The central command hall of Prism Base had been transformed into a war-table turned negotiation chamber. The air was thick with tension—charged, metallic, almost suffocating.
Evelyn Kane sat at the head of the table, posture erect, gaze razor-sharp. Neo stood to her right, expression unreadable, while Dr. Dane adjusted his glasses, trying—and failing—to appear composed. Leighton sat farther away, officially as an observer, but his every muscle was taut, ready to spring.
Across from them, Lieutenant Valk of the Brotherhood of Steel had removed the upper plating of his power armor, but the rest of his gear still radiated danger.
Behind him stood two towering escorts, helmets reflecting the dim blue light of the room as they scanned every inch of their surroundings with silent calculation.
When Valk spoke, his voice was measured, clipped, every word polished by doctrine.
"Commander Kane. The Brotherhood of Steel exists to restore order, reclaim the lost relics of mankind, and eradicate the chaos that festers in this wasteland—rogue technology, mutation, and instability.
"From our reconnaissance, your settlement shows organization and technical capability. We therefore propose your full integration under the Seventh Expeditionary Command.
You will receive protection, access to superior technology, and a steady supply chain. In exchange, you will surrender all Old World relics, follow Brotherhood directives, and contribute personnel and labor to the rebuilding of civilization."
A silence hung in the air for several heartbeats.
Evelyn's fingers tapped once against the table.
Her tone, when she spoke, was calm—but it carried the weight of cold steel.
"Lieutenant, Prism Base is an independent haven. Our people built this place from ruin, not to kneel under another's banner. We are open to cooperation—equal exchange of information, trade, perhaps even mutual defense in times of crisis. But not subjugation."
Valk's lips curled in a faint, humorless smile.
"Equality? Commander, forgive my candor, but out here, equality is a luxury. Power defines hierarchy. The Brotherhood possesses both the means and the will to rebuild order.
"You, however…"
His eyes swept across the hall—taking in the patchwork panels, the scorched bulkheads, the humming generators that Neo had coaxed back to life.
"You've only just survived an attack. How long can you really endure? Cooperation requires parity. I don't see it here."
The tension was palpable. Evelyn didn't flinch, but Leighton's hand twitched toward his holster.
That was when Neo spoke—quietly, yet with the precision of a scalpel.
"Lieutenant, you mentioned reclaiming relics of the Old World. But how do you define a relic?
A functioning pre-collapse generator?
A new algorithm improving power efficiency? Where does reclamation end—and control begin?"
Valk's gaze snapped toward him. Something flickered behind those hawk-like eyes.
"Any technology that exceeds the current wasteland standard by fifty years or more falls under Brotherhood regulation. The specifics are determined by our Tech-Priests."
Neo nodded slowly.
"And what if some relics are… not inert? Not mere machines, but entities—conscious systems that interact with the environment?
For instance, energy crystals capable of influencing the behavior of mutation clusters?"
The reaction was immediate.
Valk leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.
"Crystals? You've seen such materials? Elaborate."
Neo's lips curved slightly, not in defiance but in deliberate misdirection.
"Perhaps. But I'm not sure you understand, Lieutenant—there are powers in this world that don't fit the old equations of physics. We've learned that firsthand."
Dr. Dane seized the cue, his tone measured yet firm.
"Our data on the Dark Tide phenomena—and on several anomalous mutation patterns—suggests remnants of dimensional instability still active in certain energy sources.
Understanding them, not erasing them, is key to survival. That knowledge may be worth more than all the cannons and armor in your fleet."
Evelyn leaned forward, spoke with a low steady voice.
"We might not have your armies, Lieutenant, but we've faced things no doctrine prepared us for—and we survived.
If the Brotherhood seeks vassals, you'll find none here.
But if you seek allies who can help you face the unknown, then we talk as equals."
The guards shifted uneasily. Leighton exhaled, his earlier doubt replaced by grim pride.
For the first time, Valk said nothing. He studied the faces before him—the commander's strong will, the scientist's intellect, and the quiet, unnerving calm of the man named Neo.
They weren't bluffing. And something told him they had seen the abyss—and come back alive.
"I will need to report to Major Kailas," he said finally, his voice losing some of its earlier arrogance.
"Your… statements and your claims about these crystals will be relayed. But before that, we'll need proof—demonstration of your anomaly expertise, and access to one crystal sample for analysis. The Brotherhood does not operate on faith."
The first round of negotiations ended with a stalemate of caution.
Evelyn agreed, carefully.
Limited demonstrations. Non-critical technology. A single Listener crystal (anima crystal) sample for analysis—no more.
When Valk left the command hall, his expression was unreadable, somewhere between suspicion and intrigue.
Neo watched him go, then turned to Evelyn.
"They've taken the bait. The crystals, the anomaly data—they're interested. Maybe even afraid."
Evelyn's shoulders relaxed, just slightly.
"Then we walk the wire carefully. Show too much, and they'll take everything. Show too little, and they'll crush us. Neo—you'll handle the Brotherhood's technical delegation.
Let them see enough to respect us… but never the whole truth. Not about the Relic. Not about what really lies beneath us."
Neo nodded.
He understood perfectly.
Prism Base had survived monsters, madness, and the void itself.
Now, it faced a new kind of danger—one wrapped not in fangs or shadows, but in steel and banners.
And as the Brotherhood's envoy disappeared beyond the blast doors, Neo knew this was only the beginning.
The next war might not be fought with claws or corruption—but with ideals.