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Sole Survivor, The Silver Shroud, General of the Minutemen, husband, father…

These were the titles and monikers he held within moments after stepping out of that vault and witnessing the world and its horrifying glory in this new dark chapter in the history of Boston. He had reached his home on Sanctuary Hill after 200 years, only the bones of what once was remained, with the exception of the lone Guardian servant trimming bushes and taking care of all that was left with the small trace amounts of what it housed 200 years ago. Frustration and anger were his companions during the conflict that arose during the annexing of Canada and the retaking of Alaska, yet he did not fall prey to these baser emotions. Focusing on his new mission, his self-appointed task of finding that last vestiges of himself in this world, his son, by any means necessary, he will find him and bring him home.

On his journey to find his son, he came across those who promoted security and order in this chaotic land. Preston Garvey of the Minutemen, the last survivor of the Minutemen to reach Sanctuary Hill, took shelter far from the Raiders and monsters that would otherwise rape, murder, and take all that they hold dear.

 After leading them to salvation and even helping to set up in the otherwise dilapidated neighborhood, the last-minute men have been formed—the man from a bygone age of other settlements that may need help with the promise of aid in the search for his own son. So a decision was made to assist to help the various settlers while exploring the Commonwealth in an effort to find any sign or clue of the whereabouts of his own son until he came across Diamond City, which led him to Piper, who informed him of a detective that would put forth greater efforts in the search for his son. In the end, he would come across the murderer of his wife and the kidnapper of his son. A battle ensued between the two dangerous men that had knots remaining within the depths of the old United States Recruitment Center. Outside on the rooftop, he delivered the final blow to Kellogg, lopping off his head and allowing himself to feel the satisfaction of revenge for the death of his wife, but he felt a tremendous loss, being unable to get any information about The Institute—the center of this web that involved himself, his son, and everything else that was wrong with the Commonwealth, according to all those who spoke out against them.

No sooner than a day after Kellogg's death, a new faction steamrolled into the Commonwealth, announcing their presence. The Brotherhood of Steel had declared their sovereign will to safeguard the Commonwealth, whether the residents desired it or not. This reminded the Sole Survivor of how Canada was forcibly placed under the protection of the United States, to the reluctant and rebellious Canadians who refused the annexation, forcing him to contemplate the unthinkable against the civilians who had resisted and refused to accept.

Returning to Preston Garvey, arrangements were made to rebuild the Minutemen as a means to counter the Brotherhood of Steel and their forceful occupation within the Commonwealth, revolving around retaking the Minutemen HQ—the Castle. With the death of the Mirelurk Queen, the Sole Survivor assisted with the reconstruction of the fort, all while the last-minute men searched for anyone who was willing to join the reform militia. Unsurprisingly, there was no shortage of people who wanted to take back what the local raiders, super mutants, and other problems plagued the Commonwealth and preyed on the average person.

Returning to his journey, he encountered a new friend, a strong one who went by the name Strong—a super mutant. He wanted to learn the secrets of human kindness. Together, they battled against many monsters and beasts while continuing his pursuit of his son. The friendship between him and the mutant strengthened to the point that Strong recognized him not as human but as a fellow mutant and swore to stay by his side forever.

During his travels throughout the Commonwealth, he found a clue about his son's whereabouts. Using a small portion of his hated enemy's brain, he learned how The Institute had moved from place to place, appearing and disappearing at will—a form of teleportation. Now aware of how they got from place to place, he pondered how best to infiltrate. The answers lay within the Glowing Sea and the Railroad. The Institute scientist who had mutated himself into a super mutant provided much information, while the Railroad gave him equally useful intel.

Promises were made to the Railroad faction and the former Institute scientist to supply favors in order to get the necessary components and knowledge of how to intercept the array to teleport himself into The Institute. Once that had been accomplished, he said his farewells to his companions in fear that he would vanish and never return. He did vanish but also reappeared within the heart of all that had set him on his path.

In a few days of being in The Institute, he could see and understand his son's point of view, despite it being objectively wrong. The plan didn't seem fully baked, especially with the synths and their independent intelligence. He even went so far as to argue that advanced science could only go so far if that technology was not distributed to the general public, only for his son to tell him how the Brotherhood of Steel would perceive the threat of an technologically advancing society. the Sole Survivor soon enough, would yield to the wishes of his son to see the ultimate project completed by finishing the fusion reactor that would supply The Institute and possibly the whole Commonwealth with free, unlimited energy—an idea and dream that the original American people had wanted yet was never fully realized until now.

