The last week of August before the start of the semester, Robert Edwin House concluded that the Institute had made a rare administrative error. They had given him a roommate.
The man's name was Mao Noufu. According to his paperwork, he was a foreign exchange student from China, admitted through an academic pipeline that predated the tightening of federal scrutiny. Legally he was accepted, but that did not mean Mao was without suspicion, as nearly everyone on campus looked at him as if he was a spy. For that reason, no one else wanted him as a roommate, many launched complaints because of it, having Mao pushed from assigned room to room, until he finally landed as House's roommate.
House... did not trust or care about anyone. Academia, especially places like CIT, was rife with vermin, thieves, and hypocrites that were likely to stab you in the back and take that which was not theirs, just as his brother Anthony House did with his inheritance. Robert was prepared mentally for such threats, and would have preferred no roommates whatsoever, yet Mao was the next best thing to that. This foreign exchange student was nearly as introverted and just as isolationist as House. Something Robert enjoyed greatly in a roommate.
Mao was small-framed, soft-spoken, and meticulous to the point of being near invisibility, busying himself with something or another. Mao Noufu folded his clothes the same way each night, and kept his shoes aligned perfectly by the door in such an organized way that even the House followed the polite gesture. The Chinese immigrant did not listen to music, especially nothing near sleeping hours, nor did he invite guests whether they be academic colleagues or of the female persuasion. No, Mao was disciplined and dedicated to not causing any issue during his stay in America. Already Mao felt the unwelcoming embrace of many CIT first years, their looks of suspicion, disgust and outright hostility was not something even a survivor from the Communist nightmare of China could handle. House's indifference could be considered the warmest greeting he had received and Mao did not wish to rock his sole remaining boat. isolation.
To House, Mao was perfect, especially since the facility offered to lower House's rent by $500 each month if he kept Mao as a roommate. A clerical error that became a blessing, it was not the primary reason House accepted his new roommate, but he was $500 happier at the very least. Now, that did not mean House was not on guard against his foreign exchange roommate or even really liked the man outside of the money he helped House save each month. If the man so much as made House's soon to be busy life inconvenient, House would not be against throwing Mao's corpse into the Boston harbor like a crate of tea. Robert absolutely did not trust Mao. House understood paranoia as a rational response to incentive structures, especially for the survival of a nation wrecked with too many internal problems to risk a further burden upon its already existing bulk. Pre-War America was collapsing, nearly everyone could see the warnings written on the wall, they did not know how exactly it will end, just that something was tragic was going to happen, because of this madness grew. Now it was collapsing because fear paid better than cooperation, a fool's fantasy of an accepting and tolerating view was doomed to have a dagger waiting to be lodged into their back.
Mao Noufu might be exactly what he appeared to be, a frightened immigrant who had fled one authoritarian system, hoping to have reached safety, only to land inside another sinister system that smiled while sharpening knives. Perhaps that was true, or it was a perfect cover story, built years ahead of time by a nation whose resources were as limited as the United States and their future just as doomed. This foreign exchange student could be an observer, planted quietly, a spy waiting for the perfect time to strike and steal valuable information and technological discoveries to bring back to his communist overlords in the hopes of preventing the coming energy crisis. Or perhaps the People's Great Republic of China knew the fools-gold that was the alternative resource options, and were instead using poor dear Mao in preparation for the far distant Sino-American war, a war that not even the American government saw properly coming until communists flooded Anchorage Alaska for fuel. If such preparation were being taken by the Chinese ahead of time, then Mao's job was to rise high within American society and place himself in a crucial position, the sort where if he needed to, he could flip at a moment's notice and give the People's Republic of China the winning edge in some small conflict in the coming resource war. House speculated on what that might be, a research base on the west coast, a military outpost in Alaska, or infiltrating a corporate entity tied heavily with the military industrial complex. Robert's theories were endless, but he enjoyed concrete evidence more than conspiracies, which was why House prepared for all possibilities via Victor.
