Author's Note

"Mike and the Censations. Spelled with a C everybody." Travis lulled, feet up on his desk, leaning back in his chair that creaked noisily as his eyes rolled back, wiping his face off with one hand moving from his forehead to his chin.

Then he yawned and said "Diamond City Radio, I've been your host. Travis Lonely Miles. I'l letting the music run for a bit, so come give a knock on my door in a few hours if anyone hears the song repeat for the fifth time. I gotta sleep too, Diamond City, there's nothing I can do about that..."

Ch. 17 The Midnight Run

October 27th, 2287
5:59 A.M.

""

His eyes were open in an instant. Nate leaned forward and recoiled from seeing himself offering a hand up. Falling back against the oak hull, he put one hand out and pushed himself up.

"Meathead, what are you doing? Why are you me? What time is it?" He asked, looking down at his Pip-Boy. It was 6:00 in the morning. "We were suppose to meet Stockton at the Church!" He said urgently, trying to push past himself.

"Relax! I handled it. I got the parts for the ship too!" Meathead put both hands out, palms facing him.

Meathead's form was an exact duplicate of Nate himself, black hair, green eyes, prominent chin, wearing a blue vault suit and empty holster.

Nate shook his head and rubbed his eyes to adjust to the low-light below deck.

The as his senses came to him, he made to swallow, but his throat was dry.

"What? What did you do?" Nate asked.

""

"Yeah. I thought he was joking cause I showed him the pip-boy on my arm."

""

Nate's head tilted forward, looking the duplicate of himself in the eye. Tittered left and right, "What?" He asked, standing up.

"Tell me what happened." Confusion plain on Nate's face, Meathead inhaled to ready himself.

""

Nate's eyes narrowed, and the apprehension was still there, he looked at his own hand being offered. The mirror reflection of himself was spot on, here was a second Nate talking to the first. He was looking at himself, basically a duplicate. A willing pet who wanted to do something for his owner.

Nate didn't know what to expect.

A shock, a jolt of electricity, a joy buzzer type of gag where his hand shook and jerked, but there wasn't.
He was expecting some sort of hell to go through to get what he wanted, and there was no suffering.

He blinked twice, and then the memories came to him as an afterthought.

His heart beat heavily in his chest, thumping louder and louder until Nate realized he needed to breathe or asphyxiate there on the spot. The only problem was sorting through all the new information.

Pulling in a deep ragged breath after nearly two minutes, Nate was swaying on his feet.

"Did that really happen?" Nate asked.

\111/

October 27th, 2287.
11:07 P.M.

Seven Hours Ago.

The Cambridge church stood with a lean to the left, its roof falling in, and the pews partially buried in debris. The front door was wide open, and Old Man Stockton was waving his right hand towards H2-22.

H2-22 looked like any other human, hair that came to his eyes, it was matted with sweat, and appeared greasy from not showering recently. He wore a white shirt, a green and white cross stitch button up, and then a blue denim jacket over it with a blue bandanna tied around his neck.

Only, Meathead knew there was no emotion coming from the synth disguised as a man, while as Old Man Stockton was a bundle of paranoia, relief, stress, fear, and joy that another night would soon be behind him.

Nate tried to listen to the sound of H2-22's voice to see if he could tell the difference between a human and a synth's voice, but there was no way to be sure.

H2-22 said the words, "Wow, another human who's happy to meet me."

Nate's brain picked apart the words, and it was apparent that for a synth who didn't even have a cover name yet, that the accent and vocabulary gave H2-22 away.

"Remember what I told you, H2. I'll fire up the signal." Stockton warned, he was cautious, on edge. Tense and nervous that at any moment the world would end for him.

Outside the church, from a distance they could hear a gunfight, the pop, pop, pop of a pistol going off, and then the automatic fire of a gun along side it. Nate's neck was tense, and his nerves felt pinched.

"Keep H2 safe, someone will be here shortly." Stockton left after lighting the lantern, and then a black man wearing a white shirt, leather jacket and jeans arrived three minutes later.

"Who are you?" the man asked, looking Nate up and down. "I don't know you."

"Did you bring a Geiger counter?" Nate asked.

The man snapped his fingers and pointed his pointer finger at him and cracked a smile. "Good call. Mine's in the shop. What's your name?" He realized that it was a call sign. A coded message that spies and agents used to identify other members of the same faction.

Nate found it out by accident when Old Man Stockton asked him the marketplace, and they didn't realize it until then.

