Epilogue Part 4 “Good morning Doctor Blake.”

Rosie closed her eyes, feeling the warm light on her face. She placed her bare feet on the grass, and took a deep breath of almost fresh air. Sitting under a tree in the Institute, basking in the artificial sunlight, felt like the closest thing to being outside. The closest she’d come in four long years.

“Good morning Doctor Blake.” Rosie saw Miranda sit on the bench next to her. Two Sencha green teas in hand.

“Good morning Doctor Cauldwell.” Rosie returned the greeting. Everyone here was doctor this or professor that. Rosie had earned her doctorate in internal medicine in the first few months of her time trapped in the Institute. Mostly so the arrogant technocrats that called her a wastrel under their breath would have to use her title. Her doctorate in computer science she'd done for fun.

“And I didn’t forget you.” Miranda handed over the tea, then rummaged in the pocket of her lab coat. She threw a piece of lab grown meat for Fenris.

“You spoil him.” Rosie wasn't the only one that took a shine to Miranda.

“How can you say no to that face.” She scratched Fen behind his snipped ear, making his hind leg twitch.

Rosie doubted she would have survived without her emotional support animal, or Miranda’s friendship.

“You only bring tea when you want something.” She teased.

“It’s not a bribe.” Miranda smiled. “Although I was going to walk all the way down to storage to borrow a high speed camera. Then lug it all the way back to the lab, so if you’re not busy.”

“Alright.” Rosie relented. “Miranda…” Rosie thought about asking Miranda to come with her, to leave this place and never look back. Not for the first time. “Thanks for the tea.” She couldn’t risk being overheard, not when she was so close to being free.

Rosie struck her Faustian bargain with the Institute Director nearly four years ago. She’d gone along with their story. That they found her injured and saved her, knowing full well they lied.

His offer had been simple. She would gain access to the largest collection of human knowledge left in the world. In exchange she would help them find Vaults. She agreed, fully intending to make a break for it at the first possible opportunity. Only to be given satellite photos, seismic scans, and old world intel. The work did have an allure, she felt like a detective working a very cold case.

Rosie survived by gorging herself on knowledge. Every time she began to feel the walls closing in, Rosie picked a new subject to learn. History, mathematics, metallurgy, astrophysics. Rosie became well versed in them all and more. As well as indulging in great works of literature, movies and music. That kept her mind busy for years. That, and plotting her escape.

She followed her friend along the circular corridor to Miranda's lab. Rosie had been assigned as Miranda’s assistant, an insult to them both. Not that Miranda made her feel anything but welcome.

Elaborate glassware boiled and dripped out fluid in a concentrated form. Petri dishes grew cultures under heat lamps. A picture of the periodic table on the wall. It still made Rosie smile to be in a real lab.

“Batch four seven one, sample nine.” Miranda filled a rack of test tubes with the translucent fluid. Miranda had trained to be a haematologist. Her life’s work, to create synthetic blood. She placed the rack of tubes on the edge of the table, clamping it in place. Next she took randomised blood samples from the fridge.

Rosie had convinced Miranda to let her take the samples. In the interest of ensuring a blind result. Which wasn’t untrue. However, what Rosie wanted, what she needed, was to get a good look around.

First generation synths guarded every door. They were little more than walking metal skeletons. Yet they carried energy weapons Rosie couldn’t get a read on and their glowing eyes had a direct feed to security. Not to mention that all the doors required a radio frequency id card that Rosie couldn’t spoof.

Second generation synths served as maintenance staff. Their rubbery skin made them look like bad monsters from a B movie. Even so Rosie felt a pang of empathy towards them. They spent their day serving food, delivering parcels, pushing laundry carts. Anything the people here deemed beneath them.

She’d been locked in to serving others. And the much derided Gen 2 model had real potential that only Rosie seemed to see.

The third generation synths were the real threat. Rosie had fought one above ground that joined, then took over, a raider clan. Close enough to pass as human and deadly. Able to be sculpted into anyone. She remembered something Brandon told her once. Infiltrate, assassinate, destabilise, then ride to the rescue. The classic white knight play he’d called it. Rosie didn’t want to think about the consequences of unleashing such an insidious weapon.

