The Vertibirds sliced through the clearing skies over the Commonwealth, rotors thumping a steady rhythm against the fading mist. The battles at Bunker Hill and the siege of the Castle had left their marks—smoke plumes rising from distant ruins like funeral pyres, the air still heavy with the acrid tang of plasma and gunpowder. Sarah sat in the troop bay of Z12's craft, her coat draped over her shoulders, the weight of command settling like the receding rain. Team 404 surrounded her: UMP45 tinkering with her submachine gun, UMP9 monitoring comms with quiet efficiency, HK416 scanning the horizon through the open door, and G11 dozing fitfully in her seat, the adrenaline crash hitting hard. They were en route to Boston Airport, a Brotherhood stronghold turned uneasy alliance hub, where new threats—and old secrets—awaited.
In the parallel Vertibird, piloted by Z11, the AR Team flew toward Spectacle Island, their hold a mix of triumph and tension. M4A1 sat beside the foam-encased form of Beluga—M16A1—her sister's core flickering with glitching recovery signals, the riot foam slowly dissolving under controlled solvents. SOPMOD bounced in her seat, her wild energy undimmed, while ST AR-15 and RO635 kept watch over their captives: Ouroboros, handcuffed but cooperative, her twin-tailed black hair disheveled, violet eyes darting with reluctant curiosity; and Intruder's core, a inert orb secured in a reinforced case, its once-theatrical essence silenced.
Sarah keyed her radio, the channel linking the two crafts with a soft click. "M4, congrats on retrieving your sister back. Once you arrive at Spectacle Island, ask Mayling to deliver our special package to Boston Airport. Place Intruder's core along with the rest of the ringleader cores."
M4A1's voice came back, warm with gratitude amid the rotor noise. "Understood, Commander. We'll handle it. And... thank you. For everything."
Ouroboros, eavesdropping from her seat in the AR Vertibird, leaned forward against her restraints, her handcuffs clinking. "Wait, my core too?" she asked, her voice a mix of sarcasm and genuine concern, her serpentine cannons folded harmlessly behind her.
Sarah's response was immediate, her tone measured but firm. "Since you're cooperating, I'll spare you that. But you'll be under constant monitoring. No tricks, no teleports—prove your switch was genuine."
SOPMOD, ever the opportunist, chimed in with a grin, her voice bubbling over the comms. "Best perk of not getting shoved into a core like our captives? You can eat buffet! Real food, all you can handle. No more synthetic slop."
Ouroboros's eyes widened, her handcuffs dangling as she raised her bound wrists in mock celebration, a sly smile creeping across her face. "Wait? REAL FOOD!!! Really??! Hah~ switching sides does make me the right choice. Deal me in—I'll behave. Mostly."
The channel crackled with light laughter from the AR Team, a brief respite in the endless war. The Vertibirds diverged—AR heading to the island's secure labs, Sarah and 404 pressing toward the airport's fortified runways.
A few miles away, atop the crumbling parking garage overlooking Boston Airport, MacCready lounged against a rusted barrier, his SHD watch glowing faintly on his wrist—a pre-War relic syncing with Minutemen comms, its holographic display flickering with status updates from the Castle and Bunker Hill. The rain had fully stopped now, leaving the air crisp and charged, the distant horizon smudged with lingering smoke. Minutemen Charlie Team flanked him— a squad of hardened militia in blue coats, rifles trained on the approaches, their faces etched with boredom after hours of uneventful vigil.
MacCready adjusted his sniper scope, peering down at the airport's secured labs where Dr. Madison Li tinkered with fusion tech under heavy guard, and Virgil—the once-super mutant scientist, now reverted to human form after taking his experimental serum—paced nearby in ill-fitting clothes, his skin pale and unscarred, grumbling about adjustments to his newfound fragility. The place was a fortress: Brotherhood sentries in power armor patrolling the perimeter, turrets whirring on auto-scan.
"MAN, THIS IS BORING," MacCready muttered, lowering his rifle with a sigh. "We missed all the fun from the Castle—Gunners and Synths storming the walls, big siege action. Why're we stuck in Boston Airport babysitting Madison Li and Virgil? Feels like drawing the short straw."
