Starlight Drive-In Base – Command Tent
The Vertibird engines faded into silence as the last of the dust settled. Inside the tent, dim lights flickered over a worn holomap of the Commonwealth, marked with shifting colored pins and hastily drawn supply lines.
Sarah set her coat aside, her tone tired but resolute.
Sarah:"Thank you, UMP45. That data you intercepted on the Brotherhood's logistics and movements… without it, we might've lost half the region before we even noticed."
UMP45 (grinning smugly):"Of course. Another flawless operation from yours truly."
UMP9 (pouting):"Boooo! What about me? I had to stare down twitchy Vertibird gunners all day! You try smiling at a guy holding a minigun like he wants to mow the deck."
Sarah (laughing softly):"Yes, yes — you both did well. We're lucky to have you."
Preston (rubbing his neck, uneasy):"You're right about BOS, Commander. If the Brotherhood keeps pressing like this… I don't think the Minutemen can handle it alone. Even with your tactical support, it may not be enough to stop their advance."
Sarah (sighing):"I well aware. Their reach is growing fast, and their aggressive tactics are making it difficult for us to maintain our positions."
She crossed her arms, scanning the map grimly.
Sarah:"How's our own situation? Give it to me straight."
Preston (pointing at the northern markers):"Downtown's stable enough — caravans between Diamond City and the north are moving, but it's fragile. Tenpines Bluff holds, but barely. Bravo Team suffered heavy losses retaking Zimonja. Some lunatic in Raider-modified power armor calling himself 'Boomer' launched a Fat Man at our barricade. Only two made it back alive."
Sarah (quiet):"Damn…"
Preston (nodding):"The north's mostly under our flag, morale's holding — but every engagement stretches us thinner. The Brotherhood's presence is hurting our recruitment efforts. Locals are scared to pick a side."
Sarah:"So we've locked down the north… but the middle and southern zones are fragmented. Harder to reach, harder to hold."A beat."We need boots. Recruits. Supplies."
Preston (glancing to the southeast pin):"We also need a rallying point to boost morale and unify our forces. The Castle could serve as that symbol, but in its current condition, I don't know if we're ready."
Sarah (nods slowly):"Then we get ready. We consolidate, train, resupply… and when the moment's right, we retake Fort Independence. But we'll need General Nate to lead that charge."
Preston (softly, hopeful):"Oh, Think he'll be ready?"
Sarah (exhaling):"I dunno what difficulty he's facing right now… but before we can make any moves on the Castle, I'll head over to Goodneighbor and debrief him on our progress. He needs to know what's at stake."
She looked out of the open tent flap, eyes fixed toward the dim glow on the horizon — toward a city caught between chaos and rebuilding.
Sarah (resolute):"One way or another… we pull together, or we fall apart."
There was a short lull, the tension hanging in the air like static.
Then—
Preston (casually, half-grinning):"By the way…From what BOS mention, So, is it true? You can control some kind of pre-War space satellite?"
Sarah blinked, then burst out laughing.
Sarah:"Hah! What the hell, That rumor's still going around?"
UMP9 (wide-eyed):"Wait, Wait wait, Hold the press, is that real? Like orbital lasers or spy stuff? That's awesome!"
Sarah (still chuckling):"I wish! People overestimate me. There's no way I could keep a satellite operational after 200 years of cosmic dust, solar storms, and decaying orbit. If it ever still existed… it's probably tumbling space junk by now."
Preston (smirking):"Still, wouldn't put it past you. After what you pulled with the Brotherhood today? I figured orbital support wasn't that far-fetched."
Sarah (grinning):"Sorry to disappoint you. No death lasers from the sky, the closest eye-in-the-sky is my drones. with just old instincts… and some very talented Dolls on my side."
UMP45 (crossing arms smugly):"You're welcome."
Sarah (mock salute):"Duly noted, 45."
On the next day,The cracked pavement of Goodneighbor's entrance buzzed with low chatter, flickering neon signs casting uneven glows against the pre-war brick. Sarah and Team 404 stepped through the gates, dust swirling in their wake.
Sarah (glancing at her wristpad):"I've deployed AR Team to deal with that raider — the one calling himself Boomer. Hope they handle it. He's too close to Tenpines for comfort."
HK416 (arms crossed, dry):"You worry too much, Commander. You should trust us more by now. AR Team's done this dance before."
Sarah (half-smirking, then sighing):"That was the European front. I trust their specs — but their Neural cores? Still prone to instability. Especially when the mission drags."
G11 yawned dramatically and leaned against the wall, her rifle hanging lazily from her shoulder.
