~POV Robert House~
Outside of keeping a safe distance away from any trees, little else bothered Robert House as he made his way through the Commonwealth. House took his time within the storm that terrified all of the Commonwealth, walking the empty streets as if the nuclear fallout already hit the world. There were no protestors on the roads, instead that flock of jobless bums decided to stay home in order to avoid it. There were no cars on the road, though the absurd gas prices played a bigger role than the rain did. As such the first year CIT student was completely isolated within the rain storm, enjoying the wonder and blessing of being outside at this time. The black asphalt of the road was drowned to the point it reached House's ankles with water, the stream that formed would empty out at the nearest storm drain. However, the intensity of the rain droplets, which were practically bouncing against the road, replaced the stream faster than it was drained.
While the frightened denizens of the Massachusetts Commonwealth huddled indoors, cursing the raging storm and seeking shelter from its fury, Robert Edwin House walked openly through it, almost dancing in the downpour. The first year CIT student moved with quiet purpose, savoring every pure, uncontaminated droplet that rolled down his coat and face like a rare blessing. To the people of 2038, this was simply rain, ordinary, unremarkable, something taken entirely for granted. House knew otherwise, from the fallout lore came the horrifying truth that awaited all of humanity after the bombs fell. The skies would never again grant such clean, pure, mercy, for after 2077 there would only be horror. From radioactive ash, to poisoned clouds, and hellish death that would cause radiation burns and grotesque mutations. If the world ever wept rain, then it would be a silent killer, burning the survivors of the great war as a reminder of their ancestral sin.
With that grim future seared into his mind, House allowed himself a rare moment of genuine appreciation. He tilted his head slightly upward, letting the clean water wash over him, cherishing the sensation of a storm that did not carry death. Unless Robert found a way to prevent it, there would only be a limited amount of truly pure rainfalls that humanity would ever know, that thought haunted House more than his worries of possibly being arrested. For now, he simply embraced the tempest as he made his way toward the Cabot Family Manor.
As Robert pondered the concept of a atmosphere cleansing agent that did not kill all life in the future fallout wasteland, the fear of being imprisoned embedded away from House's mind. The quest did not end yet, the idea of a possible future behind bars was still a real possibility, but it was a small concern in the back of Robert's mind. Focus on the clean rain was a good distraction, a freeing and purifying way to rid House of his worries. It was Freedom, not the slogan on a propaganda poster or the sort screamed out by a DC politician, but actual freedom to dance in the pouring rain, and wash away the sins of his first murder. That freedom was something House might lose in the next couple of days if the agent's body is ever linked back to him. So the Nevadan resident simply embraced the tempest as he made his way to the Cabot Family Manor.
Robert Edwin House made his way through the rain-slicked streets of Beacon Hill, the hood of his dark coat was raised, helping Robert blend in seamlessly into the darkness of the storm. Eventually the grand silhouette of the Cabot Family Manor rose before him on Louisburg Square, a breathtaking example of pre-war Boston elite architecture. In Fallout 4 the Manor was well-maintained in a city hit directly by a nuclear attack, yet that paled in comparison to the version of the Manor during the year of 2038. The estate stood as a monument to American wealth and refinement, manicured gardens surrounded the three-story brick mansion, featuring perfectly trimmed hedges, blooming rose bushes, and marble fountains that continued to operate despite the downpour. Gas lamps cast a warm, golden glow across the grounds, illuminating ivy-covered walls and tall, elegant windows that spoke of centuries of Cabot family legacy. The manor itself was pristine, its red brick facade and white columns untouched by the decay slowly creeping across the rest of the Commonwealth during this energy crisis.
With his maxed out agility and over maxed stealth skill guiding every movement, House slipped past the wrought-iron gate and the lone security guard patrolling the perimeter, using both the heavy rain and darkness as perfect cover. Robert moved like a shadow across the wet lawn, avoiding gravel paths and the light of the gas lamps, sticking to the soft grass until he reached the east wing of the Manor. Above him, on the third floor, he spotted Emogene Cabot's bedroom window, the target of his venture. The wind howled fiercely as Robert began scaling the side of the manor, fingers finding holds on decorative brickwork, ivy, and ornate stone ledges. The rain made the climb treacherous, turning every surface slick, but House's superhuman Agility and Endurance turned what would have been impossible for any normal man into a calculated and quick ascent.
Reaching the top of the manor, right by Emogene Cabot's window, Robert peered inside, seeing nothing but an unoccupied room belonging to a wealthy woman. From inside of his coat, House retrieved, a thin, flexible tool he had prepared in case he ever needed to unlock a window from the outside. It was not intended for this exact scenario, originally it was designed as a last-resort measure to break into Dean Oswald's private office and steal the proto-institute secrets. Fortunately, his plan to improve his reputation with the CIT university had succeeded beyond expectation. The Dean had recruited him into the Continuum project, granting House legitimate access to those technological treasures in due time. Though the risky backup plan was no longer necessary, House had kept the versatile tool, and now it would serve a far more pleasant purpose.
The tool in question was a custom, window jimmy, made from a high-tensile alloy strip no thicker than a credit card, with a precisely bent hooked tip. Pressing a small suction cup against the lower pane to steady himself, House carefully slid the flexible strip between the window sash and the frame. With patient, delicate movements, he maneuvered the hooked end upward until it caught the interior latch. A gentle twist and lift, followed by a slow pull, and the old-fashioned brass latch clicked open. The thunderstorm masked any faint sound the mechanism made, enabling House to slide the window upward just enough to slip inside, before the patrolling guard noticed any sort of disturbance.
Like a ghost, Robert House found himself inside Emogene Cabot's bedroom, the room was empty of any other person besides the young intruder. Scented faintly with expensive French perfume and the comforting aroma of old leather-bound books. It was a spacious, beautifully appointed chamber, reflecting the height of pre-war elite taste. A grand four-poster canopy bed with dark mahogany posts and deep burgundy silk drapery dominated the center of the room. The bedding was sumptuous, layered with fine Egyptian cotton and cashmere throws. To one side stood an ornate writing desk of polished walnut, upon which sat a sleek, top-of-the-line ADI computer terminal, one of the newest models. Tall bookshelves lined one wall, filled with rare first editions manuscripts from a dozen different languages, the ones that House could read denoted the old books as romance texts. A luxurious Iranian rug covered much of the hardwood floor, and above the Persian carpet was a crystal chandelier, hung from the ceiling. Emogene's large window offered the perfect view of the manicured gardens below, currently lashed by rain. In the far corner stood a magnificent antique grandfather clock, nearly eight feet tall, crafted from rich walnut with intricate brass inlays and a moon phase dial. Its pendulum swung with a deep, resonant tick that echoed softly through the room. The entire space exuded old-world wealth, refined taste, and a touch of eccentric personality, exactly the kind of room one would expect from an immortal woman who has lived through a good chunk of history.
