Andronicus23

War Never Changes

Legate Aurelius - Brotherhood Command Operations Center

Alongside the Paladin-General, Legate Aurelius of Phoenix watched the feed from the Brotherhood’s device as it soared high above the scene of carnage below. It was destruction and death untold, Mars above..it was nothing less than total devastation: a type not seen since the likes of the Great Fire that had scourged the earth at the command of the God of War. Aurelius was torn between feelings of satisfaction at seeing his enemies so thoroughly burned and purified, and dread at understanding how woefully unprepared The Legion would be if such an action would ever be turned against them. He could tell Paladin-Wilson was facing the same sort of conundrum, understanding that the Western Brotherhood fought with them only at the behest of a likely desire to see their own ambitions realized. What happened when and if the Cult was defeated, and the shield of civilization cast aside by all...would those that held it instead take up new quarrels and disagreements between them? That distinct possibility weighed heavily on both their minds.

Here and now however, Aurelius would no longer question Lucius’s desire to see The Legion embrace the world beyond instead of shunning it. Here was ample proof that to ignore the world was to invite ruination. The Legion would have to embrace the new if it wished to survive, and The Brotherhood might just be willing and able to help them along that path. Aurelius was now determined more than ever to secure that alliance’s future, and in turn, The Legion’s.

"Legate", Wilson said, "You had recommended earlier that we resume the march on Columbus without waiting for the Western Order's ground troops to arrive. In light of the effects the Scourge of Columbus is having on the enemy, I believe this to be the best course of action. I propose we resume the advance Eastward immediately."

Aurelius nodded, “To that end I’ve already sent Legion Explorers ahead to scout the way alongside a vanguard of Recruits to clear a path for the army’s swift advance. They’ll scout out lines of advance and any chokepoints, garrison forward positions, and engage enemy forces only when practical.”

"Also", Wilson added, "We can fly additional troops into Dayton to reinforce the troops from the Southern column who have moved up there from Cincinnati."

“Very good. I will elect to provide a cohort of Legionaries to be deployed alongside Brotherhood troops should you wish it. However, understandably I will focus efforts on my legions’ drive to the east in force.”

Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle

Robert breathed a sigh of relief as the vertibird maneuvered into formation over the airfield. He’d never before had to perform a rocket-assisted takeoff. He’d almost requested that he’d be replaced as a pilot in this operation, in lieu of perhaps a more experienced Midwestern counterpart. That was until Lancer-Paladin Morgan had reassured him and moreover placed such unwavering faith in his abilities that Robert’s confidence had been renewed. He was glad it had worked out that way, he wanted to show that his former Order did not train poor verti-pilots, or cowards for that matter. And that he could be as adaptable as any of his Brothers and Sister in the Midwestern ranks. He wanted to carry Maxson’s banner high and proud, if only in spirit. Morgan had helped him achieve that, and he’d be eternally grateful for the Squadron Commander’s trust.

Robert looked out across the open sky as the vertibirds turned Northeast to follow their flight-path to Detroit. The danger ahead weighed on his mind, and the thought of what was to come...well...it unnerved him. He didn’t want to think how many of the men and women that made up this operation would die. Of course he understood that he could very well be among them. But if that was the case then so be it. At least he’d go down in service of something greater than himself. He’d outlived too many of his Brothers and Sisters already.

As he exhaled a heavy sigh, Robert felt a gnawing sensation come crawling in from the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right.

A scene flashed across his memory. A man in a white coat...and himself hooked up to some horrifying chair, implants or needles embedded into his spinal column.

Robert shook his head, trying to get the terrifying image out of his thoughts.

“Are you alright?” His co-pilot looked at him, mildly concerned.

“Nothing. Just about sneezed,” Robert chuckled. The co-pilot laughed. The thought….memory...whatever it had been. Faded as quickly as it had come. Robert soon couldn’t even recall what exactly he’d seen, but the feeling of unease did not disappear so easily.

Santa Fe - Capital of The Legion

Lucius sat at his desk inside his palace pouring over the reports that had come flooding in, both from Legate Aurelius in the east, and the situation in Utah. The Khan Empire, much to his frustration, seemed unable to stem the tide of raiders that now roamed unchecked and unchallenged up and down the old pre-war highways. Salt Lake City had been sacked and tribal raiders seemed to be moving south, perhaps intent on crossing into Legion territory. He’d already dispatched the Tenth Legion to reinforce the Third Legion stationed in the Utah province, but his hope was the Gaius Tranquillus could hold New Ravenna long enough for them to arrive in force. Gaius was a cunning leader, and an experienced commander. Typical of the Legion, his appointment as Military Governor had been earned through meritorious service, not political dealing. Whatever his faith in the abilities of the Governor however, the rapid deterioration of The Khanate’s control over its own territory meant only one thing: The Great Khan had greatly inflated his strength and obfuscated the fractured nature of his state, even more than he’d previously thought.

Lucius had no illusions that the Khans were ever as strong or united as they’d claimed to be, or that they’d be able to stop the tide of a Western Brotherhood or even NCR advance. But he’d counted on the Khanate as at least a reliable buffer state to the North. One that, while they’d been at odds in the past, he’d worked carefully and prudently to rebuild relations with since he’d been elevated to the crimson. The Khan’s failure to safeguard one of the richest and most populous cities under his control was an utter disgrace that now severed that last shred of hope Lucius had in counting on a strong allied state to his north. The fact that Lucius had even defended the Khan at the Santa Fe convention only served to infuriate him more. Lucius now looked the fool for having placed faith in an erstwhile ally turned collapsing nation-state. He knew he had taken a gamble with the Khanate and perhaps been overly optimistic about their chances to regain control, but it had been one he had been willing to risk if it meant ensuring future stability. A strong and friendly Khanate would have been immensely beneficial to him.

Still perhaps this turn of events could be salvaged in some way. Khan controlled Northern Utah had close ties with the Legion, and the New Canaanite presence in parts of it meant that they could count on at least some form of influence in dictating its future. He had not married Hannah because she was a New Canaanite or because she might provide political leverage with them, he’d married her because he’d fallen in love: something that had once been so foreign to him under Sallow. Yet he could not help but feel some measure of satisfaction in knowing that her presence meant a great deal to the New Canaanite people, and so long as she remained his wife and the mother of his children: the New Canaanite would prove a useful friend to his Legion. Aside from that, while the Khanate might have questionable political stability, none could deny that the warriors of the Great Khan were fearsome and skilled in equal measure. For some time now they’d served as auxiliaries in his legions in various campaigns, including the recent war with the NCR. They’d proved their worth time and time again on the battlefield. Perhaps the offer of steady pay, slaves, and lands of their own within Legion territory might tempt these foreign auxiliaries into loyal Legion vassals, from which he could draw a strong core of future legionaries from. If the Khanate collapsed fully, there would be no shortage of such wayward warriors in search of a banner to fight under.

He furrowed his brow then at the next thought that popped into his mind. One which he knew would make things complicated,

Gladstone.

Lucius sat back in his chair in contemplative thought. There was little doubt The Western Brotherhood leader had the same designs on Khanate territory, he’d made that abundantly clear at the Convention: even advocating for outright war to capture as much of the Khan’s territory as he could. He’d have to move carefully if he wished to intercept his supposed ally and prevent everything simply falling into Gladstone’s hands. Part of him hoped he could trust Gladstone as he trusted Barnaky, and worry little if the Khans did fall under Western Brotherhood sway. But the other part of him suspected that Gladstone had ambitions and plans that far outstripped his current means. He’d seen that sort of look many times before: in the eyes of Edward Sallow.

Lucius sighed, at the very least things in the east appeared to be progressing well. Aurelius had sent back news of Indianapolis’ swift capture, and the intent for the Brotherhood and Legion combined force to continue its push east. Aurelius was a rare commander: someone who, if given half the men and forces thought needed to take an objective, would do so without question and without hesitation. He, simply put, found a way to do what needed to be done, even when others might stamp their feet and think it impossible.

So he had given The Legate double the men he himself had thought required. With the eastern flank secured by his Midwestern Allies, the eastern legions were at Aurelius’s disposal. Lucius had utmost faith in his greatest general, and furthermore with the famed Vulpes Inculta at his side: so much was possible. Lucius knew too well however that the enemy they faced would not go down quietly: the end of the Cult would be a horrendous, blasphemous shriek of a death cry.

Caesar Lucius stood up and walked over to the window, observing the modest palace gardens below him, gardens that were tended dutifully by his wife and her handmaidens as a sort of hobby. The flowers there were lovely, perhaps not as grand as might be found in Vegas or even the NCR, but they contained a sort of wild beauty that was harnessed into something equal parts exotic and comforting. His Legion had come far indeed, farther than even Sallow had planned. Yet there was still much to do. As his wife tended the gardens below, he too had been tending the Legion, carefully growing its influence and power, and ensuring it would have deep roots to weather any coming storm. Sallow had laid its foundations, but neglected the structure above, caring not for what happened if he died and caused it all to come crumbling down. Lucius would build a Legion to last the ages. Joining the fight to defeat the Cult was one of many such ways he’d planned to make that happen.

