The observation screen flickered again—but this time, Shaun did not look away.
With a faint motion of his fingers, he rerouted the feed.
Not just to this room.
To every open channel the Institute could still reach.
Across the Commonwealth—Minutemen radios, scavenged BOS repeaters, even unsecured civilian terminals—the image spread: fractured footage of Sarah's battle in Robotics. Her left arm torn away. Her eye burning blue. Her body shaking under strain. Her Dolls damaged, sparks flying, blood and oil mixed on the floor.
Shaun watched closely.
He keyed the broadcast himself, his voice calm, clinical, laced with disappointment.
"Behold," Shaun said,"the so-called protector of the Commonwealth."
The footage jumped—Sarah staggering, Athena towering over her.
"A commander who claims moral superiority," Shaun continued,"yet sacrifices her followers without hesitation. Who wields machines like weapons—and calls it justice."
The image froze on Sarah activating the Tactical Link, her body convulsing under the load.
"This is the cost of her leadership," Shaun said quietly. "Broken bodies. Broken minds. Blind obedience."
The message was clear.
Fear her. Doubt her. Turn on her.
Shaun leaned back against his pillows, breath shallow but eyes sharp.
"Let them see," he murmured. "Let them question her."
Nate clenched his fists.
"Stop it," he said. "That won't—"
Static bled into the image for half a second before stabilizing—just in time for both men to see it.
Athena fell.
Not theatrically. Not like a machine shutting down cleanly.She collapsed—a broken thing, her pristine symmetry ruined, her body tearing itself apart as the remote shell failed. The feed caught the last moment: Sarah standing over the wreckage, smoke curling from her shotgun, one eye burning blue.
Then the signal died.
Silence reclaimed the Director's quarters.
Shaun lay still in his medical bed, the faint hum of life-support machinery the only sound left in the room. His skin was pale, almost translucent under the sterile lights. He stared at the blank screen for a long moment longer than necessary.
Then he exhaled—a thin, rattling breath.
"To think…" Shaun said softly, voice hoarse but clear,"…a mere human. With such feeble will."
He coughed, sharp and painful, fingers tightening against the sheets.
"And yet," he continued, eyes turning to Nate,"willing to sacrifice everything to achieve her objective."
A weak, humorless smile touched his lips.
"Very well," Shaun said."You win, Father."
His hand trembled as he reached to the nightstand beside the bed. With slow, deliberate effort, he placed a small holotape atop it—its casing marked with Institute encryption glyphs.
"The Director's override," Shaun said. "Passwords. Full access."
Nate stared at it for half a second too long.
Then he turned away.
He crossed to Shaun's personal terminal, fingers moving with practiced urgency. The holotape slid into place with a soft click. Lines of authorization scrolled across the screen as layers of security peeled away.
DIRECTOR ACCESS GRANTED.
Nate didn't hesitate.
He initiated the shutdown protocols—selective synth deactivation across non-essential sectors. Whole wings of the Institute went dark as control nodes went silent. Turrets powered down. Patrol routes froze mid-cycle.
Then he selected the final option.
EVACUATION PROTOCOL BD-2.
He confirmed.
The Institute's voice—calm, neutral, utterly indifferent—filled every corridor.
"Attention all personnel. This is a priority evacuation order.Please proceed calmly to the nearest relay access point.Follow posted instructions. Panic will not be tolerated."
Across the facility, doors unlocked. Directional lights activated. Scientists—terrified, confused, human—began to move.
Behind him, Shaun watched it unfold.
Nate turned back, stepping closer to the bed.
"Shaun," he said quietly. "It's not too late. We can leave. There's still time."
Shaun shook his head—just once.
"No," he said. "I'm dying."
Another cough wracked him, harsher this time.
"Not even our best medicine can change that," Shaun continued. "The Institute was my life. My mistake. My… inheritance."
He looked at Nate then—not as a Director, not as a god of science—
—but as a son.
"Go," Shaun said. "You've already lost enough."
Nate swallowed hard.
His voice broke despite himself.
"…Very well."
He stepped back, standing straighter, the General one last time.
"Goodbye," Nate said.
"…my son."
Shaun closed his eyes.
The life-support machine continued its steady rhythm as Nate turned away—leaving behind a world that would soon cease to exist, and a child he had only just found.
The doors slid shut behind him.
With the Director's lockdown lifted, the Institute changed in an instant.
Doors that had never opened for them slid apart with soft hydraulic sighs. Sealed corridors lit up with evacuation markers. Security turrets powered down, barrels lowering like bowed heads. The immaculate, controlled world the Institute had enforced for generations suddenly felt fragile—exposed.
And afraid.
Civilians poured into the corridors.
Scientists in white coats clutching data slates they would never finish. Technicians dragging personal bags, eyes darting. Synths—unarmed, hands raised, faces confused—moved among them. Even Sangvis units, stripped of command links, walked stiffly and uncertainly, their aggression gone, reduced to empty frames following evacuation logic.
Elder Maxwell stood at the junction near the relay hall, power armor scarred and smoking, his gatling laser held low.
He watched them pass.
Fear, exhaustion, relief—human emotions reflected back at him from faces he'd been trained to call abominations.
His jaw tightened.
"…Weapons down," Maxwell ordered at last.
A Knight beside him hesitated. "BUT Sir, those are—"
"I said," Maxwell growled, voice iron-hard,"weapons down."
Reluctantly, the Brotherhood complied. Some did so stiffly, resentment burning behind visors. Others—quietly relieved—let their rifles rest.
Maxwell spoke again, quieter this time.
"They're unarmed civilian evacuees. Not our targets."
Further inside the relay control room, chaos reigned—but the controlled kind.
Sturges worked the console like a man possessed, coordinating teleport cycles with shaking hands.
"Alright—easy, easy—two at a time! Don't rush it!"
Proctor Ingram stood beside him, her armored frame anchoring the room, rerouting power and stabilizing coils with curt efficiency. "Signal steady. Keep them moving."
Mayling directed Minutemen and Dolls alike, her calm voice cutting through panic as Institute civilians stepped onto the relay pads.
"Spectacle Island is secure," she reassured them. "Food, shelter, medical aid. You're safe."
White light flashed.
People vanished.
And for the first time, the Institute gave something back instead of taking.
Nate descended the stairwell from the Director's quarters, boots heavy on the steps. The weight of everything pressed on him—his son, the choice, the end.
He reached the central hub just as Sarah emerged from the opposite corridor.
She was barely holding herself together.
Her coat was torn, armor scorched. One arm hung useless at her side, augments exposed and sparking beneath torn flesh. One eye was dark; the other burned faintly blue. Team 404 flanked her—battered, limping, scarred, but standing.
Still standing.
Sarah looked at Nate and smirked faintly.
"Sorry, Nate," she said, voice rough but steady."Looks like you've got the final push."
She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
"this is so unlike me back in D.C. tangle with Enclave."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Hey, don't die on the final stretch," she said. "I'll make sure there's a feast waiting at the Castle."
UMP45 snorted weakly. "Assuming she doesn't pass out first."
Sarah shot her a glare. "Don't push it."
Nate met Sarah's gaze—saw the damage, the cost, the resolve that hadn't broken.
"…Thank you," he said simply.
Sarah nodded once.
Then she turned, motioning for 404 to follow as they moved toward the central lift, heading for Sturges's side of the relay room.
Nate watched them heading up.
Then he turned back to Preston and the Minutemen.
"Alright," he said, squaring his shoulders."To Advanced Systems. Let's end this. Minutemen, FOR COMMONWEALTH"