The command room beneath the Castle was dimly lit, the hum of generators echoing through the concrete chamber. Maps, radio terminals, and data tablets cluttered the long steel table where Sarah, Nate, Preston, and Mayling gathered. The air was thick — a mix of fatigue, tension, and the faint ozone scent from the still-active EM field above.
Sarah leaned forward, her expression sharp despite the fatigue etched under her eyes.
Sarah: "So your son became Director… as my worst-case scenario predicted. The Institute's control line runs through him now. Tell me, Nate — any noticeable figures? Anyone who stood out?"
Nate crossed his arms, exhaling slowly.
Nate: "You sure do plan for every possible disaster, don't you?"
Sarah: "Old habit. It keeps people alive. Now start from the top — anyone who mattered."
Nate rubbed the back of his neck, trying to organize his thoughts.
Nate: "All right… There were four divisions under him, each with their own head. Some friendlier than others."
He began pacing as he spoke, eyes distant — replaying his time in the pristine white corridors.
Nate: "First was BioScience. Real top-end scientists there. Headed by a guy named Holdren. Cold type — talks about genetics like he's sculpting marble, not people. They grow food, purify water, even breed fake animals. Saw gorillas down there — not sure if they're real or just synths."
Sarah frowned.
Sarah: "Synth fauna… that's new. They're trying to rebuild ecology — or weaponize it."
Mayling muttered, typing on her console.
Mayling: "Either way, that's Institute logic for you. Control everything, including nature."
Nate continued.
Nate: "Next, Synth Retention Bureau. Director was Justin Ayo. Cocky bastard — all arrogance and polished shoes. He's the one controlling the coursers. Didn't like that I killed one. He's hiding something, though. Kept name-dropping someone called Zimmer but avoided details."
Sarah's eyes narrowed.
Sarah: "Zimmer? That name came up in rivert city if i not mistaken. I'll have Mayling check the old archives later."
Nate nodded, shifting tone.
Nate: "Then Robotics Division. Headed by Alan Binet. That place—" he hesitated, his jaw tightening, "—looked more like a factory line than a lab. Synths being built from liquid red polymer, crawling out of vats. They treat them like tools, not people. I couldn't stay long."
Sarah's expression softened slightly.
Sarah: "You made the right call. That division's their heart — and their prison."
Nate: "Last was Advanced Systems. That's where the teleportation work happens. Madison Li leads it — the same scientist who used to work with the Brotherhood before vanishing. She's the one who installed the access relay in my Pip-Boy."
Sarah's eyes widened slightly.
Sarah: "Madison Li? She was on the original D.C. Project Purity team. The Brotherhood's files said she defected east years ago. If she's handling their teleportation tech…or any fancy weaponary....."
Mayling: "That means she's behind their signal encryption and EM field countermeasures too. Great."
Nate sighed, leaning on the table.
Nate: "That's all I saw of their leadership. My escort was… different."
Sarah looked up sharply.
Sarah: "Different how?"
Nate: "It was her, Sarah. M16A1 — or whatever's left of her. They call her Beluga now. Hair's different, eyepatch, cold as hell but quiet. She didn't stop me from exploring, but she didn't speak either. Like she was half-conscious — or waiting for orders."
Sarah's face hardened, emotion flickering briefly in her eyes before she masked it.
Sarah: "Ah after you been teleported, We been attacked by scarecrow's forces....I see…So they recovered her after the Spectacle attack. Reconditioned her. That means the Institute not only salvaged Sangvis tech — they're integrating it."
Nate: "She didn't seem fully under control. Sometimes she'd just… stop. Like she was fighting herself."
Sarah tapped her chin, murmuring,
Sarah: "Residual memory fragments. Good — it means the Parapluie infection didn't wipe her clean."
Nate finally turned to her.
Nate: "So what's the plan now, Commander? We've both seen too much to pretend this isn't a war coming."
Sarah looked at the flickering holographic map on the table — the Commonwealth, dotted with Brotherhood, Minutemen, and Institute signals. Her voice was calm, but there was a dangerous certainty behind it.
Sarah folded her arms, her tone measured but grim.
Sarah: "Given the coming winter, I doubt even the Institute will risk sending their precious synths into near-zero temperatures. But I'm not counting on their caution. What worries me are the Gen-3s and the Sangvis Ferri models. The worst are the Ringleader units… I still can't figure out how the Institute got their hands on that design."
