"Hold your fire, hold your fire!" The yell echoed throughout the room as the figure doubled over in pain, but I kept my gun trained squarely on him, refusing to let the man out of my sight.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?!" I demanded as I approached the stranger on the ground.

"Ugh, the name's Valentine, and there's no need to be pointing that thing at me, so put it away, will ya?"

"Valentine?" I said curiously as I lowered my gun. "Detective Valentine, from Diamond City? I've heard of you..."

"Yeah, and I've heard of you too, Jacob Burns. Guess I should have listened when they said you were prone to friendly fire..." The man groaned as he got to his feet, one hand clutching his injured side.

But that's when I saw it.

A glint of steel as it reached up to adjust his fedora and a face made of metal and plastic stared out from underneath. Unblinking yellow eyes bored into mine as I reeled back.

"You, you're one of them... You're a synth!" I raised my gun, ready to blast him into oblivion when Ilya suddenly reached up to stop me.

"Nick?" She asked timidly as she approached, "Nick, is that really you?" My jaw could've hit the floor.

"Wait, you... know him? How is that even possible?" I asked as I kept my gun steady.

"Well, first of all, kid, I wasn't always a synth. Used to be a man, just like you. Second, her father worked with me on a few cases as an expert witness. In exchange, I promised to look after young Miss Astor here and keep her out of trouble. Looks like I've got a lot to answer for." The machine laughed, but I didn't think it was funny.

"And how exactly did you end up like... this?" I demanded.

"Now, that is a long story," the synth said as he picked up the brandy from the table, "One better told around a warm fire and a cold drink, wouldn't you say?"

This couldn't be happening... I mean what were the odds? That right after we tangle with the Institute and the Director himself, the one synth out there that just so happens to know Ilya shows up? This smelled to high heaven and I wasn't having any of it.

"Not a chance," I said with a snarl, "Ilya, get behind me. We're getting out of here."

"What? No! Jacob, I knew Detective Valentine from before the War, he would never hurt me. Please, let's hear him out at the very least."

"Ilya, he's a synth!" I yelled as my eyes darted around the room, just waiting for more to appear any second. "Whoever this Valentine was is long gone, just like McDonough, just like everybody else. He's just another empty Institute shell... Now, back away from him so I can put this thing down once and for all."

"What, no!" She screamed loudly as she stood in between us, "Absolutely not, I won't allow it!"

"Get out of the way, Ilya," I barked, "Right now."

"Whoa, hold on there kiddo," Valentine said as he stepped around the girl, "I haven't been with the Institute for a long time. Got out of there as soon as I could, in fact. Any sane synth would... Besides, just look at me, I'm old hardware see? All used up. They don't want me any more than I want them."

"But you were with the Institute once, and as far as I know they could take you over at any moment. Thanks, but no thanks. Synth." I added with disdain.

"Listen here," he said, quickly losing patience himself, "I've seen a lot of things in the Wasteland, gone up against synths and fought them myself. Hell, I lose more of my cases to them than anyone else, so if the Institute were to take me back, then they would have done it by now."

I stared the machine down as I weighed his words. The truth was I had heard about him, and if any of it was true, then he was a damn good detective and had managed to build himself a strong reputation in a city that feared and hated synths. I lowered my gun and looked him straight in those hideous eyes.

"So what are you doing here, then?"

"Like I said, that's a long story... About two hundred years long, speaking of, how about that drink?" And without another word, he took a seat in one of the velvet armchairs strewn about the room. I eyed the synth carefully, not quite sure what angle he was playing at, but it was clear we weren't about to get ambushed at the very least.

"Can a synth even drink?" I asked as I found a chair for myself, never once taking my eyes off the machine.

"Old habits die hard, I guess... Besides, everybody enjoys a good drink," he replied as he took a swig, the amber liquid running down his mechanical inner workings. "So, as I said, I knew Dr. Astor from working with him in the past, never expected to get that call, that's for sure. Dr. Astor was never on our list of potential victims, all the previous ones had been CEOs of major corporations. Dr. Astor was the one scientist among them."

"Wait a minute, you mean you were here? Before the bombs dropped?" I asked in disbelief.

"That's right, kid. It was my last case, and it wasn't the kind you'd soon forget. I was a detective on the force at the time, had come up from Chicago to take down the local mob boss. Almost had him too, but then the killings started. I was pulled from the case and the whole operation was shut down, all to catch this one guy."

"Now I had a doctor's appointment that morning, but that don't stop the job, and when I'd heard who'd been hit, well I dropped everything and came as fast as I could. I knew what this madman was capable of and I had promised to take care of Miss Astor should anything happen, but she was nowhere to be found. No signs of a break-in, no signs of a struggle. She was just gone without a trace. I feared the worst of course, and would've gone after her myself, but my superior ordered me off the case when he realized I had a connection to her old man. I was sent off for an immediate evaluation, some kind of newfangled therapy meant to help with mental trauma. Just my luck that I walked into the building right before the bombs hit. Care to take a guess where I went?"