Robert moved quickly, stashing his incriminating bag of evidence, such as the electric trap, the Velvet Knuckle winnings, Agent Sid Harlan's holstered 10mm pistol, and the clothes he had worn during the body disposal. All of it fit perfectly deep inside the lower cabinet of the grandfather clock, concealed behind the heavy brass weights and maintenance tools. From there, Robert took the maintenance tool and utilized his 300 in repair skills to prepare a narrative that Emogene Cabot would play a small part in. House, with expert mechanical handling, made a few adjustments to the grandfather clock, altering the time on the decoration clock by two hours to match the alibi he needed. Robert's maxed out charisma and social skills would aid him greatly in convincing the ever thrill seeking Emogene of the false time. Though House would have to place his faith upon his luck for one last miracle, that, hopefully, Emogene Cabot did not know the correct time. As an immortal that lived for nearly 200 years so far, that should be something the Cabot girl wouldn't pay much attention to. If it was her brother on the other hand, such a simple trick would not work on Doctor Jack Cabot. House would not be surprised if Jack kept a meticulous track of time, counting down the very seconds in order to prepare the next dose of immortality serum. Now, Robert simply stood before the clock, calm and composed, in a practiced pose, waiting for Emogene to return to her room.
As he stood silently in the room, Robert Edwin House allowed himself a rare moment of calculated doubt and internal reflection. He considered how a normal woman would react to finding an uninvited man standing in her bedroom in the middle of this terrible storm. Such a surprise would be seen more... creepy than romantic. Emogene Cabot had walked with Robert on a previous date and allowed him to escort her home, but Emogene had never invited him inside her private sanctuary. Remembering that, House fell back on how a typical girl would react. Nearly every projection House could imagine of a normal female, would have them start screaming in terror at the sight of him. The ensuing chaos would prevent any form of explanation from being voiced, House had planned to spin this as some sort of attempt at a romantic gesture, which he now realized was far to long for any sane person to wait and listen to. The resulting hijinks would immediately result in the security patrolling the grounds to come up and swiftly attempt to arrest Robert House for trespassing. The thought came out so logically clean and predictable at this moment, that for a brief second Robert considered climbing back down the ivy-covered wall and attempting a more conventional late-night visit at the front door. Before he could act on that prudent and far more reasonable course of action, the bedroom door clicked open.
Emogene Cabot finally stepped inside her bedroom, wearing a simple, informal cream-colored silk blouse and soft lounge pants, the kind of comfortable, elegant attire one wore when spending a quiet evening at home. The moment her eyes landed on Robert standing by her grandfather clock, a series of shocked reactions went through her face, before finally landing on an unrestrained and giddy delight. Upon hearing how bright and breathless with joy the woman's voice came out as, House could safely conclude that Emogene Cabot was alien to the concept of being a normal girl.
"Robert!" She squealed, before moving, without hesitation, almost like a rush expected of a football player getting ready to blitz a QB. Emogene quickly made her way across the room and threw herself into House. The Cabot girl embraced Robert with a fervor that would have made the hormonal teenagers in the CIT dorm hallway blush crimson. Her body pressed flush against his, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as she pulled him into a deep, possessive kiss. Her hands roamed his back and shoulders with open hunger, fingers digging into his coat as if afraid he might vanish. Each kiss was intense, lingering, and far too intimate for any casual rendezvous, the kind of embrace that spoke of long-suppressed desire and dangerous obsession. Robert knew he had left an impression on the immortal woman after winning the ring match at the Black Harp, but he never imagined it was to this level. House's skin burned at every point of contact that Emogene made, the feeling was similar to being skinned alive. Robert Edwin House was not a man who enjoyed physical touch, especially not this level of raw possessiveness, but he endured it with iron discipline and by retreating into his psyche. This was the alibi he desperately needed and would pay whatever price he could to secure it. After several long, heated moments, Emogene finally pulled her lips away, though her arms remained locked around him, and looked up at him with sparkling, adoring eyes, hungry eyes that attempted to play at innocents.
"Robert, darling… how on Earth did you get up here? The staff did not mention anything about a guest awaiting me." She asked, laughing softly in disbelief. "Matter of fact, the staff would not have let you in without alerting my brother first... and your still wet. Oh you handsome little romantic, did you scale my estate, sneak in through the window? Through this storm?! Did you miss me that much?"
The realization of what Robert had to do to get to her, caused the immortal woman desperate for excitement to squeal loudly, before she passionately kissed Robert again and again. Each were quick and eager, before pulling back just enough to study his face, still clinging to him as though he might disappear if she let go. A thousand questions where on the edge of exploding out of her, and House did not desire to answer them all. Instead House looked down at Emogene, his voice low and resonant as he recited a verse from a poem specially selected to resonate with the Immortal woman. A sort of blast from her past.
"Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed. It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." Robert paused, his eyes locked on hers with calculated intensity, then Mr. House added quietly his own amended part to the poem published the year of 1888. "No matter what storms or tribulations a man must face… he endures them all for the thing that matters most."
Emogene's eyes widened dramatically, her breath catching sharply in her throat. For a long moment she simply stared at him, trembling with overwhelming emotion, for a moment House thought the Cabot girl would faint. Then something inside her ignited. "Invictus!... Oh Robert... I did not take you for a fan of William Ernest Henley. That is such an old poem.... but it's one of my favorite."
The woman far older than her mortal shell showed, gushed and awed, working her way up into an insane passion that surpassed her previous welcome. With a desperate, almost feral cry of delight, Emogene threw herself against Robert, embracing him with a fury that surpassed anything she had shown before. Her arms locked around his neck like steel cables as she kissed him savagely, her body pressing flush against his with unrestrained hunger. She kissed him again and again, deep, devouring kisses that left no room for breath. Her hands roamed possessively over his back, shoulders, and chest, fingers digging as though she wanted to tear through the fabric and claim the skin beneath. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she pushed him back against the wall, clinging to him unleashing a months worth of pent-up longing. Emogene was practically climbing Robert, kissing his lips, tongue invading his jaw, his throat, doing everything except undressing him outright.
House endured every burning touch with cold detachment, his mind calculating the value of his long term end goal over the suffering he went through. The fire of her skin against his felt like torture, salt, lemon, ghost peppers on a skinless wound could not compare to the mental overload that House was suffering. He allowed it, mostly due to half falling unconscious from the unwanted stimulation, his arms resting loosely around Emogene's shoulder blades. The gesture was almost robotic and bland, more efficient really, as it stabilized Emogene, making sure she did not slip off of Robert and hurt herself, for even a half alert House did not want attempt to explain that away. Emogene finally pulled back just enough to look into Robert's eyes, her face flushed, breathing ragged, completely enraptured. House quickly came to his senses, in order to hear what Emogene was joyfully speaking.
"Oh you must stay the night. I've spoken about you a hundred times with my mother and my brother. They would love to meet you Robert, oh please, please, please stay. Supper will be soon, the cook has planned a special meal to brighten this dreary day, it will even surpass the meals at catalyst." The words were predatory, the sort that would manipulate with how innocent and bubbly it was as it was dressed like a plea. Letting her think she had succeeded, House agreed for there was nothing better right at this moment than more witnesses.