Rosie gathered all the intel she could. Mostly from overhead conversations. Glimpses of monitors she wasn’t supposed to see. As far as she could tell, there were a handful of Gen 3’s. Still at the early prototype stage and flawed in some way.

Rosie helped Miranda set up the apparatus. A simple clamp that held vials of blood above the translucent fluid. “You ready?” Miranda asked, a mischievous excitement on her face and stopwatch in hand. Rosie stretched, jumped up and down on the spot.

“Ready.” She took her mark by the door.

“Go!” Miranda hit the button on the analogue stopwatch and Rosie darted out.

She sprinted through the circular corridor in the dreamlike state. As close to free as she ever felt down here. Rosie did a full loop, hurtling back through the lab door in time to see the blood hit the fluid. Any hint of a reaction would be a positive result. Bringing the Institute one step closer to unleashing their monsters.

Rosie slowed as she watched the test tubes. For the briefest instant, one of the tubes turned crimson then went clear. Time snapped back as Rosie stopped. Papers Miranda deliberately left out fluttered through the air.

“Five point seven nine.” Miranda held out the stop watch, excited as usual. “That’s…” She took a moment. “Eight point two metres a second. New record.” Her smile faded as turned to the test tubes, as usual.

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“No change?” Miranda asked, hope in her voice.

“Sorry Miranda.” Rosie hated herself, but she knew it served the greater good.

“Oh well, batch four seven two might show promise.” She took the news with a scientific stoicism Rosie admired greatly.

“You ever think maybe it’s time for a career change?” Rosie drew closer, whispering. “Change of scenery maybe?”

“Leukaemia, lymphoma, myeloma.” Miranda listed diseases, defending her work. “All cured if I, we, develop a stable synthetic blood. To say nothing of emergency medicine. You were a combat medic Rosie, how many more could you save with unlimited, highly oxygenated, platelet enriched blood?”

“It’d change the world.” Rosie didn’t doubt her friend’s altruism for a moment. Only the motivations of her superiors. “A world I could show you.”

“I’m late for a lecture.” Miranda didn’t like this kind of talk.

She lingered in the doorway, taking off her lab coat and hanging it up. As she did Miranda made sure Rosie could see the rfid card. “I’ll bring coffee in the morning, like always.” She looked her in the eye. “Good day Doctor Blake.”

“Good day Doctor Cauldwell. Thank you.” Rosie pushed past the lump in her throat. Already missing her friend. She appreciated Miranda leaving her access card, but wasn’t going to implicate her. Rosie had a different accomplice in mind.

Rosie hung around the cafeteria. Sat alone as usual, ignoring the mocking from the table of first year residents. Her target arrived right on time. A creature of habit, Professor Ericsson collected his evening meal. A weasel faced, scrawny little man. Rosie lost count of the amount of people that threatened to kill him behind his back.

He sat at the chair nearest the door, precisely lining up his tray, plate, cup and even cutlery. Most people ate the lab grown protein in a more appealing form, like the truly awful chilli Rosie picked at. Ericsson took the cubes as they came, lining up three of different shades.

Rosie waited till he raised the first neatly cut bite to his mouth. She clipped her own heel, falling onto Ericsson’s table. Her chilli, banana pudding, and off brand cola slopped all over Ericsson. Rosie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“I’m so sorry.” Rosie grabbed already stained napkins and started making things worse, leaving bits of paper in the mess

“You ignorant wastrel girl!” He boomed. His anger vanished as he stood and saw himself. He went white, and hurried away to the bathroom. Where he’d be for hours.

Rosie headed out of the cafeteria, id card palmed and up her sleeve. She patted her thigh and Fen came trotting over. “Time to go boy.” She slipped him the meat protein cube from Ericsson’s plate. Recompense for him yelling at them both.

The stolen rfid card got her by the Gen 1 guards and into the central core. The Institute had been constructed as a series of concentric circles. One above the other, each floor dedicated to a single purpose. It reminded her of the literal painting of hell she’d seen in a book.

Rosie’s training told her to acquire a weapon. Beyond the handful of nasty surprises she’d cooked up. She headed down to the storage level. Quiet and empty. Manned by Gen 1’s clacking back and forth, filing away samples and oddities. A Gen 2 stood at a counter.

