt homesick. Not like this. I always knew she would be waiting. It was a horribly naive certainty, but no one would have blamed me for it then. In this world, where nothing is ever certain… The fatigue following the mentat wearing off was the perfect excuse to lie down, and for once, I slept when I wanted to.