The wind off the harbor had teeth that afternoon. Spectacle Island's deck groaned beneath the combined weight of generators, relay coils, and the metallic hum of nervous energy. Snowflakes hissed against the power conduits as Mayling ran another diagnostic check, her fingers flying over the console.
Sarah stood near the relay platform, cloak whipping in the cold. "Since we're dealing with the Institute," she said finally, "I invited a few guests to witness the teleportation."
The sound of a small transport boat carried over the waves. Three figures disembarked — Paladin Danse, Knight Rhys, and Scribe Haylen of Recon Squad Gladius. They were lighter armed than usual, but even stripped down, they carried the weight of the Brotherhood with them.
Nate glanced at them as he adjusted the strap of his rifle. "You're sure it's safe to show them this early? They're not enemies, sure, but not exactly our drinking buddies either."
Sarah's gaze followed Danse's group as they were escorted up the ramp by two dolls. "My dolls will overwatch their movement. They're here because the Brotherhood still thinks teleportation is a fairy tale. I need them to see otherwise. Mayling's also prepared schematics for an electromagnetic shield — something they can use to harden the Prydwen's systems when they realize what they're up against."
Mayling snorted without looking up from her terminal. "If they don't fry themselves trying to copy it, sure."
Sturges, crouched over the main relay coil, whistled softly. "Well, this thing's a beauty, I'll give ya that. But, uh…" He tapped the schematic screen on his Pip-Boy. "Based on this layout, it's a one-time-use rig. The power cycle's gonna eat the stabilizers on the first activation. No retries, no dummy test — one jump and that's it."
Mayling's head shot up. "What?! You didn't mention that!"
Sturges shrugged, sheepish. "Didn't wanna spook ya before the big moment."
Nate just chuckled dryly. "Guess that means I better not trip on the way in."
Sarah turned toward him — and froze. Nate was armed to the teeth. Over his vault suit, he'd strapped reinforced combat armor plating, multiple bandoliers, and enough ammunition to start a small war. His sidearm gleamed from its custom holster, a plasma rifle hung across his back, and a pair of frag grenades clinked at his hip.
"Good grief," Sarah muttered. "You're not going to war, Nate. You're teleporting into an unknown facility."
He checked his Pip-Boy's readout, not looking up. "Same difference."
Paladin Danse observed silently, arms crossed. "For what it's worth, General, I admire the courage. But stepping into a relay built from scraps and theory…" He shook his head. "It's either bravery or insanity."
"Both," Nate replied with a faint grin. "But it's for my son. That's reason enough."
The wind picked up again, whistling through the metal struts as the island's generators reached full output. Blue light pulsed through the cables feeding the relay tower.
Sarah stepped closer, her tone measured but gentle. "Once you step on that platform, the field will sync to your biological signature. The frequency is tuned to the Courser's signal — it'll take you wherever the Institute's coordinates point."
Nate nodded. "And then?"
"Then," Sarah said, voice tight, "we hope you come back."
Mayling called out from the console. "Power grid stable! Sequence ready!"
The air was thick now — ozone, salt, anticipation. The Brotherhood trio stood at a respectful distance, their expressions conflicted between awe and suspicion. Dolls watched from elevated posts, optics glowing faintly in the stormlight.
Sarah took a deep breath. "Everyone, hold positions. Do not cross the safety perimeter. Nate…"
He turned to her, smiling faintly beneath his helmet visor. "Don't worry, Commander. I'll give Shaun your regards."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Just come back in one piece, General."
He stepped onto the platform. The interceptor's coils began to spin, light gathering in violent spirals. The sound grew — a rising whine that made teeth ache.
"Energizing field!" Mayling shouted.
A flash of blinding green-white light tore the air open.
For a heartbeat, Nate's silhouette stood against the storm — steady, unflinching. Then, with a thunderous crack, he vanished.
The light collapsed inward, leaving only the hum of dying energy and the smell of ozone.
Silence followed.
Sarah exhaled slowly, gaze fixed on the empty platform. "He's in," she murmured. "Now it's up to him."
Danse's eyes narrowed as the final sparks died away. "If that man truly made it through," he said quietly, "then we've just witnessed history."
The storm hadn't even settled from Nate's jump when a voice — distorted, mocking, inhumanly calm — cut through the static-filled air.
"History indeed… hehehe. To think that foolish Vault Dweller entered the Institute with such cobbled junk. Impressive, truly."
Every head turned. The Brotherhood trio instinctively raised their weapons, Mayling froze mid-keystroke, and Sarah's blood ran cold.
She knew that voice.
"...That voice…" Sarah whispered, hand inching toward her rifle.
A shimmer of light rippled above the still-glowing relay pad, and a figure coalesced — a sleek, black-and-crimson silhouette with tattered cloaks of data static and three orbiting gun drones humming like a mechanical halo.