"Let us keep it as a surprise, until the very last moment before dinner is served. You can even do the honors of introducing me." Buying time, time which House perfectly directed Emogene's attention upon, Robert spent the next moments planning every last detail of how Emogene would unveil the secret guest that she snuck past the Cabot staff and into her room. Emogene loved the idea, more than willing to take the blame for House's uninvited appearance, claiming him as her honored guest. The immortal woman playing at a love struck heiress of a rich family, spent hours talking about every dramatic flare that would be taken before unveiling Robert before her family. House stood by and allowed Emogene to come up with every little detail, allowing her to talk, and talk, and talk. Damn Todd Howard and whoever else created her, for Emogene Cabot could talk. She had changed topics about half a hundred times, speaking about more old poetry, before changing matters to discussing clothing she would love to see Robert wear during the summer months, and then her focus shifted onto the commonwealth rumor mill.
"Oh, you simply won't believe the ridiculousness happening in Boston before the storm, darling. All of the community girls have started this awful new 'solidarity' fashion. They're deliberately eating less, starving themselves to look gaunt and tragic like the hungry protestors outside the gas stations. They call it 'protest chic,' can you imagine? They think it makes them look more authentic when they attend those rallies against the absurd fuel prices. Poor little Cecilia McNamara was hospitalized last week for malnutrition, and now everyone is whispering that half the debutantes on Louisburg Square are doing the same. It's all so dreadfully theatrical… though I must admit, it does make their cheekbones look rather striking in photographs." Emogene barely paused for breath, still clinging to him as she continued speaking about the latest gossip with dramatic flair. "Oh, and I heard the Energy Secretary himself is in town! Some of the girls in my circle were planning a big protest at his hotel, but this awful storm ruined everything. Such a shame, really. They were going to look so tragically glamorous in their new starving-chic outfits."
"Oh, how unfortunate! But, I am sure this weather is most likely ruining the Secretary of Energy's plans as much as it did for your friends." House spoke in a tone that reassured Emogene while disguising the subtle hints of what Robert knew for a certainty would damper Secretary Tim Walter's current plans. Learning that the Secretary of Energy was still in Boston was not surprising, more curious than anything, Robert would eventually pry out the details of where he was staying out of Emogene, but for now he simply listened. As Robert heard more of what Emogene and her circle of friends were planning, House began pondering if there was a possible circle of protestors he could utilize, a small Free state of Boston. In a hypothetical situation where Robert House was arrested, and somehow someone was a able to point out it was motivated by Secretary Walters, it could put some pressure against the DC politician and the local Police department. Or it could horribly backfire, like Jack Cabot not wanting the unwanted attention, and forbidding Emogene from protesting. I can see the see headlines now; CIT student's own girlfriend refuses to protest for his release, maybe she knows that Robert Edwin House is guilty of murder.
"The weather here is so terrible, this one would drive any Flatlanders-... aaaah I mean newcomers, it would drive the visitors to Boston insane. I wouldn't be surprised if poor Secretary Walters ends up needing to be committed to my brother's asylum just to survive the night!" Emogene's voice faltered for the briefest moment as she spoke the words, her gaze slipping away from Robert's eyes and drifting toward the rain-streaked window. A faint flush of shame crept across her cheeks, and she shifted slightly in his arms, as if trying to cover the slip with a small, embarrassed smile. She quickly recovered, pressing closer to him once more, but the subtle awkwardness lingered for a second longer, a rare crack in her otherwise effortless, centuries-honed charm. Her fingers tightened possessively on House's coat, almost as if seeking reassurance that the small social blunder hadn't diminished her in his eyes. Robert did not care for the insult of a Flatlander, he planned to live the next three years in Boston and by then most would accept him as a Boston local or not. Robert did not care that the insult was spoken by Emogene, that was water off of a ducks back, what mattered to House was that the Cabot girl opened a new door of important dialogue and Robert planned to capitalize on it.
House seized the opening immediately, he spoke his question, voice smooth and curious, guiding the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go. "Your brother has an asylum?"
"Well, not exactly an asylum, darling. Jack runs a very private sanatorium for… delicate cases, a humble hall of mental healing. My brother is quite the expert on the mind, he has written several papers about it, though he does not boast over it." Emogene was grateful for the redirection of the conversation, happy to talk about other topics. Though House noticed how she downplayed the importance of the insane asylum that kept the man that her family fed upon for their immortality.
"Your parents must be very proud of your brother. Healing is a sacred art, and the medical industry does not value psychology as highly as it should." Robert Edwin House lied like a dirty rug, for he did not care for psychology, therapy, sociology, or any other false arts of healing that wanted to be lumped into the same category such as first aid or open heart surgery. The neurological field, such as studying the physical parts of the brain and all of its long term effect is considered a highly prized field that House would more than agreed needed to be observed and invested into. However, psychology and all of its sister fields of supposed medical research was closer to a snake oil salesman than the supposed wonder they all made it out to be. House had more faith in healing rocks than he did over the aid of a therapist, a profession of scammers that spend their days listening to family drama than actually accomplishing anything of importance. A complete waste of time and money as far as Robert House was concerned. If someone was depressed or emotionally distressed about their life choices they could go into a bar, drink themselves stupid, complain to a Bartender who has no choice but to listen to their customer, and get over their inadequacy by making new regrets to focus upon, such as the hangover they will soon suffer.
No better evidence of this exists than Lorenzo Cabot who had 400 years of therapy with his son Jack, yet it only made the crazy immortal desire to kill his entire family more than ever. As far as Jack Cabot went, House had as much respect over him as he did any person within the therapy field. The man failed to cure his own father, which Robert believed that Jack had no intention of doing from the beginning, instead harvesting the psychotic old man for his blood. The supposed immortality serum of Jack Cabot, just involved ingesting Lorenzo Cabot's blood, which the fallout 4 main character could acquire if they aided Lorenzo. Effectively making it clear that Jack Cabot was as bad of a chemist as he was a medical professional, immortality was wasted on the Cabot family. House would not make their mistake, he knew what was needed to be done, and he was given the perfect opportunity to achieve it. "You know, now that I think of it my dear Emogene, I have never met any of your family members. Is there anything I should watch out for, any family taboos I should avoid. I would like to win over your parents, is there anything I should focus on when speaking to Mr. and Mrs. Cabot."
"Oh you do not have to worry about my father. Lorenzo Cabot, he is... or better to say was an archaeologist. A brilliant man, but no one ever listened to him. He went on one final expedition… and never came back. I wish I could have done more to help him, to support his work... I still live with that regret every day." Emogene Cabot had shifted into a softer, almost wistful tone, playing the part of the perfect regretful daughter. Her voice carried just the right amount of sorrow, the picture-perfect image of a devoted daddy's girl mourning a lost parent. She spoke at length about how Lorenzo had been obsessed with ancient artifacts and lost civilizations, how the family had funded his expeditions despite skepticism from the academic community, and how his disappearance had left a permanent shadow over the household.
