Nate cleared his throat, the sound rough in the humming silence. "Is everyone all present? Cough."
Preston straightened, quickly counting heads among the squad. "One.... two... only six Minutemen with us, sir. some didn't make it cause heavy resistance."
Sarah, adjusting her black tactical vest—its pouches bulging with ammo and grenades, helmet perched ready on her head—nodded to her own team. "404 and Mayling?"
Mayling: "Dropped some tools in the pipe, but I'm ok. Nothing a quick fix can't handle."
HK416, her short black hair framing a stern face, rifle at the ready, spoke for the team. "404, ready."
G11 yawned widely, her sleepy optics blinking slowly as she shook off the disorientation. "Yawn..... here, I guess."
Nate rubbed his chin, surveying the diminished force with a frown. "Seem like not everyone made it here. We're cut off—relay room's sealed behind us, and Sturges can only hold so long."
Preston clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll make do, General. Always have."
Sarah shook her head, her voice cutting through with calm assurance. "Not necessarily." She keyed her radio, the device on her wrist beeping softly. "Sturges, status report."
Back in the Relay control room above, the scene was a maelstrom of desperation. Sturges hunched over the console, his grease-stained hands flying across the keys, holographic displays flickering with overload warnings as he managed the teleporter's cooldown cycles. The room's pristine white was marred by scorch marks and debris, red lights pulsing in time with the blaring alarms. Minutemen held the doors—barricades of overturned desks and crates forming hasty fortifications, their lasers flashing crimson bolts into the corridor beyond where Synths swarmed like relentless insects.
A Synth heavy lumbered forward, minigun spinning up— but a Minuteman's grenade arced true, exploding in a fireball that scattered its parts. "Hold the line!" Sturges shouted, sweat beading on his brow. "We lose this room, we lose the way out!"
The ceiling suddenly crumbled with a thunderous crack—rubble raining down from the pipe Sarah's team had passed through earlier, the structural integrity compromised by the facility's shaking defenses. Sturges turned his head, eyes widening as a massive figure in power armor dropped first—Elder Arthur Maxson, his fur-lined coat billowing like a cape, gatling laser in hand. He landed with a ground-shaking thud, servos whirring as he cleared the landing zone with a sweeping burst, vaporizing a pair of encroaching Synths in sprays of molten circuitry.
"Brotherhood—advance!" Maxson roared, more power-armored Knights dropping through the breach behind him, their lasers joining the fray in a symphony of red beams. The BOS troops fanned out, forming a steel wall that pushed back the Synth wave—miniguns chewing through heavies, disruptor blades clashing against power fists in brutal melees.
The battle turned in moments: Maxson's unique gatling laser spun up, its barrels a blur as it shredded a Courser squad mid-teleport, sparks flying like fireworks. Knights flanked the doors, their heavy armor absorbing laser hits that would fell lesser fighters, countering with precise volleys that dropped Synths in heaps. A final push cleared the room— the last Synth crumpling under combined fire, its frame smoking on the floor.
The alarms still blared, but the immediate threat ebbed. Maxson lowered his weapon, smoke curling from its vents, and turned to Sturges, who wiped his brow with a rag. "I take it you're the engineer for the Minutemen," Maxson said, his voice a deep rumble of authority.
Sturges nodded, catching his breath. "That I am. Name's Sturges. Thanks for the assist—those Synths were about to overrun us."
Before Maxson could respond, Sturges' radio crackled—Sarah's voice cutting through. "Sturges, status report."
Sturges keyed the mic, glancing at the BOS Elder. "Hold on—ah yes, Commander Sarah. BOS just arrived and helped us here. We're fine now. I can start teleporting reinforcements to your location, but cooldown and limits mean two at a time in 15-minute cycles. Ready when you are."
Maxson's helm turned slightly as Sturges finished his report, the Elder already taking in the room with a commander's eye—the scorched walls, the hastily erected barricades, the exhausted Minutemen still gripping their rifles with white-knuckled resolve. The Institute's alarms continued to howl, but here, for the moment, control had been seized.
"Good work," Maxson said curtly—to Sturges, to the Minutemen, to the fallen Synths smoking at their feet. Praise, from him, was always brief.
He keyed his internal comms.
"Brotherhood, listen up."
The room stilled as Knights and Paladins snapped to attention, gatling lasers spinning down, servos locking into ready stance.
"Knight Brandis and Proctor Ingram," Maxson called, turning toward the scarred Paladin as he stepped forward. "You and your new team will remain here. Secure the Relay control room. Defend it at all costs."
Brandis thumped a fist to his chest with Ingram. "Understood, Elder. We'll hold."
Maxson continued without pause.
"You will coordinate with this engineer—" he nodded once at Sturges "—and use the relay to reinforce Minutemen spearhead elements as cycles permit. Two at a time. Prioritize command personnel and heavy resistance zones."
Sturges blinked, then nodded quickly. "Y-yeah. I can do that. I'll queue locations as they come in."
Maxson's voice hardened.
"The rest of us move now."
"We advance along the same route the Minutemen took," Maxson ordered. "Clear every corridor. Destroy every Synth, turret, and production node we encounter."
A Knight hesitated only long enough to ask, "Objective, Elder?"
Maxson's gatling laser spun up briefly with a menacing whine before powering down.
"The heart of the Institute," he said. "And anyone standing between us and it."
The Brotherhood moved.
Knights vaulted the rubble, landing in heavy thuds, their armor scraping against broken conduit as they formed up behind Maxson. Laser sights cut through smoke. Boots crushed Synth debris underfoot as they pushed into the maintenance corridors beyond.
Behind them, Brandis's team reinforced the barricades, dragging wreckage into tighter choke points while Sturges rerouted power and recalibrated relay settings, sweat dripping as he fought the system's limits.
In the distance, another explosion rocked the facility—Minutemen's battle, still raging.
Maxson didn't slow.
"BROTHERHOOD Forward," he commanded.