Inside the church was a wreck of burnt and broken timbers and, as predicted ghouls. This was no safe haven. I almost turned back but then I saw the lantern chalked on a split beam. Beneath it was dark, but it led somewhere. I stepped into the black, wary but without fear. Fear was a human emotion I could not call up. It had no place into what became catacombs. Broken tombs and the bones of the dead littered the floor. Some of the dates marking the crypts made this place ancient. The age of the place gave me pause. How old was I compared to the bricks and mortar?
I had no time to crumble beneath the weight of history. The Institute was now. Maybe there was Courser behind me as I contemplated the puzzle at the end of the catacombs. It was almost too easy. Easy enough to hide a trap on the other side of the tomb’s door. What could I do but move forward?
The Railroad greeted me with guns and questions. I do not blame them. For all they know, I am there to kill them. It happened to them recently. This den was where they fled to when Coursers and lesser synths destroyed their base. I held my hands high. I was no threat. I needed their help to … escape. Desdemona assigned me to one of the agents.
Fixer, they called him. I would have fled except for what was behind me. Fixer had a scar across the bridge of his nose. A scar he got from me the day I broke his nose while he tried to program me in the Institute.
CharoMiami 