G11 (drowsy):"As long as it's not my problem…Yawn~~"
Across the square, a man in a tattered colonial coat stood chatting with his bodyguard Fahrenheit, pipe smoke curling lazily around them. Upon seeing the group approach, he turned with theatrical flair.
Hancock (grinning widely):"Well now — what a lovely collection of dolls and their fearless commander. Hope you didn't bring too much trouble into my humble little town."(He swept off his tricorn hat in mock salute.)"Name's John Hancock. For the people, by the people."
Sarah (smiling politely):"Appreciate the warm welcome, Mayor. I'm looking for a Vault Dweller — Minutemen uniform, traveling with a certain metal-faced detective."
Hancock (chuckling):"Ah, them. Yep, I seen 'em. They've been helping clear out some riffraff in my alleys. Bit of a field day while at it, really."(He leans in, smirking.)"And they've got this… interesting outfit. Straight out of a comic book. Thought I'd slipped some Day Tripper at first."
Sarah (raising an eyebrow):"Pardon?"
Hancock (grinning slyly):"Wouldn't wanna spoil the fun. Check the Memory Den. You'll see."
He gave a jaunty two-finger salute and turned back toward the Old State House, coat billowing behind him like a cloak.
UMP45 (eyeing him go):"Well, he's dramatic."
Sarah (already walking):"He's also one of the more stable people around here."
HK416 (mutters):"That explains so much…"
They pressed forward toward the glow of the Memory Den.
The warm, dim glow of old filament bulbs bathed the Memory Den's red velvet lounge in a surreal haze. Jazz crooned faintly from a battered wall radio as the scent of stale cigars and dusted holotapes lingered in the air.
As the heavy door creaked open, Sarah and Team 404 stepped inside.
A ghoul man — wearing patched trousers and an oversized coat — stood animatedly before two figures near the bar.
Ken (excitedly):"Oh thank you, thank you, Shroud! That chem-dealing bastard got what he deserved! Just like the old days on Silver Shroud Radio! You even did the voice!"
Standing beside Nick Valentine was none other than Nate — dressed head-to-toe in a pristine black trench coat, matching fedora, and a white silk scarf that fluttered faintly with each dramatic turn. A vintage silver revolver hung low on his belt.
Nick, as ever, looked utterly deadpan.
Nick (dry):"Told you it was gonna attract attention."
UMP9 (gasping):"OHH! Oh oh oh! I KNOW THAT costume! That's the Silver Shroud! The old radio vigilante from the pre-war shows!"
She practically bounced in place.
HK416 (incredulous):"How in the world did he even get that? Wasn't that thing stored in some bunker or… museum?"
G11 (leans in, blinking slowly):"Are we sure that's our General? Looks more like someone's dad got lost on Halloween."
Sarah (mouth slightly open, stunned):"What the hell is going on with him…? Is he that upset? He just… ran off and got tangled in this?"(She folds her arms, muttering.)"Riled up so much he picked up a side job in full-blown cosplay…"
Nick turned, seeing the new arrivals. He gave a subtle wave.
Nick (wry):"Well, well. The cavalry arrives. You missed a hell of a show."
Nate (adjusting the fedora, putting on a voice):"Justice… never sleeps in this city of shadows."(He pauses, then chuckles to himself.)"Kinda fun, actually."
Sarah (sternly):"Nate. Focus."
Nate (grinning):"Hey, I am focused. We took out a chem racket feeding into Raider hands down by Faneuil Hall. They were using old Silver Shroud audio dramas as a front for sold to the kids. Nick thought it'd be poetic justice."
Nick (lighting a cigarette):"He insisted on the voice tho. I just wanted to bust some heads."
HK416 (sighs):"Kommandant, I'm requesting a neural check on the General. That outfit is probably affecting his decision-making matrix."
UMP9:"Awwm, I think he looks kinda cool!"
Sarah (groans, rubbing her temple):"Sigh...We're juggling the Brotherhood, Institute, Raider Lords, and now he's out here quoting radio shows and shooting goons with flair. Great, Just Great..."
Nate (serious now):"I needed to do something, Sarah. Something immediate. Direct. Everything else feels like we're watching walls fall in slow motion."
A beat of silence.
Sarah softened, just a little.
Sarah (gently):"I get it. Just... don't lose the bigger fight while chasing side quests, alright?"
Nate (nodding):"Haha alright i got it. But maybe the people need symbols again. Like him."(He taps the Silver Shroud insignia on his coat.)
