brogley
in the flames, a lonely person turns to dust.
Knowledge is power. It was under this mantra that Solomon had been raised; the words bludgeoned into his head by his mother and father alike. Discouraged from using weaponry, improving his vigour and endurance. A book can stop a bullet better than any metal, son. However, what they had failed to mention, and what Solomon swore he’d teach his children when it was time to pass on the legacy, was that with knowledge, just as with power, came immeasurable danger. Suddenly, everybody was a cutthroat, wanting to ruin all your progress.
This fact had been emphasized upon when he found those messages sent between his former assistant and Thomas Hildern, Director of OSI. That bitch wanted to stop Solomon and his research which was of limitless importance. And for what? Some dubious morals? Ethics has no place in science.
Even so, it didn’t stop Thomas from wanting to investigate Solomon, and frankly, he couldn’t have that. And so, within a week’s notice, he had entirely left the Mojave Wasteland, wanting to avoid criminalization in the NCR and its five contiguous states, taking all his research with him.
It was all very contrived and threw a massive wrench in his plans but, indeed, the show must go on.
And so, Thomas found himself in Seattle. It wasn’t optimal; not when compared like a pest-filled city like New Vegas, but it was good enough.
He did marvel at its snowfall though, unfamiliar to him - cold biting at his fingers, even now when he sat in his office. It was a ramshackle setup, being an old Nuka Cola office building only briefly refurbished by his team. They got the power working, but the dust was still dancing around and trash stacked itself wherever it was not in the way. It all gave him a headache, but with his temporary reduced team size, there was little he could do.
However, he was about to introduce a new member: the bodyguard. His old bodyguard had gone missing - really, Solomon put a bullet through his head because he couldn’t trust the man. He was a crook, and although it had its advantages, now it became a danger.
Solomon leaned back in his seat. Finally, after letting the long moment of contemplation pass, he stood up and walked to his door, opening it. Telling his secretary to call the next candidate in, he left the door ajar. When somebody did enter, he greeted them with his back turned.
“Good evening. Sit down.”
This fact had been emphasized upon when he found those messages sent between his former assistant and Thomas Hildern, Director of OSI. That bitch wanted to stop Solomon and his research which was of limitless importance. And for what? Some dubious morals? Ethics has no place in science.
Even so, it didn’t stop Thomas from wanting to investigate Solomon, and frankly, he couldn’t have that. And so, within a week’s notice, he had entirely left the Mojave Wasteland, wanting to avoid criminalization in the NCR and its five contiguous states, taking all his research with him.
It was all very contrived and threw a massive wrench in his plans but, indeed, the show must go on.
And so, Thomas found himself in Seattle. It wasn’t optimal; not when compared like a pest-filled city like New Vegas, but it was good enough.
He did marvel at its snowfall though, unfamiliar to him - cold biting at his fingers, even now when he sat in his office. It was a ramshackle setup, being an old Nuka Cola office building only briefly refurbished by his team. They got the power working, but the dust was still dancing around and trash stacked itself wherever it was not in the way. It all gave him a headache, but with his temporary reduced team size, there was little he could do.
However, he was about to introduce a new member: the bodyguard. His old bodyguard had gone missing - really, Solomon put a bullet through his head because he couldn’t trust the man. He was a crook, and although it had its advantages, now it became a danger.
Solomon leaned back in his seat. Finally, after letting the long moment of contemplation pass, he stood up and walked to his door, opening it. Telling his secretary to call the next candidate in, he left the door ajar. When somebody did enter, he greeted them with his back turned.
“Good evening. Sit down.”