The story of Lorenzo's death was very well constructed and thoroughly practiced, though the narrative that Emogene pushed was not as smartly constructed as Jack Cabot had. From the meta-knowledge that House knew, Jack story did not even include his real father, instead the man played himself as his own father or distant relative of said father in order to throw off anyone curious as to why he did not age. Emogene, either lacking the experience that Jack had, or truly emotionally cared about Robert, exposed far more than his brother ever would. House kept his expression gentle and attentive, nodding at the appropriate moments. Internally, he was coldly fascinated. If he didn't already know the truth from the game's lore, that Lorenzo Cabot was still alive, imprisoned in the basement, driven mad by having his blood turned into the mysterious serum, Robert would have been completely convinced by Emogene's performance. Emogene was an exceptional actress, shame her talents could not be put upon a screen at a movie theater drive through, though that would attract too much unwanted focus upon her family.
"My mother, Wilhelmina Cabot, is the backbone of this family. She's always been so graceful, so composed, even after Father disappeared, though I would recommend that you do not bring up her missing husband, that will sour her mood as well as my brother's. She keeps the household running perfectly and maintains our social standing with the community. Without her, I don't know what we would do." The shift to her mother was carefully done, almost as much as Emogene's hint that Robert should stop asking about Lorenzo. Emogene's tone was warm and respectful, painting Wilhelmina as the ideal matriarch. Then Emogene returned to speaking about her older brother Jack. "Jack is brilliant, truly. A bit eccentric, perhaps, but his work on the mind and… unconventional therapies is groundbreaking. He takes after Father in that way, always chasing knowledge others are too afraid to pursue."
House filed every detail away and made a mental note not to reveal anything to Emogene as the woman was a walking security breach of secrets. Robert mentally prepared strategies for the upcoming dinner. He noted Emogene's careful omissions and the subtle ways she romanticized the family's dark secrets, keeping the information close to her heart, yet leaving enough bread crumbs behind that a observant individual could latch on upon.
When a servant arrived at Emogene's door, the rich immortal, refused to open the door for the Cabot family staff member. So instead the manor house worker simply informed Emogene that dinner was ready from behind the door. Emogene luckily did not focus upon the grandfather clock, instead the immortal woman was ready to begin the introduction of her new plaything to her family. The plan for the introduction was rehearsed with House multiple times, the Cabot girl was clearly thrilled by the theatricality of it all and played her part perfectly when entering the dinning hall. House, stealthily nearby and avoided all of the house staff, heard as Emogene requested one of the servants to bring an extra plate to the table just as the family had gathered for the meal.
"Who is the extra plate for, dear?" Wilhelmina Cabot glanced at her daughter with mild curiosity.
Emogene's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, for a special guest, you will love him mama. Robert could you come in."
Right on cue, House stepped into the dining room from the side entrance, raincoat long ago removed and left behind at Emogene's room. Entering the dinning hall while wearing a sharp, well-tailored dark suit, seemed to have done wonders on the awaiting immortals. Both Wilhelmina and Jack visibly stiffened, their expressions shifting to polite but unmistakable displeasure. It seems this was the first time Emogene had ever brought a man home to meet the family, and from Roberts maxed out perception it was clear they viewed House as just another fleeting fling. Polite introductions were given, yet an underlying awkwardness was clear for everyone to notice. Emogene did not care about it, instead chirping away at how she lured the security detail away in order to sneak her newest boyfriend into the manner, much to Jack's annoyance.
The dinner itself was exquisite. The first course was a rich, velvety lobster bisque, fragrant with sherry and cream, served in delicate porcelain bowls. This was followed by perfectly seared filet mignon with a red wine reduction, accompanied by roasted asparagus drizzled in hollandaise sauce and buttery garlic mashed potatoes infused with roasted garlic and truffle oil. The main course was complemented by fresh, warm dinner rolls with herb butter. Dessert was a decadent dark chocolate soufflé, served with fresh raspberries, vanilla crème anglaise, and a light dusting of powdered sugar. The food was undeniably among the best House had tasted since arriving in this world, a testament to the Cabot family's wealth and refined tastes even amid the growing energy crisis. The Cabot's on the other hand found the meal to be barely above standard, the family long ago use to such luxury that neither the young Robert House, nor his consumed personality of John ever enjoyed.
Throughout the meal, House played the perfect guest. He was charming with Wilhelmina, complimenting the elegance of the home and the quality of the meal with just the right amount of sincerity. He engaged Jack in conversation about scientific pursuits, carefully showing respect for his work, without revealing too much of his own knowledge nor Robert's true beliefs regarding the man and his profession. Jack remained somewhat cold and reserved, clearly skeptical of this sudden newcomer, while Wilhelmina was more polite but still guarded. Emogene, on the other hand, was radiant, constantly touching House's arm and beaming with pride at having brought him home. When a late meal chamomile tea was given, one that aid in digestion and preparation for sleep, Emogene went on and on about how wonderful House was, serving just as good as a hype-woman as she was an actress. Jack, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, leaned forward with mild interest when Emogene proudly mentioned that Robert was a student at CIT, mentioning how House was quite the charmer and well learned with old poetry.
"A poet at CIT?" Jack raised an eyebrow, though his words carried more mockery than curiosity. "Do you plan on becoming a writer then, Mr. House?"
"Not at all, sir. Though literature is as glorious a subject as psychology, I on the other hand, intend to pursue the medical field. I'm currently working toward becoming a physician, with an additional degree in chemistry." House offered a polite smile, though hid the fact that he was currently working on three other degrees and maxed out his schedule to an inhuman level that could even kill immortals like the one's that House was dining with.
That news took Jack completely by surprise, the man showed his evident interest at the surprised dinner guest. Probably never believing that his sister would become infatuated with a medical student instead of a deadbeat bad boy on a motorcycle. "A physician? That's… ambitious for a first-year student, a great deal of schooling is required, but quite an amazing career path to take."
Jack proceeded to test House with several college-level medical questions regarding anatomy, pharmacology, and basic pathology. The man clearly doubted House's claims and wanted to test out how truthful House was. With a Medicine skill of 300, Robert House answered each question with calm precision and a detailed depth, thoroughly impressing the elder Cabot. Emogene beamed beside him. "See, Jack? Robert is simply a delight, he would make a wonderful addition to staff at Parsons State Insane Asylum. He's brilliant and could offer medical aid to your patients and workers."
Jack was receptive at the idea but remained reserved in his judgment, even his next words were carefully selected by a man too controlling to allow outside unknown variables to enter his domain so soon. "My sanatorium does offer internships for promising fourth-year students. If you maintain this level of competence in your classes Mr. House, we could discuss it further."
House nodded graciously, but behind his charming smiling face, the first year CIT student was already secretly plotting how he would use that opportunity in his fourth year to finally reach Lorenzo Cabot and acquire the blood samples of an immortal man. As tea was drained, the conversations took to a different turn, as focus was directed towards world events and politics among the more elderly Cabot members. There was mention of the UN, and how the fuel shortages were not only effecting the United States, but the rest of the world as well. As bleak as the news was, a light at the end of the tunnel was mentioned by Wilhelmina Cabot. "My friend Abigale mentioned how Poseidon energy has stationed her boy in Texas. From what little young Roger has said, Abigale now tells me that the southern states oil reserves has finally reached an optimized extraction rate. Soon the entire country will see a large dip in gas prices, I hope that relief will reach us quickly."