Mayling looked up from her console, eyes thoughtful behind her glasses.
Mayling: "Ma'am, maybe… maybe we should check what's left of my former Railroad HQ. If the Institute somehow accessed Sangvis schematics or Doll blueprints, the old Railroad data vault might still have traces — or at least notes from the synth liberation network. It might even explain how Paladin Danse and other escaped synths slipped through."
Sarah tilted her head slightly, studying her with quiet interest.
Sarah: "Do you still remember the entrance?"
Mayling hesitated, closing her eyes for a second as if tracing the memory.
Mayling: "Vaguely. It wasn't the Switchboard anymore—it used to be some Old Department of Intelligence Agency office, beneath a donut shop in Lexington. We used it as a HQ before the fall."
Nate chuckled, breaking the tension for a heartbeat.
Nate: "A spy base under a donut shop. That's… actually kind of brilliant. Bet the Institute never thought to check the jelly-filleds for classified data."
Sarah allowed herself a faint smile before returning to focus.
Sarah: "Then that's our next target. Mayling, prepare a recon team — 404 will go with you. If there any data survived, we need to secure it before winter buries the ruins."
Mayling: "Understood, ma'am. I'll ready the equipment and hardwire dampeners. If there's any surviving encryption, I'll crack it."
Sarah nodded, then turned toward Nate.
Sarah: "You, General, stay and coordinate Minutemen defense grids. The Institute won't stay blind forever — especially once they notice our EM field interference. When they move, I want the Commonwealth ready."
Nate gave a small nod, straightening.
Nate: "Aye, Commander. Just make sure you come back from that donut shop."
The Vertibird's engines howled as it descended, stirring up dust and ash across the cracked tarmac. Team 404 disembarked first, rifles at the ready, eyes scanning the horizon. Sarah stepped out last, her coat whipping in the rotor wash. The bird's crew chief gave a brief nod before throttling down the turbines.
A lone Minuteman radio operator sprinted out from the relay tent, headset still around his neck, voice strained from panic.
Radioman:"Ma'am! You're the merc commander that's been supplying us, right? We've got a situation—Lexington's under attack!"
Sarah's expression hardened.Sarah:"Define attack."
Radioman:"Synths! They just—appeared! Teleported right into town! Took over the old donut shop and started shooting any trader or settler that got close."
Sarah folded her arms, tone flat.Sarah:"I see. And I'm guessing you couldn't repel them even with my last shipment?"
The operator looked down, shame flickering across his dirt-streaked face.Radioman:"The service rifles and armor held out at first, but these bastards— they're using plasma. Half our men… got burned so bad they looked half-ghoul before they fell. Defense Captain ordered a fallback toward the Corvega Factory."
Sarah exhaled through her nose, thinking fast.Sarah:"Enemy composition?"
Radioman:"I wrote it down from the Captain's report." He fumbled out a crumpled notepad."Said they looked like chrome-skinned humans. But there was one leading them — female model, looked like a T-Doll. White twin-tails, black one-piece dress, carried twin cannons on her arms with ammo belts running to her back."
Sarah's eyes went cold, her hand tightening around the note as she read it.
Sarah (quietly):"That's… very specific."
She turned to her team, voice sharp and commanding now.Sarah:"Alright, girls — we're marching south. Force recon only. We'll assess the donut shop situation firsthand."
She looked back to the Vertibird, where Mayling stood by the hatch.Sarah:"Mayling, take the bird back to the Castle. Update General Nate on the Lexington situation. Tell him—synth forces are confirmed, and possible rogue T-Doll leadership."
Mayling gave a firm salute.Mayling:"Understood, Commander. I'll brief the General personally."
As the Vertibird lifted off again, Sarah slung her rifle and nodded to 404.Sarah (grimly):"Let's find out who's we up against."
The squad moved out, boots crunching on the cracked highway as the sound of the Vertibird faded into the overcast sky.
ChatGPT said:
Team 404 advanced along the cracked main road into Lexington, weapons raised and eyes scanning the ruins. The faint smell of ozone and burnt metal hung in the cold air.
UMP9: "Contact ahead—chrome patrols, standard Gen-3 layout."HK416: "Synths. Patterned patrol routes. Looks like Institute field ops."UMP45: "Not just synths—see that big shadow near the donut shop?"