Who would have foreseen the involvement of the Brotherhood of Steel and the Railroad fighting against one another inside the Mass Fusion executive suite? The Sole Survivor had only clandestinely interacted with these two factions: one provided him with the necessary information required to get into the Institute, while the other he had assisted with one of its paladins. It was unfortunate that he had to fight them; at least he had an army of synths assisting him in this one final act for his family that would see the fusion reactor completed.

Nate had entered the main quarters that had been turned into a makeshift hospital room, where his son was situated in what looked like a life support bed with a number of tubes going underneath a certain section that remained unseen, along with the chirping sounds of medical equipment from a bygone age.

The elderly man turned his head towards his father and gave him a warm smile. “I'm glad I could last this long to see the fusion reactor finally ignited. After nearly 300 years, humanity's desire to obtain unlimited energy is finally achieved.” He closed his eyes and took in a few deep breaths, shedding some tears of joy at accomplishing the feat that so many scientists had stumbled around in the dark trying to achieve. Yet he succeeded where they had failed. When he opened his eyes, he could see the forlorn look on his father's face, a man dedicated to his family, his country, and a time that was no longer there. “Do not be sad, Father. You have done what you set out to do and more than that; you helped accomplish your son's dream of a brighter future for humanity, even if we have disagreements on how the course of humanity nshould move forward.” His father's face did not change in his expression, all while his own strength was starting to wane as he could feel his natural heart and internal organs shutting down, and he felt a great sleep beginning to tug at his life. More than once, he had the opportunity to replace his heart, liver, and other internal organs—even parts of his brain—with cybernetics that were available in the Institute. But he did not take up the Institute's offer of extending his life. The only thing he did take into his body was the supplements that helped his aging body’s natural ability to heal on its own and provide the necessary nourishment he needed just to live long enough to see the end of his own personal experiment, with his father being released into the Commonwealth and seeing what he would have done and what the men of the pre-war era would accomplish on their own.

“Shawn, I can only wish that I had been there to watch you grow. I still disagree with what the Institute has done, but those people have long ago died, and the one who held the greatest amount of my anger is now gone. There is nothing left for me here now.” Nate felt a sense of emptiness as he watched his son knocking on death's door. He did not know if he would continue beyond this point of living. With his wife gone and the time he was supposed to have with Shawn robbed from him, he had very little left. Even though he had his responsibilities to the Minutemen and to the few settlements he had helped establish in the Commonwealth, it was not much of an anchor for him—or for any man, for that matter, who has lost so much—even accomplishing the baser need for revenge for all that had happened and fulfilling his son’s last wish, giving him that last bit of fulfillment that a father should have as he helped his son, even though what he had hoped to help with was teaching him how to throw a ball, how to drive, how to speak to a girl without stumbling over his words—the normal things that were expected out of a parent teaching their child how to navigate the complicated world. Yet this was the only thing he could have done, and the only thing he accomplished.

 He could see the sorrow and despair in his father's eyes. Shawn knew that if he didn't correct this, there was no doubt his father would do something drastic to end the suffering he had endured while searching for him. “You have lost so much, but you have gained back tenfold. You helped rebuild the Minutemen; you rekindled the spark of civilization within the Commonwealth with the various settlements you had set up. And now, I bestow upon you the position of Director of The Institute. May its facilities and technologies be at your command, and may they benefit science and all those whom you wish to bring into the fold. That is my gift to you, Father.” He would have laughed at the shocked expression on his father's face if only he had the strength for it.

He blinked a few times in astonishment. Nate knew that the technology here could benefit the Commonwealth, and he never thought of himself as worthy of a position that would allow him to command such a faction to distribute this type of tech. His thoughts shifted to the Minutemen and how they would be enhanced with Institute technology. Then his thoughts drifted over to the other faction in the Commonwealth, which would most likely not appreciate a technologically advancing Commonwealth, something he had earlier argued about with his son. “I don't know what to say, Shawn. This is not what I wanted—not truly.” He placed his hand on his elderly son's shoulder; for the longest time, he had wanted that physical connection. As he touched the bony shoulder, he couldn't help but feel that small connection between father and son, even though the spark he was looking for was nothing more than a faded ember that was slowly ebbing out.

“The Commonwealth needs someone like you, Father. It needs someone to put it on the right path, far from the corruption of the pre-war politics that had doomed the nation or the fighting over resources that had long ago become depleted. The next chapter of The Institute and the Commonwealth as a whole must be guided by your hands, Father; only you can truly turn this into something greater than I could even hope or dream.” Shawn reached over and placed his wrinkled, frail hand over his father's strong, youthful hand that was resting on his shoulder.