"Oh that is excellent to hear Mama, may haps we can take a road trip to Florida this year when the prices finally drop. Oh Robert you must come with us, we have a wonderful home near Palm Beach, the view is simply breathtaking, you would love it." Emogene touched Robert's shoulder, the kind gestured burned, yet Robert did not flinch away instead, offered a smile so genuine Robert wasn't even sure if he was lying anymore. The sight of that smile backed with a maxed out 10 in charisma even put the reserved silently judging Wilhelmina Cabot to ease.
"If the gas prices do come down as your mother hopes, I would be truly honored to join you and your family at your summer home in Palm Beach. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity." Robert's voice came out smooth and sincere as he replied. Internally, however, a cold wave of pessimism washed over him. No matter how much oil Texas managed to extract, it would eventually run dry, and the inevitable conflict over dwindling resources would begin inearnest. That thought sat heavy in House's chest, a deep pit of fear and isolation, as he looked at the Cabots. One of many American families that are rich, powerful, and utterly blind to the coming end. They worried about protests, social standings, and summer vacations while the world spiraled toward annihilation. Even if Robert tried to warn them, no one would believe the words of a first-year student, a no body at this moment. Even if the devour of a transmigrator became someone important, some one just like the original late stage Robert House, even then such apocalyptic news would be ignored, most would call him a defeatist, a commie sympathizer, or a mad man like Cooper Howard, the future ghoul desperado of the Fallout TV show. In the end, there was no hope for humanities salvation… except for himself. Yet Robert sat, calmly sipping chamomile tea with immortal vampires pretending at humanity, while House pretended at sanity. The soothing tea greatly helped the performance.
The storm continued to rage outside, rain lashing against the tall windows across from the dining room as the after meal tea time drew to a close. After Robert's polite and measured response regarding the summer home invitation and over all charming appearance, Wilhelmina Cabot exchanged a brief glance with her son before offering a gracious smile.
"Given the weather, it would be terribly inconsiderate to send you back into that deluge tonight, Mr. House. We have a comfortable guest room prepared on the third floor. You are more than welcome to stay within it. Give the staff some time they will pre-pare it for you shortly." Jack gave a reserved nod of agreement, though his eyes remained watchful, most likely planning to remove his fathers journal and notes from the room. House inclined his head with perfect courtesy.
"That is most kind of you. I gratefully accept." Emogene's face lit up with barely contained excitement at the news, her eyes hinting at mischief. Later that night, long after the household had settled, the door to the guest room creaked open softly. Emogene slipped inside like a shadow, wearing only a thin silk nightgown, her hair loose and cascading down her back. She crossed the room without hesitation and slid beneath the covers, pressing her body against House's with unmistakable intent. Robert remained still, his mind detached even as her warmth enveloped him like a fire pyre for a prisoner condemned of witchcraft. When her hands began to wander with clear desire, he gently but firmly caught them, his voice low and calm.
"Emogene. I'm still only seventeen." House's words would have had another in his age group scream in protest, scream at how he was cock-blocking himself from achieving victory. Robert on the other hand could not stand the thought of becoming that intimate, for even with a layer of cloth on, the touch of another burned and not in a way that was pleasurable. Emogene pouted for a moment, relenting as she made a comment of giving House the best upcoming birthday gift of his life, a comment no sane man would ever live to tell an underage woman if the roles were reversed. The immortal woman who was more than 200 years old contented herself with curling tightly against him. They lay together, fully clothed, in the darkness, her head resting on his chest as she slowly drifted off to sleep, her breathing becoming deep and even. House waited patiently until he was certain she was fully asleep, his maxed out perception made it clear Emogene had faked her slumber a couple of times, before falling into a convincing enough state of Zen slumber. Once Emogene was not considered a factor, House carefully extricated himself from her embrace without awaking her, a task that House considered to be the hardest stealth check he was given so far in his life.
No matter what storms or tribulations a man must face, he endures them all for the thing that matters most. Robert moved like a ghost through the darkened halls, first slipping back into Emogene's bedroom to reset the grandfather clock to the correct time with precise, practiced movements. Even with heavy mechanical gears of the grandfather clock, Robert found the task easy, covering his tracks, his next step would not be considered so.
House made his way down to the first floor, using the storm's constant rumble to mask his footsteps. His destination was Jack Cabot's private study, a room he had remembered thanks to the memories of not only John the crazed fallout nerd, but also at a passing glance moments before Emogene introduced House to her family. The door to the study was locked, but House came prepared with lockpicks and a screwdriver, his overmaxed Lockpick skill made short work of the mechanism. Inside, the study was a scholar's sanctum: heavy oak desk covered in neatly organized papers, walls lined with books on psychology, ancient civilizations, and experimental medicine. House moved quickly but silently, scanning through journals, expedition logs, and correspondence. Most of the detailed notes on Lorenzo Cabot were not here, those were most likely kept at Parsons State Insane Asylum, where Jack maintained his father in a maximum-security cell under the guise of treatment. Still, House found Lorenzo Cabots journal, referencing the buried civilization in the Rub' al Khali desert, and a small mention regarding another possible site somewhere in the Mojave desert. As House absorbed the information, a new system notification appeared.
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Quest Added: "Pre-Cruiser Dig Site 9"
Objective: Gather more information regarding the mysterious ruins hidden somewhere beneath the Mojave desert.
Description: While most first-year students are busy trying not to fail their classes, you've decided the best use of your evening is to start digging into ancient pre-war archaeological projects that your girlfriend's family clearly wants to keep buried. Really living up to that "future savior of humanity" complex you've got going on. Further details are currently locked and require further information before progressing.
Optional Objectives: Don't Get Caught Being Weird, or doing anything that would make the Cabot's suspicious. As much as you do not want to be stuffed inside a life support box for the rest of your life, it is still advised you act like a slightly better boyfriend. Prying into your immortal girlfriend's, whose age is comparable with your great great grandma, family secrets instead of doing what normal seventeen-year-old college student would do with sexy vampire baddy is a bold and boring choice. Enjoy the Virgin of the Wastes status Mr. I'm the only hope for humanity.
Rewards: Hidden until you actually accomplish something worthwhile. I'm sure whatever you find will be completely ordinary and not at all related to immortal blood cults or dangerous alien civilizations whose artifacts turn their victims into insane immortal homicidal lunatics.
Good luck John
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House allowed the notification to linger in his vision for a moment before silently seething. The System's tone had grown increasingly strange and personal ever since that one message had called him John. It was shifting, evolving in ways House couldn't fully predict, and House was not sure he liked the direction it was going. Still, he pushed the unease aside and continued exploring Jack's private study with meticulous care.
Tucked away in a locked drawer that Robert managed to open with his tools and lockpick skill, House discovered a series of encrypted research notes and chemical formulas that he believed to be related to Lorenzo Cabot and the immortality serum. With his 300 in both Science and Medicine, House immediately saw multiple ways to theoretically improve and stabilize the formula into a far more elegant and viable product that lasted far longer before the next dosage. Some of these solutions were very obvious, making it clear to House that Jack Cabot was not half as smart of a scientist as he claimed to be. Robert Edwin House committed every detail of the immortality formula to memory but chose to keep his solutions to himself for now. It would take some time, but when Robert got his hands upon Lorenzo Cabot's blood sample, House was certain he could create something far more permanent than what Jack Cabot was working with.
