Sarah exhaled heavily, exhaustion weighing in her voice as she turned toward the ruins still smoking under the dusk sky. She didn't bother with the radio this time — she just yelled.
"MacCready! Don't you have an objective at Med-Tek Research to save your son? Take Bravo Team and the rest of the volunteers — get a runner to Taffington Boathouse for supplies and make Malden secure!"
"YES, BIG SIS!" MacCready shouted back, rallying his men. He scrambled off down the cracked street, Bravo Team following close behind as they disappeared toward Med-Tek's shadowed silhouette.
The sharp command startled Paladin Danse and his two Knights, who turned at the sound. For the first time, they noticed the true number of Minutemen gathering — far more than the Brotherhood's reports had ever suggested.
Danse's visor lifted slightly, his tone thoughtful."Impressive numbers. Hard to believe you're still struggling with hostiles out here."
Sarah shot him a flat look."Cut the pleasantries. You've got a mission in this area, and I doubt you're going to share it."
Danse hesitated, then replied with his usual formality."Not necessary to keep it secret. Three years ago, the last Brotherhood recon team sent to the Commonwealth vanished. We detected a distress pulser nearby. I'd like to request local support — your Minutemen know the terrain."
Sarah's expression shifted slightly."Oh… Recon Squad Artemis, right?"
Knight Rhys stiffened, his voice rising. "What—? How do you know that name?"
Danse silenced him with a single look.
Sarah reached into her combat pouch and retrieved four worn Brotherhood holotags, pressing them into Danse's armored hand."There was a battle at the ruined clinic just south of Med-Tek Research. Four Knights fell there. I made sure their tags were collected."
Danse's voice dropped a register."And the remaining survivors?"
Sarah shrugged. "You're in luck. A passing trader stopped them before they reached the National Guard Training Yard — that place is crawling with ferals."
Danse's tone sharpened. "Their location?"
Sarah pointed north, toward the forested ridge."Recon Bunker Theta. Paladin Brandis and what's left of his squad are holed up there."
Danse gave a curt nod, signaling his Vertibird to land nearby."The Brotherhood doesn't forget its debts, Commander. There's a settlement at the crossroads — County Crossing. They've been willing to trade with us, but only if they can stay aligned with the Minutemen. Perhaps your people could made contact on them."
Sarah allowed herself a small smirk."Heh. Well played, Paladin."
Danse didn't respond. He and his Knights boarded the Vertibird, the engine's roar kicking up dust and debris. As it lifted off toward the north, Sarah watched in silence — the emblem of the Brotherhood glinting against the dying light.
M4A1 approached quietly beside her."Ma'am… is it wise helping them? After what happened at the White House?"
Sarah didn't turn. Her eyes stayed on the fading Vertibird."The details of that day are too tangled to trust anyone's version. Even MacCready couldn't tell what really went down."
Night fell over Malden, quiet but uneasy. The fires from the hospital had finally died down, leaving nothing but twisted beams and the faint scent of burnt powder drifting in the cold air.
AR Team set up camp in the shell of an old roadside diner. The windows were boarded with scavenged metal, lanterns flickering against cracked tile walls. Sarah sat at the counter that now doubled as her command post, tuning the shortwave radio by hand.
M4A1 stood by the door, rifle slung across her shoulder, scanning the darkness. SOPMOD leaned back on a booth, humming a broken melody while cleaning her weapon.
"Still no word from Bravo?" Sarah asked quietly.
STAR15 shook her head. "Nothing clear. The last ping said they breached Med-Tek. Then silence."
SOPMOD looked up, grinning faintly. "Maybe the comms fried. Or maybe MacCready's too busy finding that miracle cure for his kid."
Sarah's eyes softened slightly. "If he did… then the hell he's been through might finally mean something."
HK416 stepped out from the shadows, arms crossed. "He's reckless, but I'll give him that — he fights like he's got something worth dying for."
Sarah didn't answer. She just watched the flickering radio light — steady, waiting. The air was heavy with fatigue and smoke.
A sharp crackle broke the silence. Static bled through before a familiar voice cut in, breathless but alive."—Sarah, this is MacCready! We're good. Med-Tek secure. I found it — the cure. Duncan's gonna live."
The camp went still. For a moment, even SOPMOD stopped fidgeting.
Sarah pressed the mic. "You did it, MacCready?"
"Yeah," his voice cracked with exhaustion, but there was a hint of relief underneath. "Finally did. I'm heading back west — gotta get it to him before it spoils. I owe you big, Commander."
Sarah exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "No debts between family, MacCready. Safe travels. And tell Duncan… his old man earned that miracle."
Static answered, then silence.
For a long moment, no one spoke. SOPMOD kicked at an empty ammo box. "Booo....Guess that means we don't have to storm another damn lab tonight."
STAR15 gave a quiet chuckle. "Finally, one happy ending in this wasteland."
Sarah nodded, standing and stretching her back. "He deserves it. After all he's lost."
M4A1 adjusted her optics toward the horizon. "What now, Commander?"
