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The Vertibird hummed through the twilight skies over the Commonwealth, its rotors slicing the cooling air with a steady thrum that vibrated through the troop bay. Z12 sat at the controls, her silver hair tied back neatly, blue optics locked on the instrument panel as she piloted with unerring precision.
The craft banked slightly, skirting the ruined skyline of Boston, heading toward the murky Charles River where ancient secrets lay submerged. In the bay behind her, Sarah and Team 404 prepared for the insertion—a high-stakes dive into the Institute's underbelly via forgotten cooling tunnels.
Sarah stood in the open space, methodically suiting up in a radiation-resistant wetsuit—thick neoprene laced with leaded fibers and anti-rad coatings, its black surface gleaming under the bay's overhead lights. She tugged the zipper up her chest, the material hugging her augmented form like a second skin, designed to shield against the lethal rads lurking in the flooded passages.
Next, she checked the oxygen tank mask, securing the full-face seal with a click, testing the regulator with a few deep breaths—cool, filtered air filling her lungs. The BCD—buoyancy control device—strapped to her back, its inflatable vest humming as she inflated and deflated it experimentally, ensuring the valves responded without lag.
UMP45 watched from her seat, her submachine gun across her lap, head tilted curiously. "So, Commander, why not include the other Dolls? AR Team's solid, and DEFY's got the muscle. Why just us in 404 for this op?"
Sarah didn't pause in her preparations, starting to pack her armor gear and weapons into a heavy-duty duffle bag—sealing plates, rifle components, and sidearms in waterproof pouches to keep them dry during the swim. She zipped the bag shut with a sharp tug, then turned to UMP45, holding up three fingers in a deliberate gesture.
"One," she said, ticking off the first finger, "you girls have anti-hacking and hacking modules far advanced compared to the rest of the Dolls. Institute cyberwarfare won't touch you."
"Two," she continued, folding down the second, "your firmware's updated—suitable to resist and counter whatever digital nasties they throw at us. No overrides, no glitches."
"And three," she finished, lowering the last finger but meeting each of their optics in turn, "you girls are the longest-serving and most trusted in my book. You've proven it time and again—stealth ops, extractions, holding the line. I need that reliability down there."
UMP45 nodded, a faint smirk crossing her face. "Fair enough. Flattery gets you everywhere, boss."
The Vertibird dipped lower, Z12's voice crackling over the intercom. "Approaching drop zone—river access grate submerged ahead. Visual on the entry point. Thirty seconds."
The craft hovered above the sluggish Charles River, its waters dark and opaque, hiding the irradiated depths below. The submerged water grate—a rusted pre-War intake valve—loomed just beneath the surface, its bars bent from years of neglect but wide enough for entry. Sarah shouldered the duffle bag, its weight a familiar burden against her augmented strength, and moved to the open bay door, wind whipping her wetsuit.
She glanced back at 404 one last time, her voice muffled slightly through the mask. "Only you girls so far have the ability to submerge and resurface in water like this—so you better guide me to the destination before I drown with my heavy gear and augmented body."
Team 404 chuckled in unison, a rare synchronized moment of levity—UMP45's laugh sharp, UMP9's soft, HK416's a low rumble, G11's sleepy giggle. "Yes ma'am," they replied together, optics glinting with loyalty.
Sarah nodded, clipping her line to the rappel harness. "Let's dive." The team followed, plunging into the murky depths below, the Vertibird pulling away as Z12 return to spectacle island awaiting to Sarah's next command.
The Boston Airport thrummed with the pulse of impending war, the tarmac a hive of activity under the bruised twilight sky. Brotherhood Knights in gleaming power armor hustled across the cracked runways, loading Vertibirds with ammo crates and fusion cores, their footsteps clanging like distant thunder. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and machine oil, generators humming as floodlights bathed the scene in harsh white beams. At the center of it all stood Liberty Prime Mk2—a towering colossus of steel and circuitry, its massive frame a testament to pre-War hubris reborn, red optic lenses dormant but promising devastation. Opposite the control station, its shadow loomed over the assembled forces, a silent guardian ready to awaken.
Elder Arthur Maxson emerged from the barracks, his power armor whirring with each stride. The suit's servos hummed softly, plates shifting as he moved, his beard framing a face etched with resolve. He stepped toward his personal Vertibird, the craft's ramp lowered invitingly, rotors idling with a low whine. Knights saluted as he passed, their gauntlets clanging against chest plates. Maxson ascended the ramp without breaking stride, settling into the command seat as the door sealed behind him with a hydraulic hiss.