Satisfied as far someone like House could be, Robert carefully returned everything to its original state, unlocked drawer and door returned to their original status of locked with some reverse lockpicking. There was no cameras for Robert to worry about, allowing House to slip out of the study undetected. Robert made his way back to the guest room, slid silently into bed beside the still-sleeping Emogene, and allowed himself a few hours of rest. When he awoke the next morning, the worst storm Boston had seen in decades was still raging outside, rain hammering relentlessly against the windows as thunder rolled across the sky. But on a brighter side of things, Robert Edwin House had found a system alert informing him the quest was finished and the rewards ready for him to claim. It involved two new custom perks and a large chunk of experience points. Enough so that Robert Edwin House had finally reached level 10, a long overdue level up, now if only the System wasn't so blatant with it's opinion, the new day could start on a happy note.
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Quest Completed: "A Dead Man's Exit"
You successfully removed Agent Harlan's body and staged his death as an unrelated accident during the storm. Secretary Tim Walters' unauthorized operation will backfire spectacularly, hopefully your not in the blast radius when it occurs.
Rewards: 2,800 XP and you do not have to worry about marrying a man named Jesús in prison.
Optional Objective Rewards:
Leave No Trace on Campus- The university remains completely uninvolved in the incident, with nothing tying back to the university outside of your guilty conscience... assuming you have one.
rewards: +500 Bonus XP, Institutional Ghost Perk acquired.
Institutional Ghost- You excel at keeping your problems away and keeping dark matters hidden for the safety of others among your community. Any investigations into you or any project you are working on will suffer unexpected mishap. Anyone investigating you will suffer -3 to their Luck ability and all matters regarding evidence will be 20% harder for them to acquire.
Optional Objective Rewards:
Phantom in the Storm- No one noticed you as you dropped off the corpse of Agent Sid Harlan and staged his death. The expert Coroners might notice one or two possible inconsistences if they were not busy protesting Gas prices. Luckily for you the interns will fail to catch anything relating back to you.
rewards: +1,200 Bonus XP, A Clean House perk acquired
A Clean House- Some men have a tough time cleaning up evidence. You on the other hand have your house in order. Important evidence relating to your crimes light up in a red hue that only you can see. When staging the scene of a crime in order to throw off the trail of any investigators, said investigators suffer a -3 to their perception ability when it comes to acquire evidences that could be used against you.
Optional Objective Rewards:
Solid Alibi - You are exceptionally good at being somewhere else when trouble occurs. The Cabot family, specifically one Emogene Cabot, has been fooled enough that they will back you in case any questions are asked about your whereabouts at the time of the murder. Taking the advantage of a crazy family of immortal vampires is a fantastic way of earning the trust of these lunatics
.
rewards: +300 Bonus XP, Cabot family reputation increase.
Cabot Family Reputation Status: Accepted.
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~POV Secretary Tim Walters~
~Before the Death of Agent Sid Harlan~
Tim Walters drummed his fingers on the polished mahogany phone desk of his Harbormaster Hotel suite, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. The call to DC had left Walters waiting, forced to suffer the musical melody of some forgettable, looping orchestral drivel that sounded like it had been composed specifically to erode a man's sanity. The hold music had now entered its fourth merciless minute, a decrying wail would have left the mouth of any other person, but Walters remained patiently grinding his teeth as quietly as he could, preventing the recording devices on the other end from acquiring anything that the president would enjoy replaying. Secretary Walters hated being put on hold, especially by her. When Miss Abigayle, the personal secretary of President Garviel, finally returned to the line, her voice was crisp, professional, and as cold as a morgue drawer.
"Secretary Walters, the President remains unavailable at this time. He has asked me to relay his instructions with perfect clarity. You are to remain in Boston Commonwealth until you get either the students or their technology with you on the return trip back to DC. They are your sole priority as of this moment."
Walters forced a measured breath. "Abigayle, I've been here for weeks. The students aren't budging after that mess with ADI. Even worse, that Liberty XLR device was unstable from the beginning. It blew up during the retrieval by ADI, it nearly took out half of their legal team in the ensuing blast. I warned everyone it was a dangerous prototype, most likely nothing but a useless pi-"
"The President is aware of the incident." Abigayle interruption caused Secretary Watlers to break out in a cold sweat. The thought of the president knowing the full extent of Walter's collusions with ADI was nearly enough for the energy secretary to throw the computer company entirely under the bus. Secretary Abigayle spoke in a tone that was as flat as it was final. "His orders are unchanged. You are not to return to Washington until you have brought something concrete, either the schematic designs for that solar battery technology. Bring the technology back to DC, or don't comeback at all."
The words landed like a slap to the face, an ultimatum that was as unreasonable as it was impossible for the Energy Secretary. So much so Walters sat up straighter in his seat, anger flashing hot across his face. "Who do you think you are, making demands out of me like that?! My fathers funding is the reason you even have a job you damn crone! Put Garviel on the line right now! If he wants a second term then he needs to speak with me!"
"I am the President's personal secretary, Mr. Walters." The woman on the other line of the phone replied without a hint of emotion, but complete and inhuman detachment of the situation. "I set the President's meetings, I screen his calls, and I let underperforming members of his cabinet known when they are failing at their duties Mr. Watlers. I have done my job to the letter, it's about time you do your own job as well."
The line clicked dead, Walters stared at the receiver for a long second before slamming it down so hard the cradle cracked. The rage, the humiliation, the sheer arrogance of that woman was enough to make Walters break everything in his hotel room. Worse, the time he spent here in Boston was time away from the DC circles, costing Walters not only his relationships with his carefully cultivated contracts, but also potential payouts that his family were expecting.
"Insufferable old bat," he muttered under his breath. Tim stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled, as the Secretary of Energy then paced the length of the luxury suite like a caged animal. This was supposed to be a simple weekend trip, recruit a few bright students, secure some promising tech for the administration, and get back to Washington with a win under his belt. Instead, it had turned into weeks of stonewalling, polite refusals, and dead ends. CIT had locked him out of campus access after the Liberty XLR hearing. The students, who at one point were malleable to Tim's offer, were now unresponsive. Most would not give him an answer his offers, telling him they needed time to think about it, or they ended up like that Robert Edwin House kid, completely refusing to speak on the matter entirely. The scraps that remained of Liberty XLR was taken by ADI, yet even that would produce little to no results, given the state of the device when Walters had last scene it.
"Sabotage, it was god damn sabotage!" Walters was not the sort of man to swear to god on any matter, but he was more than certain that the automaton was destroyed on purpose by that creepy first year student. Even though every piece of evidence pointed towards the little robot being a faulty device, Secretary Tim Walters was certain that Robert House had a hand in it destruction, he just could not prove it. Worse, the destruction had left Walters stranded on a mission that kept slipping through his fingers, all because of a mad child who'd prefer to burn down America's chances at resolving the energy crisis if it meant not profiting from it.