Through the drifting ash, they could see her. A small, childlike figure stood atop a wrecked car, black one-piece dress fluttering in the wind. Twin heavy autocannons mounted to her sides fed from coiling ammo belts, their muzzles still smoking. She laughed—high-pitched, arrogant—as a line of Minutemen broke from cover, only to be ripped apart by precise volleys.
Across the road, the remnants of a Minutemen squad had holed up around Red Rocket Station, their makeshift barricades and jury-rigged turrets barely holding off the assault.
Sarah crouched low behind the rusted husk of a bus and tapped her glowing orange smartwatch.
Sarah: "Deploying recon drone—ISAC, identify that hostile."
The drone whirred into the air, scanning the figure as its sensor projected a holographic display from Sarah's wrist. A flickering orange outline formed—a dossier stamped with a Sangvis insignia.
ISAC: "Designation confirmed: Ringleader-class T-Doll — Destroyer. Combat model specialized in saturation fire and explosive suppression."
Sarah: "Destroyer… Sangvis Ferri frontline unit, active and intact."
The girl turned, as if hearing her name whispered on the wind. Her crimson eyes glowed brighter, and she grinned—childish, cruel.
Destroyer: "Well, well… just as Scarecrow-sis said. Stir a little trouble at the Minutemen lines, and out comes the fancy doll commander with the shiny orange glow watch!"
She twirled one cannon idly, sending sparks scattering.
Destroyer: "You humans and your little toys never learn. Let's see how long your puppets can dance before I turn this whole block into slag!"
The mocking tone made even 45's jaw tighten. Sarah's expression, however, turned icy.
Sarah: "404, fan out. Minutemen defense is collapsing. ISAC, sync to Red Rocket's turrets IFF—provide live targeting.
"ISAC: "Acknowledged. Uploading coordinates. Warning: multiple synth reinforcements inbound."
G11 slid up to the parking-roof and zeroed her scope; her breath fogged the glass. HK416 ghosted to a lower vantage and braced her rifle. UMP9 and UMP45 melted through alleys like knives.
The Destroyer lounged on the Donut Shop roof, optics scouring the block as her support synths walked the pavement below. Her voice—the machine's voice—came out bright and contemptuous.
"Haha~ what a Pathetic barricades," she mocked. "try to entertain me more, will you?"
HK416 opened fire to pin the support synths; G11 threaded a laser-true shot through a joint and a servo sparked. UMP9 and 45 slammed the distraction home—flashbangs and sudden, coordinated silhouettes that drew the Destroyer's attention away from the Minutemen.
Sarah stepped forward, CHAM launcher cradled. "Riot foam—load. Target feed and cooling ports."
A white arc screamed from the launcher, latching across the Destroyer's lower chassis like a chemical glacier. Foam hissed on contact, bubbling and hardening around feed belts and exposed couplings. The machine's movements slowed; coolant vents choked in a mineral paste.
G11's scope zoomed in. "Feed interference—cooling compromised. Now!"
UMP9 whooped from the lane. "Ha! Look~ Look~! Commander made a snowman!" She pointed at the foam-clad hunched silhouette, laughter in his tone. "Go on—try teleport now, fancy lady!"
The Destroyer's red optics flickered. Chemical smoke curled from her spine. Her tone tilted from amusement to irritation. "Yuck. What is this icky—" She broke off. Then, with a bright, metallic laugh: "Good idea. I'll be back. With vengeance."
The air snapped. Light knifed the space where she stood; the street tasted of ozone. In a blink the Destroyer was gone—no fall, no wreckage—only a scorched ring around the hardened foam, a smear where the teleport had been anchored.
UMP45 cursed and slapped UMP9's head. "You really had to gloat, huh? Now she's got an idea."
UMP9 shrugged, sheepish. "wa.....How was I to know?"
Sarah surveyed the street: support synths down, Minutemen alive though shaken, with turrets wrecked. She toggled ISAC for residual telemetry—vector traces, a burned signature where the field collapsed.
"All ground hostiles neutralized," she said. "404—stack up at the Donut entrance. Primary objective: breach, clear, and get to the Ex-Railroad HQ switchboard under the building. Find that any intel remain, let hope there some left behind."