"The Coursers are ready to be assessed by you personally, Father."

Those were the first words that played in his mind over and over again since this morning. He looked to the synths gathered before him in the central portion of the Institute. They were all here to potentially fill in the role of a Courser. They had their designations and like the rest within the clean, efficient and productive halls of the Institute they were silent. His eyes kept trailing to one in particular though, closer to the middle of the group of sixteen. His eyes were different compared to the others. They were a darkened shade of amber that struck a chord within his mind. The facial features, with a just a bit of fine tuning th-…

"Sir?"

He looked over to the man that was assigned to help him with a start from his musings. He forgot his name and for a moment the train of thought he had. Despite the tireless workforce within the synths humans were required for more intricate things. The synths, though machines, had their uses such as infiltrators or Coursers. His eyes strayed to the amber-eyed synth again.

"That one there," he gestured to him with a subtle curl of his shoulder, "the one with the amber eyes. How did he do?"

The visor covered head looked down and flipped through a few pages and Father could only imagine the frown forming beneath it. "That's D4-83, combat skills were superb and from the rest of the testing he did were," he flipped a couple more pages, referencing other tests? Father couldn't be sure, he may be the lead of the Institue but he made it so each branch could operate on its own, "above normal levels though from the jot notes it felt like he was holding back, to what degree the were not sure."

"And where did we pull his mind from?"

"Sir?"

"Most Coursers all have a similar look, and feel, to them as we well know." He gestured to D4-83. "Yet this one looks different."

"From what I can read a portion of his looks were pulled from the pre-war soldier from the," he cleared his throat, "incident earlier on."

Father's eyes narrowed. It seemed one of his staff thought this would be a cruel joke to him. He looked familiar for a reason, a reason he wouldn't utter aloud but that alone made his fist curl tightly into his pocket. He wouldn't show outward signs of his rage, let that show in his orders. He could salvage this though, he always could. He wasn't the leader of the mankind's future for nothing after all.

"I'll speak to him alone, dismiss the rest and have them report to processing. That includes you to supervise."

"But I r-"

His glare silenced any future protests and with a curt nod he stepped away, already relaying his orders. They were dismissed and followed his human assistant to processing, which translated to wiping their minds before they returned to their previous duties. D4-83 remained still with his arms folded behind his back. He looked to either side of him and he shifted in the dark uniform. Father could hear the creaking of the armored leather and he approached. A hint of nervousness? Interesting. Father quickly realized as he stood before him that the synth stood taller than him but not by much. He peered along his features, skin, eyes. They were similar to the man that flitted across his mind, his own father, but so unlike his own that it made him grit his teeth. He needed to keep calm though, less one of the more uppity members of his council saw.

"D4-83." He addressed the synth cordially to see how he reacted.

His shoulders squared and his back straightened a bit more. "Yes, Father?"

For some reason when he was referred to that by him it made him feel queasy. He blamed it on his old age, the sickness gnawing at his very being and dismissed it with a short cough.

"Do you believe in second chances, D4-83?"

"I believe in what you do, Father."

Father managed a bit of a smile at that. Each synth was loyal, but this one could be special, a pet project of his that could make up for what was lost. What was lost immediately made him think of Kellogg and his report of the incident in question which robbed his mother of her husband. The original article of the being standing before him. He reached up and inspected either side of him. He couldn't be sure of the exact facial features now, but from what he could remember in his young mind this seemed right, proper almost.

"Then you'll believe in the mission I have for you then, D4-83. You will be a Courser, yes, but you'll be left on your own devices. No chip."

His brows knitted in confusion."Why would you go against parameters, Father?"

He questioned him? This would be a proper experiment indeed. He could see his mediocre saboteur's paled features wherever they were now. Most he would mindwipe for such a transgression but this mind that was created need to stay intact and upgraded for this to be pulled off. Already the pieces were clicking together as he rubbed at his bearded chin. He made his way over to the wall.

"I need a processing team here. Now."

His tone brokered no argument and there was a glint of confusion in the synth's eyes.

"Don't worry," Father explained with a smile, "With old age simply comes… regret. In time, I hope you'll understand that."

His head ached and his limbs were heavy, stiff, protesting in all sorts of manners. He stirred a bit from his prone position and spat a glob of dirt from his mouth. Prone? Why was he on the ground? He groaned as he reached up and rubbed a hand along his face. He pulled it away and with a scowl he saw blood staining his fingers, slowly trailing. God, what happened to him? How did he get up here? His brain was fuzzy more so and his tongue was lead in his mouth. He got to his knees and his vision swam while the world tilted on its axis. A hand was used to steady himself as he took several deep breathes. When did the sun get so bright? He brought a hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun's angry rays. He looked down at himself. A blue jumpsuit? What? When did he-?

Images flashed along his mind nearly rendering him to the ground again as they forced themselves to play in his rattled brain. Voices strayed in and out with different pitches. All of it caused an odd ringing in his ears. His breath was labored, hitched as he heard the oddly familiar voices haunt him.

Sir! Mum! You better see this!

I was thinking we could go to the park today… weather should hold up.

If only your mother we-…

So I guess this is goodbye for now. But with luck, we'll meet again.

He stared up at the sun again. His chest was rattling, his blood roared in his veins. Anger. He felt anger. He scrambled to his feet and like a man possessed he ran up the small slope of the hill. His body was moving faster then his tired mind could catch up. He felt a weight at his hip and peered at the bulky gun that was strapped snugly against him. It felt larger then he was used to. He readied it and a metallic click accompanied it. How did he know how to use a gun? When he reached the top of the hill the sun's rays made his eyes water but something else was drowned out the blood pumping in his veins.