The other was closer and more dear to him. He caught sight of Hannah, his wife, walking amongst the gardens as he knew she loved to do this time of day. She was beginning to show clear signs of her pregnancy, and she’d taken to wearing looser, more comfortable clothing as her belly began to grow. Soon the announcement would be made, and all would know that she was pregnant with his heir. The doctor, her personal physician and a New Canaanite besides, had assured them that she carried a boy. Lucius had been relieved at that. If he'd had only girls, he'd had fought for them to rule in his place, but he knew such a radical change for The Legion would be difficult indeed. A boy made things much simpler. Provided the child survived, he would have an heir to his Empire. A clear line of succession: the start of a dynasty.

Lucius smiled. A strong future for his family, and his people.

War Never Changes

Boston Commons - The Commonwealth

Swan. Swan is swan. Swann is me. Me is swan.

Swan felt the cool water around him as he sat motionless in his pond. The water was still, and he could nearly feel every vibration that rippled through it. When a mongrel lapped up the water desperately in a feverish thirst, he could hear it. When a human dipped a toe in intent on grabbing some piece of flotsam for salvage: he could feel it. Many creatures wandered into the commons and though he could frequently hear their footsteps skirting his refuge; he would never emerge unless they disturbed his pond. He wanted quiet, he had to concentrate. Concentrate on something he knew he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be Swan. He had to remember: he was Swann.

Something was coming from far off now, he could feel the vibrations of the ground below him. A great rumbling was headed towards his pond. Hopefully the noise would go away. He didn’t want to fight now. He just wanted to rest and be Swan. Briefly the noise broke him from his almost meditative state, but he returned quickly enough to focus back.

Me is Swan. Swann. Swan.

You are Edgar Swann.

Swan opened his eyes. There was that voice again, gnawing like a worm at the back of his mind. Who was it? Why did it always bother him? A memory flashed across his mind, only briefly. He remembered being small: much smaller. The size of a human. He was sitting. Sitting in a bright room. His arm ached. He looked to where the pain was coming from, and something was in his arm. A sharp pain and something protruding from him. It was called a needle, he remembered.

The memory disappeared as quickly as it came.

Yes, me is Swan.

Swann.

“Swan,” Swan voiced, bubbles coming from his mouth as he breathed out the words. The rumbling was close now, it was coming towards him. He knew he’d have to fight. Swan would have to become a monster again: kill things so he could keep his pond safe. Swan didn’t like being a monster. Swan just wanted to be Swann.

There were voices now, many voices. Some of them sounded like humans, others sounded different. Swan would have to kill many things today to protect his pond. Why did they not just leave Swan alone?

Swan then felt as something touched his pond. Something had stepped into the water. Swan became angry. How dare they disturb his pond? Touch his water? He had to become a monster once more.

He burst forth from the water, raising his arm high. The heavy anchor he used as a weapon swinging down swiftly onto the thing that had stepped into the pond. It was pulverized instantly. Swan let out a great roar,

“SWAAAAAANNNN!”

-------

“Open fire!” X4-35 gave the order as the Behemoth smashed to pieces the Gen-1 Synth that had been sent in to lure him out.

Every Synth in the vicinity opened fire on Swan. Dozens of blue laser bolts tore through the air and burned scorch marks into the beasts hide and armor. Even under heavy fire the behemoth still rampaged through the commons, smashing Synths left and right. It sent some flying into the air with the force of the impact and others simply pulverized under its makeshift club's enormous weight. X4 looked on impassively as the Gen-1 and Gen-2 Synths fought helplessly against the creature.They were clearly outmatched, regardless of numbers, the Synths simply did not have the firepower to bring the beast down. It was time for a little more firepower. X4 gave a nod and a Gen-3 Synth trooper next to him dropped to her knee and aimed a missile launcher at the beast. An explosive missile burned its way through the air towards Swan, and only a chance defection with his makeshift paddle boat shield spared him the brunt of the projectile’s force. His shield exploded under the impact, and part of his hand was torn off. Swan roared in pain and clutched his wound.

The rebuilt pre-war IFV they’d been traveling alongside rotated its turret towards the Behemoth. X4 made a motion with his hand, and the turret opened up. A single 105mm round punched through the air and struck Swan’s abdomen, tearing into it. A great explosion ripped apart the creatures innards and sent it crashing to the ground, nearly blown in two.

“Swaaannn,” Swan shuddered as his lifeblood drained away rapidly, “Ed-gar...Swann.”

----

X4-35 stepped over a single one of Swan’s arms, even as a corpse the beast was formidable looking. He stared into the painted face of the abomination, it was a disturbing facsimile of a swan’s. X4 suppressed his disgust and opened a channel to the SRB,

“SRB, this is Task Force Aurora. Boston Commons is clear. ”

“Copy that X4. Continue sweep of the area. Secure the perimeter of the Massachusetts State House and surrounding buildings. Await reinforcement from other units.”

----

Inside his quarters Thomas watched watched the monitor array feed closely as legions of Synths battled their way through Boston. Block by block, inch by inch retaking the city from the degradation and decay that had infested it all these years. It would take weeks or even months to clear out the multitude of raiders and mutant warbands that inhabited it, and it would likely be years before the city could be fully scoured entirely of the likes of ghouls and other mutant aberrations. Still though, time was on his side, and he had no shortage of Synths that could be set to the task. For every synth lost, another simply walked off the production line to take its place. The Institute’s resources were expanding considerably each day that past as their operations on the surface increased and the amount of raw material, pre-war tech, and machinery came flooding in, along with the reignition of many pre-war manufacturing and industrial locations.

Visions of the future flooded his mind. Plans for the city and what he might do with all the wealth of technology at his disposal. He would build a new Boston, a true city of the future with The Institute at the helm. Thomas glanced over at the profiles SRB had sent, the ones they’d compiled from the New Vegas meetings.

Perhaps it was time to begin showing others just what that future might be.

War Never Changes

Decanus Cassius - Somewhere Near The Legion and Khan Border

Decanus Cassius and his explorer scouts had been tracking the band of the 80s for some time, keeping a careful watch on them as they approached the border. He’d been sending back regular reports to the Military Governor, Gaius Tranquillus, who had ordered the entire stretch of border carefully monitored and to keep him informed of the movement of any 80s force. Initially, it had been thought that they might veer west and link up with others of their tribe, but as the band came closer and closer to the Legion’s territory however, it was clear that their intent was to cross the border and enter Caesar’s domain. That could not be allowed.

Without new orders from the Military Governor, Cassius’s only option was to engage as it would unthinkable to allow an armed rabble to enter Legion territory unchallenged. The 80s were little better than an organized raid gang, albeit one that had been growing in significant strength, and to allow even such a petty group of them to plunder Northern Utah could not be allowed. Cassius’s contubernium was smaller, but the Legion had faced such long odds before. Each of his men were well equipped and experienced Legion explorers. They knew every crack and crevice of this landscape and could easily maneuver themselves into position for an ambush.

So it was that the Contubernium of Decanus Cassius crept up to the 80s encampment, the riders were feasting on roasted brahmin and passing around a bottle of liquor, no doubt celebrating the recent kills and captures they’d just made. The evidence of their attack was all around. They’d hit a caravan, and had no doubt taken a share of plunder from the carcasses of pack brahmin and dead traders. Although from the looks of it, the haul had not been quite as good as what perhaps they’d been expecting. Judging from the lack of supplies and general disarray of the pack animals, they’d not been carrying much. Cassius thought that perhaps this group might have been heading through Khan territory and perhaps had already been robbed by a less murderous gang and been forced to turn back.

Silently the Legion killers approached, treading lightly in the hard dirt as they crept slowly. Machetes and revolvers drawn and spears raised. Yet for all their skills at stealth, there were always unknowns. A camp sentry had been posted in a hidden location just outside. Cassius had hoped that with their minds addled and bellies full of meat that the 80s would be unlikely to take such precautions and few raider gangs in such a state ever did. Yet it was a calculated risk, one he had just lost. The sentry spotted the approaching Legion and raised the alarm. It was do or die now, there was still time to get the drop on them. Cassius ordered rapid advance and his scouts followed suit, closing the distance between themselves and the 80s at a full out sprint.

Battle was about to commence when Cassius heard the sounds of someone speaking in latin, a ghoul it seemed and a slave at that. The 80s had not yet gone to attack. While other Decani might have ran the slave through and continued the assault, Cassius happened to be one of the few where diplomacy just might work. He often worked with tribals and raider gangs at the fringes of Legion territory, pitting them against one another with well placed bribes of Legion gold and slaves. It had served him well thus far.

He ordered a halt, and his contubernium formed up in a semicircle around the encampment, not letting their guard down for a moment and ready to pounce if things went south.

Cassius approached the ghoul slave,

“You speak our tongue well for a profligate,” Cassius remarked coldly, “Although your accent is not of one born to the Legion, you speak as one of the New Canaanites....”

“I shall bring you before Gaius Tranquillus, Governor of Northern Utah and Prefect of New Ravenna. Be warned, any act of treachery and you will all be on crosses before daybreak.”