"The Institute," Ilya and I said in unison.

"The one and only," he continued.

"The next thing I remember is waking up in the middle of nowhere, covered in trash and looking like... this. It was quite a shock, let me tell you. I wandered the Wasteland for awhile until I finally got my bearings, and as soon as I could, I came back here, to the crime scene. I had hoped for some kind of clue or indication of what had happened to Ilya, but the trail was long cold. I eventually settled down in Diamond City after gaining the people's trust, but I never forgot about Miss Astor."

"It wasn't until yesterday that I realized you might be alive," he said as he turned to Ilya. "The commotion in Diamond City, it was you. Once I heard the description, I knew it had to be you. You always knew how to get into trouble everywhere you went. After that, I made for this house as fast as I could, knowing this would be the first place you'd go. I only just stepped out to pick up this," the synth said as he reached into his coat and pulled out a file folder, a police report by the looks of it.

"This was everything we had on your father's murder before the bombs went off. I may not have been able to protect you, but I thought this might give you some kind of closure at the very least."

We looked at each other, then at the file, then at the synth called Valentine. Neither of us knew what to say, was this for real or just some kind of ploy? I made the first move and grabbed the file in between us.

"You don't have to look... if you don't want to," he added as we both leaned in closer over the aging photographs, but nothing could have prepared us for what we were about to see.

At first glance, I wasn't even sure what I was looking at... Whatever was left of poor Dr. Astor was completely unrecognizable. The man hadn't just been killed by a bullet or a blade... No. Somehow, the killer had managed to orchestrate a far, far worse fate for him than anything I could have ever imagined.

Like an unholy horror from beyond this plane, the man had been twisted into the most gruesome of ghouls. Radiation burns had scarred him beyond all recognition, the look of terror and agony on his face the thing of nightmares. Not only that, but fresh wounds and large pus-filled growths covered his entire being until he had bloated to almost double his size. As if it could get any worse, the man had suffered unspeakable mutations. Hideous deformed limbs twisted and tore through his raw flesh, as if hell itself was trying to claw its way into our world through the man's miserable and dying body.

A dark shiver raced down my spine as an ominous feeling settled in around me. There was something sick and disturbing about what I was looking at, as though this had all been for some kind of sick ritual sacrifice.

"So, do you see it yet? Do you see what's wrong with this picture?" Valentine asked as I looked at him incredulously.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?! A hell of a lot's wrong that's what! This is horrifying, why would you show us something like this?!"

"I would have thought a man like you would have paid closer attention, Jacob..." The synth chided with a laugh, but I only glared. "Look closer and think, what's missing?" He urged.

"I don't care much for games, synth... Why don't you just come out with it and say what you're trying to say?" I snarled with disdain.

"Well look around why don't you?" Valentine said with a smile, "You don't hear a Geiger counter ticking, now do you? We didn't either when we first came in. The whole thing didn't make sense. That these men weren't just murdered, they were mutated... without a trace of radiation."

"Wait, what?" I said as I recoiled in disbelief, "How is that even possible? No, no you must be mistaken. These pictures, they were taken after the bombs, they have to have been!"

"Check the timestamp, kid."

I turned over the photograph and saw in faded ink: OCT 23 2077 7:42 AM

"Seven forty-two..." I repeated, "but everyone knows that the bombs didn't drop until at least nine o'clock on the east coast."

"Who could do such a thing?" Ilya said as she trembled in her seat.

"The question may not be who, but what," the detective said as he picked up another photograph and handed it to me.

It must have been the murder weapon, a dark blade made of a twisted and deformed metal, just as disturbed as its final victim. Jagged and cruel, it seemed to grin in the light of the flashbulb, Dr. Astor's blood still fresh in its rusty maw.

"Wicked, isn't it?" He continued with a dark grimace, "Kremvh's Tooth they called it, stolen mere days before the first murder. Belonged to a museum that specialized in artifacts of the occult. We'd always known these murders had some ritualistic aspects to them, but until this blade, we had no idea how serious these people were."

"Wait a minute, what are you saying?" I asked, barely able to believe what I was about to suggest. "That this monster, this killer, was somehow mutating people into ungodly abominations using... what? Black magic?"

"Now I ain't saying that, kid. I'm just telling you the facts. We had no idea what was going on with these murders. All I know is that this blade was our first real clue, and just our luck, it's long gone from the police lockup. Stolen by some raider or scavenger by now, I'm sure."

"In fact," he said as he turned to Ilya once more, "I was hoping you could help shed some light on this whole situation. Did your father have any enemies I should know about? Was there anything he was working on that would make him a target? Did he leave you with anything, anything at all, that could explain this?"

