Twenty-five hours. No wonder he looked so rough. Hadn’t all been spent in this chair, thankfully, but the holding cell wasn’t much better. He scratched under the handcuffs, ragged bands of scarring around his wrists indicating this was far from a new habit.

“I was under orders,” he said. “They send me to check out raider territory a few times a week, if I’m not on special duty. Handful of places—the Red Rocket, the old church, that one movie theater on the south end. Sometimes I have to clear out an infestation, but it was empty this time. Well, except for the killer, I guess.” All things considered, he would’ve rather had raiders.

“Didn’t see anyone following me there, but whoever did this would’ve needed access to Enclave information anyway. They could’ve intercepted my orders somehow—I don’t know the exact schedule they keep me on, but it has to be written down somewhere. Everything is.”