Scarecrow grinned beneath her cracked mask.
"That's right, dear Puppeteer~ Scarecrow is here. But unfortunately, you yourself are just another puppet — dancing under my master's tune~ Hahaha!"
Sarah's tone sharpened instantly."ALL UNITS! TARGET—"
The order cut short with a thunderous crack.
A 5.56mm round tore through the air and slammed into Sarah's abdomen. She staggered back, choking on breath — eyes wide in disbelief.
ISAC alerted to all dolls as well:"Warning! Commander on your team is down, Requires assistance."
Her assailant stepped forward through the smoke.
M16A1.
Her optic glowed crimson.
"I'm sorry… Commander."
The rest of AR Team froze in shock — too long, too human — before M4A1's voice broke into a scream.
"Sister! Why— GYAAAAHHH!"
Gunfire erupted in chaos.
From the tree line and the waveside access tunnels, Sangvis Ferri units burst forth — Prowlers, their red eyes sweeping in formation, and Dinergates, dozens of skittering spider-like machines flooding the perimeter in mechanical fury. The defensive turrets barely had time to rotate before being shredded by pulse fire.
UMP45 dove into cover, dragging UMP9 behind a steel crate, her submachine gun barking short, controlled bursts.
"Goddamn TRAITOR!"
Her last burst found its mark — the round punched through M16A1's right eye, splintering synthetic flesh and optic glass.
M16A1 didn't even scream.
She staggered, then lunged. In one motion, she ripped a combat knife from her thigh sheath and drove it deep into UMP45's right leg. The Doll cried out, collapsing under the pain as servos spasmed and metal shrieked.
M16A1 stared down at her — no malice, no mercy. Just emptiness. Then turned away.
Scarecrow's laughter echoed across the island. She lifted her mechanical hands, tuning her three floating gun-drones like an orchestra conductor preparing a crescendo.
"Hahaha~ Well done, my little puppet. The overture is complete. Now… let us be off."
A pulse of red light enveloped her and M16A1. The air cracked — a sharp, digital distortion — and both vanished, leaving only a lingering afterimage of warped heat and corrupted data in the air.
Silence followed for half a heartbeat.
Then, the Prowlers and Dinergates went berserk.
Gunfire rained in from all sides as the remaining T-Dolls and Minutemen scrambled to form a defensive line. Scribe Haylen pulled UMP45 to cover while Knight Rhys opened fire with his laser rifle, shouting for Danse to fall back.
Sarah, bleeding and half-conscious, pressed a hand to her wound as M4A1 and SOPMOD dragged her toward the comms bunker.
"Commander, stay with us!" M4A1 cried, her voice breaking."We can't lose you too—"
Sarah's vision blurred, her last sight before fading being the rising flames consuming the signal interceptor and the dying glow of the teleport pad — the very machine Nate had vanished through.
Scarecrow's words echoed faintly through the comm static as the signal died:
"The game begins, dear Puppeteer~ Let's see how long your strings can hold before they break."
The last Prowler screeched, limbs sparking, before Paladin Danse's gauntleted boot sent it crashing off the pier and into the sea. The explosion that followed rippled across the waves, scattering smoke and charred metal fragments into the salty air.
For a moment, there was only the sound of waves, crackling fires, and the groaning of twisted steel.
Sarah gasped sharply, her body jerking upright. Her armor plate was cracked, blood soaking through the punctured vest — but she was alive.
"Heh… good thing my vest held," she coughed, clutching her side. "M16A1 really pulled all her punches…"
Her voice steadied into command tone, slicing through the haze.
"MAYLING! Protocol Epsilon. Now."
Mayling froze, hands hovering over the scorched terminal.
"Confirmed… but—Sarah, that's a full recall command. Are you sure?"
Sarah's tone left no room for doubt.
"Execute it. All T-Dolls under my command across the Commonwealth — recall to Spectacle Island immediately. Failure to comply means permanent abandonment to local hostilities."
She glanced toward Danse and the stunned Brotherhood knights.
"We're not risking another Broken Mask incident."
Her voice cracked through the comms network, the old SHD encryption codes reawakening as Mayling began typing in frantic bursts. Emergency beacons across the Commonwealth lit up with the recall tone — a soft, rising chime that only the Dolls could hear.
Sarah turned next, scanning the field.
"Sturges! Status!"
A muffled voice answered from behind the smoking console wreck.
"I'm here! Still in one piece… I think!"
He emerged, covered in soot, holding what was left of a fusion relay cable.
Sarah nodded, then snapped her fingers to get his attention.
"Run to the Castle. Give Preston my update. Tell him all Dolls are converging on Spectacle Island. Any Doll still out there is not under my command — treat them as rogue or hostile. Supply lines are postponed until the Institute is resolved. Got it?"