One of the Minutemen chuckled, shifting his weight. "General's orders. Institute's got eyes everywhere—can't let those eggheads get snatched."
MacCready grunted, glancing at his SHD watch as a new ping came in: victories at the Castle and Bunker Hill. He smirked faintly. "Yeah, well, at least someone's having a party. Us? Just glorified nannies."
The words echoed into the ether, a slip of frustration meant for no one's ears—but fortune favored the careless. Only one receiver picked it up: Sarah's, tuned to the same secure band from her Vertibird as it thundered toward the airport.
Z12's craft banked low over the perimeter, its shadow sweeping across the garage like a passing storm. Sarah, seated in the bay with Team 404, heard the broadcast crackle through her earpiece. A faint smile tugged at her lips—amused, almost maternal—as she keyed her own comms. "Oh~ don't worry, kid," she radioed back, her voice warm with a teasing edge, cutting through the rotor noise. "You will have your action soon. See that giant robot down there? You will overwatch from your current position and provide sniper cover. Should give you a challenge."
MacCready's eyes widened, his face flushing as he realized his blunder. He glanced around, but Charlie Team hadn't heard—SHD freq was his alone. Straightening up, he peered through his scope at the massive form of Liberty Prime in the distance, the Brotherhood's colossal war machine standing sentinel amid the airport's defenses, its laser eyes glowing faintly. A grin spread across his face, the boredom evaporating. "How would I say no to such a sniper challenge?" he replied, his voice crackling back with renewed vigor. "After this, I'm gonna show that Liberty Prime photo to my son Duncan when he comes to the Commonwealth after this crisis. Kid's gonna flip."
Sarah chuckled softly in her Vertibird, the sound light amid the hum of engines, Team 404 exchanging amused glances around her. "Look forward to it," she said, her tone shifting to business. "Right now, I'm gonna see the BOS progress. Seems like Nate finally decided to end the Institute terror. Over and out."
Sarah's Vertibird touched down on the cracked tarmac of Boston Airport with a whine of settling rotors, the downdraft scattering loose debris and stirring the lingering mist into lazy eddies. The air carried the sharp tang of jet fuel and ozone, undercut by the distant rumble of generators powering the Brotherhood's makeshift fortress. She hopped down from the bay ramp, boots crunching on gravel, her coat still damp from the earlier storm. Team 404 followed in her wake—UMP45 and UMP9 scanning the perimeter with submachine guns at the ready, HK416 covering the rear, G11 trailing with her usual half-asleep vigilance. The airport sprawled around them: Vertibirds parked in rows like steel sentinels, power-armored Knights patrolling the fences, and in the distance, the colossal form of Liberty Prime Mk2 loomed opposite the control station—a towering behemoth of pre-War engineering reborn, its frame complete and imposing, laser eyes dormant but promising apocalypse.
Sarah strode toward the control station, a squat bunker of reinforced concrete festooned with Brotherhood banners and humming terminals. Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the scent of soldering iron and recycled air. Proctor Ingram stood at a central console, her power armor frame bulky yet precise as she tinkered with schematics, her face etched with focused determination. Beside her, Dr. Madison Li paced, her lab coat crisp despite the chaos, dark hair tied back, eyes sharp behind her glasses. Both women—scientist and engineer, pillars of the Brotherhood's tech revival—wore expressions of quiet frustration, something amiss in their calculations.
Sarah entered without preamble, her presence drawing their attention like a magnet. "Ingram, Li. Status on Prime?"
Ingram straightened, her armored gauntlets clanking against the console. "Commander. It's complete—structurally sound, systems calibrated. But..." She exchanged a glance with Li, who nodded grimly.
Sarah tilted her head, sensing the hitch. "What's wrong? It looks ready to march."
Li stepped forward, her voice clipped with urgency. "Power core's the issue. To fully activate Liberty Prime, we need a beryllium agitator. It's the only component that can stabilize the fusion matrix at full output. Without it, he's just a big statue."
Ingram nodded, her tone grave. "The only one we know of is in the Mass Fusion building—top floors, heavily secured. If the Institute finds out it's there, they'll do everything they can to keep it out of our hands. Synths, Coursers, the works. It's a high-risk retrieval."