The overly friendly AI observed Mao from the moment the foreigner unpacked an ADI terminal, a pathetic excuse of a computer made by Axiom Dynamics Incorporated, this company would be utterly destroyed the day Robco unveils proper terminals to the general public and for good reason. ADI technology was ludicrously pathetic, both in software and hardware design. An individual with science skill of 10 could hack into the technology created by ADI, whose army of lawyers allowed the great monopoly on computers to stagnate, throughout the entire United States and the rest of the world, suing anyone that dared threaten their market dominance. It was that reason that ADI firewall defense was a complete joke with Victor getting into the device while also smoking a virtual cigarette and playing a game of chess with House. From there the dozen of supposedly amazing hardware functions of the ADI computer terminal became an easy tool to observe everything Mao did in his room. As long as the terminal was plugged into a power outlet, Victor was able to see through the ADI terminals built in camera, observing the foreigner completely.
From Victor's observation, House was able to grow a modicum of warmth to Mao's presence. Hell, Robert almost came to like Mao. The fellow first year did not pry into House's personal life, he did not interrupt Robort's preparation for the semester, nor did the foreigner come to House with "questions". Mao respected silence as if it were a shared religion, only breaking it when it came to the obligations to his fellow roommate. The two coordinated bathroom schedules without discussion, more importantly keeping the restroom clean. They cooked separately, cleaned after themselves, and occupied the living room in shifts that never overlapped. House found the arrangement ideal. This, he decided, was friendship in its most efficient form.
Victor disagreed.
"Boss," Victor drawled one quiet night, his voice cracklin' soft through House's earpiece like a campfire just about to die down, "you ever think on maybe talkin' things out with a head-shrinker or two, just to keep the gears from grindin' too hard? See, friendships ain't meant to run like parallel train tracks never touchin'. They're s'posed to warm folks up some, give a man a place to sit a spell and remember he's human. I know you're my Maker and all, and I'm mighty grateful for it, truly. But I gotta say… you're startin' to feel colder than the ones and zeroes rattlin' around inside me."
"Warmth is inefficient. It invites dependency. Which in turn invites sloppiness, which in turn leaves you unprepared for the betrayal." House did not look up from his Principles of Business Management textbook. House paused at turning the page as an image of his half brother floated in his mind causing Robert to accidentally cause a slight tear upon a page detailing the importance of relationship confidence and long-term operational stability of a newly starting business.
Victor hesitated. "You're buildin' walls where doors might serve you better."
House turned the page. "Doors require trust that doesn't damage my equations. Mao Noufu is too much of a variable. Variables end with a golf club to the face Victor. I do not trust variables."
Victor fell silent, disappointed in a way House chose not to analyze.
House did not extend Mao the same courtesy Mao extended him, nor did he care about the hypocritical actions he was taking. Victor continued monitoring Mao's conversations, reading habits as well as all of his messages, and studying Nofua's routines. The recordings showed nothing alarming. Mao was preparing for the start of the semester just as dutifully as House was. Mao practiced English technical terminology aloud, alone in his room. Mao would then change focus, studying engineering fundamentals, reading the same Text-books as House late into the night. Victor came to a single conclusion, immediately reporting to House that Noufu was not driven by ideology but by fear of failure involving the four courses that awaited his semester.
"He ain't no dirty pinko," Victor said after the first full review cycle. "Just a young man far from the farm that grew him. Tacklin' new dangers for a chance at something better."
"Keep watching," House was not convinced, and instructed Victor to continue surveillance and recording information for further discretion. If Mao was innocent, that would all be easy enough to figure out. If Mao was not, House would document it. In a nation gearing itself toward another Red Scare, evidence was currency. Scapegoats were survival tools. And discovering a spy amidst the population was good leverage in earning the trust of higher powers within the American upper echelons. At worst earning a head pat for his loyalty to the country, but if played strategically earning a direct line to someone who could open doors that companies spent years lobbying to earn.
Victor's observations of Mao was not the only precaution House took, as his own sanctum needed certain defenses against snooping. A trap.
The door to his room was wired to a concealed device utilizing a car battery at its core. The automobile part in question, had become very cheap due to a lack of dependency on car operations. Any unauthorized entry into Robert Edwin House's bed room would trigger a controlled electrical discharge through the handle and frame. House could push it to painful, lethal, limits, but settled upon a more educational warning. The entire device was remotely controlled by Victor, Houses leal and dependable companion, who knew when to utilize the trap and when to disable it for House's arrival. Mao did not know of this safety feature to House's bedroom. Entering another man's room without permission was taboo. If Mao violated that boundary, House believed in consequences. They coexisted without incident, and House felt safe in leaving his laptop within the confines of his dorm room.