---

City of New Ravenna, Provincial Capital of Northern Utah

New Ravenna was a relatively small but heavily fortified border city at the edge of Legion territory. Only miles from the border, it was an important trade hub and stop off for caravans traveling up and down the length of the I-15 towards the Khans and the Great Salt Lake. With word of the recent sacking of Salt Lake City, Gaius Tranquillus had raised the cities defenses and fortified its walls and barricades. Legionaries of the town’s Urban Cohort patrolled its gantries while machine-gun and artillery emplacements zero’d in a deadly field of fire that would dissuade even the most foolhardy of attacker from approaching. Traders, farmers, and civilians had flooded into the town from the surrounding region upon word of the encroaching 80s horde, and many now formed a shanty tent city outside of its walls, hoping to seek shelter within or to be protected by the Legion’s strong military presence. Fearing a siege, Gaius had restricted the numbers of civilians allowed to enter the city proper and kept a careful watch on his food stores to ensure enough for each fighting man and defender. Such measures were temporary however, with word sent to Caesar of the threat, it was only a matter of time before one or more of the western legions arrived to reinforce Utah.

Cassius and his contubernium escorted the group up to and through the gates of the city leading them through the twisting streets and alleys that marked a strange mixture of old world ruins and Legion architecture. The Governor's House was a simple yet impressive looking building of brick and concrete. It had been a police precinct before the war and would act as a “fortress within a fortress” the last bastion from which the Gaius and his most elite troops would make a last stand in the event of the cities fall.

Cassius ushered the 80s inside, where Gaius waited upon their arrival seated on a rudimentary throne and carefully eyed them, surrounded by armed Legionaries. To his left was the standard of New Ravenna, a spear clutched in the talons of a watchful hawk. While a flag bearing the symbol of the bull stood proudly to his right: that of Caesar’s own.

A hooded figure draped in crimson next to Gauis announced an introduction, speaking in the common tongue of the 80s,

“You stand before Gaius Tranquillus, servant of Caesar and Governor of Northern Utah. Speak and you shall be heard.”


Lacer-Sergeant Robert Kyle - En Route to Briefing

Robert entered the debriefing in Hanger 2 to find Paladin-General Wilson and the rest of the attack contingent of Vertibird pilots already assembled. He quickly found a seat and sat down, a bit sheepish at having arrived late but hoped the knowledge it had been largely out of his hands would temper any reaction from the Paladin-General. Thankfully that appeared to be the case.

"Good work with the Legatus, Lancer-Sergeant", Wilson said in an approving manner, "Now that you're here we can begin. This, ladies and Gentlemen, is your next mission....Detroit."

Robert stared up at the screen, studying the map closely. He’d heard about the fighting in Detroit. That theater of war had probably seen perhaps worst action in this conflict to date. Being deployed there might very well be the most challenging mission of his career in the Brotherhood. Even worse than Maxson and The Commonwealth.

"The current situation there is critical, half of Detroit proper has been overrun, and Windsor is under constant pressure across the bridges. To compound things, their Chief of Staff is a traitor and staging a coup in conjunction with Cult sympathizers in their Legislature. Our analysts believe they won't last 48 hours without reinforcements. Commodore Hackett begins landing operations in Detroit and Windsor within the hour, but the commander of the IRD forces has made a urgent request, and Hackett doesn't have the means to accomplish it with the forces at his disposal." The map zoomed in to a area in central Detroit. "The front has largely stabilized along Eight-Mile Road. This is Highland Park, about four miles behind enemy lines. A large number of civilians, well over a thousand by the IRD's estimates, have taken shelter there. The only thing between them and the Cult is what's left of the two Infantry Battalions that managed to reach them before being completely cut off by the Enemy."

“Hell of a situation,” Robert muttered quietly to the Lancer next to him, who nodded grimly.

"In spite of their gallant defense, Highland Park will fall in a matter of hours unless drastic action is taken", Wilson continued, "The Plan is this....the Squadron will execute a combat drop of Knights directly behind the IRD defensive positions. To maintain surprise, the local defenders will not be told you're coming. At the same time, the IRD will drive on Highland Park from the North with all the forces they can muster. The Knights will need to help the defenders hold the line while the civilians are evacuated, then execute a fighting withdraw back to IRD lines. Casualties will almost certainly be high, but if successful, it will help convince the Detroiters we are sincere about assisting them against the Enemy. Once the Knights are deployed, the Squadron will report to Commodore Hackett for further orders."

"Wheels up in thirty minutes", Wilson concluded gravely, "Ad Victoriam!"

"Ad Victoriam!” Robert shouted enthusiastically, reveling in the camaraderie and strength of his Brothers and Sisters around him. He’d missed this: dearly. His service under Maxson had been some of the best years of his life, and it had all been torn apart tragically by the events in The Commonwealth. After that, he thought perhaps he’d never be able to say that phrase again with pride and vigor. Yet here he was, surrounded once more by fellow Brotherhood soldiers: by family. Once more he could say that phrase and never think twice about his convictions and about what his purpose was.

The Paladin-General was a strong leader. A good commander and a cunning tactician from what he’d seen. He’d reacted quickly and decisively when the Legion forces had been ambushed in Indianapolis, quickly deploying his forces where they were needed to best aid their Legion comrades. Between the two of them, the Legate and the Paladin-General: Robert was confident that the combined push towards Pittsburgh would succeed where others had failed. Now it was time for The Brotherhood to secure a wavering front up north and shore up a bulwark against the horrors that lurked beyond human understanding. Detroit would not fall, he’d do his best to ensure that. He had a purpose once more and a commander he knew he could rely on.

Robert looked to the Paladin-General, saluted proudly, and made his way to his bird to begin take-off preparation.

Time to rain hell on some mutie bastards. For The Brotherhood of Steel.

War Never Changes

Publick Occurrences Diamond City - The Commonwealth

“Citizens of Diamond City, for your protection and safety, a curfew is now in effect. Please remain in your homes from the hours of 8:00pm to 7:00am. A single warning will be issued to any who break curfew. Repeat violators of this curfew will be prosecuted. Thank you for your cooperation. [This message repeats] Citizens of Diamond City….”

Piper switched the radio dial off. Diamond City radio was far less interesting nowadays. Piper had always tuned into it when she was up late working on an article. Even with Travis’ neurotic ramblings it was comforting to listen to. It had always represented home for her. Even when she was out in the wastes, chasing a story or investigating a lead, she could count on the radio signal to follow her wherever she went: a little piece of Diamond City to remind her that home was still out there waiting.

Now The Institute had taken that away too. What more could they do to her?

Piper poured herself another shot of whiskey, noting through the haze of drunken stupor that the bottle was empty. She threw the empty bottle in the wastebasket, and it nearly shattered when it clattered against the numerous other bottles there. Nat was upstairs sleeping, but her medicine always knocked her out cold. There was no fear of waking her now, and she would need her rest.

Piper took another look at the lengthy paper she’d just finished, still fresh on the typewriter and ready for the press. A small smile spread across her face. It would be her magnum opus: her last great work. It was a scathing critique of The Institute, and of Thomas especially. She’d held nothing back. His betrayal...his lies and his manipulation of her and everyone in The Commonwealth. Everything she’d had to hold back would be laid bare for everyone to see. Hundreds of copies would be printed, and she would use was little contacts she had left to distribute them across The Commonwealth. She had no illusions it would stop The Institute, but it might just hinder them enough to make a difference. Her life would be forfeit...but if they killed her then all the better. People would know it was the truth and start fighting back, she’d be a martyr for free press and would have the last laugh on Thomas.

But when she heard the sound of an electric jolt and felt a bright light emanating from behind her, she couldn’t even say she was surprised. She’d been expecting this. They were always one step ahead. She figured she would have more time...oh well. It was worth a shot. Perhaps a copy or two would still get out. Maybe it wouldn’t be a total loss. Her only thought was for Nat now...she hoped she’d be okay without her.

“Alright, go ahead and do it,” Piper said with a heavy sigh as she started to turn around, “I figured Thomas would send one of his Courser goons to off me eventually. Just make it…..”

To her surprise, it wasn’t a heavily armed Couser that had just manifested in her home, it was Thomas.

“Hello Piper,” He said simply.

Piper stood there and stared at him in disbelief. For the briefest of moments she felt relieved, almost happy to see him in a twist of emotion that she couldn’t explain. But that faded as quickly as it had come, and was replaced with blind rage that bubbled up with a vengeance as the weight of his sins began to fall on her. She clenched her fists and spoke to him through gritted teeth.

“Get out. Now.”

“Not until I’ve had a chance to speak with you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. We’ve gone waaaay past anything you can say that will make anything you did okay. You aren’t going to charm me. You’re a monster.”

“I understand that, yet I’d like to talk with you nonetheless. I know you feel betrayed...angry..”