Sarah looked out toward the north — the faint silhouette of the Med-Tek complex against the stars.
"We regroup at Taffington. Preston needs word on the east front. And we've still got wounded at Malden to rotate out."
She slung her rifle across her shoulder, her voice steady again. "MacCready earned his peace. The rest of us still have work to do."
Several days had passed since the Medford and Malden operations.The ocean breeze swept through the Castle's battlements, carrying with it the scent of salt and gun oil. Supply barges ferried between the docks and Spectacle Island, where construction still churned day and night under the Division's guidance.
A Vertibird descended onto the Castle's north pad, kicking up a swirl of dust and grit. Sarah stepped off, her coat flaring behind her as AR Team fanned out in a loose security pattern. Preston was waiting by the map table, clipboard in hand, fatigue showing beneath his eyes but posture still steady.
"Commander," he greeted, giving a weary grin. "Good to have you back. You missed the latest mortar test — scared half the seagulls outta the bay."
Sarah smiled faintly, glancing toward the ramparts. "At least that means the guns work."
Preston nodded. "They do. And General Nate? He's back — made it through the Glowing Sea."
Sarah raised a brow. "Already? I take it he found the scientist?"
"Yeah," Preston said, tone lowering slightly. "Virgil. The guy turned himself into a super mutant. Claims it's the only way he could survive the radiation. Nate's talking with him now about something called the Molecular Relay. Some sort of teleportation tech the Institute uses which Nate brief us before from goodneighbour."
Preston smirked at her comment, then glanced around. "By the way, didn't see that sniper of yours — MacCready, was it?"
Sarah's expression softened. "He's gone home. — his boy finally got the cure. He said he'll be back to help the Minutemen after winter, maybe by March, once the caravans start running regular again."
"Good man," Preston said, nodding with quiet respect. "He earned a break."
Down below, the sound of a steel hatch echoed through the stone corridors. Sarah and Preston descended the old stairwell leading to the Castle's underground bunkers — a relic from the pre-war days, now repurposed as a command shelter.
General Nate sat on a cot in the corner, boots off, a map spread across his lap. His jacket hung from a nearby chair, and a small lamp cast a dim amber glow over the concrete walls.
He looked up as Sarah entered, offering a tired half-smile."Oh Commander. Didn't expect you this soon."
Sarah crossed her arms. "Word travels fast when you walk out of a radioactive wasteland."
Nate chuckled dryly. "Fair point." He leaned back, rubbing at his temples. "Virgil gave us something solid — coordinates but he working on schematics, Only left we need is the courser chip."
Sarah's eyes flicked toward the table. "Then we start tomorrow. Tonight, you rest. You earned it."
Preston nodded in agreement. "Minutemen can handle watch duty. For once, the Commonwealth can afford a quiet night."
Afternoon sunlight shimmered across the waves as Sarah's Vertibird touched down on Spectacle Island. The makeshift command outpost bustled with activity — Minutemen engineers moving supplies, drones hovering between gantries, and tactical dolls coordinating construction over comms.
Inside the prefab operations cabin, Mayling leaned over a holo-projected map, cross-referencing Virgil's decrypted data with AR Team's reconnaissance reports. A cluster of red markers blinked around the ruins of CIT, the old Commonwealth Institute of Technology.
Sarah removed her gloves, setting a holotape onto the console. "That's everything Virgil gave Nate," she said. "Not much to go on — half the data blocks are corrupted."
Mayling frowned, adjusting her glasses as she scrolled through the readings. "Figures. Whatever's below CIT, it's deep — way deeper than the old subway grid. No wonder nobody's found it. The tunnels branch like veins under the city."
Sarah crossed her arms, watching the incomplete map spin in midair. "Makes sense why the Brotherhood parked a damn blimp over Boston. Easier to run long ops from the sky."
Mayling chuckled softly. "Yeah. An airship command center beats crawling through a dozen miles of rebar and dust."
Sarah exhaled through her nose. "That can wait until Nate's back on his feet." She paused as her earpiece pinged with a recent scout update. "Hold on — did the Minutemen patrols report anything new about the Boston Airport? Any sign of activity?"
Mayling tapped another console. "Actually, yeah. Scouts say the Brotherhood's building something big there — matches what you mentioned before. Liberty Prime, right? From their description, there's a massive gantry on-site, holding only the leg assemblies so far. Looks like they're scavenging every magnet and power coil in the region."
Sarah gave a knowing smirk. "Ah, so that's what those downtown firefights were about. Gunners and Super Mutants fighting tooth and nail — Brotherhood probably cleaning house to make room for their pet project."
Mayling nodded. "Guess we'll be seeing more of their patrols soon."
Sarah looked out the cabin's reinforced window — across the bay, the Prydwen's silhouette glinted faintly in the distance, hanging over the city like a storm cloud waiting to break.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "And that means the calm won't last much longer."
The Castle's command room hummed with low chatter and radio static. Maps of the Commonwealth lay scattered across the war table, pins marking settlements and Brotherhood flight paths. The afternoon light filtered through the cracked windows, painting the walls in gold and dust.