He keyed the radio, his voice broadcasting across the airport's loudspeakers and encrypted channels, a rally cry to steel hearts and sharpen blades. "Brothers and sisters of Steel," he intoned, his tone resonant and unyielding, "today we strike at the heart of the enemy. The Institute's tyranny ends here. Our Liberty Prime marches with us—as a symbol of humanity's unyielding will. For the Brotherhood! Ad Victoriam!"
The announcement echoed across the tarmac, Knights roaring in response, fists pumping the air. It was the cue Proctor Ingram had waited for. From the control station, she slammed a lever forward, her power armor frame leaning into the console. "Prime activation sequence—initiate!" Circuits hummed to life, fusion cores igniting with a deep rumble that vibrated through the ground. Liberty Prime's systems booted in stages: limbs twitching, optic lenses flickering from black to glowing red, diagnostic lights racing across its chassis like fireflies in the dusk.
But things didn't go smoothly.
A shimmer rippled through the air—blue flashes multiplying like fractures in reality. Institute Synths materialized everywhere, teleporting in waves that bypassed the Brotherhood's defenses. Standard gen2 models with laser rifles popped into existence on the tarmac, heavies with miniguns storming the hangars, Coursers in black coats blinking onto rooftops with disruptor blades drawn. "What the..! The anti-relay system!" a scribe shouted from a terminal, alarms blaring. "It's been sabotaged—jammers offline!"
No time to blame who—Institute spies, a careless tech, or internal betrayal—the focus shifted to survival. "Repel them!" Maxson bellowed from his Vertibird, the craft lifting off as Knights opened fire. Lasers crisscrossed the night in crimson threads, Synths vaporizing in bursts of energy, but more relayed in, a relentless tide.
Madison Li, caught in the open near Prime's access panel, froze as a Courser teleported nearby, its blade humming. Proctor Ingram grabbed her arm, her power armor whirring. "Doctor—move!" She hauled Li toward the control station, laser pistol barking to cover their retreat, blasting a Synth mid-charge. "Get inside—seal the doors!" Li stumbled but followed, the duo barricading themselves as the battle intensified outside.
The fight was a maelstrom of chaos: Knights forming firing lines, miniguns spinning up to shred advancing heavies; scribes manning turrets that swiveled to track teleporting foes; Vertibirds lifting off prematurely, their door gunners raking the ground with suppressing fire.
A Courser squad breached the perimeter, teleporting onto Prime's scaffolding, one elite unit scaling the giant's leg with inhuman agility. It reached the head, interfacing cables snaking out to hack the boot sequence—red warnings flashing on control panels.
"Hostile on Prime—it's trying to override!" Ingram shouted over comms from inside.
The battle hung by a thread, Synths pressing the Knights back, lasers scorching armor and flesh alike.
Then—a sudden jolt. The hacking Courser convulsed, its head exploding in a spray of circuits and fluid. It tumbled from Prime's head, lifeless, hitting the tarmac with a wet thud.
The shot had come from an impossible low angle and range—from the distant parking garage, where MacCready and Minutemen Charlie Team provided sniper support. MacCready's rifle smoked, his eye glued to the scope. "Got the bastard," he muttered, chambering another round. Charlie Team followed suit, their rifles cracking in unison—picking off teleporters, easing the pressure on the Brotherhood lines.
The BOS rallied, lasers converging to repel the Synths in a final push. Bodies piled, teleports fizzling as reinforcements thinned. The airport fell quiet save for the groans of wounded and the hum of cooling weapons.
Liberty Prime's boot sequence completed uninterrupted, its voice booming across the field like a mechanical god awakening. "Liberty Prime full system analysis. All systems: nominal. Weapons: hot."
"Designation: Liberty Prime. Operational assessment: All systems nominal. Primary directive: War."
The giant stirred, limbs flexing with earth-shaking power, optic lenses blazing red. "Democracy is non-negotiable, Engaging red chinese aggressors" it intoned, stepping forward with a thunderous stride that cracked the tarmac.
"Global positioning initialized. Location - the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Birthplace of American freedom."
Maxson's Vertibird led the escort, the Prydwen looming overhead like a steel cloud. BOS Vertibirds lifted off in formation, rotors thumping as they flanked the marching Prime advanced toward the city.
Prime's voice boomed across the wasteland, a mechanical proclamation that rattled windows in distant ruins. "Freedom is the sovereign right of every American, Commencing urban pacification protocol."
The procession cut through the outskirts of East Boston, the robot's strides cracking abandoned roadways and toppling rusted lampposts. As it reached the East Boston Preparatory School—a crumbling edifice of pre-War brick overgrown with irradiated vines—reality shimmered. Blue teleport flashes ripped open the air, Synths materializing in squads: sleek Coursers with disruptor blades, heavies with miniguns, and standard models firing laser volleys. Mingled among them were Sangvis Ferri Dolls—Jaegers sniping from windows, Rippers charging with claws extended, their synthetic eyes glowing crimson in the dusk.