“Feel? There is no ‘feel’. You did betray everyone. EVERYONE when you became one of them. What happened to Valentine? He helped you and you let them take him away like he was garbage. What happened to Preston? To The Minutemen? Virgil? To Dr. Amari and Goodneighbor? Why is it that everyone who helped you along to The Institute suddenly vanished or disappeared? Do you think I’m stupid Tom? I had a small hope that when I learned you were leading them, that perhaps things would be different. But everything just stayed the same, no, it became worse. The Institute would never had done something so bold as to wipe out Goodneighbor. Not unless they had you to lead them...”

Thomas stayed silent for a few moments, allowing the weight of Piper’s words to carry. She wasn’t wrong, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but feel deadend to her insults and pleas for answers,

“Everything I did, I did for the sake of safeguarding The Institute and humanity's future. Everyone I interacted with had dangerous knowledge that might have led them back here. Back to us. I had to remove any knowledge of the teleporter and The Institute’s secrets...loose ends had to be tied up...threats had to be removed.”

“LOOSE ENDS? You sick psychotic son-of-a---” Piper picked up a cigarette tray and threw it at him as hard as she could. To her surprise it passed right through him and clattered against the wall on the opposing side. Her confusion was quickly replaced by seething anger. Did his deception never end?

“I should have known.” She said through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas acknowledged, “I wanted to come in person. I was persuaded to do otherwise.”

“Cait?”

He nodded in reply.

“She’s a heartless mercenary. A cruel evil bitch you know that? You too make a perfect match in that respect,” Piper shook her head, “I believe she loves you though...but do you love her?”

Thomas stared blankly at Piper, a seconds pause and hesitation before he said what was in his mind,

“She reminds me of Nora. Headstrong and independent...stubborn and cynical. Always pushing me to do what I never would have the courage to do alone.”

“That doesn’t answer my question Tom.”

“For a brief time, I believed I did. In Vegas…. I thought perhaps that I could finally move on from Nora’s memory. But those feelings faded as soon as I returned. I realize now that I never truly can. I’ve made it my mantra to move forward, to forget the past. Spade under the old so that the new can grow. I’ve forgotten Shaun as he was and accepted who he became...and I plan to do the same with The Commonwealth...with the world. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot do the same with Nora. She’s locked somewhere deep within me, and will not let go.”

“One more betrayal to add on to the pile I suppose,” Piper quipped, “I mean why not? What’s a broken heart compared to the hundreds you’ve trampled under?”

“It’ll be for the better in any case. I’ll never be able to give Cait what she truly wants. Not after Phase 4 is enacted. However, I will not be cruel. She has been through enough.”

“Phase 4? I supposed that’s your fancy name for what you’re doing here? Taking over Diamond City, putting The Commonwealth under your thumb?” Piper’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned against the wall looking at him intently.

“Yes. Its a small part. The rest will be revealed in time. Needless to say, there will be changes. Things will start to take a turn for the better here in Diamond City, and beyond. As you know I’ve already made my promise to those living here.”

Piper scoffed dismissively, shaking her head with disdain,

“You realize they weren’t actually applauding you? Don’t you? You understand that none of them truly think The Institute is in their best interests. They all still hate you. They’re just doing whatever they need to do or say to survive. If that means kow-towing to The Institute’s commander-in-chief-for-life. They’ll do it.They’re scared out of their wits Tom.”

“I know,” Thomas replied with a nod, “I’m under no illusions that a single speech and a show of force will change their minds about us. But it's of no concern. Right now they will hate me, hate The Institute. They’ll fear us, but perhaps a small part of them will grudgingly accept the current situation, perhaps even hope for a better tomorrow. I will nurture that part, and in a generation or two when The Commonwealth is free of disease, hunger, mutation, and death. We will see how their grandchildren feel about our legacy.”

“Let's pretend I believe you,” Piper said as she stood up and began walking towards the hologram, “And let's assume you are somehow able to change things for the better. Make the world a better place….rewind the clock or whatever the hell you think you can accomplish. What exactly makes you think that the next jackboot thug wearing that labcoat and calling himself ‘The Director’ is going to continue to follow your hair-brained scheme? What’s to stop them from completely reversing everything you’ve done and going back to treating us like a giant petri dish?”

“There will not be another Director.” Thomas’s replied stoically. .

“Oh I get it, you intend to destroy the system? Implement democracy?” Piper let out a mocking peel of laughter, “Don’t kid yourself Tom. You know that’ll never fly down there.”

“You misunderstand me. There will BE a Director. But there will not be another Director after me.”

Piper stopped in her tracks confused, “What are you trying to say Tom?”

“I’m saying that I intend to ensure my plans are carried out to the end. Personally.” A small grin escaped Tom’s lips, the light on the hologram flickered briefly which cast a menacing visage as it caused his face to twist and contort in the transparent blue glow.

“You’re insane.” Piper stepped back in shock.

“No I’m thinking quite clearly. I assure you. It's what has to be done. As you astutely pointed out, without a guiding hand to lead it long-term, The Institute will merely fall back into its old ways of isolation and xenophobia. And nothing will change. It must be guided with a firm hand, as must the rest of The Commonwealth, for as long as needs be.”

“You really have lost it Blue,” She shook her head in disbelief, using the old nickname she’d had for Thomas with little thought, “You’ve let that ‘Father’ thing go to your head.”

“No. I’ve come to realize this necessity after observing the other nations of the wasteland and their actions thus far. Those that led with a strong hand, one which conveys strength and permanence, have flourished here. Those without...have begun to fall back into the old ways that led us to this sad pass in the first place. If things continue that way, it seems inevitable that history will repeat itself. That cannot happen. It WILL not happen.”

Piper witnessed nothing less than utter conviction on Thomas’s face, for whatever his faults, whatever his mad schemes, he seemed to truly believe that what he was about to do would lead to a better world, perhaps even prevent the ills of his generation from coming to pass again. A small part of her wanted to believe that he was right, that he could do what he claimed. Yet she knew she could never stand by and allow such a maniacal scheme come to fruition. It was too much.

“I won’t let you Tom. I’ll do whatever I can to stop you. You can’t keep me silent about this.”

“I know Piper. I know. It's why I came to talk to you ...we had a mutual understanding for a good long time. For awhile I thought perhaps it could last indefinitely ...but I know that was impossible. It was against every principle you stood for, and it was only for your sister’s sake that you kept your end of the bargain. I admire that. But it has to end I’m afraid.”

“Go on then. Kill me.”

“I can’t. Oddly enough I have no desire to, although I can say firmly and without any doubt that you would kill me if given the chance. But no Piper, I won’t kill you.”

The door to Publick Occurrence opened, and Piper stared in horror as her exact double stared her right in the face, down to the very last scrap of clothing. She could even see the cut she’d gotten only hours before still healing on the left hand of the thing. How had they even known about that?

“No,” She took a step back, her eyes wide in terror. The Synth double mimicked her muscle by muscle, their voices synced down to the most minute intonation. Her worst nightmare had come to pass.

“You can’t...”

Thomas remained silent, but simply nodded to the double who walked up to Piper’s typewriter and took her seat, tearing out the paper in it and starting a new one.

“Blue please….”

“Perhaps in time, you can return to Diamond City Piper. But for now, you’re going to see the one place you always hoped to discover.”

“NO! NAT!” Piper knew it was no use, her sister would not wake for anything with her medicine in her.

“Your sister will be well taken care of. I promise you.”

In the next moment, Piper was engulfed in a flash of blue light, and she disappeared. Yet the clicking of the typewriter went on without her.

War Never Changes

Deck of The Syreen - Lord Commodore Mordred Locke in command

Heavy footfalls struck the decrepit deck of the old pre-war vessel, as the Lord Commodore strode towards across its deck. The Syreen was nothing like what it had been before the war. Mordred could remember a time when these decks were pristine, polished to a mirror shine by the diligence and discipline of the seamen aboard her: so proud of her were they that she was the best maintained ship in the Navy. Of course she hadn’t been called The Syreen back in those days either: she’d gone by another name. But that was long ago lost to history. She was, and would forever be now, The Syreen: Terror of the North Seas, and The Witch of the Atlantic. Like him, she’d long ago been lost to the horrid corruption and decay of the new world they’d found themselves in.

Mordred stared at his hands, glowing bright green and rotting with the filth of ages. He could see his bones nearly poking through his slowly decaying flesh. Held together and alive only by the very radioactive hell that had wrought him in the first place.

Yes...just like his ship, he was long gone now. He hadn’t even the slightest inkling of what it meant to be human.

“Three captures this time Lord Commodore, they be awaitin’ your decision,” the toothless grin of one of his necrotic crewman ghouls interrupted his reminiscence. The first mate pointed towards three bound and gagged human wastelanders, pistols pointed to their heads by three half-ferals who stared ahead with vacant expressions and gaping mouths. They were sad hollow shells of the former humans they used to be: the horrific results of the Tattered Fleets cruelest of practices.