Nate leaned against the table, flipping through a holotape Virgil had given him — its audio hissed with a jumble of static and faint coded bursts. "Virgil said this frequency belongs to the Coursers," he muttered. "Problem is, it doesn't match any pre-war or Institute bands I recognize. Not even close to our old military encoding."
Sarah crossed the room, her steps quiet but precise. "Then take Squad Able—" she stopped, smirking. "Actually, call them Alpha Squad now. Go to the CIT ruins and start your sweep there."
Nate raised an eyebrow. "Alpha, huh? Sounds like we're back in the service again."
"Old habits," Sarah said with a faint grin. "Now, show me your Pip-Boy."
He extended his arm. Sarah adjusted the dials, her gloved fingers deftly tuning the analog frequency wheel. A soft, rhythmic beeping pulsed from the speaker — faint, but directional.
"There," she said, handing it back. "Follow the pulse. The closer you are, the faster it'll tick. Should make tracking easier than relying on your ears alone."
Nate watched the display, impressed. "You command your dolls, direct the Minutemen like a field officer abiet temporarily, now you're calibrating tech on the fly…" He shook his head with a grin. "What can't you do?"
Sarah smirked, eyes briefly distant. "Live long enough, you pick up a few things."
He laughed under his breath. "Guess that's one way to put it."
Sarah turned toward the window, where the late sun glinted off Spectacle Island's drone towers. "I'll send some flying drones from Spectacle to shadow your squad, keep an eye on the route. You'll have overwatch support all the way."
Nate frowned slightly. "Wait — you're not coming with your dolls?"
Sarah shook her head. "Not this time. I need to stay in the shadows. The Institute may or may not know I exist… better they think I'm just another merc with expensive toys."
Nate chuckled, slipping his rifle's sling over his shoulder. "No ordinary merc runs around in composite armor and sell their support like it's charity."
Sarah gave a quiet smile. "Then don't waste it."
In the courtyard below, Minutemen moved in formation, Alpha Squad forming up by the gate. The echo of marching boots and clattering gear filled the air as Nate raised his hand in salute to Sarah.
(Brotherhood of Steel Side)
The command deck of the Prydwen thrummed with a low, constant vibration — the heart of the Brotherhood's might drifting above the Commonwealth. Brass fixtures gleamed under the dim lights, and through the panoramic windows, the distant skyline of Boston shimmered in the afternoon haze.
Lancer-Captain Kells stood at attention before the central table, datapad in hand, as Elder Maxson read over his latest debriefing report.
Maxson's voice was steady, deliberate. "So, what's the story from Recon Squad Artemis? Are they fit to return to Brotherhood service?"
Kells straightened, hands clasped behind his back. "According to Paladin Danse's report, sir — yes. The surviving members were reluctant at first, practically native after three years in isolation. But Danse managed to convince them to return."
Maxson leaned back slightly, considering the words. "That's a relief. Few endure the Wastes that long without losing their edge… or their sanity. Did you determine how they survived this long?"
Kells hesitated. "That's where things grow… unusual, Elder. According to Paladin Brandis, after their power armor units were destroyed by an unidentified hostile, they retreated east. Exhausted, low on ammunition, they were stopped by a traveling trader — someone broadcasting a general distress signal from Relay Tower 0MC-810. He claimed to be calling for the Minutemen."
Maxson frowned. "The Minutemen were barely organized at that time. Few would have answered."
"Indeed, sir," Kells continued. "But within hours of a second engagement with raiders near the relay tower, a group identifying themselves as Minutemen arrived. They provided fire support, secured the perimeter, and escorted the recon survivors to safety. But there's a detail that stood out — the group's commander."
Maxson's gaze sharpened. "Go on."
Kells scrolled through the report. "A female officer — heavily armed, operating with four humanoid automata calling themselves Tactical Dolls. They identified themselves as Minutemen engineers, assisting settlements with restoration projects. Paladin Brandis confirmed their efficiency… and their discipline."
For a moment, Maxson was silent. Then, a low chuckle broke from him — rare, almost nostalgic.
Kells blinked. "Sir?"
Maxson shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That crafty woman… It must be her. The Doll Commander." He exhaled through his nose, setting down the datapad. "She's still out there — still meddling between factions, just like before."
Kells looked puzzled. "From that tone, it seem You… know her very well, Elder?"
Maxson's eyes drifted toward the horizon, to the ruins below that once held the dreams of a nation. "Years ago, in the D.C. campaign, before the Prydwen, before all this… she smuggled me past the Lyons' restrictions, just so I could meet Liberty Prime. The old Mark I. She said, 'If you're truly intent to inherit the Brotherhood, you should see what conviction looks like.'"
A rare quiet settled between them — the hum of the airship filling the silence.
Maxson finally straightened, his tone returning to command. "Kells, keep her name off the record. We'll monitor her movements discreetly. She may be a wild card… but she's no enemy. Not yet."
Kells nodded crisply. "Understood, Elder."
Maxson turned toward the window, his reflection merging with the cold metal and the clouds outside. "Still playing her long game, huh… Sierra."