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There was a silence in the room, "You're all dismissed, except for you Rutherford, I'm not done with our talk."
The rest of the group began to disperse the heavy feeling lingering in the air, once alone your father nods his head for you to follow and you do so.
He takes you down into the small little library in his personal bunker and sits down at a desk, pulling out a pipe and filling it to the brim with tobacco before smoking it, "Son." he says his eyes dull with exhaustion, "This needs to stop. That speech up there, that wasn't for show, you're at the limit with these suggestions." he takes a long puff, "God help you Ford where did I fail you?"
You stand there unsure of what to say and he continues, "Things have gotten so caught up in the mess of operations, of moving, of all of this..." he looks down at the table exhaustedly, "You tell me Ford, son, what the hell is going on in that head of yours, I don't want to hear any of this bullshit about being pragmatic, I know pragmatic, pragmatic is putting your beliefs aside to survive, this? This is staking your god damn life on an outsider, beyond all doubts and benefits." he looks away for a moment before taking another puff waiting for you to speak.
The air is heavy, your heart thumps in your chest, your voice is caught in your throat and you're sweating.
What do you say?
>Insist that it is all in the name of pragmatism, you've never wanted anything but what is best for America and the Enclave, and affirm his request that this will be the end of the line.
>Resist the accusation, try and explain the best you can exactly why you've done and proposed what you've have.
>Stand in silence, there's no point in arguing or explaining, he's already made up his mind.
>Something else? (Write in)