Mordred walked towards the condemned prisoners, two males and one female. The two men sunk their heads low when Mordred stepped forward, their bodies seemingly wilting under the intense radioactive aura that the ancient Glowing One emitted. He could immediately tell that they were unworthy of his gift. Such individuals were fit only to be turned into half-ferals, or simply killed and used to feed the mutant abominable dregs that lived in the depths of the fleet’s vessels. However the woman stared at him unflinchingly, a look of defiance and outward physical potency that meant she was bearing the immediate brunt of his aura: a promising sign. She was clearly frightened, that alone was evident in the subtle shaking of his form as she knelt before him, but the radiation obviously appeared to affect her less so than the others. Indeed, Mordred was surprised just how strongly she appeared to be resisting.

He approached her, ignoring the other two as they began to writhe in agony at the intense radiation now tearing apart their very cellular structure.

“What is your name?” Mordred asked. His voice deep and tainted with the sound of decay and necrotic rot.

“Sarah,” she said. Her voice shook with fear, but she never broke away from his gaze.

“You’re resistance is remarkable. You’re strong ...stronger than your frail humanity deserves to be. I offer you here and now a chance to ascend. Join my crew, and live life everlasting in service to me. I offer you my gift.”

The two wastelanders to either side of Sarah had now collapsed, their bodies shaking and spasming. They were bleeding profusely now, and their skin was peeling, leaving blackened rot where once was soft flesh. Their eyes began to turn glassy white.

“In a few short hours, they will become as they are now,” Mordred pointed to the half-ferals still standing behind them, “Little more than beasts. And yet...this fate is not for you.”

Mordred grabbed his pistol and pointed it at one of the half-ferals, firing a shot straight into its chest. It crumbled to the floor with a sickening crunch. Mordred grinned and turned to Sarah,

“You may ascend and perhaps even become one of my chosen. Behold….such power you might wield.”

Mordred knelt and touched the fallen half-feral, his body glowed bright, so much so that Sarah had to shield her eyes. Radiation oozed from Mordred and somehow, something seemed to reignite life within the dead half-feral. Perhaps the creature hadn’t really been dead but simply wounded, and the radiation now healed its injuries...or perhaps something far more sinister was at work. Either way, the results were unquestionable. The half-feral now stood once more, and grabbed his pistol as if nothing had happened.

“Now comes a choice. Pledge yourself to me willingly, and I will grant you eternity. Resist ...and you will serve me in death. Choose wisely.”

“I will not join you,” Sarah replied, her head held high, “Atom will guide me to the warmth of the eternal glow.”

Mordred snarled and approached her, reaching out his hand he grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up. As he did so, a medallion slipped from her hand and landed hard on the ship’s deck. Mordred tossed her aside and picked up the trinket, looking it over closely. It bore a strange symbol, and seemed to emit a radioactive source of its own, albeit faintly.

“Who gave you this?” He demanded.

“A missionary of Atom,” She said weakly, clutching her throat, “He came to our village and offered protection and guidance to any who might walk the path. I was the first to take Atom’s salvation and be born anew in the glow. He gave me that as a token of my new faith in the one true god.”

“Atom,” Mordred hissed and tossed the medallion overboard, “A fool’s name for a false god. I will have no such filth aboard this vessel,” He turned away and called back to the half-ferals, “Dispose of it.”

The ferals immediately turned and approached Sarah, pistols brandished. Shots rang out just as Modred began to head below deck.

“Orders Commodore?” One of the ghoul officers asked.

“Stay the course and ready the fleet. Burn every village along the coast. Kill any who resist. If Atom’s children try to stand in our way….send them to the depths.”

“Aye Commodore.”

War Never Changes

Indianoplis- End of the Siege

“Legion invicta! Legio invicta! Legio invicta!”

Flush with victory, the Legion troops shouted their triumphant battle cries throughout the city as they slaughtered the surviving members of the Cult. The Siege of Indianapolis was over, and despite the Cult’s brutal tactics, the combined Legion and Brotherhood army had overwhelmed them. With the Brotherhood now scouring the infested sewers with their deadly spider-like robots, and the Legion mopping up the survivors above ground, victory was all but assured. The Cult had played their last trump card. They had no further resistance to offer.

Legate Aurelius rode with his surviving Praetorians towards where Vulpes had felled the Cult’s foul leader. Examining the aftermath, The Legate knew the fight had been a vicious one. A full half of the Praetorians that had rode with Vulpes had fallen, and Vulpes himself had barely escaped with his life. Despite this however, the finest of the Sons of Mars had given a fine accounting of themselves. They’d been outnumbered and surrounded, yet they’d still defeated the Warleader’s men: killing them and even the Warleader himself. Such a sacrifice would be seen as worthy in Mar’s eyes, and their deeds would be known to all under the Legate’s command. Such loyalty and dedication to duty unto death deserved the highest respect, and was to be emulated by every true legionnaire of Caesar.

Vulpes managed a respectful yet pained salute as Aurelius approached, he was clearly exhausted, and his wounds needed tending.

“Send for the Priestesses,” Aurlieus commanded, “Have them see to Vulpes first.”

“The Warleader,” Vulpes said weakly, yet still resonating with his usual stern demeanor, “Where is he?”

One of the Praetorians approached where the body of the wretched Warleader was last seen, and he turned back to the Legate,

“He is gone…..Glory to Caesar! Shall we look for this devil's corpse?"

Aurelius snarled with indignation. Was there no end to these Cultist’s vile tricks?

“Serjanus!” He shouted. A stern looking Decanus approached the Legate’s horse with a firm salute.

“Take your contubernium and hunt for the wretch. He can’t have gone far.”

“Take him alive if you can.” Vupes added, “He may have valuable information for us ...and I wish to see to his ‘interrogation’ myself.”

The Legate nodded in agreement to Vulpes’ request and motioned to the Decanus to dismiss.

Sernajus saluted once more and signalled for his men to follow him. Seven recruit legionaries including a Vexillarius and two Legion mongrels took off in pursuit with their Decanus at the lead, plunging into the burned ruins of the City after the Warleader.

“Finish securing the city. Sweep the ruins clean,” Aurelius ordered, addressing his Centurions, “Take any food or supplies of use. We give the men two days to rest and gather their strength...and then we march.”


Diamond City - The Commonwealth

The denizens of Diamond City huddled by the grandstand in fear. Their worst nightmare had come to fruition. The Institute had come. No longer was the boogeyman skulking in the shadows, hiding just outside the periphery of their vision: elusive and unknowable. Here and now their creations stood amongst them, an army of killer Synths. Surely this was their final move, Diamond City had fallen without a fight and now they were at the mercy of the ones they’d feared the most these long years. What horror now awaited them?

And yet thus far the Synths had done little other than firmly ordering the citizens out of their homes and to the grandstand. They’d displayed no signs of violence, and even when several brave Diamond City youths had dared to try and start a fight with one of the metallic skeletons, the Synths had not reacted. Even stranger still, Synths moved amongst the crowd with large white crates, offering purified water to them. If they intended to kill them, why bother with such theatrics? Unless they wished to lull them into complacency. Confusion was as rampant as fear now, and everyone waited with bated breath to see what might happen next.

Major McDonough took the stage. His arrival met with hisses and subdued boos from the crowd. Their coward of a Major had given up the city without so much as firing a shot. Diamond Cities’ finest had been forced to lay down their arms and The Wall had been breached under his leadership. It was a disgrace. There were a few in their number, of course, who thought that perhaps the Mayor had been wise in his decision to surrender. That, perhaps, fighting an enemy they could not hope to beat would not have been wise. But those individuals kept their silence, lest they be accused by their peers as being Institute spies.

The Mayor cleared his throat and raised his hands, doing his best to keep a cheerful and calm tone,

“People of Diamond City….I know you are afraid. I know that right now, what you perceive as your greatest enemy is here among you. However, I know for a fact that we are all safe. That no harm is going to come to you. This I swear to you all,” the Mayor made a point of holding his hand over his heart at this last sentence. The crowd was not buying his act however.

“TRAITOR!” Someone yelled out.

The Mayor didn’t react however, and continue his speech without missing a beat,

“The Institute is not here to harm us. They’re here to help us. And I’d like you all…”

“COWARD!” Another yelled out.

“MCDONOUGH YOU SLIMEBALL!” Someone screamed.

The crowd became more and more agitated yelling further obscenities at the Mayor and screaming for his head. He tried to continue speaking, but it was clear he was becoming downed out.

“People please keep calm! Please settle dow…”

Someone threw a rock at him, nearly striking his head.

“Now there’s no need for that!”

Suddenly there was a loud booming crack as if lightning had struck the ground nearby, and a great flash of blue light lit up the area around them. Where once only the Mayor had been standing, suddenly a group now stood. A man clad in a white lab coat and wearing glasses stood along with a red-haired woman covered head to toe in armor and wielding a rather impressive looking rifle. Beside them both stood a Courser dressed head to toe in a black armored coat and wearing a pair of dark patrol shades, his hands clasped behind him and eyeing the crowd discerningly.

The people of Diamond City fell silent. Far back behind the gathered throng, a woman in a tattered longcoat and newsboy cap leaned up against the walls of one of the metal shacks. She swirled a flask in her hand and took a long draft of it.

“Well well ...if it isn’t Blue...finally showed” She mumbled under her breath, “Always need to make an entrance…..”

