The snowstorm that had swallowed the Commonwealth for days finally broke, the sun cutting through ragged clouds over the sea. Meltwater dripped from the Castle's ramparts, glinting against the rusted cannons. Inside, the command room hummed with quiet urgency.
General Nate leaned over the holotable, lines of deployment flickering over a crude map of Boston. Across from him stood Commander Sarah — her coat still dusted with frost, her heavy briefcase sealed with biometric locks.
Nate: "So that's everything you pulled from Data from railroad and other so far?"
Sarah: "Pentagon fragments, Institute layouts, and cross-references from ISAC. Enough to make Maxson listen — or at least hesitate before he starts burning everything under his definition of 'pure.'"
Nate: "You think you can reason with him?"
Sarah gave a small, humorless smile.
Sarah: "I've done worse."
Before Nate could answer, the command room door burst open. A radio operator stumbled in, headset around his neck, voice breathless.
Radio Operator: "Sorry General, it's for Commander Sarah, Priority signal — Brotherhood of Steel, Boston Airport. They're demanding your presence immediately. Said it's... non-negotiable."
The room went still. Even Nate's expression hardened.
Nate: "Demanding, huh? Sounds like Maxson's temper hasn't changed."
Sarah shut her briefcase with a heavy click, locking it to her wrist harness.
Sarah: "Then it's time we see how reasonable the Elder's become."She turned toward the operator.Sarah: "Tell the flight crew to prep the vertibird. I'll depart within ten minutes."
Radio Operator: "Yes, ma'am!" He saluted sharply before running out.
Nate straightened, frowning.
Nate: "You're going there solo?"
Sarah paused by the doorway, pulling on her gloves.
Sarah: "I won't be alone."She glanced toward the shadows near the hall — and sure enough, Team 404 stepped forward, silent and ready.
Sarah (smirking faintly): "Right on cue."
HK416: "You called, Commander?"
Sarah: "You know the drill. Full kit, no insignia. We're not starting a war — we're preventing one."
Nate sighed, crossing his arms.
Nate: "You really think the Brotherhood will just talk?"
Sarah: "If they won't…" she hefted her briefcase, eyes hardening, "then I'll make them listen."
[Exterior – Castle Landing Pad]
The whine of turbines filled the morning air as Z11's Vertibird lifted off, spray from the melting snow whipping across the walls. Soldiers on patrol paused to watch it rise — the emblem of the Division faintly glinting beneath its faded paint.
From the sky, the Commonwealth stretched below — thawing, scarred, rebuilding. Ahead, the silhouette of the Prydwen loomed like a floating fortress above Boston Airport, casting its massive shadow over the runways.
ISAC (through Sarah's earpiece, calm tone): "Approaching Brotherhood-controlled airspace. Authorization code not found in current database."
Sarah: "Doesn't matter. They'll let me in. They called for me."
404 exchanged silent looks — alert, synchronized, weapons slung but ready.
The Vertibird cut through the cold air, engines roaring toward the waiting steel giant.And for the first time since the snow began to fall, the Commonwealth sky was clear.
The conference chamber aboard the Prydwen smelled faintly of oil and ozone. Light from the hangar windows fell in cold strips across polished metal tables. Elder Arthur Maxson sat at the head of the table like a judge in ancient armor — immaculate, unreadable. Captain Kell and Proctor Quinlan stood at attention nearby; a few Paladins and Scribes lingered like statues behind them.
A comm chirped.
Captain Kell: "They've landed on the helipad, Elder."
Maxson (dry): "The usual? Sarah and her dolls?"
Kell: "Yes, Elder."
The conference door opened. Sarah walked in—coat dusted with snow, briefcase in hand, Team 404 folded like dark shadows just behind her. She offered a small bow of courtesy that was almost a smirk.
Sarah: "Sorry to keep you waiting."Maxson's jaw tightened. He didn't rise.
Maxson: "You brought me data. Now explain. How do you expect me to accept that some of my trusted—my Paladins—might be synth? Paladin Danse, of all people."