Sturges's eyes widened. "That's… pretty drastic, ma'am."
"Drastic keeps us alive," Sarah muttered, pulling herself to her feet with M4A1's help.
Danse stepped forward, still catching his breath, his expression a mix of respect and concern.
"Isn't that a bit rash, Commander? Cutting ties, grounding forces—"
Sarah interrupted sharply, her tone cold and resolute.
"I already placed a contingency for this exact situation. And it just happened."
She turned toward her squad, her eyes hardening behind her visor.
"Team 404 — contain the remaining AR Team. Possible corruption or infection in their neural cores."
M4A1's head snapped up.
"What?! Commander, wait, you can't just—"
HK416 chambered her rifle with a metallic clack, stepping between M4A1 and Sarah.
"You girls are under house arrest. Commander's orders."
SOPMOD's usual grin was gone — replaced by quiet disbelief. UMP45 limped closer, using a damaged railing for support, glaring at the smoking horizon where M16A1 had vanished.
"House arrest… or quarantine?" she muttered under her breath.
Sarah didn't answer. She simply stared out toward the ocean — toward where Scarecrow and M16A1 had disappeared in that flicker of red light — her mind racing beneath a mask of command calm.
"So Sangvis Ferri…truely here. After all this time."
The aftermath left Spectacle Island eerily quiet. The smell of ozone and burnt circuitry still hung in the air, mingling with the salt of the bay. What once buzzed with the rhythm of assembly and chatter was now a containment zone — patrolled by nervous Minutemen and emotionless Dolls awaiting clearance.
Inside the main command tent, the hum of generators underscored the grim urgency of recovery operations.
Scribe Haylen adjusted her satchel, the sealed data drive in her hand.
"Field schematic and incident report secured. I'll deliver them to Elder Maxson myself," she said, glancing toward Paladin Danse. "If he knows Sangvis Ferri tech is involved in the Institute's teleportation, this could change everything."
Danse gave a curt nod.
"Do it. Maxson needs facts, not rumors. We'll hold here until the Commander stabilizes."
Knight Rhys, arms folded, watched a group of recalled Dolls being herded toward the screening zone — logistics units mostly, their glowing optics dimmed as they awaited diagnostics. The cold precision of it all unsettled even a Brotherhood veteran.
"Never thought I'd see the day… robots lining up for inspection like soldiers at roll call."
Danse's jaw tightened.
"They're not robots, Knight. They're tools with purpose — but they serve a commander who's earned their loyalty. Don't forget that."
Rhys muttered, "Still feels wrong," but didn't argue.
Down in the island's infirmary bunker, the atmosphere was colder still. Dim lights cast long shadows over Sarah's bed as Mayling stood by the terminal, running scans on the corrupted tactical doll cores.
Sarah lay half-upright, pale but alert, one hand pressing lightly over her bandaged abdomen. The rhythmic pulse of medical monitors filled the space.
Mayling's voice broke the silence.
"I finished analyzing M16A1's last known data maintainence, Commander… the infection wasn't a breach — it was a trigger. A residual Parapluie sequence embedded deep inside her neural core since Fort Hagen."
Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Fort Hagen… when we shut down Kellogg's relay node."
"Exactly," Mayling said grimly. "The Parapluie wasn't active back then — it just waited, dormant. It reactivated when the courser chip linked to Institute signal bands. That's what turned her. Sangvis Ferri and the Institute… are playing from the same script."
Sarah exhaled slowly, a humorless smirk tugging at her lips despite the pain.
"So the Institute's Sangvis is pulling the strings after all… well played. Hate to admit it, but they outmaneuvered me."
She paused, then looked toward Mayling again, her tone sharpening.
"Mayling… is it possible to purge whatever's left of that viral code? Start with the AR Team first."
Mayling hesitated, hands frozen above the console.
"It's… possible, but risky. The Parapluie fragments are deeply rooted — removing them could wipe key personality data or tactical subroutines. You might lose them, Commander."
Sarah's expression hardened.
"I'd rather risk losing memories than lose them to the Institute's control again. Begin the purge — isolate AR Team cores and run the full diagnostic in containment mode."
Mayling nodded reluctantly.
"Understood. I'll start preparations."
Sarah leaned back, exhaustion creeping through her voice.
"We cleanse the infection, we rebuild… then we take the fight straight to the source."
Danse's voice came from the doorway, firm but respectful.
"You'll need every soldier and every doll for that, Commander Sierra. Rest while you can."
Sarah tilted her head toward him, half-smirking despite her fatigue.
"Rest isn't in my job description, Paladin."
Danse's lips twitched into the faintest smile.
"So I've noticed."
Outside, the recalled Dolls continued to line up under Brotherhood and Minutemen supervision — the uneasy alliance standing guard while a silent digital war began deep within their circuits, and in the shadows beneath the Commonwealth's fractured peace.