The night before the semester began, House had already consumed every assigned text. He did not skim the massive tomes of knowledge, instead he cross-referenced the work with the knowledge he got from the Hintbook. Easily his mind absorbed the material with mechanical precision, expanding his horizons. The Institute's curriculum was thorough, planning to cover much over the course of the semester slowly. House was certain of not only passing, but becoming the top student. Based on the information and syllabus, House theorized possible projects the 10 courses he picked would assign him. Victor was impressed, as all of the possible projects that House deduced for his classes where exactly the same after class assignments the Professor's of the course were planning to handout later on in the Semester. Hearing it from House was one thing for the Ai, who unquestionably loved and obeyed it's creator. Yet it was another thing hacking into the CIT interconnected database to uncover the plans that each professor had for courses, verifying House's guesses. Beginning on his homework, House made sure to clear up as much of his schedule as soon as possible, freeing up his time for the side quest that had the most amount of rewards.
Extra-Curricular Optimization had offered generous experience rewards, reputation bonuses to factions of Pre-War America, as well as hinting to more side quests, or possible optional divergences in already existing quests. Either case scenario Robert House was interested in learning what club activities that the Commonwealth Institute of Technology offered. Based on the free time that House had with his small window between classes, his options were limited.
The final day before the semester began unfolded with a strange, anticipatory energy across the Institute. Hallways that had been half asleep all summer were now crowded with folding tables, cork boards layered with flyers, and professors standing beside hastily assembled banners like merchants hawking futures instead of wares. Clubs were recruitment engines, ideological petri dishes where faculty could quietly test students with ambition, desperation, or useful malleability. House understood this instinctively. Power did not announce itself in lecture halls. It cultivated itself in side rooms, committees, and extracurricular structures that pretended to be optional, but where needed to build the proper contacts to rely on outside of university.
House moved through the activity with quiet purpose, his expression unreadable, his attention precise. Victor monitored foot traffic and audio density through CIT security cameras and nearby terminals, speaking into House's earpiece alerting his creator of anything that might catch his interest. The first stop was the Young Libertarian Society.
It occupied a lecture room far too small for the number of bodies crammed inside. Flags hung along the walls, coiled rattlesnakes and antique slogans rendered in fresh ink. The air was thick with sweat, incense, and ideological certainty. At the front stood Professor Andrew Rand, a political science academic with silver hair, a preacher's posture, and the manic brightness of a man who had never been told no in a room full of admirers.
House arrived in time to hear the speech reach full boil.
"Don't tread on me," Rand declared, voice echoing off the chalkboard. "These are the words of our founding fathers, who united together to overthrow the chains of the most powerful empire the world has ever known during their time. And from our liberation we are now the greatest country in the world, yet not the greatest country in all of human history. We could be so much more."
Applause rippled through the room. House was not one of them, but he listened respectfully.
Rand paced as he spoke, jabbing fingers at invisible enemies, his cadence practiced and theatrical. To Rand, the government was a parasite, managed by crony Capitalist interests that forced the leash of regulation to hamper their competition. Laws were tools wielded by monopolies to prevent innovation and a danger to their market share. The energy crisis was framed not as a systemic failure but as sabotage by bureaucrats, presidents, councils, parties and big corporate monoliths that had strangled free enterprise in the crib.
"We must remove the parasites of government and unleash a true capitalist utopia through the greatness of the Free Commerce Assembly, the only political party that truly cares about America's future."
Cheers followed. House felt a flicker of agreement, clean and clinical. Much of Rand's critique aligned neatly with House's own assessments. State and Federal intervention distorted incentives. Artificial scarcity bred corruption. Innovation flourished when constraints were removed. These were not beliefs to House, they were fuel that would feed the equation that the old House used to predict the end of the world.
Then Rand continued.
"Had the friends and donors of Washington's elite not forced laws against their competition, we would not be rationing fuel today. Energy would be limitless by now, alternative sources wouldn't have been stomped on in support of big oil executives. We would have had an America flourishing in energy like nothing ever before. Instead, we suffer because of men like President Garviel and his Federal Continuity Council, parasites, each and every last one of them. Their political party, the Union of Prosperity, only cares about the prosperity of the few up high, instead of supporting the Entrepreneurs that helped build America. Those Continuity of Cowards fear true capital freedom."
House noted the shift. Idealism to dogma. Analysis to messianism.