Sarah sighed, a sound with the weight of long winters. She set the briefcase down and opened it with practiced fingers, producing a stack of documents. Without looking up, she slid the first page toward Proctor Quinlan — a list of escape synths, intercepted Railroad manifests, cross-referenced movement logs.
Sarah (cool): "It's all here. Tracks, transponder echoes, the escape signatures the Railroad didn't scrub. Compare them with your personnel database."
Quinlan frowned, swept the papers, and began cross-checking. His brow creased. Captain Kell shifted uneasily.
Quinlan: "—This can't be right. These signatures overlap with active patrol logs—"Kell (harsh): "Quinlan!"
Quinlan (snapping back to attention): "Sir—yes, sir." He kept scanning.
Sarah folded her arms and met Maxson's eyes.
Sarah: "Before you act, Elder, let me ask one thing: what do you value more — a clean roster, or a soldier who will stand and die for the Brotherhood?"
Maxson's expression hardened.
Maxson: "If one of them is a synth, they jeopardize every mission. We can't afford compromised hearts beating in our ranks."
Sarah: "Then ask yourself about Paladin Danse. He's fought. He's bled. He's carried your standard. I'm not asking you to trust me — I'm asking you to trust the facts of what they do in the field."She leaned forward a fraction. "Danse is under Minutemen oversight for a reason. Close monitoring. Training. Not exile."
A murmur rippled through the room. Captain Kell glanced to Quinlan, then to Maxson.
Captain Kell (offering): "Perhaps suspected units can be reassigned to lower-priority posts — outposts, supply runs — until we verify them."
Maxson's mouth thinned. He considered the paper, the eyes at the table, the weight of decisions. Finally he said, cold but measured:
Maxson: "You expect me to gamble lives on your assurances, Sierra?"
Sarah's tone stayed steady, but she produced the final piece of her case: a small velvet-lined case. Inside, a vial glowed faintly blue and a compact cylinder was nested beside it.
Sarah: "I'm not asking you to gamble. I'm offering leverage." She tapped the vial. "A partial formula — stolen and partially reconstructed from an escaped Institute scientist. It's tailored to the Institute's FEV strain. It's incomplete and untested beyond one subject, but it works enough to stabilize mutant aggression in field trials."She tapped the cylinder. "A prototype delivery — a grenade to spread a pacifying aerosol. It's not a cure in the lab sense yet, but it can quiet feral behavior and buy time to administer the full treatment."
A Scribe jumped forward, incredulous.
Scribe Neriah (loud): "WHAT? That— that could save soldiers from mutant charges! If it works—"
Quinlan (hushing): "Neriah—manner."
Neriah's excitement barely suppressed, she jabbed a finger at the vial.
Neriah: "You have to let us test this. The Brotherhood has units constantly in contact with ferals. If we could pacify them—"
Sarah let her finish, then locked eyes with Maxson one last time.Sarah: "You asked for reasons not to purge. Here's one: the lives of your soldiers. This is evidence your command can use to make decisions — not scapegoats. I'll wait for your verdict. But know this: the Minutemen will march if the Institute keeps killing innocents. The Brotherhood will be there, too — and without a good case, many scientists will die in the purge. I'm offering you a way to spare them and secure your people."
A long pause. Maxson's hands folded on the table like iron.
Maxson (finally): "Proctor Quinlan, verify those signatures. Scribe Neriah—prepare a controlled field test protocol. If this vial works as you claim, the Brotherhood will consider limited reprieve for suspected personnel pending internal review."
Quinlan dipped his head, already absorbed in the paperwork. Neriah's eyes flashed with barely contained hope.
Neriah (quiet, awed): "Proctor—this could change everything."
Sarah gathered her briefcase. Team 404 melted into the shadows behind her like a practiced echo. Maxson's stare followed them as they left, cold and calculating.
Sarah (to Maxson, low): "You'll have your answer soon. And Elder — remember: evidence saved more lives than fury ever will."
Maxson's reply was barely audible as the meeting room door closed.
Maxson: "We'll see, Commander."