“Can I assist you?” It asked in a crude robotic voice.

“No, thank you.” She replied, yanking the terminal round to face her. Rosie punched in her own name, dispatching synths to retrieve her stolen belongings. She took a deep breath and typed Janey.

No results beyond the handful of names she expected to see. “Pricks.” She cursed out loud, tired of the disrespect for anything that didn’t look like them. She typed in Janey’s serial number. “Motherfuckers.” She banged the desk. At least thirty separate results pinged. Janey had been disassembled.

Rosie had prepared for this eventually, it didn’t stop her anger. She checked the contents of each box, selecting only one. Knowing she didn’t have time for anything else. A Gen 1 returned with the first plastic tub. Rosie tore off the lid finding her Shadow suit, sidearm and twin black daggers. She snatched Brandon’s dagger, more precious to her than anything else.

“Can I assist you?” The Gen 2 asked again.

“No, just a little out of practise.” Rosie lay on the floor, pulling on the suit. A few undignified minutes later Rosie stood, looking like a shadow freed from its owner. She picked up the knives and sidearm, feeling like herself again.

The other tub arrived. Her friend taken apart and packed away. Rosie connected to Janey’s torso, accessing the memory back up and black box in the base of the spine. She thought about rigging the core to blow in a few days, but couldn’t be absolutely certain where it would be or who might be in range. Rosie had been trained better than that.

Rosie chambered a round on her sidearm, laughing at the smart people that left bullets with a gun. She scrawled a two word note and put it in the now empty tub. “Can you put these back for me please.” The synths hurried to their work. “Thank you.”

Rosie pulled on her usual scrubs and lab coat, hiding the Shadow suit well enough. She walked calmly along the identical corridor, heading up to the synth testing lab.

Inside the lab scientists put Gen 2’s through all manner of exercises. Some stacked boxes, others fired energy weapons. Others talked while technicians poked around in their positronic brains.

Rosie stuck to the outer wall, heading for the back of the room. She could make out row after row of blank synths stood powered down and motionless. She made for them.

A young man came out of his test room, scribbling away. Rosie tried to let him pass but he saw her, then the dog. “Oh wow. That looks great.” He looked at Fenris, thinking him a synthetic copy. “Does he bite?” The man joked, patting Fen.

“Not unless I tell him to.” She smiled, trying to stay casual.

“I thought dogs had been discontinued, but this is incredible work.” He snapped his fingers by Fen’s ears, pulling at his face to see the fangs. “Even smells real.”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it. Director’s orders.” Rosie found that excuse worked almost without question.

“Well, I won’t keep you then. Can you cc me on anything open source?” He asked.

“Sure, be happy to.” Rosie played along convincingly. She hated this place, what they did, what they wanted. But she could never bring herself to hate the people here.

They weren’t evil, they actually thought one day they would ride to the rescue of the wastes. Rosie knew better. Power doesn't share without subjugation, and the Institute could rule the world.

Voices from one of the smaller rooms brought her to a stop. Something odd about them made Rosie creep up to the rows of steel doors. She peeked through the slot, seeing a Gen 2 that had smashed its arms to pieces trying to get out. Rosie felt a pang of empathy for the inhuman machine.

She could hear the voices clearly now. Something odd about the accent, like something from the old movies she’d seen.

“I keep telling you, the name’s Valentine. Nick Valentine, Boston PD. And you two eggheads are going up the river for a dime a piece if you don’t get me out of here.” The Gen 2 synth struggled at his restraints.

“Personality matrix holding. Seventy two hours post graft.” The scientist took voice notes, entirely detached. “Come on, let’s check the others.” Rosie pressed herself out of sight as they left.

“Can I at least get a smoke? Cup of coffee, a donut maybe?” The synth teased them. “Assholes.”

She started to move again, but the thought of someone else trapped down here stopped her. She knew better than to change plans mid operation. She knew it was an unnecessary risk. She stepped into the cell.

“Valentine, right? Boston PD?” Rosie played along, not wanting to rattle the Gen 2. “The name’s Blake, Rosie Blake. Baker Street Detective Agency.” She tried not to smile.

“A lady private dick, huh.” He sat back, weighing her up. “Alright sister, what can Nick Valentine do for you?”

“Wanna get out of here?”