Nick (to himself):"Well, at least he's not trying to wear the Grognak loincloth."
UMP9:"Hehe not yet."
UMP45 roll her eyes on her sister's remark.
The door to the Memory Den's private lounge clicked shut behind them. Dust motes drifted in the warm light cast by the old wall sconces. The laughter and murmur from the front faded, replaced by the soft hum of Irma's neural sync machine.
Sarah, arms crossed, stood across from Nate, who had finally removed the Silver Shroud hat and scarf. His face was serious now — eyes tired, but sharp.
Sarah (low, direct):"You've been busy playing masked vigilante. But I need the truth now. What the hell happened at Fort Hagen? How did they know?"
Nate (sitting, voice grim):"One of memory of kellog review how they sneaking around the commonwealth, teleportation....I see my son or so i think with kellog before he gone to fort hagen, as the boy teleport away...."
Sarah blinked, stunned.
Sarah:"Teleportation huh? That's… theoretical. Even pre-war DARPA couldn't—"
Nate (cutting in):"The Institute can. They're not just phantom sneaking in the shadow — they're gods with scalpels.... god know what else they can do next?"
He leaned forward, hands on the table.
Nate:"And Kellogg used it. That's how he deploy his troops appeared around us in such short notice. He wasn't just a merc — he was one of them."
A heavy silence lingered.
Sarah (carefully):"What else did you see… in his memories?"
Nate:"Fragments. Pieces stitched together. He worked for them for years. Assassinations. Kidnappings. But one memory stood out — a man. A Institute scientist. Said he didn't agree with their direction anymore. Defected."
Sarah (tensing):"oh? then you got his name by chance?"
Nate:"Virgil. That's all I got. Said he was hiding at the Glowing Sea. Figured it was the only place they wouldn't follow — too dangerous even for synths."
Sarah (narrowing eyes):"Unless they already did. But they didn't retrieve him, which means… he might still be out there."
Nate (nodding):"I think he knows how to access the Institute. Maybe even shut down that teleport tech. If anyone can point us to a way in — or a weak point — it's him."
Sarah (stepping back, thinking aloud):"Teleportation… that's how they got around our defenses. Fort Hagen. Old Switchboard. Maybe even inflitration on The Castle before it fell... Goddamn it."
UMP45 (from behind, arms crossed):"Wow, No wonder we couldn't predict them. They don't march or stroll in. They're just jump around."
HK416 (flatly):"Then they're a threat even greater than the Brotherhood."
Sarah:"Oh it get worse. While the Brotherhood announces themselves with blimps and Vertibirds. These bastards pull strings from shadows. And if they're bold enough to ambush Team 404… they've grown confident."
Nate:"They've been comfortable too long. Time we took that away."
Sarah (quietly, resolved):"Then we find Virgil. If he's still alive, he's the key. You trust him?"
Nate:"I trust that he ran. That means he's scared of what the Institute's become. That's enough for me."
Sarah (exhaling):"Alright. We will planning the glowing sea expedition if you're up for stepping out of the comic book."
Nate (smirking faintly):"Silver Shroud's going dark."
The tension was thick, but Sarah had already shifted into mission flow — hands on hips, weight on one leg, calculating the next move.
Sarah (thinking aloud):"If Virgil's in the Glowing Sea, we'll need to prepare carefully. That place isn't just radioactive — it's a death sentence without proper gear."
Nate (gruffly):"I'd need fully sealed power armor. Fusion core reserves. Hell, maybe a radiation scrubber or two."
Sarah (with a faint smirk):"Exactly. And we're not sending you alone into the pit of hell wrapped in tin foil and hope. That op goes on hold."
She took a breath, straightening.
Sarah (nudging):"In the meantime, you need something just as important — boots on the ground. Bravo and Charlie are both understrength. It's time we rebuild them. Get them trained, armored, and ready."
Nate (nodding slowly):"For what?"
Sarah (firm):"For The Castle, Nate. Retaking Fort Independence. Morale's high in the north, but if we lose the south and let the Brotherhood box us in, we'll be herding settlers into a meat grinder. We take back that fort, we take back our spine."
Before Nate could respond, ISAC voice crackled over Sarah's comm-link, calm but assertive.
ISAC:"ALERT, Anti Rain Team radioed in — mission success. Outpost Zimonja Hostile commander neutralized. Able Team currently sweeping remaining hostiles."
Sarah tapped her earpiece, her expression shifting to quiet pride.
Sarah:"Thank your ISAC Relay our thanks. Have AR Team exfil once sweep is confirmed. Good work."