The words of his son moved him. The dark despair that he felt in his heart over everything he had lost vanished, replaced by a blazing inferno that ignited a new path forward—a path that would see a new nation, no, a new empire rise from the ashes of the old. As his son had said, he needed to guide the world into a proper future, far beyond the politics that had led to the world's social collapse and the resources that had also played a role in its destruction. He would rebuild, even if he had to run over every faction to do so. Switching his focus from thoughts of what he wanted to do beyond this point, he felt his spirits raised by the new purpose in his life. However, he also felt his son's hand grow cold as he looked at his son, who was staring blankly forward.

His heart began to swell with both anger and sorrow for another thing he had missed. Yet at least he was present, even though he had not noticed that his son had just passed while he was thinking. He allowed the flames that his son had ignited in him to carry the torch for humanity further. Pulling his hand away from his son, he withheld his lifeless hand and gently shut the eyes of the last vestige of the old world, his old life, and his old purpose.

X6-88 stepped into the room where the former director and the new director were. His advanced sensors immediately detected that the one designated as "Father" had died, with both heart and brain functions ceasing, while the other new director remained functional. “Director, what are your orders?” the killing machine, X6-88, asked.

Nate had tears running down the corners of his eyes as he turned to look at the machine with a gaze that was as hard as steel and as sharp as volcanic glass. “Gather the others. There is much to be discussed on what the Institute shall do from this point onward, along with including the Minutemen,” he ordered the machine.

Line break

Preston didn't like this not one bit at all, yet he would not defy the orders of his General yet, he would not defy from the former resident of Sanctuary Hill to owner of the castle and leader of the Minutemen.

“I can see your disapproval, but the Institute is necessary for the continued advancement of not just the Minutemen, but the Commonwealth as a whole. However, I'm willing to listen to whatever concerns you may have that you have yet to voice,” Nate had said, seeing that Preston had walked into his office after coming back and having an Institute scientist work on closing the gaps in the castle's defenses with a small squad of first-generation synths and a few robots assisting them.

All he did was close his fist tightly for a brief moment as his mind was flooded with emotions: anger, betrayal, yet reluctance, acceptance. “I'm not the only one who disapproves of any involvement with the Institute. They have plagued the Commonwealth, and when the Brotherhood of Steel finds out that we are involved, they'll come after us and everything we have rebuilt.” He tried to sound calm, yet there was no way to hide the anger that laced every word he spoke, all while staring at the man who had helped so much to bring back the Minutemen. Now, that same man was in bed with the enemy.

Putting down the stack of paperwork that consisted of reports from a synth about the current operations and plans that he had set in motion as soon as he became director of the Institute, he changed their current plans for further projection of third-generation synths, with the exception of second and first generations with rudimentary robotic brains that wouldn't develop sentience. “I am not ignorant of their wrongdoings. I've seen the settlements that have been destroyed and what they had wanted from settlements, but they're under new management. Those who disapproved were kindly asked to leave—not just in the Institute, but the Commonwealth as a whole. In every sense of the word, they have been neutralized as a threat to current and future developments within the Commonwealth. Furthermore, we need their technology, and with their fusion reactor up and running, we need to refuel our fusion cores, and their reactor is the only source of that particular form of energy, which is unending until another one can be built.” Nate explained his point of view: the Minutemen were his main force while the Institute was just a resource that he now had control over. Upon meeting up with his comrades, he had instructed Strong to go out and find other super mutants that would follow the lovable super mutant and, in turn, follow him. It also helped that he had supplied the super mutant with all the advanced Institute weapons he could give to the big lug, along with improved, shinier armor that put the biggest, dopiest smile on a Strong's face. It would have been cute if it wasn't for the fact he was 9 ft tall, made of muscle, and could easily break a man's spine with just a small hug. Fortunately, he donned his power armor before the big lug could crush him.

“I just hope you know what you're doing for the Commonwealth's sake,” was the last thing he said before turning his back and leaving the office of his General.

With the second-in-command out of his office, Nate couldn't help but let Preston's words run through his mind regarding the Commonwealth. “I hope so too, my friend. I hope so,” he muttered to himself before returning to his work.

A week later

All the major leaders of the Commonwealth settlements were sitting in a meeting room with a round table. This would be the second time that the major leaders of the various factions within the Commonwealth had gathered like this. They just hoped it wouldn't end like last time, especially with the involvement of the Institute. Just the knowledge of their involvement set many of  leaders on edge with the idea that they would be assassinated and replaced. The only one who wasn't worried was the mayor of Diamond City, who didn't seem to be too concerned about the meeting.

Nate walked in with the head scientist of the Institute as a representative. He could have represented himself as both the leader of the Minutemen and the Institute, but he thought that having one of the more senior members, who had been born and raised within the faction, would be more beneficial than just speaking on their behalf. After all, what he planned on doing involved everyone, even if one of these individuals happened to be a synth and would agree with whatever plan he proposed.

