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Summary
“Hey, Hancock.”
He turned to face the intruder, the owner of a voice he thought he’d never hear again.
She looked good; crisper, more put together than he’d ever seen her. Her grimy vault suit had been replaced by a black bodysuit and a trim, gray jacket. Her hair was the same shoulder-grazing length, but perfectly coiffed and missing its signature adornment of dried blood. She even seemed to be wearing a hint of makeup, a luxury not normally permitted aboveground.
“The Institute looks good on you.”