UMP45 (grinning):"Boomer went boom, I guess."
HK416 (checking tablet):"Confirmed kill. Minimal civilian presence. Zimonja is clear."
Sarah (to Nate, turning back):"With Zimonja clear, that opens the route from Tenpines to the northeast corridor. We're making progress, but without centralized command, it's just holding with duct tape and prayer."
She looked him in the eye.
Sarah:"So you're the General. You said you'd protect the people. That starts by standing them up with something worth fighting for. Not just a title but as a fortress. Now head out to Starlight drive in and get to work."
Evening haze settles over the rusted rooftops and neon signs of Goodneighbor. Residents gather near the cracked pavement courtyard in front of the Old State House, murmuring as spotlights flare to life. The door to the balcony creaks open — and out steps John Hancock, wrapped in his signature red coat, flanked by Fahrenheit and two guards.
Below, Sarah, Team 404, General Nate, and Nick Valentine arrive just as Hancock clears his throat and raises a hand. The crowd falls silent.
Hancock (grinning):"Citizens of Goodneighbor. Wastelanders. Runaways. Free thinkers. Ghouls, freaks, and beautiful weirdos — lend me your ears."
A ripple of chuckles passes through the crowd. Sarah folds her arms, glancing up with cautious curiosity. UMP45 raises a brow.
Hancock (tone sharpening):"Now I don't often do this. Climb up here and pretend I'm some big-shot warlord barking orders from a balcony. That's not my style. But tonight... it's different."
He paces slightly, gripping the rail.
Hancock:"Because the Institute — that clean, chrome hellhole down below — they think they can play god. They think they can replace your neighbors, your friends, hell, even you... with puppets and wires. Then smile while they call it progress."
Angry murmurs spread through the crowd. A scavenger in the back spits into the dirt.
Hancock (fired up):"Well not here. Not in my town. Not in Goodneighbor!"
A cheer erupts — loud and raw. Team 404 looks around at the defiant crowd. Even HK416 gives a small nod.
Hancock:"This place? We were built by misfits, stitched together by the people the world forgot. We don't kneel to tyrants in lab coats, or Brotherhood bullies with fancy armor. We fight our own way — loud, proud, and maybe half-drunk."
Laughter and raised fists.
Hancock (raising a hand again):"So let me make this clear — if you come to Goodneighbor lookin' to disappear, you're welcome. But if you come to push us around, or snatch our people in the night… then you're gonna find out real quick why this town was built by the people, and stands for the people."
A beat — then it starts with one voice, then two, then a roaring chorus across the courtyard:
Crowd (chanting):"BY THE PEOPLE! FOR THE PEOPLE! BY THE PEOPLE! FOR THE PEOPLE!"
Sarah watches, arms crossed but her expression unreadable. Team 404 stands at ease but alert. Nick exhales slowly, cigarette tip glowing. Hancock raises both fists from the balcony, his grin wide and proud as the chant echoes down the alleyways and out into the Wasteland night.
Sarah leans toward Nick.
Sarah (quiet):"Damn. He's got them riled up."
Nick (lighting a cigarette):"That's Hancock i know all right. He might act like a pirate preacher, but he knows how to hold a crowd. And he means every word."
Nate (arms crossed, serious):"If Goodneighbor's ready to fight, we'll need them. Just hope they fight smart."
UMP9 (wide-eyed):"He's cool! We should get him a hat like that."
HK416 give 9 a cold stare:"No."
As the crowd slowly disperses from the square below the Old State House. Murmurs and echoes of "By the people, for the people" still linger in the air as lanterns flicker on along the narrow streets.
Sarah, stepping down off a low wall near the steps, scans the lingering crowd — and pauses.
Sarah:"Curie? What are you doing here?"
A familiar Ms. Nanny unit, polished but a bit scuffed from fieldwork, turns toward her and waves a pincer.
Curie:"Ah! There you are, madam. I have been assisting with medical relief efforts — treating wounded Minutemen and settlers suffering various ailments."
Curie's optic lens glows softly as she floats closer.
Curie (curious, hopeful):"However, I have come to a conclusion... I am unable to achieve any major scientific breakthrough in this form. Without human creativity — the ability to feel, to intuit — my work will always remain incomplete. I believe I must find a way to transfer my consciousness into a human body if I am to truly progress."
There's a moment of stunned silence.
Nate:"Is… is that even possible?"
Nick Valentine (dryly):"Welcome to the loony side of the Wasteland. You were dressed as the Silver Shroud when we saw two guys named Art trying to shoot each other in the street, remember?"
