Authors Note: I've spent some time debating whether to post this or not. It's somewhat ham-fisted in my opinion but hopefully it better clarifies what I was trying to accomplish with my original ending in chapter eleven.

Epilogue

Father's personal log – December 2287

To anyone who may be reading this in days yet to come I have some unfortunate news. I have discussed my battle with cancer in previous entries before and now I regretfully inform you that said battle will be coming to an end. The doctors have done everything that they could to cure my condition but have ultimately been unsuccessful in their efforts. I am dying. It should feel odd to write that sentence I suppose or perhaps I should be angry that they failed but neither is true. I have known these doctors since we were children and if it were possible to save me then they would have done so and I hold no grudge in this matter.

I cannot help but admit that I am slightly disappointed that this is the age of my demise however. My body is no longer as strong as it was in the days of my youth but that is merely the byproduct of aging as all people do. My mind is as sharp as it ever was and I still could have contributed to the Institute for another decade perhaps two in a best case scenario.

But that is not how things have turned out for me. My doctors have tried to estimate how long I have but they are uncertain how fast the tumors will grow once my treatments are stopped. What they are certain on is that it won't be long before the pain begins as the tumors grow in size. We have discussed painkillers to help manage it but ultimately I have decided against it. It is not a question of effectiveness, I have no doubt they would accomplish their goal. But they would also hinder my mental faculties and I would barely be capable of functioning at an acceptable level for however long it would take for me to die. As such we have decided to wait until the pain becomes more than a nuisance and then I will be put to sleep so that my passing will be less traumatic not only for me but for the entire Institute. Right now our best estimate is that could be in two weeks from now but it could be as long as two months away.

Two weeks.

It doesn't feel odd to write the words 'I am dying' but it does feel very strange to put a date on what may be the day of my death in advance. This may be a peculiar thing to say but I feel a certain kinship with those condemned prisoners awaiting execution in the old world now. This kinship is not one of the actions we have committed to be sure. I am no murderer or perpetrator of some other reprehensible act that merited a lethal response from the authorities. No, this connection that I feel is one of knowing your life's end has been set for you. Every person has a finite amount of days from the moment they are born since all life must end but that particular number is unknown to all but a few whose company I have now joined. I wonder what they think about during their final days, do they regret their actions knowing what the result of them is?

I have never been one to spend a great deal of time ruminating on the past but now that I know my life is ending that has changed. It has been more interesting to look back on my life than I thought it would be.

As I'm sure you're aware I was not born in the Institute like the majority of my colleagues. I was born in the small town of Sanctuary over two hundred years ago before the Great War. The details of how I came to be in the Institute are rather sordid but ultimately to my benefit. After I turned eighteen my parents explained to me that I had been adopted and that we weren't genetically related. The news that I wasn't their true-born son wasn't at all surprising to me since we didn't look anything alike. What did surprise me was that my mother was still alive down in that Vault where she and I had once been cryogenically frozen.

I had always thought that my birth parents must have died when I was too young to remember them but that wasn't the case. My mother or at least the woman who had given birth to me was alive. It was perhaps the oddest moment of my life up until then. Don't misunderstand me, I still consider the couple who raised me to be my true parents and I love them dearly but there was still a connection to this woman. She may not have been a part of my life but she is the one who gave birth to me and a part of me always held her in high esteem for that.

Meeting her didn't interest me at the time and she faded into the background for many years though I couldn't help but think on the scientific side of what questions meeting her could answer. It's an old question in the field of psychology – Nature vs Nurture. What makes a person the person they are? Are they a product of the environment in which they are raised or are we merely the sum of our DNA?

This woman,whose name the records refer to as Nora is someone whom I had never met or have any memories whatsoever of. She was the woman who gave birth to me so the DNA I possess was passed on from her and the man who was my father. Everything about her from the color of her hair to her personality as a person was a mystery to me. A complete blank slate. I knew nothing about her whatsoever. If only that had remained the case. If only I had left her below ground in that Vault to never awaken...

Failure is the constant companion to a scientist. For every experiment that works there are a thousand that fail to bear fruit. To succeed one must be prepared to fail. I have contributed to many works of science here in the Institute but many of my hypothesis's and theory's have turned out to be wrong. No one ever thought the less of me for my failures. At least until now I suppose. No one has said anything but I notice the conversations that fall silent when I walk into a room, I see the sidelong glances when people think I'm not looking. I never should have spoken to the others, involved them in this experiment with that thing who calls herself 'Alice.'

The reports are in the computer network for everyone to see. I have tried to delete them repeatedly but somehow they are back in the system the next day every time. The trader Carla, M7-62 posing as the Mayor in Diamond City, Tommy Lonegan, the aftermath of her visit to Vault 95 as documented by one of our coursers. Their reports paint a disturbing picture. She's a murderer, she's a whore and cares only to sexually gratify herself however she can. I couldn't believe what I had read, that I had ever thought this woman might replace me as Director. It was beyond belief and then I met her.

I outright asked her about her son. About me. And she told me everything. That I was an accident. Unplanned, unwanted, unloved. That she only married my father for the sake of appearances. That she was planning to dump me off at the nearest orphanage as soon as she could. And the thing that spared me that fate was the end of the Old World itself.

And then she propositioned me. She thought that was why I was there, to do the same things with her that my father once had.

Father stopped typing and stared at the words on the computer screen in front of him. He had done it once more. This was the final entry of his personal journal, a last farewell to his colleagues and the Institute. And he had spiraled off into a rant about Alice yet again. He sighed to himself and mashed the delete button on his keyboard to start over as he had too many times already.

To anyone who may be reading this in days yet to come I have some unfortunate news. I am dying.