"RED COMMUNIST detected on american soil, lethal force engaged, democracy will never be defeated" Prime intoned, its eye laser charging with a high-pitched whine. A beam lanced out, vaporizing a cluster of Synths in a flash of green plasma, their frames melting to slag. Knights opened fire, lasers crisscrossing the night, but the enemies poured in relentlessly, teleporting onto rooftops and alleys to flank the advance.
The battle spilled into the streets beyond the school, a gauntlet of ambushes. Raiders emerged from shadowed tenements, their ragged armor and pipe rifles no match for Prime's might—but they came in hordes, screaming war cries as they lobbed grenades and fired from cover.
Super mutants lumbered from irradiated craters, their hulking green forms wielding boards with nails and miniguns scavenged from fallen foes. One behemoth—a towering brute with chains wrapped around its fists—charged with a bellow, but Prime swatted it aside like an insect, its massive arm crumpling the mutant's skull.
"Embrace democracy, or you will be eradicated."
Due to a broken bridge spanning a toxic canal, Liberty Prime had to deviate—wading through the shallow, irradiated waters with ponderous steps, waves surging around its legs like a mechanical leviathan crossing a river. "Aquatic traversal initiated. Freedom waits for no obstacle," it declared, nukes arming in its launchers. A salvo of mini-nukes arced out, detonating amid a raider ambush on the far bank, mushroom clouds blooming in miniature as enemies vanished in fireballs.
The march continued to the Bunker Hill monument, its obelisk a silent sentinel amid the ruins.
Prime halted briefly, its optic scanning the memorial with almost reverent focus. "Memorial site recognized. Patriotism subroutines engaged. Honoring the fallen is the duty of every red blooded American."
Knights paused in respect, but the moment passed—the robot pressed on through Boston's labyrinthine streets, annihilating everything in its path. Eye lasers carved through Synth patrols, nukes pulverized super mutant strongholds. Near Ticonderoga, two behemoths erupted from a collapsed warehouse, roaring challenges—but Prime crushed them effortlessly, its fists slamming down like meteors, the ground quaking as their massive bodies were reduced to pulp underfoot.
Eventually, the procession reached the CIT ruins—the Institute's surface facade, a crumbling campus guarded by a large group of Synths already locked in combat with local Minutemen militia. The Minutemen, ragged but resolute in their blue coats, fired from barricades of overturned cars and sandbags, holding the line against teleporting foes. But as Liberty Prime's shadow fell over the battlefield, the Synths faltered, and the Minutemen cheered—retreating to a safe distance, happy to take a backseat and watch the show. "Let the big guy handle it!" one shouted, rifles lowering as awe spread through their ranks.
"America will never fall to Communist invasion!" -liberty prime
At this point, Elder Maxson descended from his Vertibird, armed with his unique gatling laser—a custom weapon etched with Brotherhood insignia, its barrels spinning up with a deadly whine. More Brotherhood personnel joined the fight, dropping from aircraft in power-armored waves, their lasers converging on the Synth guardians. "For humanity!" Maxson roared, his weapon tearing through a Courser squad, the air alive with crimson bolts and exploding frames.
Liberty Prime analyzed the area, its scanners humming as it detected the subterranean lair below. "Warning: subterranean Red Chinese compound detected. Commencing excavation protocol." It positioned itself before the ruins, eye laser charging to full intensity, nukes priming in its launchers.
"Obstruction depth: five meters. Composition: sand, gravel and communism."
"Tactical assessment: Breach compound to restore democracy."
"Warning: all personnel should move to minimum safe distance."
But as it focused on breaching, it became vulnerable—unable to divert power to attack the swarming Synths that teleported in desperation, clawing at its legs and firing disruptors at joints.
"Defend Prime!" Maxson ordered, Knights forming a protective ring, lasers flashing to repel the horde. The battle intensified—Synths pouring in, Coursers blinking through the lines, but the Brotherhood held, their armor dented but unyielding.
After tense minutes of defense, Prime's assault peaked. "Freedom delivery imminent." It unleashed its eye laser in a sustained beam, carving into the earth, followed by a salvo of nukes that detonated in sequence, mushroom clouds blooming as the ground buckled. The ruins collapsed inward, a massive hole yawning open—a direct access to the Institute below, irradiated vapors billowing upward like the breath of a awakened dragon.
Maxson lowered his weapon, smoke curling from its barrels. "The way is open now. Into the breach—Ad Victoriam!"