Nate (chuckling):"Yeah. Took me a minute to tell which one was real… until one tripped over his shoelaces."
Sarah crosses her arms, looking at Curie skeptically.
Sarah:"Curie, did you get permission from Overseer McNamara for this idea?"
One of the Minutemen nearby — a tired, dust-covered Delta team soldier — speaks up, holding out a holotape.
Delta Minuteman:"Uh, Commander... we received a holotape with audio correspondence between Curie and Vault 81. The overseer signed off. Here."
Sarah takes the holotape and listens briefly. The calm voice of Overseer McNamara can be heard endorsing Curie's decision, albeit with a few reservations.
Sarah (exhaling):"Well… looks like you've got their blessing. Guess we're halfway there."
Nick (thoughtful):"If you're serious, we might have a lead. Amari — the memory doc in the Memory Den — she pulled Kellogg's memories clean outta his head. If anyone can figure out how to move a mind from metal to meat, it's her."
Curie (grateful):"Merci, Monsieur Valentine. I will prepare myself for such a discussion."
Nate:"Alright then. I'll take the Minutemen back to Starlight and check in on Bravo and Charlie's progress."
Nick (grinning):"Mind if I tag along? Been meaning to see this new-fangled Minutemen base of yours. Bet it's a lot fancier than those broken-up walls we used to patch together back in the day."
Nate (chuckling):"Haha, Just don't expect a red carpet."
Sarah watches the two walk off with the Delta squad, then turns back toward the Memory Den, eyes briefly drifting to Curie.
Sarah (murmuring):"Transferring a soul… I hope doctor that nick mention better be sober for this."
Outside the Memory Den, Team 404 lounged near the building's entrance. Neon flickered above them, casting purple and blue light across the cracked street as distant jazz filtered through the windows.
UMP9 (tilting her head):"Hey, why not just put Curie into a Doll? Wouldn't that be easier?"
UMP45 (shaking her head):"No, you silly. The Commander respects people's wishes. Beside a Doll body has it own limits — physically, emotionally. That wouldn't be her, just a replica with same programming."
UMP9 pouted but nodded slowly, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
A few minutes passed before the Memory Den door creaked open. Sarah stepped out into the streetlight glow, adjusting her coat and rubbing her temples.
Sarah:"Dr.Amari… reluctantly agreed. But it's not gonna be a cakewalk."
Team 404 perked up.
Sarah (explaining):"She's reaching out to someone — an old contact who's been caring for a synth friend. Apparently, the synth had their mind wiped during an identity reassignment. Now the body's just… empty. Vegetative."
HK416:"So, a blank slate?"
Sarah (nodding):"Yeah. The caretaker said they'd rather see that body house Curie's consciousness than leave it as a shell. If it works, we'll have our first... conscious transfer outside of Institute tech."
G11 (yawning):"Well, that's one way to repurpose hardware."
Sarah (with a sigh):"Guess we're waiting in Goodneighbor for a few days. Not the worst place to sit tight… but keep your optics sharp. If the Institute finds out what we're doing, they might come knocking."
The heavy door creaked open as Sarah stepped into the smoky warmth of the Third Rail. Neon blues and low gold lighting shimmered against the haze of cigarette smoke and polished brass. The sultry sound of jazz drifted through the club, soft piano mingling with a soulful trumpet.
On stage, a statuesque woman in a crimson dress crooned into a silver mic, her voice smooth as silk and sharp as whiskey. The crowd was still, mesmerized. Even UMP45 paused, folding her arms and leaning against the wall with narrowed eyes.
Sarah (quietly, to herself):"…Didn't think I'd hear something like this in the Wasteland."
A local drunk leaned over to her, slurring with a half-smile.
Patron:"That's Magnolia. Voice like sugar and steel, huh? Don't let the smile fool ya — gal's sharp. And never misses a note."
The final chord rang out. Applause followed. Magnolia gave a slight bow and sauntered off the stage. Sarah nodded politely, about to turn away when she caught the tail end of a nearby table's conversation.
Second Patron (grumbling):"—some hotshot merc with a 'sharp eye' hoggin' the VIP lounge. Brought trouble too. Think those gunner called Winlock and Barnes are still in there gang at him again."
Sarah (sharpening):"...Winlock and Barnes?"
She exchanged a glance with UMP45. No one needed to say it — they were Gunners. And if they were causing problems in a place like this, it wasn't just a barfight brewing.