There was the metallic grinding of coming towards him sending his teeth into an unwanted grind. It emitted from the large hole which he nearly stumbled into during his haze. He made his way over to the small tower beside it and thankfully he found a pair of beaten up sunglasses. They were scratched to all hell, but they did the job in easing the throbbing behind his eyes. The sight that emerged from it though made him lower the pistol.

The woman that stood there was gasping for breath. Her hair was dark brown, long and loose. An image flashed in his mind that showed her usually keeping it in a tail. Her flesh pale, but not sickly so, sun-kissed. She was lean but her curves were pleasantly prominent. When she looked around he could see a glimpse of the pale-blue eyes that made everyone she met second guess themselves. Yet he was unmoved. A part of him wanted to embrace her and the other wanted to spill things that didn't make any sense to him. He rubbed at his temple in frustration as he made his way towards her.

"Hun?" her voice was high and hopeful, but it wavered near the end showing a layer of fear.

He knew he was supposed to nod but he didn't and instead offered an apologetic smile. "I can't say who this hun is," his voice was low, not quite monotone he found, but neutral. It didn't sound right to him, "but he seems like a lucky guy."

She smiled sweetly at him, but the way she stood was guarded. A nervous laugh tumbled from her lips. "I'm… I'm Noreen, uh… Nora for short really. Who are you?"

A frown screwed along his lips for a moment. He was about to say he didn't know then a name popped to mind, jabbing him behind the eyes again. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Dane," he greeted, "my name's Dane and uh, I'm pretty sure I'm lost."

She laughed bitterly, a sad smile at her lips. "Maybe we can both help each other a bit here then. The world… I don't know what happened to it, but I need to g-go try and find my son. Someone took him and my husband… God I don't know what happened to my husband but he wasn't there either when I woke up. M-My house, I need to get to my house!"

With that she sped off. Dane began to follow but another series of images passed into his mind making him near pass out as his ears rung. White halls, ruined arches, armored knights stomped by a tide of green on the American flag. He felt suddenly drained and tired but taking a deep breath he stood straight and marched steadily on behind her even as he felt his blood tickle down the back of his suit.

"Why am I only being informed now that the original sample was corrupted?!"

To say Father was furious was an understatement. It seemed that instead of wiping his mind entirely, as he carefully instructed, the team wiped only his synth memories but kept the training he received. Now he was receiving this news and he felt his age further now, and stress made the lights within the meeting hall a nightmare.

"Considering the sample's," one of the scientists paused for a moment trying his best to find the appropriate word, "integrity we were lucky to get anything at all from it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"His brain was nearly burst from the inside out."

So it was that bad then, he had hoped their field agent was exaggerating slightly. Father sighed and rubbed at his beard for a moment. "Yes, I read Kellogg's report. What was done for the recovery then? A full system reboot?"

"Ah… no, not exactly." One of them explained hastily, less not to incur his wrath. "There was another unused sample we gathered some years ago that we kept data mining. Considering the uniqueness of the situation at hand we considered it the most viable option."

Father lofted a brow at that. He hadn't heard of such a sample, perhaps before his time as Director. It was hard to say how deep the Institue's web truly went. He nodded slowly to that though, in understanding to the situation at hand.

"And where was this sample obtained from?"

"One of our agents around the Capital Wasteland," he explained, "Dr. Zimmer I do believe. He collected the necessary scans with his instruments even sent one of our Coursers back with the body so we could gather as much as we can, given the circumstances of his death."

"Which was?" one of the men to his right asked in a sharp tone.

"Plasma fire, by the looks of things. Most of his body and armored jumpsuit were melted to him. His right arm was missing, and part of his face was melted in."

Father shook his head, such a terrible way to die. He looked along the table, a shadow of a frown touching his bearded chin. "Tell me of him."

"Young, not even twenty, strong build, father from our reports was a doctor." The assessment began, "The mother is an unknown factor though but from what the reports said she worked closely with him. Past history put them both in Washington, D.C.. The mother died in child birth and the father seemingly to radiation poisoning." He cleared his throat and at Father's behest continued. "The son worked with both the Brotherhood of Steel and a mercenary outfit called Reilly's Rangers. The Regulators also kept him under their employ as well from a few scattered reports."

Father frowned. He heard this tale before. He held his hand out to the scientist with the papers and he combed through it all. Eye witness reports, written reports by the dead boy's hand. He was thorough, analytic, Father even mused that if he met him earlier he could have been a friend or young protégé for him.

"…Are these reports accurate?"

"Well, up for speculation at best, sir. All that he had accomplished for the wasteland supposedly took a year, two at most." The scientist shrugged. "The evidence supports this theory though."

Father reread several lines to be safe. He couldn't believe most of what he was reading. Venturing into the Pitt? Waltzing around Point Lookout? Abducted supposedly by aliens for several months? It couldn't be believed, yet here it all was before him. "And it's been a decade since then."

The scientist nodded. "Yes, sir but due to the-"

"Trauma. Due to all the trauma to both brains and bodies they were amalgamated into one. That is risky but for the sake of humanity's future we will let it play out. Keep our watchers close to him and send me any recordings personally, no copies, no back ups, everything sent to me and me alone. Is that understood?"

They all nodded to him without hesitation. He would assign a Courser, likely X6-88 when he returns, to constantly check in on everyone in this room. It was for the best, even if for the best meant even more trauma.