#sdlfkjasd

Reality inverts itself here. The air is thick with smoke and ozone here on the outskirts of the crumbled remains of the nation’s heart, WIPED OFF THE MAP to prevent a cancer from spreading to the rest of the body. The Institute has taken great pains to learn the events (and subsequently, the advances and resources) of this version of reality, and Quinn herself is the one that directly oversees it all. Circling in the air above, a Synth Watcher provides a direct feed to the eggheads back home from a bird’s eye view. Quinn, however, provides a feed on the details as she perches herself at an equipment stand used to perform sonar readings of the underground.

Her armor is a silvery, pale gleam in the sallow lights from a dying sun. The design of it was specifically tailored for this world universe after the preliminary reports. Alabaster white under the Institute lights & when inert, but in the field, it generates a modulating field that transmits the reflected lights from Quinn’s surroundings, providing an almost mosaic-like form of camouflage. An advancement of Robert Mayflower’s work -- only refined by the Institute’s hands.

The Synth Watcher caws overhead. Quinn pauses, her visor just barely tilting up from the display of the sonar equipment. It takes only a few seconds lag before a message bursts through on her Pip-Boy.

>> Take cover.