Thomas strode forward on the stage and looked to the crowd he paused only for a few moments before speaking. Enough time for those in the crowd to recollate where they’d seen him before.

“Many of you may recognize me,” He began, “Perhaps you remember a strange Vault Dweller arriving in your city...searching desperately for his lost son. Perhaps you even remember how he left with Diamond Cities own Nick Valentine to find the ones responsible for his kidnapping.”

Murmurs emanated from the crowd. Most did recognize him, even without the blue suit: it wasn’t terribly difficult. The pencil-pushing fish out of water look was hard to forget and a Vault dweller was a rare sight indeed.

“Less of you, however, know the truth of what happened after that. The truth is, I did find my son. I found him in the place thought impossible to reach. The place some thought didn’t even exist: The Institute. I found him...and I lost him once again. The Institute however, did not kill my son. They did not torture or torment him. They raised him. Allowed him to achieve a life that would have been impossible to have in the wasteland...and...eventually….he even became their leader. ”

Silence fell over the crowd, an apprehension stirred among the people present.

“And so here I am. Ready to continue my son’s work. Ready to lead The Institute and The People of The Commonwealth into a new understanding of each other. Ready to show the world what The Institute has achieved, and what it can do for humanity. I understand of course that your distrust of us runs deep, and that the previous leaders of The Institute have done little to alleviate those fears. And so I’ll begin by giving you a peace offering. We’ll start with something every right-minded person craves. Justice.”

At this final world, flashes of light filled the stage in front of Thomas, and a number of individuals, their hands cuffed in front of them and their mouths covered by a metallic brace, now stood before them. Many of them were instantly recognizable to those in the crowd, they some of the most infamous gang leaders and raider cutthroats were before them. Slag of The Forged, Jared of the Lexington gang, Judge Zeller, members of the Rust Devils and even The Gunners, and finally….Mags and William Black of the Nuka World raiders. Both Mags and William were wide-eyed, desperately looking to Thomas for explanation and repieve...hadn’t they had a deal?

“These...cowards. Killed and slaughtered without consequence...without justice. The Commonwealth will soon be scoured of them and their ilk. X6-88...if you please.”

Coldly and without a word, X6-88 moved down the line, firing his energy pistol point blank at each of the captives. The crowd stirred, some began cheering, others stood silent and watched in grim satisfaction. Nearly all of them had lost family members, friends, and neighbors to these monsters. And even if those that had actually done the deed were not amongst those to die ...the result was no less cathartic.

When X6-88 finally game to Mags and William, the pair looked to Thomas one last time with pleading eyes, before looking to one another. Mags looked in horror as her brother expired before her in a violent flash of blue energy. Then the Courser moved to her….and she closed her eyes.

Thomas strode forward once again as Mag’s body crumbled to the ground. Flashes of light blue removed the mess of the corpses: vanishing them all in an instant,

“The Commonwealth will no longer be plagued by raiders and armed thugs. One by one, they’re being driven away, scoured from their hideouts like rats. However, there is another threat….one far more vicious and bloodthirsty that stalks the wasteland. The brutes called ‘Super-mutants’ are a loathsome species. Unable to see reason, and destroying what remains of the old world in a tide of brutish bloodlust and ravenous hunger. I pledged to you here, and now, The Institute will remove them. Forever.”

“We will rebuild Boston!” Thomas continued, the excitement and enthusiasm in his voice building, “Rebuild it not as a city of the past, but of the future. I’ve seen that it can be done, that the wasteland can be changed. I’ve been there...out west where civilization is slowly returning to the world in a way I thought impossible. I will do better. WE will do better. The Commonwealth will become a beacon for the nations of the wasteland look upon with awe and envy. The heights of human accomplishment will be displayed here for all. And, in time, we will rebuild the world in the same way. And you will all be a part of that. Part of that new world.”

“I understand your resentment, your fear, and your doubts about everything I have said now. I only ask that you give me time. Time to show you what we can do. You need do nothing but have faith. If not faith in The Institute, then faith in me.”

The crowd stirred, unsure of what to think of this rapid turn of events. They’d known Thomas...known his deeds. Was this really the same man who’d come to them only a few years before? Could he be trusted? No-one trusted The Institute itself...but Thomas...perhaps they could trust him. Hadn’t Nick Valentine trusted him? Hadn’t Piper? He’d been a victim of The Institute’s kidnappings himself. He’d even lost his son...and yet here he was promising them a new life and even a new world. Could they dare to hope that he was telling the truth?

Someone in the crowd made their mind up for them: they began clapping. Slowly at first, but then more and more joined in. Despite their reservations and perhaps even better judgement….they were latching on to something they hadn’t felt they’d had in awhile. The hope of something better than this.

Cait, who’d watched the proceedings in silence, grinned with satisfaction,

“Eating out of the palm of yer hands.” She muttered. She hadn’t realized Thomas was such an orator. He’d been a Professor before the war, she knew this, so perhaps it only made sense. Yet even so he’d convinced the population of Diamond City, a city that had feared and hated The Institute in equal measure...to applaud him. Of course having a plant or two in the audience to give them that little extra push hadn’t hurt either….

Thomas stared out across the crowd as the applause continued. In the back he saw Piper, and across the expanse of the great green jewel...their eyes met. Piper shook her head, downed the last drop from her flask and tossed it to the ground, walking back to the city. Thomas watched her turn a corner and disappear and then his gaze once more returned to the crowd, and then to X6-88. He gave the Courser a nod and then...in a flash of blue. Disappeared.

War Never Changes

The Institute - Directorate Board Room

The doors to the Directorate’s chambers slid shut behind him as Thomas entered the room. The assembled members of the Directorate: Dr. Li, Dr. Clayton Holdren, Dr. Alana Secord, and Dr. Allie Fillmore all stood when he entered, giving him a congratulatory applause,

“Well done sir. I admit I had my doubts it would be possible, but I should know by now to never doubt the ingenuity of our scientists or our Director.”

Thomas deflected the rather unsubtle attempt at brownnosing from Dr. Holdren with a dismissive wave of his hand,

“I take no credit for myself. Dr. Li’s team are the ones who need to be commended. Without their hard work, the proposed upgrades to the Molecular Relay would never had been possible.”

Li gave an affirmative nod, not at all adverse to taking the lion’s share of the credit. Although even still the Director’s praise rang hollow. In her mind this was her own personal success, not a collective team effort.

As the Directorate took their seats, Allie Fillmore posed the first question to the returning Director, “I take it the negotiations with Robert House were a success then?”

“They were,” Thomas nodded as a Gen-1 Synth poured him a tall glass of water. He managed only a sip before continuing, “We discussed a great deal of things concerning this new wider world we find ourselves thrust into. Many of which were quite eye-opening to me. Furthermore I can continue to count on his friendship in the coming months.”

“So you intend to initialize Phase 4 then Director?”

Li asked the question with an ever present hint of cynicism and sarcasm to her voice that had increasingly become known as the hallmark of her tenure as Division Head of Advanced Systems . Yet despite her obvious discomfort for the plan, she kept her protestations nowadays to these impertent quips. Her personal ‘understanding’ with the Director not-with-standing, she knew there was little she could do to change the course now.

“I do,” Thomas replied with a polite smile, “Provided this meeting’s final reports return favorable results, we will begin executing the first crucial steps of Phase 4 at the scheduled time tomorrow. To that end ...Alana, please begin by briefing us on SRB’s status.”

“Certainly. Courser units having been deployed to the locations of highest strategic importance and are waiting activation. The rest of the units are currently fully outfitted and on standby. SRB has deployed record numbers of Watchers to monitor the situation as it develops. I will be personally briefing you on status throughout the duration of the operation, sir.”

“Excellent Alana thank you, Allie?”

“The 85% of the facilities seized in our previous operations are currently functional with an average production capacity well over predicted estimations. The remaining 15% are expected to be operational within the next one to three weeks sir. Production within The Institute itself remains high.”

“Very good, Clayton?”

“Bioscience has fulfilled the order for requisitioned supplies exactly to your specifications sir, with more currently on the way. Thanks to the new seeds created as a result of the Warwick Initiative, we’ve nearly doubled our output in the last two months. ”

“Good, and the other items that your specialist team was working on, can we expect it to be deliverable soon?”

“Indeed sir. The first batch has been prepared and is ready for trials.”

“Well done Clayton. Bioscience is to be commended for their efforts as well. Finally, Dr. Li, what is Advanced Systems status?”

“Green and at optimal capacity. As always. Power efficiency at the reactor has tripled thanks to my efforts, and the safety test was a resounding success. You may proceed.”

“Thank you, and as for myself, I’ve spent the last few hours going over the current status of Robotics with Dr. Binet. The Gen-3 Synth production rate has been brought back up to previous levels, and with the successful release of the latest patch to the Gen3OS, we’ve completed updates to the line ahead of schedule. In keeping with my previous report, we no longer believe that any credible threat to the Gen-3 line remains, however, with the patch’s safeguards in place, I can assure you that our Synths have never been safer. I will provide a full report on the details of the changes to the Gen3OS when time permits.”