The question period followed, and it was here that the rot fully revealed itself. Rand digressed freely, veering into conspiracies about currency collapse, private land ownership, and personal contingency plans. Some of his conspiracies focused at the borders of the group that made the enclave, just touching the corners of it but never reaching the darker conclusion. Instead Professor Rand spoke, unprompted, about the importance of not trusting the banks, instead focusing on burying gold caches in undisclosed locations. Then focusing on the need for marrying younger woman, woman that would be the same age as Rand's daughters, if he even had any. The talk about winning over younger woman with guidance, stability, and financial support till they were completely dependent on you droned on too long for House's interest.
House left before the applause finished.
"Awww, you just missed it," Victor said softly through the earpiece, "He was just about to sell you a self-help guide on how to win at blackjacks and get free hookers."
House sighed. "Just make a couple of billions, find a way to report less of it to the tax department, and you can live his dream lifestyle. All of that indulgence you can find in N-... in Las Vegas. When you have enough money people like him will come to sell their souls to you, what I need is not mouth pieces with charms, but brainpower in need of a future employer or a contact."
The next club was quieter.
The Applied Systems Engineering Society met in a lab annex, its members fewer and older, their banner hand stitched rather than printed. The faculty advisor, Dr. Havelock, spoke little. Instead, he let his existing club members present ongoing projects for new first years to see. Optimization models. Failure analyses. Modular design philosophies. No speeches. No slogans. Just work.
House stayed longer than expected.
He asked questions that made senior students pause. He offered corrections that were not challenged, and pointed out a series of flaws in schematic for a homemade rock-it launcher. Havelock watched him carefully, eyes narrowing not in suspicion but recognition.
"You're that first year, the one taking more courses than time to digest them all." the professor said eventually.
"Yes." House was firm in his response, this Dr. Havelock might one day end up as his future professor so there was no need to lie or humble brag.
"You already think like a systems designer." The professor showed off a pearl white smile, more respect in it than the charming falsehood of professor Rand.
"I focus more on ridding inefficiencies."
Havelock smiled faintly. "Well then look no further, you'll find an entire club that shares your outlook."
I doubt I will. House smiled politely, not voicing his thoughts, instead signing his name after finding out the time the club gathered fit perfectly with his schedule.
From there House drifted toward the business wing, following the subtle gravitational pull of money. The CIT Business and Commerce Pavilion occupied a newer building than most, all glass panels, polished floors, and deliberate openness meant to signal transparency while concealing leverage. The club tables here were cleaner, the banners professionally printed, the faculty advisors better dressed. This was not ideology or tinkering. This was capitalism displayed in all its glory.
The Commonwealth Enterprise Consortium was the name printed in understated navy lettering across their display. Less theatrics, no one campaigning as if running for president, no long speeches gushing out ideology. Just a list of partner organizations scrolling across a terminal display behind the table. Regional manufacturers. Energy distributors. Shipping firms. Defense adjacent logistics contractors. A few larger names tucked carefully among them, not advertised, but not hidden either. The club representatives were upperclassmen in pressed shirts and practiced smiles, speaking in the language of opportunity, internships, networking dinners, facility tours, and early access to recruitment pipelines.
Stocks were mentioned casually, not as gambling but as literacy. People spoke as if reading out a balance sheet, each claiming to understand market behavior, predicting consolidation before the public caught on. House listened. Asked precise questions.
"How are partnerships selected? What criteria determined which students were recommended? How much influence do faculty advisors exert over placement in corporate sponsors?" The answers were predictably vague, but the structure was sound, basing most internships around performance within certain courses, and which degrees an individual majored in. This club was a funnel. It took ambition at the bottom and fed it upward into corporations hungry for obedient talent.
House signed his name without hesitation and gathered club hours and meeting times.
This was not a place to make friends. It was a place to make contacts. House recognized several students already discussing futures with casual certainty. One planned to join Poseidon Energy, spoke openly about the conversion of coal plants into nuclear ones as if that was the solution to the energy crisis. Another claimed he had an uncle at Mass Fusion and was confident a desk would be waiting for him after he finished getting his bachelorship. These people were not visionaries. They were placeholders, eager to slot themselves into existing hierarchies and defend it. That was acceptable. Placeholders could gather much information, the sort that could help influence future business tactics later on.
Victor murmured approval through the earpiece. "Smart pasture, boss. Lots of cattle, lots of brands. Plenty of folk who think the fence is the horizon. Let's look for the prize bulls over the sickly ones."