As his blood pressure rose, Tim poured himself a stiff drink and downed half of it in one go as he pondered his next step. With his nerves reduced, he thought of ways to free himself from this madness. His first thought was calling his father, Walters was nearly willing to call the man who had forced him into the role of Energy Secretary. Yet, that was out of the question, he could already imagine the disappointment in his fathers voice, a familiar mix of pity and contempt as the old man tried to convince the president to reinstate his son. Then there was the idea of crawling back to DC, the Corpse and Chief smiling his twisted grin seeing Tim as nothing more than a child who needed Daddy to fix his every problems. The thought of the president getting satisfaction at Walters shameful retreat was more than enough to make Tim physically sick. I am a hunter, not a defeated prey, not a whipped cur, but an apex predator at the top of the food chain. Garviel needs a reminder of that pecking order.
Tim Walters wasn't going to give that failure of a President anymore ammo than the twisted fuck already had buried underneath his skin. Secretary Walters drained the rest of his glass and set it down hard. His eyes fell on the stack of files spread across the desk, the latest reports on Robert Edwin House, the deal that ADI made with CIT prevented the boy from making his robot again, yet that was not enough. Everything kept circling back to that young man, the explosion, the meeting from earlier. The way House had looked at him during the conversation, so calm and completely in control, it reminded him of President Garviel and how the corpse and chief ran everything around him. Walters did not believe House was innocent. Not for a second. The security footage, the searches, the interviews, none of it added up cleanly. Like something was protecting the boy from the punishment he deserved. Tim remembered clearly that House had been spoken into his collar during the hearing, and Walters was certain the boy was hiding something or working with someone. Walters had looked for that proof, had attempted to get his men to look through the area for direct proof, a witness, a calibrator of Robert House, but the search turned up nothing. Every single piece of evidence pointed else where, yet Walters's instincts told him Robert Edwin House was at the center of all this resistance. CIT might be protecting him, hiding the evidence, altering the security footage, and a dozen other actions in order to preserve the boys innocents. That is the only thing that makes sense.
Walters picked up the damage hotel phone and dialed the number of his security detail. "Agent Harlan. Agent Mathews. My suite. Now."
Ten minutes later, the two Secret Service agents stood in front of the Energy Secretary. Agent Sid Harlan was the older of the pair, silver-haired, weathered, and enjoyed a great deal of experience within the agency. Agent Garrus Mathews on the other hand was younger, sharper, and eager to prove himself, especially with someone at the heart of the DC cabinet. Walters could use that, point it in the right direction and let them loose on the right target and offer a pat on the head or a treat when they do good and maybe Walters could have his own Horrigan. Walters didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I've read your files. Both of you specialize in infiltration and lockpicking. Is that accurate?"
Agent Mathews nodded. "Yes, sir, I've got a basic understanding on what is needed to break into place. Though I would have to say Sid the best we have on the detail."
Harlan gave a modest shrug. "I've had some practice over the years. Infiltrated a Soviet consulate back in my younger days. During the 18 day Holy war defending Jerusalem I—"
Walters cut him off with a raised hand. "I don't need the war stories. I need your expertise. I want you two to find a way into CIT, specifically the dorm building. I need you two to find a way into Robert Edwin House's dorm room. I need the both of you to search it thoroughly, look for anything related to Liberty XLR, schematics, notes, battery designs, anything I can use to help save America. If you can't find hard evidence, then plant something. Med-X or any one of the other controlled substance that a student should not be in possession of, hell I can get you a copy of Karl Marx's manifesto. I need you to plant enough of it to get the boy kicked out of the university and arrested."
Both agents shifted uncomfortably, the infiltration part was enough to land everyone here in deep waters if it was uncovered, the planting of chems on a young genius was another problem entirely. Agent Harlan cleared his throat. "Sir, what your asking of us goes beyond what we are willing to risk on behalf of our organization. I don't know about my junior partner, but I am more than willing to break into the boys room to look for evidence of wrong doing, or retrieving the robot plans, but planting evidence is outside our usual mandate. If that is something your really pushing maybe we should bring in the FBI or the local Boston PD, they are experts at finding illegal substances where there shouldn't be any."
Agent Garrus Mathews nodded his head in acenst with his veteran partner, the boy was eager, but even he was not willing to cross a certain line. Walters leaned forward, eyes hard, trying to get these righteous men off of their high horse. "This is for your country, gentlemen. For democracy. For America. That boy and the university is hiding technology that could solve our energy crisis, and he's keeping it from the American people. We need to bring him in line by any means necessary. This must be kept secret and this must be done before our great nation is endangered further."
The two agents exchanged a glance among themselves, Agent Harlan gave a small nod, but was not willing to lower himself. "We'll search the room, sir. I've studied the CIT surveillance network. There are a couple of blind spots I can use to get in and out clean. If the boy has any notes I will see about extracting it. If he has done anything illegal or holds onto something he shouldn't I will tip off the proper authorities, but I won't ruin a young man's life over how stupidly greedy he's becomes... or you've become."
Had his situation not been so dire, Tim would not take those words standing, he would have this relic taken to the back of a shed and his career shot into irrelevancy. Secretary Walters was not pleased hearing the agents moral stance and how unwilling they were to planet evidence upon Robert House. With nothing else left to him outside of hoping that there was some notes or some illegal activities that House had gotten himself involved with, Secretary Walters approved of the directives. "I need the Solar Cell battery notes, or something we can hold over the boy. Get it done!"
As the agents left, Walters poured himself another drink scotch and stared out the window at the rain-lashed Boston skyline. His hopes rested with something that could be used against the child, something that could have the first year college student forcibly bent to obey. Hoping for a stash of chems, or a large amount of unregistered money would be a nice means of placing charges upon him, but an even better idea was that roommate of Robert Edwin House, the foreigner boy Mao, had shared some restricted materials. If the chink had a copy of the Communist Manifesto in his dorm, then all Tim had to do was make a call to the Department of Un-American activates, get both the boy Mao and Robert imprisoned as criminals plotting to bring down the American way of life. Walters would have them both go through the ringer, accuse them of being spies and commies, put them through the entire show and dance, to the point their reputations would be destroyed, with a chance of life in imprisonment if not a spot on death row for charges of espionage. Even CIT would not be able to get involved, as the backlash of sheltering a communist would be enough to thoroughly ruin that damn college, government grants would dire up, and soon that sorry excuse of a university would fall from grace and into a third rate education center.
When Robert House is at the height of despair, Tim Walters would be there to offer him a way out, a deal with the Devil, something the orphan boy would have no choice but to agree to. Walters would have him working at ADI, or sent to Huntersville to work on rebuilding a Solar Cell battery. His friend Mao would remained imprisoned, a fail safe and colleterial to keep House motivated. From the recent reports that Walters got, it seemed Robert House cared for his Chinaman roommate, and would be motivated to keep his friend safe from extradition back to the hell hole that is China. If the first year did not come to heel, then a digital copy of the robot fight transcript would also leave with the Chinaman. The idea of letting the People's Republic of China learn of all the colorful terminology that Liberty XLR used for Communism, and mention that it was Mao Noufu's voice used for the to vocal-modules of Liberty XLR would paint an immediate death sentence for the foreign exchange student when he returned home. Unless House was a cold uncaring machine of a man, he would never wish that upon his friend, and Walters planned to utilize that in order to get the first year student to pay for damning Tim to this wet hellhole. His hope for release from Boston left with Agent Harlan and Agent Mathews. Walters's hoped that the old man did not take point on this mission, the thought of the ancient Secret Service Agent dropping dead of a heart attack from all the excitement from the infiltration would not look well on the agency nor on Walters.