The rest of the Directorate gave understanding nods of approval at this news, while Li remained stoic and unimpressed. The Director was hiding something, she knew it. Hell she’d known his son, Shaun, long enough to realize that apple could not have fallen far from the tree..yet she would keep her peace. She had been given what she wanted...she had James back. That’s all that mattered right now.

“Now then, since all divisions report green status and preparations have been completed, I’m authorizing the initialization of Phase 4. As scheduled, the operation will begin at 0500. Expect the first status report to be sent within the first hour. With that, any final business to discuss?”

“One final matter sir,” Alana Secord spoke up, “Regarding Mr. Desmond Lockheart. I hesitant to report this, as it may be nothing, but he is late with his usual report. We’ve heard nothing from him since he left the Pennsylvania Commonwealth.”

“Not unexpected. He’s entered into dangerous territory. I wouldn’t be surprised if Desmond has judged in too risky to attempt to send a report and is preferring to lay low for the moment until he has a better handle on the territory. We’ll hold off on sending an extraction team for the moment. The smart man doesn’t bet against Desmond Lockheart when it comes to survival…”

“Understood sir, I assumed as much.”

“Thank you for the update in any case Alana. Now then if that’s all there is...meeting adjourned.”

The Land of The Monolith - Desmond Lockheart’s Journey

Desmond’s head was killing him. He felt like he had been in a fog ever since he crossed the border into the Dead Lands of the Monolith: The Cult’s home territory. Crossing the border hadn't been easy, and he’d nearly been shot by FCPA soldiers with itchy trigger fingers, who’d assumed he was some sort of Cult agent.

Of course, once he’d actually made it across, the Cult’s land offered little in the way of safety itself. Something was wrong here. It was like a blight or a sickness had spread across the land. The air was deathly still, and he couldn’t even remember having seen anyone in the last couple days. The few who’d he caught glimpses of on the road or in the fields were loathsome creatures, malign of aspect and bearing the hallmark signs of degeneracy and mutation. Dressed in his rags, and a ghoul besides, Desmond hoped he wouldn’t draw any unnecessary attention. Still he knew better than to try his luck. He’d seen a group of slave catchers on the road awhile back, and kept out of sight when they passed by on the road: chained and collared wretches in tow. He didn’t fancy his chances to talk or shoot his way out of a confrontation with them.

As he traveled deeper through the Cult’s land, the signs of destruction and foul worship became more apparent. Grim reminders of what had transpired here in the past few years and what horrors the people of this land had endured under their new masters were everywhere. Piles of skulls and bloody fetishes littered the landscape along makeshift shrines dedicated to the Dark God that now held sway over all. Military outposts of the Cult became more and more common the closer he came to The Pitt, and he gave each of them a wide berth, even if it meant leaving the main road for awhile. Still, he knew it would be impossible to avoid interacting with the Cult’s mad followers forever. And sooner or later, he’d be in the heart of it all anyway: The Pitt. He’d given up at this point trying to contact The Institute, he could hardly get a signal out with the atmospheric interference and radiation, and he began to fear that The Cult might have some method of detecting such communication attempts. He’d heard...stories from travelers and soldiers in the Free Commonwealth about the terrible powers of The Monolith and the people who dwelt within its lands. And he knew enough to understand that the stories may very well have some basis in truth.

More than once he’d considered turning back. Abandoning his mission and getting the hell out of here. Perhaps fleeing somewhere south or even heading to the West Coast. But Thomas’s promises kept floating around in his mind, and it kept him going. Then there was something else ...something that had compelled him forward ever since he’d crossed the border. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt a pull. Like a whirlpool, it felt like it was drawing him in and he was circling around it: coming ever closer with each turn.

He clutched his rags and took a deep breath, the taste of ash and smoke met his tongue. His head still pained him, and somehow, somewhere, he thought he could hear someone speaking to him. Yet he could no longer tell what was in his mind, and what might be coming from the hellscape around him. Perhaps that distinction no longer mattered.

Boston - Diamond City, 5:30am.

“Holy shit here they come!”

The horrifying realization of what was heading their way struck Diamond Cities finest like a lead pipe. The guards outside The Wall took up their usual positions behind the rusted hulks of cars, makeshift barricades, and whatever else would serve as serviceable defenses as they nervously clutched pipe-weapons and chain-wrapped swatters in their hands. They knew full well they were hopelessly outgunned, and hadn’t a chance in hell of lasting longer than a few seconds: but it was a testament to their bravery that they steadfastly refused to retreat even in the face of such impossible odds. It was clear that The Wall was hardly the only bulwark that protected Diamond City’s people.

The reason for their panicked state was quite obvious. Coming across The Charles River bridge was a truly terrifying sight. Rows upon rows of wide-uniformed clad Institute Synths marching towards them in a column that seemed endless. Between sections of the column, brightly painted red and white APCs were clearly visible, adding an armored weight to the military forces arrayed against them. Moreover they could hear a loud humming noise coming from above them as well in the nighttime darkness beyond. It reminded them of when the Brotherhood’s vertibirds could be seen overhead during the war with The Institute, yet the sound was altogether unknown: a fact which added to their rapidly escalating fear.

“What the hell are we going to do?” One of the Security Guards shouted out, his voice tinged with terror.

“Tell the people to evacuate. Flee into the ruins of Boston. It's dangerous but that’s the only chance they have. We’ll hold em’ as long as we can!” It was a bad plan, but the only one that made sense at the moment. At least the people could scatter and hopefully some would avoid The Institute long enough to make it out into the wastes.

Suddenly the crackling of walkie-talkie was heard and one of the senior security officers held it to his ear,

“What?!” He nearly yelled the response back into the old pre-war device, “What do you mean stand down?? Oh for Christ's sake...”

The officer waved to the rest of his men, “Put down your guns. Orders from the Mayor’s office. Don’t shoot! Repeat don’t shoot! Let them pass. Mayor McDonough says they are no threat.”

There was a single moment of stunned silence, and several confused glances between the security officers before the senior repeated his order, “I SAID DROP THEM!”

A loud clattering of metal against asphalt followed as the officers obeyed the order and dropped their guns. They stood motionless, completely unarmed as the column continued to draw closer. Finally, the head of the column arrived, and a single black-coated Courser approached their unit.

“Do not be alarmed,” The Courser began, “The Institute has no intention of destroying your city. The Courser then turned and gave a nod towards a group of Synths, who began hauling up several crates which they deposited in front of the guards. The Courser proceed to kick one of them open to reveal a large amount of what looked to be purified water and many small neatly packed boxes within.

“Provisions and medical supplies. We will begin distributing them to the people within your walls. Your Mayor has been informed of our intent and has asked Diamond City security to assist in the relief efforts.”

“And what about them? Where are they going?” One of the security officers pointed to the still advancing column, which instead of stopping at the gate’s of the city, had turned and continued on down the street.

“Further into the Boston city ruins,” The Courser replied briskly, “We are commencing the start of Phase 4. Boston and The Commonwealth of Massachusetts is now under the direct protection of The Institute. Our Father is now yours as well...you may rejoice.”

War Never Changes

New Vegas - The Lucky 38 Hotel and Casino

The meeting had been an auspicious one. Two former friends and colleges, relics of a bygone age, meeting once again after all these years. Thomas strode out of the Lucky 38 with Cait in tow feeling as if he’d stepped into the past and was once more returning to his own time. With the knowledge and clarity he needed to enact his plan for this new world.

As he left, he was met with whispers and surprised glances from the Strip’s denizens. Many wondering who the stranger who’d entered the Lucky 38 was, and why House had deemed him worthy of meeting: when so few had ever been given such an opportunity. But they all soon shrugged their shoulders and went back to their business and vices. What had passed between them, what secrets and knowledge might have been shared, would be known only to them.

“I think we can afford one final night here in Vegas,” Thomas said as he turned to Cait, “Afterwards, we should be able to return to Boston.”

“I suppose we won’t be out much,” Cait replied. Her thoughts immediately turned to what she knew Thomas was probably already considering. The two disguised Coursers accompanying them would undoubtedly agree as well.

“Correct. We should keep a low profile. Entering the Lucky 38 no doubt drew some unwanted attention to us. I’ve asked House to provide us with one of his Securitrons for added protection as well, just as a precaution. And he has in turn asked The White Gloves to furnish us with accommodations for the night and to tighten security on the premises. Officially, the cover will be that we’re a wealthy NCR industrialist and his wife looking to establish relations with Vegas and the Free Economic Zone.”

“No half-measures, as always,” Cait sighed, “I’ll just be glad when we can get back home. Never thought I’d miss the sight of egg-heads in white coats but all I want to do is sit on the balcony with a cup of coffee and watch the lights dim on the Concourse.”

“We’ll be back before you know it. We just need to wait for the necessary preparation for our return journey to be finished. Its not exactly easy. Meanwhile, let's enjoy the lights and sounds of Vegas one last time. I expect we shouldn’t be back for awhile after tonight. We’ve got so much work to do when we return….”