She stepped through the velvet rope leading toward the back VIP lounge, boots clicking softly on the polished wood. Behind the booth's beaded curtain, two men in battered Gunner uniforms stood over a lone figure slumped in a booth, nursing a drink and a bruised ego.
Sarah's eyes narrowed as she recognized him.
Sarah:"MacCready?"
The seated man looked up, startled — an older, rougher version of the Little Lamplight mayor she remembered from long ago. A half-smirk tugged at his lips.
MacCready:"…Well, I'll be damned."
Winlock (to Sarah):"Piss off, lady. This ain't your business."
Barnes (sneering):"We're just remindin' this deserter that Gunners don't tolerate rats freelancing in their turf—"
The click of Sarah's sidearm cut him off. Her pistol was leveled at Barnes' side, steady and silent.
Sarah (low, cold):"I count two things wrong with this picture. One — this isn't your turf. Two — you just made it my business."
UMP9 and HK416 flanked her. UMP45 already had her weapon drawn, her eyes cold and calculating. Barnes turned pale. Winlock glanced between them, sizing them up — then froze as he recognized the insignia stitched onto Sarah's shoulder.
Winlock (muttering):"Shit It's the…Division…"
Barnes (whispers):"Fuck Fuck Fuck.....That's the Doll Commander…herself"
They backed away in a hurry, muttering curses and pushing past the beads like rats fleeing flame. A second later, the front door of the Third Rail slammed open and shut.
MacCready (chuckling):"Still the same style, huh? I guess some phantom don't stay buried."
Sarah (smiling faintly):"I didn't expect to find you here, Mac. What happened to you after D.C.?"
MacCready:"Long story. But let's just say the Wasteland doesn't care where you came from — just how good you shoot. I got a kid back home, so I stopped running with psychos and started working jobs that let me sleep at night."
Sarah:"You always had better aim than sense."
MacCready (grinning):"Yeah, well, the sense is finally catching up."
She looked him over. The battered rifle slung over his back, the worn coat — he wasn't a hero, but he was still a survivor.
Sarah:"Good. Because I might have a job for you."
MacCready raised an eyebrow, the familiar mischievous glint in his eye.
MacCready:"You buying the drinks too?"
UMP9:"Just one. Then you're on duty."
They all laughed, the tension draining as Magnolia's next song picked up in the background
Sarah's POV
The jukebox crackled, sliding into "Heartaches by the Number."Magnolia's velvet voice drifted through the haze of smoke and chatter, casting a hush over the Third Rail as I settled into a corner booth across from Robert MacCready. He was already nursing a glass of lukewarm beer, fingers quietly tracing the edges of a carved wooden toy soldier.
Before the weight of the past could take hold, a familiar ruckus broke out by the bar.
"Three whiskies and something radioactive that fizzes," UMP9 chirped, hopping up to lean over the counter.
"Make mine a vodka. Neat. No ice," HK416 said coolly, tapping her sidearm like she meant business.
"I'll take anything that knocks me out," G11 muttered, already halfway to sleep against the bar.
UMP45 leaned casually next to them, arms crossed, watching the others with a smirk. "Just bring the bottle. It's been a week."
The robotic bartender with british mark and hat hesitated, clearly uncertain, then glanced toward me — the only one in Uniform with kelvar vest and signed clearly in charge.
I didn't even turn fully to face them."Make that four Nuka-Colas."
A clunk followed as glass bottles hit the counter. The reaction was instant.
"Ehhh?? Kommandant!" UMP9 spun around, her face twisted in playful betrayal."We're not on a mission right now!" HK416 protested."Oh such cruel… soulless…" G11 whined, slowly dragging herself to a seat.UMP45 raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Even I was gonna behave."
I turned slowly, giving them that look — the one that stops raiders mid-charge and shuts Brotherhood Paladins up mid-lecture.
"You want booze? You can earn it after we retake the Castle and I don't have to scrape mirelurk acid out of your chassis."
UMP45 smirked, hands in her coat pockets. "Told you she's all business."
HK416 sighed and grabbed a Nuka-Cola, popping the cap with a half-hearted scowl. UMP9 pouted but accepted hers. G11 accepted her fate with a muffled groan. They retreated to a nearby table, muttering phrases like "command dictatorship" and "repression of fun."
I turned back to MacCready. He had a half-smile and was clearly holding back a chuckle.
"Haha, you run your squad like a damn boot camp," he said, raising his glass.
I raised mine to meet it.
"To old ties… and new roads."
He lifted his in turn, the rim clinking against mine."To surviving them," he murmured.
The song's opening chords hummed between us, stirring ghosts neither of us had named yet. I let the silence breathe, watching him — the way he sat hunched over the table, aged by things far heavier than time.