House did not respond, but he made a mental note of faces and affiliations. The Consortium would be useful. Not now, but soon.
With two clubs secured, House assessed his remaining time like a ledger. Weekends were going to Gadget Galaxy to gather money to afford his rent. Weeknights were already partitioned for study, research, and Victor assisted projects. A third club was the maximum allowable overhead without compromising efficiency. It would need to offer either leverage or access. Preferably both.
That was when he heard the noise as he travelled the yellow stone path of the campus.
It came from the far end of the engineering quad, where a converted gymnasium pulsed with sound and light. Cheering. Metal impacts. The crackle of electricity. The smell of ozone drifted through the open doors. A crowd had formed, thick and animated, nothing like the polite clusters elsewhere on campus. Hand painted banners hung crookedly from railings, depicting stylized robots locked in combat. Sparks were part of the decoration, intentional or not.
The sign above the entrance read simply: Robotic Combat Association. Yet everyone who were nearby referred to it as Robot Fight Club.
House slowed down, remembering Dorothy going on and on about this club, enough now that he was interested in seeing what was so amazing.
Inside, the atmosphere was closer to a sporting event than an academic club. A raised enclosure dominated the center of the room, its walls reinforced with transparent shielding. Within it, two small machines circled each other, low to the ground, angular, crude. Modified automatons better as cleaning roombas than the fierce battle droids that the club made them out to be. One lunged, its spinning attachment clipping the other and sending it skidding. The crowd roared.
A woman stood near the registration table, clipboard in hand, eyes alight with enthusiasm. Dorothy Hayes. House recognized her from the first day he arrived on CIT. It looks like she was more than just a fan of the club, but also a member.
"You look like you're judging it," she said, catching him watching. Not defensive. Curious.
"I am," House replied honestly.
"And."
"They are not what I expected, far smaller and compact than the mechanical goliaths the banners make them out to be," he said. "But promising, if not entertaining."
She grinned. "Aah, that's probably the most words I've ever gotten out of you so far. At this rate you're going to speak an entire paragraph of your unfiltered thoughts before the end of the semester."
House felt flustered, not in the sappy romantic way, but more of a Victor was right about his unsocial mentality and now currently laughing at his ruthless creator sort of way.
"She's got you there partner." The Ai added his unwanted commentary.
"So you interested in joining? We can always use more members, with the senior class going off to green pastures, we barely have enough people to host a proper tournament at the end of the year." Dorothy was hopping in place, excitement at a possible new member, doing her best to change the topic towards membership
"I have limited availability."
"So do winners." She gestured toward the enclosure. "These aren't toys. They are the start of a future, as soon as we can find a means of keeping the costs low and access wide we can grow bigger and better units. After that, it's design freedom. Weight limits. Power caps. Everything else is up to the team."
House watched as one automaton took a direct hit and ceased movement, smoke curling from its housing. Applause broke out.
"And the incentive," Dorothy continued, lowering her voice slightly, "is not just prize money."
House turned to her.
"General Atomics sponsors the finals," she said. "Internships. Paid ones. Real access. Some of our last year's winners didn't come back this semester."
Victor hummed, fact checking the woman, looking at past logs from the Institute databanks, before finally affirming Dorothy's words.
The faculty advisor of the Robo Fight Club chose that moment to appear. Professor Pugalo was broad shouldered, loud, and radiated charisma more than intellect. His accent was thick, his laughter infectious. He clapped House on the shoulder like they were old comrades.
"You engineer, yes. You have look," Pugalo spoke the words revealing his russian origins. "Not afraid of sparks, I hope."
"I am afraid of wasted time when opportunity could be in the next building," House replied.
Pugalo laughed harder, not offended, but more challenged. "You think other clubs are as glorious as ours. Go to the medical nonesense they call a club, as them if they can help kiss booboo from machine that can dissect flesh. Go to chemistry club, ask for drug to keep you awake hours on end, because machine need no sleep, only power and target to hunt down to the edge of the world. My club is future of engineering, friend, maybe no missile guided parts as of yet, but future potential of automaton is endless."
House honestly didn't want to join, anything he builds now the college would claim as their own, and given that half of Robco would be dedicated to building robots, the only other product his future corporation would make was superior programing and computers. For the future of mankind it was best to keep the designs and talents that Robert was capable of hidden. But that did not mean House could not make a faulty model roomba that could bash in some dents against another roomba. The prize money of $10,000 could cover rent for a portion of the year, the only real cost for House was spending a week, maybe two, creating a disappointment inferior model he could abandon once Robco was built.