Sarah listened, her expression unchanging, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. She leaned against a nearby terminal, arms crossed. "Wait. My package from Spectacle Island should be arriving soon."
The two women exchanged puzzled glances, but before they could question her, the distant thump of rotors grew louder. Another Vertibird—Sarah's own, marked with subtle Doll insignia—hovered into view near the airport entrance, its bay doors sliding open. From the hold, figures parachuted down in graceful descents: sleek Dolls in tactical gear, chutes blooming like dark flowers against the gray sky. The package—a reinforced crate the size of a Brahmin pack—dropped last, guided by lines to land softly near UMP9 and UMP45, who were already on the ground, ready to receive it. They unhooked the chute with efficient motions, dragging the crate toward the control station, their submachine guns slung but optics watchful.
Fifteen minutes had passed in tense anticipation, the rain fully cleared now, leaving the sky a bruised purple as dusk approached. UMP9 and UMP45 hauled the crate inside, setting it down with a thud that echoed off the walls. Sarah approached, popping the latches with a series of clicks, the lid hissing open on pneumatic seals.
She reached in and pulled out the item—a gleaming cylindrical device, its surface etched with pre-War warnings and Institute serial codes, humming faintly with contained energy. The beryllium agitator.
"Tell Elder Maxson," Sarah said, holding it up for inspection, her voice laced with quiet satisfaction, "as thanks for the help in Bunker Hill—as Division Commander, I extend my gratitude and gift you this."
Proctor Ingram and Madison Li stared in unison, their eyes widening in shock. "The beryllium agitator???! What—when—HOW???" they yelped, voices overlapping in a rare moment of synchronized disbelief. Ingram's gauntlets clenched, Li's hands flying to her mouth as they leaned in, scanning the device with disbelieving gazes.
Sarah chuckled softly, setting the agitator on the console with care. "Really~ Proctor, I've been years lurking around the Commonwealth with 404. You should put two and two together by now. We hit Mass Fusion weeks ago—quiet op, in and out before the Institute even sniffed us. Now they're scouring that place empty-handed. Hah, that's my revenge for underestimating my Dolls and resources."
Ingram stammered, recovering first. "You... you just had it? All this time?"
Li shook her head, a mix of awe and exasperation. "Incredible. This changes everything—Prime can go online immediately."
Proctor Ingram and Dr. Madison Li, the duo of scientist and engineer, had already peeled away from the station in a flurry of excitement, the beryllium agitator clutched between them like a holy relic. Ingram's power armor whirred as she lumbered ahead, her voice booming with uncharacteristic glee. "Finally! With this, Prime's core will stabilize at 150% output—no more brownouts mid-stride." Li matched her pace, lab coat flapping, a rare smile cracking her stern facade. "Let's get it installed before Maxson changes his mind about field tests. This could end the Institute overnight." They hurried toward the robot's access panels, tools in hand, their joy palpable—a brief spark of hope in the endless grind of war.
Sarah entered the control station, a dimly lit bunker alive with flickering terminals and holographic displays mapping the Commonwealth's threats. The air smelled of hot circuits and recycled oxygen, a stark contrast to the open wasteland outside. She leaned against a console, crossing her arms, her mind already turning to the next move—Nate's push against the Institute, the fragile alliances holding by threads.
The door hissed open behind her, heavy footsteps announcing the arrival. Elder Arthur Maxson emerged from the adjoining barracks, his fur-lined coat draped over broad shoulders, beard trimmed and eyes sharp with the weight of command. He strode in with purposeful steps, nodding to a passing scribe before turning his attention to Sarah.
"Crafty as ever, Commander Sierra," Maxson said, his voice a deep rumble laced with genuine respect. "You have my thanks for the assist. That agitator... it's a game-changer."
Sarah met his gaze evenly, a faint nod her acknowledgment. "Just balancing the scales, Elder. There was a troubling situation at Bunker Hill after the battle?"
Maxson's expression darkened slightly, his brow furrowing. "Oh, is the civilian population rioting over the mess?"