Finally, I asked, "So… how'd you end up here, Robert?"
He didn't meet my eyes. Just stared down at the soldier in his palm.
"We met at Fort Totten," he said. "She ran the workshop there. Lucy. Tough, clever… kind. When I left Little Lamplight at sixteen, I didn't have much — just a rifle and the name you left behind."His eyes flicked up to mine."White House Militia. You remember that?"
I nodded, softly.He went on.
"We tried. Held the line for a while. But the Brotherhood came down hard — turf wars, orders from above. We scattered. I drifted, wound up in Totten. That's where I met Lucy. A few months later… Duncan came along."
His lips tugged into a small, fond smile that didn't reach his eyes."For a while, we were happy."
The smile faded.
"Then we camped out in an abandoned metro. Thought it was secure." He shook his head. "Didn't know it was crawling with ferals. They came out of the dark — I barely had time to fire. Lucy was gone in seconds. I… I had to drag Duncan out, leave her behind."
His voice cracked then. He didn't apologize for it."I still wonder if I should've stayed. Gone down with her."
I reached across the table, hand brushing his.
"You did what mattered. You saved your son at very least."
He gave a shaky nod, eyes somewhere far away.
"I swore I'd change for him. No more caps for blood. No more booze, no more bitterness. We built something — a real homestead. Duncan learned to laugh again. He was strong."
Then came the pause.I felt the shift coming before he said it.
"But then… he got sick. Skin went blue with boils. Weak. Always cold. No one knew what it was. The docs said it wasn't radiation — just something new. Something… cruel."
He swallowed hard. The toy soldier disappeared into his fist.
"I left again. Took merc jobs, hunted anything that might lead to a cure. The Gunners paid well. And I needed caps. But their methods…"
He trailed off, shame creeping into his tone.
"I broke out in '87. Tried freelancing again. Then I met Sinclair. He was chasing the same thing — same sickness. Said he found a lead at Med-Tek. Gave me his old codes before the ghouls got him. I tried to reach the place. I really did. But I couldn't make it alone."
I let the quiet settle around us like fog. The music was a dull throb now, background to something heavier.
"So," he finished, "I came here. Goodneighbor. Hancock gave me a room upstairs. But the Gunners… they kept hounding me. Wanted to make an example. I was losing ground fast."
He looked at me then. Really looked.
"And then you showed up. Like a damn ghost, kicking the past right in the teeth."
I sat back, the weight of it all sinking into me.He wasn't just a name from my old records anymore.
"Guess some ghosts still carry torches," I said quietly.
MacCready chuckled, rubbing a hand over his tired face."Well, if you're handing out second chances, Commander… I'll take one."
MacCready's POV
Look at this gal, Sarah… or "Commander" as everyone calls her now — I used to know her back in Little Lamplight. Whether she's like my big sis, an aunt, or some weird hybrid of both depends who you ask down there. But one thing's for sure — she's the real deal.
Back in the day, she and some Vault Dweller came waltzing in like they owned the place. Managed to talk Mayor MacCready into— yeap, that was me — into letting them pass. And it's good thing too, or we'd have ended up shackled and sold off by Paradise Falls. Heh… good times. Weird, dusty, gunfire-filled times.
Now, here I am, sitting across from her in a Goodneighbor bar like it's all come full circle. After we cleared out those Gunner pests and having long bar talk, I began to ask her straight up:
"So, Commander, what's the Division doing in Goodneighbor anyway? Just sightseeing?"
She gave a half-smile. "Waiting on something important. Curie — my medic-bot — she wants to become human. Or at least close. Gen-3 synth kind of human."
My eyebrows shot up. "Like… full-on flesh and blood?"
"She wants to grow. Thinks she's hit her scientific ceiling without a human mind. It's… complicated."
Can't say I ever expected to hear that from her — but then again, nothing surprises me anymore.
We ended up renting a room at Hotel Rexford while she waits on this brain-transfer voodoo. The place ain't fancy, but it beats sleeping in a sewer grate. We spread out a few maps, cracked open a bottle of purified water (no booze — her squad would riot), and started laying out some plans.
Sarah pitched an idea — me joining up with the Minutemen as a recon sniper. Intel, scouting, long-range support — all the stuff I'm good at. Truth is, I was gonna offer anyway. Felt right.
She's planning a push eastward, and before we even think of getting near Med-Tek Labs, we've gotta secure two key points:Covenant — isolated, secretive, probably hiding something.Taffington Boathouse — last report said it was crawling with bloodbugs.