Tim's offhanded worries would come back to bite him three days later. Walters was nursing his third scotch of the morning when the secure line finally rang. He snatched it up immediately. "Report!"
The voice on the other end belonged to Agent Ramirez, one of the two remaining members of his detail that did not suddenly go missing. Agent Ramirez sounded exhausted as he reported in regarding the missing agents who had failed to give a update. "Sir… we found them."
Walters straightened in his chair. "And?"
There was a heavy pause, before Agent Ramirez spoke in a shocked and exhausted tone. "Agent Mathews is dead. The storm last night brought down half a damn tree on top of him while he was waiting on Agent Harlan. The tree crushed the government vehicle with Agent Mathew inside. He never had a chance."
Walters closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What of Agent Harlan? What the hell happened to the old man?!"
"He was found about fifteen yards away from the car. He was lying in the mud, soaked through from the rain. The Boston Coroners office says it looks like a coronary spasm. A really bad heart attack. Most likely he saw what happened to Agent Mathews and... honestly the old man should have retired years ago. We are still looking at the scene of their death, the forensic teams are investigating, but between the rain and what we have found so far, nothing points to foul play. Both bodies are still at the Boston coroner's office, they will give a report regarding the full autopsy soon. When we learn more we will let you know Secretary Walters." As the call from Agent Ramirez ended, the glass slipped from Walters' fingers and shattered on the floor. Tim stared at the spreading amber stain for a long second, then exploded.
"God damn it!" he roared, sweeping his arm across the desk. Papers, files, and the half-empty bottle of scotch flew everywhere. He grabbed a lamp and hurled it against the wall, where it exploded in a spray of ceramic and glass. "This is a fucking nightmare! Two agents dead? In Boston? Under my watch?!"
He kicked over a chair, breathing hard, chest heaving. The humiliation burned worse than the scotch ever could. First the stonewalling at CIT, then Abigayle's ultimatum, and now this, two dead Secret Service agents on his detail. He did not know how it happened, but he was certain that somehow, somehow the boy Robert House, or someone within the university enabled all of this to happen. It was that or simple bad luck, but Walters did not believe in luck, he believed in fabrication, misdirection, and manipulation. And even with the Commonwealth coroner's office saying other wise, Tim Walters was certain that this entire thing was orchestrated, and he needed to find a way to prove it. President Garviel was going to have his head if he did not find proof that implicated CIT. Hell, the president might send Agent Horrigan personally to ring Walters neck and tear it off from his shoulders over this fuck up.
Walters paced the ruined hotel suite like a wounded animal, fists clenched so tight his nails drew blood. Then a thought struck him. Horrigan. Horrigan might just be the key to all of this.
He stopped pacing. A slow, ugly smile crept across Walters's face as a plan had come together. The people at ADI had been working on something perfect for this situation, and if CIT was still using ADI network, than all Walters needed was a means of introducing the greatest trojan horse since the fall of troy. Horrigan had an assets inside the university, one that would be able to acquire the information Walters need not only regarding the Solar Cell Battery, but also anything implicating CIT in illegal actives, such as committing the murder of two Secret Service agents.
Tim picked up his secure phone again and dialed a different number, a number that terrified him almost as much as it sent a jolt of joy into him. It rang only twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered. "Walters."
"Agent Horrigan," Tim said, forcing his voice into something approaching professional calm if not an attempt at genuine sorrow. "I've got a situation up here in Boston and it is bad. Two of the agents on my detail are dead. Agent Mathews and Harlan, they were found near the CIT university campus. We are still waiting on news from the coroner's office here in Boston, but something doesn't feel right. I'm worried this might be foul play, the two noticed something about CIT and how university was blocking me from further access to their campus. I think they uncovered something that might have gotten them killed, but with the rainstorm here, we don't have much evidence to go by."
Horrigan was silent for a long moment, but soon Tim heard something that made him realize that he might have gone with the nuclear option instead of something that would save Tim's career. For Horrigan's deep breathing brought our Tim's repressed memory of the hulking man's monstrous expression. The deep breathing was the same one that accompanied that expression Walters's remembered when Agent Gregor Horrigan turned the would-be assassin's face into that of a bludgeoned tomato. Walter's for a moment was beginning to regret his decision to call this wild card, as the dangers of lying to this man was just as likely to get Tim killed as it was to save his career. Well the Genies out of the lamp now, best hope and pray it goes well for me.
"I will be on the first plane to Boston. If the storm is still active, I will have them land us at the nearest airport and drive the rest of the way there." When Gregor regained a portion of his sanity, those where his first words, words enough to throw a wrench into Walters plan. Quick on his feet, Tim attempted to redirect Horrigan's attention.
"I have Agent Ramirez and Agent Park at the coroner's office now, waiting on a report." Walters continued, "but this could turn into a long, embarrassing investigation for the Department… and for the President. We can't afford that kind of scrutiny right now with how low Garviel's approval rating is at this moment. If his head of security is seen here in Boston that will bring a great deal of attention, and CIT might use that to hide any crimes they have done so far."
"Two of my colleagues are in the morgue Walters. If I am not allowed to come to Boston, then cut to the chase. Why did you call me? What do you need?" Horrigan asked, voice flat, yet Walters could easily read this man and knew he had just hit oil. Horrigan was many things, but foremost of all was his loyalty to the president, and would not wish to harm the old man. Secretary Walters had Horrigan by the horns, and just needed to direct him into utilizing his agent.
Walters spoke steadily, and informed him a portion of his plan. "ADI has been working on something special. Next-generation cyber intrusion tools. I need access to your asset inside CIT. Have them deliver a virus into the university's network. We'll pull every file, every schematic, every dirty little secret they're hiding. If CIT had anything to do with your dead agents, we will know."
Another long silence came, as it seemed for a moment Walters asked for too much. Then Horrigan grunted. "I'll speak with the families of the deceased agents. Get your ADI reps to prepare their fancy tool. I will get it from them directly from their New York branch and have it shipped to my... asset."
The line went dead, though Walter's did not get information regarding the spy within CIT, he did at least get Horrigan to play ball. Walters slowly lowered the phone, then let out a low, satisfied laugh. Even though everything should be going to shit with the two dead agents, a ruined reputation, and being under the thumb of the President, Walters could at least see a bright light at the end of the tunnel. This might actually be Secretary Walters way out of this wet, miserable shithole of a city. For the first time in weeks, Secretary Tim Walters smiled, as if a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He was even in a generous mood, as the Secretary of Energy looked around at the destruction in his suite, Tim pressed the button for the front desk.
"Send someone up to handle the damages." Walters said smoothly. "Bill it to my room."