Boston Airport – Liberty Prime Construction Yard
The air around the half-finished Liberty Prime hummed with power tools and shouted orders. The towering machine stood like a sleeping giant, its steel ribs open to the sky. Sarah crossed the construction yard toward the helipad, her boots echoing over the scaffolding steel. Team 404 followed behind — silent, watchful, their optics scanning.
Then came a heavy thud, followed by the mechanical hiss of servos.
"Commander Sierra! Wait!"
HK416's rifle came up instantly.HK416 (cold): "Halt your approach and identify yourself."
Sarah lifted a hand in calm command.Sarah: "Stand down, 404. Non-combat zone."
From between the scaffolds emerged a woman in a custom-modified power armor frame — sleeker, more flexible than the standard T-series. Hydraulic pistons at the legs hissed softly, and a neural brace ran along her spine, giving her mobility she otherwise wouldn't have.
Ingram: "Commander… I'm Proctor Ingram. I need your help."
Sarah's eyes flicked toward Liberty Prime's incomplete torso, then back to her.Sarah: "Let me guess — it's about that?"
Ingram nodded grimly. "We're rebuilding as Liberty Prime Mk.2, but we've hit a wall with its power regulation system. The lattice alignment between fusion regulators keeps collapsing. We need someone brilliant in pre-war energy systems — someone who can stabilize it before we fry the mainframe."
Sarah crossed her arms. "You've got an entire Brotherhood of scribes and field engineers. Try Diamond City or Goodneighbor — there are decent mechanics there."
Ingram sighed. "They're not enough. Not for this scale. We need someone like… her."
Sarah tilted her head slightly pretend to be unaware. "Who's 'her'?"
Ingram: "Doctor Madison Li. She worked on Prime before the war. The schematics bear her signature. But…" — she hesitated — "...our sources say she's with the Institute."
Sarah's eyes narrowed slightly, betraying a spark of familiarity she didn't mean to show.Sarah (pretending): "Ah… Madison Li… she's still alive then."
Ingram (hope rising): "You know her?"
Sarah forced a small, vague smile. "We crossed paths before. She's brilliant, stubborn — not the type to take orders easily."
Ingram's mechanical joints whirred softly as she took a step forward. "Then you understand why we need her. Commander, if you can reach her — convince her to defect again — the Brotherhood will owe you a debt. We could finish Prime within weeks."
Sarah's tone dropped into something colder, edged with conviction.Sarah: "And what happens after she defects? Will you treat her like a collaborator, or chain her to a lab again?"
Ingram blinked, caught off guard. "Wha— no, of course not! She'd be protected. I'd make sure—"
Sarah (interrupting): "No, Ingram. I don't want promises. I want assurance. If Madison Li or any scientist escapes the Institute — and chooses to work with the Brotherhood — it must be of their own free will. No coercion. No confinement. No 'for the cause.'"
The hiss of Ingram's exoservos filled the short silence. Her gaze softened, understanding dawning. "You're serious about this."
Sarah nodded once. "Completely. Freedom of choice is the foundation of the world I'm trying to rebuild — not another cage with cleaner walls."
Ingram exhaled, the metallic shoulders of her armor shifting with the weight. "I can't make that call alone… but I can bring it to Elder Maxson. If he signs off, we can formalize protections for defectors under Brotherhood custody."
Sarah's expression eased — just a touch. "Do that. Then we'll talk about helping Prime."
Ingram nodded firmly. "Understood. And… Commander?"
Sarah paused, glancing back.
Ingram: "Whatever they say about you — the Division, the Dolls — I can tell you're not playing anyone's game or become pawn to anyone but your own. That earns my respect."
Sarah's lips curved faintly. "Respect's a good start. Trust will take longer earn back what long lost."
As Sarah turned toward the helipad, the towering shape of Liberty Prime loomed above — half a weapon, half a monument — a symbol of both humanity's potential and its hubris.
The snowlight reflected off its unfinished armor, and for a moment, Sarah's reflection stared back — a commander walking the razor's edge between salvation and control.