I scratched at my chin and nodded. "Sounds like fun."
She just looked at me, deadpan. "You always say that before we end up waist-deep in something radioactive."
Well she is not entirely wrong tho.
Two Days Later – Hotel Rexford
A firm knock echoed through the wooden door of the hotel room.
Sarah instinctively reached for her sidearm before relaxing as the muffled voice came through.
Messenger:"Message from Doctor Amari, ma'am. The donor's been found. She's prepping for the procedure now."
Sarah stood, glancing toward the others — MacCready polishing his rifle by the window, Team 404 sprawled across the room with cards and cola bottles.
Sarah:"Time to move."
Outside the Memory Den
Rain drizzled lightly over the cracked pavement as neon signs buzzed to life. Team 404 and MacCready waited near the rusted steps of the Memory Den.
UMP45 stretched and groaned."Ugh. Still can't believe we're not allowed in. Boooring."
UMP9 pouted, arms crossed."I wanted to see brain surgery!"
HK416, arms folded, deadpan as ever:"She wanted privacy. Respect it."
MacCready, leaning against the wall, gave a short laugh."Y'all are weirder than anyone I ran with in the Capital Wasteland."
Sarah pushed the doors open, stepping into the dim-lit den as Magnolia's soft jazz echoed faintly in the background.
Inside the Memory Den
Curie lay on a reclining surgical chair — her Ms. Nanny chassis powered down beside it like a discarded shell. A young Gen-3 synth body, previously unresponsive, now slowly stirred under dim biolamps.
Dr. Amari, ever focused, was entering final commands on the terminal.Amari:"Transfer complete. Neural signature stabilizing. She's… it's holding."
Curie's new eyes fluttered open. Her breath caught — a ragged gasp.
Curie (startled):"I… I am… breathing? Is this what breathing feels like?"
She coughed, then cried — a sound that surprised even her.
Sarah moved closer, kneeling beside the bed.
Sarah:"You're okay, Curie. Just take it slow."
Curie (through tears):"Everything feels… loud. The air, my skin, even the heartbeat in my ears… It is… beautiful. And terrifying."
Amari:"She'll need time. Physical therapy, sensory acclimation. But the transition was a success."
Sarah exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders.
Sarah:"You did it, Curie. You really did it."
Curie reached out, her new fingers trembling, and touched Sarah's hand — warm skin on skin.
Curie (softly):"Merci… ma commandante."
Curie's POVOutside the Memory Den – Goodneighbor
The first breath of open air startled me more than the surgery itself.
It was wet. Smelled of rust, smoke, and life. Not data or filters—real, unfiltered life.
My feet—my real feet—touched the cracked pavement, legs wobbling beneath me as I leaned on the railing. A gust of wind brushed through my hair. Hair!
I blinked.
And then I saw them.
Team 404 and Monsieur MacCready stood nearby which introduced by Commandante Sarah, expressions ranging from curiosity to... well, amusement.
UMP9 gasped, clapping her hands."Oh~She's so cute in that new body! Like a scientist in a romance drama!"
UMP45, arms crossed but smirking."Try not to fall over, professor. Looks like your center of mass shifted."
HK416 gave a curt nod. "Vitals look stable. Mobility assessment: pending."
as the cute little one G11, snooze herself at HK416 side.
MacCready just stared.
I tilted my head and greeted them with a soft smile.
Curie:"Bonjour. I am still… calibrating sensations, but it is most delightful to see you all again."
MacCready blinked, startled."Wait… You've got a French accent? Nobody told me that."He rubbed the back of his neck. "Now I feel underdressed."
Team 404 burst into snickers.
UMP9 (giggling):"He's blushing!"
UMP45:"Takes one femme fatale to crack his cowboy composure."
MacCready:"Wha...hey! I wasn't blushing!"
Just then, a sharp clap echoed across the street.
Sarah, standing a few steps ahead, gave everyone the look. The one that cut through noise like a precision laser.
Sarah:"Alright, save the flirting and comedy act. We're heading back to Starlight Drive-In. We've got prep work, logistics, and two settlements to secure."
She looked at me—eyes kind but focused.
Sarah:"Curie, once you're rested, I'd like your help with medical readiness. We're rebuilding something bigger than ourselves now."
I nodded, my smile softening.
Curie:"Oui Oui, Of course, Commandante. I owe you all more than I can express."
As we walked through the alley, I reached up, feeling the rain on my skin.
So this was what it meant to be human.
And for the first time in my life, I felt alive.