Unknown POV Memory blurs. Pain pulses. The world smells like burning metal and shattered intent.
My thoughts floated in static—flickering images, muffled voices, the sour sting of gunpowder clogging the air. Something burned nearby. Something inside me felt broken.
Faint voices drifted through the fog.
???: "Kommandant, are you—(inaudible)—stay awake. 45! Keep the Vertibird heading north. There should be a safe zone past the ridge."
???: "Engine One's on fire, but I think we'll make it. There's an old community on the map—just west of Concord."
I stirred, my hand sluggishly lifting toward the faint glow of my orange ISAC watch.
"ISAC… status report."
ISAC: "Defense of Quincy has failed. Allied and civilian casualties exceed 95%. Remaining Division personnel are retreating north to avoid further hostilities."
I grunted, catching sight of my right arm—synthetic flesh torn away, revealing the raw cybernetics beneath.
"How was I damaged? I… I don't remember…"
Before ISAC could reply, a familiar voice cut through—calm, clipped, with a trace of urgency. Cyan hair and a black beret came into view as my head rested in her lap.
HK416: "Our Vertibird took a direct hit from raider heavy ordnance. You caught shrapnel—head and face trauma. Stay still, Kommandant."
A gentle tug on her sleeve drew her attention. I turned my head slightly to see G11, her usually drowsy eyes wide with concern.
G11: "416… is she gonna make it? I swear I'll stay awake next time… I promise…"
HK416 (softening just slightly): "She'll live. She has to. She gave the order to support the Minutemen evac in Lexington—risked everything to hold the sky for them."
I coughed, voice hoarse.
"I just followed the last actionable order. Those people wouldn't have made it out without air cover."
HK416: "Even after they ignored all our warnings about the Gunners at Quincy?"
"They're local. We're not. If the Minutemen fall, this region loses its last civilian-led defense. If we want order, we need people who believe in rebuilding."
The cockpit crackled. A girl's voice—twin brown pigtails, sharp eyes.
UMP9: "Save the philosophy, boss. Engine One's shaking like it's ready to punch out of the wing."
HK416: "Location?"
UMP9: "Sanctuary Hills. Just beyond the bridge. We're coming down."
HK416: "Copy. Hold tight. We're almost home."
The unmarked Vertibird, its hull scorched and stenciled with urban navy camo, groaned as it touched down on the cracked roadway near the Sanctuary Hills bridge. Engine One hissed, trailing smoke, but we were down.
Before the rotors even stopped spinning, HK416 had slipped from her seat and moved to my side, steadying me.
"Stay with me, Kommandant."
My legs buckled slightly, and she threw my arm over her shoulder, guiding me down the ramp as the rest of the squad disembarked—G11, sluggish but alert; UMP9, eyes scanning with her sidearm raised; and UMP45, already tapping into her wireless suite.
ISAC: "Alert: Civilian mechanical unit detected."
I squinted through the smoke. Sure enough, floating toward us was a battered Mr. Handy, its limbs twitching slightly from age and corrosion.
Codsworth: "Attention! You are trespass—"
Before it could finish, UMP45's fingers danced on her datapad. The bot's voice stuttered, then dropped an octave as she remotely bypassed its security protocols, temporarily disabling its aggression routines.
"Apologies for the intrusion," I rasped, "Our aircraft is compromised, and my unit has sustained injuries. By SHD field protocol, I'm authorized to commandeer your workstation for recovery and assessment."
The Mr. Handy froze for a moment, servo-whining as its logic cores recalculated.
Codsworth: "Understood, ma'am… but I cannot grant access to the home systems without my owner's presence or proper authorization."
I groaned. "Gods, still hardcoded with that old RobCo firmware. It's been over two hundred years—do you really think any descendants are still alive?"
Codsworth: "Designation: Codsworth. And on the contrary, ma'am… Before the bombs fell, my owners entered a vault just up that hill. I am quite certain… they may still be alive."
I blinked. "A vault? That's—"
HK416: "Ma'am, you're bleeding heavily. We need to close the wounds—facial lacerations and your right arm are both compromised."
Before I could argue, UMP45 gave Codsworth a final command.
"Resume house tasks. That'll be all, robot."
Codsworth: "Right-o~!"And with that, the Mr. Handy floated back toward the rows of long-abandoned homes.
Pain and exhaustion hit me all at once. My legs gave out.
I collapsed into HK416's arms, her grip tightening as she lowered me gently to the cracked pavement. The world swam in a fog of white noise and red pulses behind my eyelids.
ISAC: "Agent status: Critical. Immediate medical attention recommended."
HK416 (muffled): "Komm… bitte halt durch…"
And then, silence.
Only the wind whistled through the dead streets of Sanctuary Hills as I slipped into unconsciousness—nightmares chasing the memory of Quincy, the price of failed promises, and the weight still to carry.