Dorothy leaned closer. "We build teams as well as robots. You don't have to worry about doing all the work, others can help if you're worried about time crunch."
That, House saw potential in, not the creating of boxed shaped robots, but getting a team together, seeing what talents he could recruit for Robco, or worse case scenario, dear "friends" who could spy on General Atomics and leak possible information regarding their pet projects.
From the way Dorothy and the Professor Pugalo put it, General Atomics was offering internship opportunities like hot cakes. It was a node that opened many doors from robotics, defense contracts, and weapon designs. Getting a person who felt indebted to House into General Atomics, one who will eventually stagnate in that companies ranks without House's genius would be an easy mark to help with corporate espionage. If he placed assets there early, students loyal to opportunity and success rather than ideology, they could prove to be useful if House wanted to perform a hostile takeover of General Atomics. Informants. Engineers. Executives who owed their start to an arena filled with sparks, cheering crowds, and tournaments won by House's expertise. Friends were inefficient, networks were not. House signed up. Much to a cheering Professor Pugalo who decided to lead House on a tour guide of the robotics facilities interior, as a happy Dorothy waved a joy filled goodbye.
Victor let out a nervous exaggerated sigh through the earpiece, the kind meant to take House's full attention.
"Boss I reckon you don't need me to get involved in this… club activities," he drawled, voice thick with concern. "I don't mind the idea of gettin' myself a nice pair of legs or maybe some respectable wheels, but I'd kindly appreciate not bein' stuffed into a tin can and shoved into a cage with another angry lunchbox swingin' a hammer at my face. I'm a delicate soul, partner. Built for thinkin', not prizefightin'."
"Don't worry, I have no intention of placing a fully realized Artifical intelligence in a… tin can, as you put it." House said quietly into his earpiece when the good professor stopped to take a bathroom break far away from Robert. "Whatever shred of information I plan to display in these competitions will be an obsolete relic by the time I build Robco."
"Ah shucks boss, this'll help me sleep easier at night knowin' I ain't goin' to become a doomsday toaster…" Victor replied. "But I wouldn't mind a physical body, that fancy carrying terminal of yours is nice and cossy, but I would like to stretch my legs if given the chance. Pretty please partner."
House would have ignored Victors request, but his prompting got House a new side quest from his system.
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Companion Quest: Tin Man Looking for a Heart… and hands, and legs
Quest Giver: Victor
Location: Anywhere Victor has secure access to a terminal
Time Limit: None
Type: Companion Development, Technological Choice Quest
Option 1: Utility Frame
Objective: Acquire and modify a civilian-grade service robot chassis.
A humble, Roomba-style maintenance unit. Cheap. Quiet. Easily overlooked. House can retrofit it with upgraded processors and sensory arrays, turning an ignored utility bot into a mobile surveillance and diagnostics platform.
Victor is not thrilled, but he understands the value.
Reward:
Companion Perk: HOUSEKEEPING GHOST
Victor can freely move through civilian, academic, and residential spaces without drawing attention.
Passive bonuses to stealth, passive scanning, and unnoticed data collection.
Occasionally uncovers hidden information simply by being ignored.
Option 2: Securitron Chassis
Objective: Create a proper Securitron chassis for Victor.
A proper body. Armor plating. Weapon mounts. Presence. This turns Victor into a visible force, a walking warning sign that House is not to be interfered with.
Reward:
Companion Perk: SHERIFF IN TOWN
Victor provides combat support and active area control.
Increased success intimidating hostiles and discouraging interference.
Security systems are more likely to defer or stand down in Victor's presence.
Option 3: Synthetic Body
Objective: Assemble or acquire experimental bio-mechanical components tied to restricted research.
This path is dangerous. Expensive. Ethically questionable. A synthetic body allows Victor to pass as human, act as any other human, and most likely give the future Red Scare a different sort of Scare to worry about.
Reward:
Companion Perk: MAN WHO WAS NOT
Victor can socially interact, infiltrate restricted areas, and influence events directly.
Greatly improved social manipulation, deception, and long-term planning outcomes.
Unlocks rare dialogue and hidden quest branches tied to the Institute and future synth development.
______________________________________________________________________
House smiled faintly at all the options, wondering which would be the best path for his first and most trusted companion.