Jacob Burns and the Order of the Algorithm #Wattys2017

Prologue: October 23, 2077

October 23, 2077

5:37 AM

Dr. Isaac Astor tore through his study in the early morning darkness, his precious notes and prototypes littered the floor like so much detritus after a storm. He frantically grabbed the most valuable items from their shelves and shoved them unceremoniously into his suitcase.

The bombs were coming.

Of course, he had known that for some time. The higher ups had been given a day's notice to report to the secret vault hidden under the plains of Texas, but the last flight out had left over an hour ago, and he had bigger things to worry about than being vaporized in an atomic blast.

For years he'd worked for Vault-Tec, even before it had become an extension of the government. He was one of their top scientists, with a family name that could open even the most guarded of doors. Back in his early 20's, he had interned with the famous Stanislaus Braun, which in turn had led to a long partnership and a high ranking position in R&D, at least until recently. Of course, a lot had happened recently. Dr. Astor cast a sidewise glance towards the telephone. The receiver still dangled from its cord where he had left it, the dial tone humming in tune to the static of his panicking mind.

They were coming for him.

He wasn't even sure who "they" would be. He'd betrayed so many of his friends in recent months, it could be anyone really. Vault-Tec, the government, RobCo had a personal grudge, and then there was Big Mountain. He'd visited with restricted access some years ago, but what had seemed like an astonishing opportunity to meet the most renowned and brilliant minds of our age, ended with him waking up naked in the desert with three weeks of his memory lost in the Mojave dust. It was a long shot, but anything was possible right now. The world was ending.

Just then, the door slammed open. The doctor fumbled with his pistol as he dove for the floor, but too late. A shot rang out and a searing pain ripped through his side, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

A long trench coat ghosted along the floor as polished wingtips came into view. A man towered over him with a briefcase in one hand and a revolver in the other, his face half hidden beneath a fedora. Dr. Astor looked on helplessly as the man kicked his pistol, his last line of defense, far across the room. The man turned and took a seat behind the mahogany desk before removing his hat and folding his hands neatly over the gun in his lap.

"I must apologize for the intrusion my good doctor, but there are matters of the utmost urgency that must be discussed." He was paler than death, with eyes that pierced through him like cold steel. This was a man without mercy.

"W-who sent you?" The doctor said as he struggled to stand, but one look from those eyes and he slumped back against the bookcase.

"An irrelevant question, doctor. You are perfectly aware of the contracts you have broken, and with whom. I am simply here to take recourse on their behalf, after I secure any remaining assets of course. Simply put, I am here to collect. Which leads me to a far more appropriate question, where is the Conduit?"