"Oh! Well... I uh..." Ilya said taken aback, but with one look from me she clammed up tight. "Nothing that I know of," she said quickly, a look of guilt written all over her face.

"Well, that's that," I said suddenly as I stood up. "I think you can take your leave now, Mr. Valentine..."

"What? What did I do?" The synth said defensively as I snorted.

"Oh don't play dumb with me. It was a nice performance and all, but you're not convincing anybody here."

"Jacob... please," Ilya begged.

"You got something to say to me, kid?" Valentine replied.

"Yeah, I got something to say... I don't trust you. I don't trust this whole deal. I think you're from the Institute here to lower our defenses and the only thing keeping me from shooting you right now just so happens to be sitting next to me. I think you should go. Now."

We stood in tense silence, each sizing the other up. The air between us electrified as we both itched for our weapons.

Suddenly, a crash clamored outside. We all ran to the window and saw a gang of ghouls, half a dozen at least, racing through the wreckage and towards the door. Apparently, our voices had carried farther than I realized in this old building. Valentine turned to me, a scowl firmly on his face.

"Listen kid, this ain't what you think, I promise. I'd be happy to explain everything, but it looks like we've got some company. Stay here. Talk it out. I'll take care of the pest problem," he said as he loaded his gun and walked out of the room, leaving us alone and bewildered.

As soon as he was gone, I reeled around on Ilya.

"We need to get out of here," I said, "And quick. I don't like this one bit."

"Jacob, stop it! You're just overreacting... He's been nothing but helpful, and I don't see why we can't tell him what we know. We have a mystery on our hands and he is a detective, after all. He could help us!"

"Ilya, you can't trust a synth. It doesn't matter who they used to be, they're all tools of the Institute now. Every. Single. One." I said as I peered out the window, the synth disposing of the shambling beasts with record speed.

"We don't have much time," I said, "Do you really think your father left something for you here? Because if so, we need to find it. Now."

I could see she wanted to argue, but said nothing more. We both began scouring the study for something, anything, that could help us on our way, but the place had been cleaned out centuries before, leaving nothing behind but a dead man's bones and his books.

As time dragged on, I looked through the window once again, only to find Valentine standing guard just outside. Keeping things out, or keeping us in? I thought to myself. As I turned back to Ilya, I found her staring at a painting of a lighthouse on the wall.

It was a haunting depiction. A strong white tower stood against a vast, tumultuous sea. The waters crashed against the rocks with wild abandon, desperately trying to erode the foundation at its roots. Amid the writhing waves was a small boat, barely clinging to life out in the chaos. The light of the tower pierced the darkness, guiding the boat safely into the harbor.

"My mother made this painting," she said quietly. "Before I was born. It was one of my father's favorites. Whenever he felt lost or confused, he would come up here to his study and just stare at it for hours. I really do miss them both..."

"Ilya, I know this is hard, but you have to think!" I pleaded as I looked through the drawers for the thousandth time, "Where would your father hide a message in here?" But Ilya seemed far away, lost in the fine brushwork of her dead mother's painting.

I rolled my eyes, beginning to think there wasn't anything here at all and this had all just been one big waste of time, when suddenly, Ilya perked up.

"Follow the light," she whispered to herself as she inspected the painting even closer. I came over to see for myself, but there was nothing special I could see about it.

"Follow the light!" She cried once again, this time even louder.

Before I knew it, she had grabbed the knife from my belt and had begun carving away at the canvas of her beloved mother's painting.

"What are you doing?" I said, utterly confused at her sudden outburst, but she ignored me as she always did. I watched on as she carefully pulled back the canvas, inch by inch in the hopes of not ripping the precious heirloom, until at last, I saw a glint of gold drop to the floor. Ilya smiled wide as she picked it up and held it up to the light.

A golden key.

I could hardly believe it as she handed it to me. It was a tiny thing really, but incredibly intricate in its design. Immediately, I noticed the strange emblem at the top, that of an eye inside of an atom. Surrounding the symbol and engraved in a fine calligraphy, was a mysterious phrase.

"Omnium Lux Civium..." I read aloud, "What do you think that means?"

"Well, it's Latin", Ilya offered helpfully, "It means "The Light of all People", but that's not the only thing." She said as she turned over the key, revealing another engraving along its side. Two small figures glinted in the light, that of an M and an 8.

"M8? What's that supposed to be, some kind of code?"

"I can't be sure..." she replied curiously, "But this motto, I know I've seen it before!"

"Really? Where?"

"On the seal of the Boston Public Library, just downtown," she said breathlessly, the excitement plain on her face. "That's not far from here!"

"Right then, guess that settles it," I said as I slipped the key into my pocket. "Is there a back way out of this place?"

"Well, yes... But what about Detective Valentine?"

"What about him? Like I said, he's a synth and you can't trust a synth. Now C'mon, let's go."

She looked back mournfully at the window, but didn't argue as we quickly made our way down the stairs and out the back door.