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Hah, such hardly. They've gone scared—begging the Minutemen for protection, giving up their arrangements with the raiders' so-called 'protection' rackets. No, the trouble is three escaped Synths and remnant Railroad agents holed up in the ruins. I request you make arrangements to fold them into the Minutemen. I can now understand the escaped Synths—their fear, being shunned just for existing. It's... opened my eyes."
A long pause stretched between them, the hum of terminals filling the silence. Maxson shifted, his power armor servos whispering. "About the White House Militia..."
Sarah waved a hand dismissively, her tone even. "It's okay. I heard the radio broadcast from Three Dog—they're having a good fight against raiders and Talon Company mercs after you left so hastily with the Prydwen. As long as you treat them under your wing, I can give up leading the White House Militia."
Maxson nodded, a spark of relief in his eyes. "Agreed. Your... flexibility is appreciated."
He straightened, his demeanor shifting back to the authoritative Elder. "Well then, enough with pleasantries. So! With Liberty Prime ready to march and search the Institute with my forces—but I'm sure you and General Nate want to get in on it as well."
Sarah's smile returned, sharp and knowing. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Elder. Let's end this."
The radio on the console crackled to life, linking to the Castle's frequency. General Nate's voice came through, steady and resolute, the distant hum of Minutemen activity underscoring his words. "Sarah, Maxson—this is Nate. We've secured the Castle, but the Institute's not done. What's the play?"
Sarah leaned in, keying the mic with a nod to Maxson. "Okay, while the BOS is soon starting up Liberty Prime, I'm sure the Institute won't stand around to see that giant stomping and scanning their backyard. They'll throw everything at you."
Maxson stepped closer, his deep voice rumbling over the line. "That's correct. There will be a lot of Synths teleporting in, attempting to stop our path. While I'm not worried they can halt Prime entirely, the casualties will be... significant. We can't afford heavy losses this close to the end."
Nate's response was immediate, laced with the quiet confidence of a leader who'd stared down worse. "Then we can make a second front. Oh, and Sturges completed his analysis of the Institute data I brought back earlier. He's got something."
Sarah chuckled softly, a rare spark of humor cutting through the tension. "So the fishing trip that he finally finished. Haha. Lay it on us, Sturges."
Sturges' voice joined the channel, his drawl thick with excitement and exhaustion, the clank of tools in the background suggesting he was still tinkering in the Castle's workshop. "Right, Commander. From the data, there's a possible backdoor into the Institute: an old cooling water tunnel system under the ruins. Forgotten access point—pre-War plumbing, basically. I also transferred data to your SHD network with which you can reprogram the Institute Relay once you're inside. That'll let us teleport in Minutemen reinforcements straight to their doorstep. Oh, be careful—that tunnel's filled with radiation warnings about the area you need to traverse. Nasty stuff, even for Dolls."
Sarah's SHD device on her wrist beeped softly, ISAC's voice chiming in with mechanical precision: "Data transferred, complete."
She glanced at the holographic readout flickering to life on her display, schematics unfolding like a digital map. "Marvelous," Sarah said, her mind already plotting the insertion. "I take that path with 404. Nate, standby with your force at the Castle. Once I reach the Institute relay room, reprogram it and flood them with Minutemen."
Maxson's brow furrowed, his concern evident even over the radio. "Will you be alright going into the lion's den? That's deep Institute territory—traps, patrols, radiation."
Sarah's smile widened, a glint of adventure in her eyes as she turned to her team. "I'll be fine. I gonna wear a scuba tank with a radiation suit—it'll be a fun swim. 404, is the item included in the package that Mayling sent?"
HK416 rummaged through the open crate again, her long cyan hair falling into her eyes as she pulled out the gear. "Huh, ah yes—there's an oxygen tank with... the suit. And a heavy-duty duffle bag?"
Sarah nodded, satisfied. "Well then, Maxi boy, I'm going head start. See you inside the Institute."
The radio fell silent, the plan set in motion. Maxson shook his head with a reluctant chuckle. "Crafty as ever, Sierra. Ad Victoriam."
As Sarah geared up, the Vertibird outside revved its engines, ready for the drop.