Legate Aurelius, Siege of Indianapolis

The landing gear of the vertibird touched down in the first secure open location Lancer Sergeant Robert Kyle could find. Aurlieus and the Praetorians who’d accompanied him immediately disembarked and The Legate gave Kyle a thankful nod.

“Vale,” He said, “Mars be with you.”

Kyle did not reply, but gave a salute in response, he immediately renengaged the rotary blades and lifted back up into the air. He could not delay. His flight path would take him back to Brotherhood forward command. He was expecting new orders to be coming down soon.

Aurelius, meanwhile, turned his attention to cleaning up the mess at hand. His Praetorians easily procured horses and The Legate and his retinue immediately remounted. With the banner of Caesar once more held aloft, the Legionaries took heart and cheered. Aurelius wasted no time and immediately set to work organizing the counter-attack. He raced back and forth through the streets and into ranks of the Legionaries, overseeing commands personally and extolling men to greater feats of valor and sacrifice in the name of bloody Mars and mighty Caesar. With the surprise impetus of the Cult’s ambush now gone, the discipline and stern battle-rhythm of the Legion began to win out. With the counter-offensive now in full force, Aurellius gathered his men and began a final push,

“To Vulpes!” The Legate cried, drawing his Gladius and charging forward surrounded by his Praetorians and veteran Legionaries. He cut down Cultists left and right as they surged forward, breaking through their now disordered ranks. Man and mutant beast alike fell with the dark name of their unholy patron on their lips as the Legion steel sliced through them.

Silently and fervently, he sent up a prayer to Mars and even to the God of the New Canaanites for his old friend and comrade to still be alive, trapped as he was in the thick of the fighting: ambushed by the Cult’s monstrous leader. He had faith in Vulpes ability and tenacity to survive even in the most dire of circumstances, but he was now intimately familiar with just how devious and dangerous this Cult could be. Nothing could be certain.

A Malign Fog - Somewhere off the Coast of New England

A horn blared, and the fog began to roll in. The sky took on a sickly green hue, and the atmosphere was charged, as if in the midst of a lighting storm. The taste of metal was felt on every tongue.

A fleet of ships tore through the haze, and the massive rusted guns began firing. The small seaside town they had come to claim was torn apart as shells crashed through walls and collapsed roofs. Fires spread and the townspeople cried in terror.

The pirates came ashore then, several heavily armed ghouls led a horde of half-ferals onto the beach. The wretched creatures had barely enough sentience to hold a weapon, but well enough to follow the orders of their captains.

They began looting the town, carrying off any who fell into their clutches and killing any who resisted in any orgy of violence. Those who were carted off were the unfortunate ones, doomed to a short life of slavery and radiation sickness or led to the bowels of the ships to be turned into half-ferals themselves.

Those that escaped would spread the tale of the Tattered Fleet to any who would listen. Begging and pleading for someone to help them and warning any towns in their path that they could very well be next.

War Never Changes

Legion Border Along the I-15

A rider rode hard against the burning heat of the noonday sun. His mount pushed to the brink of collapse and exhaustion as he whipped the beast incessantly, unwilling to allow even a moments delay to rest. He’d already lost one mount to heat stroke, and been forced to requisition another from a passing caravanner. His mission was singular and yet of utmost importance, and his objective was the solitary city of New Ravenna right at the border of Legion territory, a trading post that had grown significantly into a burgeoning trade hub since the Legion took over governance of it. Goods and wares from across the Legion’s empire passed through the city, bound for trade routes leading north into the Khanate, while traders from the Great Salt Lake and beyond plied their goods or continued south towards the rest of Legion held Utah.

As the crimson clad rider reached the border, he was stopped by a Decanus Legionary stationed at a small watchtower that stood as a way-station right along the I-15. The rider nearly fell from his horse, exhausted and heat-stricken as he was from the non-stop ride. One of the Legionaries stationed at the tower brought him a brahmin skin water bag and the rider eagerly drunk from it, grateful to finally be able to slake his thirst and cool his cracked lips. After his drink, the rider passed the waterskin back and leaned in to whisper something in the guard’s ear.

The Decanus’s eyes grew wide and he immediately issued orders to his Contubernia. The city must be warned.

-------------

Office of the Military Governor of Northern Utah, New Ravenna

“Are you sure of this?”

Gaius Tranquillus, the regional Military Governor sat uneasily in his seat as the news was relayed to him by a lone Prime Legionary from the watertower.

“The Exploratore was quite clear sir. A force of the 80s have sacked Salt Lake City and destroyed it utterly, taking whatever slaves and plunder they could seize. Now they are making their way down the I-15 towards New Ravenna. They’ll be at our gates within days. Their intentions are unknown, but from what we’ve been able to gather, their being lead by a newly crowned Chieftain named Thunderfoot.”

Gaius sat back, he was a veteran soldier, once a Legionary serving under Caesar himself during the Campaigns in Colorado and Utah. He rose through the ranks quickly and attained the mantle of a Senior Centurion, before Lucius appointed him Military Governor of Northern Utah following his full conquest of the region. In all his years as a soldier however, he’d not quite faced a situation such as this. Despite his growing concern, Gaius knew he had to act quickly and decisively, otherwise he could find himself utterly overwhelmed. The forces he had at his disposal to meet the immediate threat were relatively minor, a two urban cohorts and a single cohort of border watch: a little less than a thousand Legionaries in total.

“Send word immediately to the third Legion to march here with all possible speed. And tell Caesar of our plight. Then fortify the city and bring as much provisions for a siege as possible. We don’t have the manpower or the armaments currently to fight 80s on an open field. We must weather the storm as best we can. If these tribals intend to attack Caesar’s lands, they’ll find no easy conquest here. Legio Invicta!”

“Legio Invicta,” The Legionary replied with a sharp salute, “In Caesar’s name, it shall be done.”

Fallout: A World Set on Fire

Fort Bannister

Dressed smartly in a pre-war general's overcoat that had been dyed with Talon Company black, Commander Lance Halscomb surveyed the map laid out before him. Talon Company's position had suffered in recent months, and the attack on Fort Bannsiter had been a rude awakening to their true vulnerability, a fact that Jabsco had been completely unwilling to accept. Thankfully Jabsco's laziness had been his undoing, and a well placed Brotherhood gauss round had removed his weakness from the Company forever. Now it was Commander Halscomb's turn to lead the Company back to its previous heights of power and fear in the Capital Wasteland. He had his work cut out for him, since the attack on Fort Bannister, they'd lost three outposts to raider incursions near Fairfax and Alexandria, and a listening post in the D.C. ruins at Georgetown to a super-mutant attack. All personnel were dead or unaccounted for. If any had managed to survive by fleeing, they'd be shot for desertion. Talon Mercs never abandon a position.

Thankfully, at least, The Brotherhood was more than distracted with catastrophic issues of their own. The destruction of The Citadel had left them open and vulnerable. The Brotherhood had left Talon alone immediately after their scourge: thinking the Company would inevitable collapse in on itself with Jabsco's death. They thought of Talon as little more than a glorified raider gang. That mistake would cost them dearly. Their failure to capitalize on their victory and destroy Talon utterly allowed Lance the time he needed to gather Talon strength: reorganize the company and gather enough manpower and resources to shore up their position. Now it was time to begin pushing back. With the winter months over, they could begin organized hit and run strikes against Brotherhood caravans and outposts. Before long, they would attack Brotherhood positions directly. Lance, in particular, had his sights set on GNR. Destroying that post utterly would be an excellent way to show The Brotherhood that Talon never forgives or forgets a slight. He'd nail the hands of that damn radio jockey to the doors of the station and shut-up that mouth of his forever. Humiliating the Brotherhood in the process by proving them unable to protect even their most ardent supporters in the Capital Wasteland from here on.

Lance ran his finger along the map, considering his next moves carefully. What they needed first was to reestablish an outpost in the D.C. Ruins, from there they could begin attacking Brotherhood positions in and around the area, and perhaps even strike at Rivet City when the time came. Without a port in the storm in D.C., it would be hard to maintain the supplies needed to launch a sustained campaign there.

"But where?" Lance muttered to himself as he considered the possibilities. Georgetown was overrun and Dupont was a hotbed of raider activity, it would be difficult to retake and harder to hold either. Takoma was still hosted a small force of his mercs, but it was too far out to be of any substantial strategic importance.

Lance's finger fell on a singular location.

"The White House," He smiled. The building itself had obviously been nuked to hell in the great war, but the area surrounding it had surprisingly low radiation levels. Mutant activity in the area was even remarkably light. And even better, a Brotherhood outpost had been established right outside the crater. Lightly defended as it was, it would be an excellent place to strike and destroy. Rubbing salt in the wound of the Brotherhood's recent losses.

His mind made up, Lance strode out of his quarters and began his mental preparations for ensuring the attack would have enough firepower and supplies to take the position ten times over. Brutal overwhelming force would be the hallmarks of future Talon engagements with their hated Knightly foes. They'd show no mercy, and expect none in return.

Talon Company was back. And the Capital Wasteland would learn to fear and respect them once again.