Prism Base had only just begun to breathe again when the ripples came—ominous traces in the northwest, marked with the symbol of an eagle entwined with steel gears. Like a stone hurled into still waters, the discovery shattered the fragile calm.
Evelyn acted swiftly. A handpicked recon team—Hawk Squad veterans and a linguist from Research—slipped into the wastes with camouflaged gear and silent comms. Their mission: shadow, observe, decode.
Neo did not go. His role was larger than a single patrol. While the recon team vanished into the horizon, he buried himself in Nightwatcher's trial runs, testing actuators until sparks flew and designing a prototype core fueled by anima-crystals. His instincts screamed that strength—raw, unmistakable strength—would soon be their only bargaining chip.
Two weeks later, the recon team returned. And their news struck Prism Base like a hammer.
The sigil was not just a remnant. It belonged to a living force.
Far off, atop a gargantuan mobile platform, they had glimpsed a fortress that moved. A disciplined, steel-shrouded enclave flying banners of eagle and gear. A name carried on intercepted transmissions: the Brotherhood of Steel.
The recon team's grainy recordings were enough to drain color from hardened faces. Soldiers in standardized power armor, their rifles gleaming with Old World precision. Vehicles and bastions straight from a lost army's dream—order forged in steel, wrapped in the chill of military zeal.
"They are disciplined, highly trained, and merciless to outsiders," the scout leader reported, his voice like gravel.
"We saw them drive off and kill wanderers who strayed too close. Their patrol lines are expanding. And the direction…" He hesitated. "…toward us."
The linguist added what little could be gleaned from unsecured chatter: words repeated like prayers—order, purification, reclamation of Old World relics, elimination of instability.
"They don't sound friendly," Leighton growled, frowning deeply. "Reclaim relics? They mean the Artifact?"
"Not necessarily," Dane mused. "Could be a general term for Old World tech. But their expansionist posture makes them dangerous either way."
All eyes turned to Evelyn. She, in turn, looked at Neo.
He thought carefully, then spoke:
"They're strong. Militarily, probably beyond us. But they cling to an old, rigid order. Our strength is adaptation. Innovation. They don't know about the anima crystals, or the designs I'm building. That's our edge."
The council argued late into the night. And before a decision could be shaped, the crisis found them first.
A Brotherhood patrol, chasing beasts, stumbled upon a hidden Prism outpost. Shots cracked. Armor shrugged off bullets. Two sentries were wounded before the survivors limped back inside. The Brotherhood had seen enough to know Prism Base existed.
Days later, the sky itself announced their intent.
A tilt-rotor craft, painted with the eagle-and-gear insignia, descended over the main gate. Two armored troopers flanked it like statues. It did not fire. Instead, it dropped a comms beacon.
An amplified voice, cold and proud, rang through Prism's steel corridors:
"To the unknown settlement below. I am Major Kailas of the Brotherhood of Steel, Seventh Expeditionary Vanguard. We demand dialogue. As proof of good faith, we will dispatch an envoy into your facility. Ensure his safety. Any hostility will be deemed provocation… and met with annihilation."
The words fell like a guillotine.
Leighton was first to snarl: "We can't let them in! It's a trap to scout us out."
"And refusing is a declaration of war," Dane countered, pale. "Do we have the strength to resist their expeditionary force?"
Silence hung heavy until Evelyn's voice cut through it.
"Neo. You'll receive their envoy. Take Hammer with you as guard. No groveling, no bravado—show strength without hostility. We need intelligence more than we need pride."
Neo's breath was steady but deep. Negotiation was not his craft. But he knew why he had been chosen. He was the one man who embodied Prism's strengths: knowledge, invention, calm before the unknown.
The main gate opened with a grinding sigh.
Neo emerged in clean technician's attire, Hammer looming behind him in full armor.
From the tilt-rotor strode the envoy. Power armor gleamed, scars etched into a face like chiseled stone, eyes sharp as hawks. Two riflemen shadowed him with the stillness of predators.
He stepped forward, gaze falling on Neo with a flicker of disdain.
"I am Lieutenant Valk of the Brotherhood," he declared. His voice was the same steel from the broadcast. "You are this place's leader? You look… less a warrior than a scribe."
Neo met his stare evenly.
"I am Neo, technical and strategic advisor to Prism Base. You are welcome here, Lieutenant. Our commander, Evelyn Kane, awaits you in the command hall. But by our security code, your guards will remain at the gate."
Valk's jaw tightened. Displeasure shadowed his eyes. But one glance at the cleverly layered defenses around the gate—and Hammer's massive frame looming silently at Neo's back—tempered his pride.
"…Very well. Lead on, Advisor. For your sake, I hope this 'Prism' of yours holds more worth than rubble. The Brotherhood has little patience for wasted time."
Neo turned, guiding the envoy into the base.
The air between them was tense.