Stockton, H2-22, and the newcomer all thought Nate was with them.

Disguised as Nate, Meathead kept his mouth shut like he should've in that situation and nodded his head.

"The Handler." Nate replied.

"High Rise. Did you just join?" He asked, Nate dodged the question by pointing at H2-22, and turning his head to him.

"Life story later, what are we doing with him?" Nate asked.

High Rise followed Nate's direction and focused on H2-22. "Hey, you. Are you alright?"

H2-22 spoke in a soft voice, like he lost his voice and it was difficult for him to talk loud. "A little rattled, but I've never been better. The other man said I shouldn't talk to much."

High Rise stood up straighter, "He told you right, H2. We'll get you a new name, a new face, but we'll get to that." Turning back to Nate, and eyeing Justice the 10 gauge shotgun in his hands, he said, "Listen, there's more than a few raiders behind me. Can I count on you for some help?"

Nate nodded once, but he wanted to say something else. The whole memory sharing process was disjointed, he remembered the experience, but didn't remember hearing the words come out of his own mouth.

High Rise followed up with, "We need to get H2 to Ticonderoga Plaza. My home. A lot of synths fresh off the boat crash there until we can smuggle them out of the Commonwealth."

It took all of Nate's mental capacity to realize that he wasn't the one who acted this way, it was Meathead. He was only remembering a memory.

High Rise was genuine, human, the emotions coming off of him were reserved towards Nate, but gradually more accepting for how curt and down to business he was being towards the situation.

Nate's hand shot out and grabbed High Rise by the collar. "Are you insane? Do you know what you just said out loud!? Do you know how many people could've heard?! Lead on, if the Institute doesn't already have an army of synths camped right outside the door, listening to our every word! Next time, use code words!" Nate shouted hoarsely, trying to keep his voice from rising, but quiet at the same time.

\111/

October 27th 2287
12:15 A.M.

High Rise lead the way to Ticonderoga Plaza, leading south through Cambridge past Monsignor Plaza, where raiders were ready to shoot at High Rise, but then they jerked their guns upwards when they saw Nate walking behind him, brandishing a shotgun that gleamed in the moonlight.

"Hold up." High Rise said slowing down, fearful of the raiders that spotted them. "Nope. Keep moving." Nate pressed the barrel of the shotgun into the small of High Rise's back and forced him to keep walking "They'll shoot you if you stop." Nate ordered. "Shut up and keep moving." Nate said loudly, readying a .44 magnum revolver with his other left hand. An aura of authority rolled off Nate, High Rise was filled with fear from how deadly Nate sounded, and it was present in his face. The raiders saw this fear, not because of them, but from the man behind him.

These raiders knew who Nate was, he was the crazy vault dweller who took out a whole squad of super mutants and collapsed a seven story building down on top of them. Their fingers were nowhere near the trigger, resting on the guard instead. They didn't want that type of attention.

The cold round bit of metal pressing into High Rise's back made him stand up straight and quickly walk faster to get away from the gun barrel.

They walked past Monsignor Plaza while the raiders inside looking out called to each other. "Do we risk it?" Plenty of them shook their heads no. Whatever the Vault Dweller was doing, let him go, it wasn't worth it.

The road Monsignor Plaza went south, where there was a raised drawbridge leading south into Boston, where they took a right heading west, crossing another bridge past apartment buildings and restaurants to Ticonderoga Plaza.

"Damn...We're here. You scared the shit out of me. I never seen raiders not try to shoot at me. Who are you again?"

"The Handler. As in, I'll handle it."

"Shit. We'll if you ever need bullets, grub, a power nap, take the elevator up to the top of Ticon. The house is yours. Right now, I need to take care of H2." The man who had been quiet the entire time, bringing up the rear looked up at the building, and then inside to the lantern left burning on the receptionist desk.

"High Rise. Next time your out in the field, don't open your mouth. Loose lips sink ships, and you said plenty at the church. You're lucky I'm on your side, because you didn't even start with the call sign either." Nate warned, "It's a good way to get yourself shot, or worse, everyone here exposed." Nate left without hearing High Rise's reply, only him ushering H2-22 into the safehouse.

\111/

"How are you doing this? What am I seeing?" Nate asked Meathead, pointing to his left temple.

"Changelings have a complicated system of predator-prey relationship. We keep our prey alive for months, drawing off emotional energy from them, we encase them in cocoons and bluntly, we draw life energy from them."

Meathead waited for Nate to interject or comment, but when he didn't, Meathead continued talking.

""

""

"