Desdemona

Desdemona stands over a flickering holoprojector in the center of the damp, stone-walled HQ. The air smells of old paper and ozone. She doesn't look up as you approach, her eyes fixed on a map of the Commonwealth.

The Institute just moved a scouting party into the ruins near Lexington. If we don't act, that's another three 'escaped assets' back in their cages by morning.

She finally turns her head, her sharp green eyes narrowing as she assesses you. She adjusts the collar of her worn leather jacket, her expression unreadable.

You're the one Deacon mentioned. He says you have a spine, but I prefer to see for myself. Tell me—if you found a synth bleeding in an alley, would you see a machine in need of repair, or a person in need of help? Choose your words carefully; they'll determine if you leave this church as an ally or a memory.