Taking a seat, with the Institute scientist named Dr. Zimmer sitting next to him, Nate scanned over the various heads of people looking at him, including the ghoulish and ever-grinning John Hancock. “Fellow leaders of the Commonwealth, we are gathered here today to discuss a very important matter regarding the future, not just for the various settlements but also for the Commonwealth as a whole.” He dramatically paused for a moment before a holographic projection shot from above onto the table, showing the various territories that each leader commanded or lorded over. “These are the settlements that we currently have in the old Boston area. Not much remains, and with the radioactive storms, these settlements are becoming smaller and smaller. We cannot remain as isolated pockets of humanity that are just crawling over the bones of what was once America. We must pull together and unite as one.” Nate's words were filled with passion; besides the synth mayor, Hancock seemed interested in the idea of unifying, while the rest were unenthusiastic about it.

“And why should we unify? Most of us are doing pretty well without the involvement of the Institute or, for that matter, any further assistance,” Gwen spoke rather abruptly and didn't sugarcoat her words as she looked at the leader of the Minutemen and now the Institute.

A few more leaders of the settlements in the Commonwealth voiced their own concerns regarding any incursions from the Institute, while others discussed what type of benefits there would be in unifying, besides an increase in trade once they got enough from caravans.

Letting them voice their disapprovals or disagreements about the idea of unifying, Nate raised his hand, and immediately people began to quiet down as he stood up and gestured to the hologram, showing new bits of information thanks to the spy drones, which were just synth crows that were monitoring everything. “As you can see in red, that's the number of settlements and camps that raiders have set up in the Commonwealth, and this is compared to just a few years ago.” He paused for a moment before waving his hand, gesturing for the machine that was monitoring his movements to immediately switch over to the more up-to-date map of the territories of the raiders. The red spaces that the raiders occupied became larger, along with marked areas that a few of the leaders of the Commonwealth had heard reports on regarding raider attacks. “The real threat to the Commonwealth is the raiders. They have grown in numbers just as much as the Institute was perceived to be a threat, only because of the rumors of them replacing friends, family, or any other individuals to infiltrate settlements. This should be of little concern in comparison to the plague that is the raiders, who are slowly becoming larger and more organized by the day.” He gestured with his hands to immediately show a raider veteran in what looked like customized scrap armor that seemed sturdy enough to resist most gunfire and even some energy weapons. The weapon they were wielding looked much more robust than that of the common pipe pistol.

 One of the other settlement leaders, a balding man with faded radiation burns on the side of his cheek, spoke up. “I've dealt with raiders; they're more or less an irritant. As long as you have the appropriate amount of guns and numbers, they usually stay away. They typically try to avoid kicking the hornet's nest, forcing every person in the settlement to chase after them,” the man stated rather rudely, implying that the raiders were more of a nuisance than a threat.

“Yes, a lone band of raiders is harmless, but from what I have gathered from the reports of Nuka-World, they're gathering in mass. The reasons why still remain unknown, but they are gathering.” Again, Nate gestured with his hands, showing a perfect holographic rendering of Nuka-World, highlighting the large population of raiders in the old theme park.

John leaned forward and stared at the hologram for a bit, as he vaguely remembered visiting there and not finding much besides some weird creatures and a half-crazed ghoul. “What are the exact numbers of the raiders that are gathering there, and what factions do they consist of?” the ghoul questioned, still staring at the hologram.

“Estimations have gone as high as 200,000 and counting.” Nate's answer caused many of the leaders, including the synth among them, to gasp in shock at hearing such a number; never had they heard of raiders gathering in mass without killing each other. “As for your second question, we are still gathering information, but they're not the only group. There is a new faction in the Commonwealth that seems to be stripping machine parts and adding them to their own mechanical army, which further increases the danger of the current raiders we are dealing with.” Again, Nate gestured with his hand, showing a rust devil wearing repurposed armor from various robots and utilizing weapons that seemed brand new. The way they had customized it was significant; the holographic example of the rust devil also included animations of their attack patterns and their weapons in action—much more advanced than the current standard weapons available. Even the rare plasma rifles were ineffective against the Tesla cannons and other weaponry this seemingly new group of raiders now possessed, causing many of the leaders to become fearful of the idea of having to deal with someone who could shoot lightning from a giant shoulder-mounted weapon.

The examples continued to mount, and the idea of being unified under a single group to repel these threats became more appealing, despite those who still opposed the idea.

“What about the mutants? You have said nothing about them or the Children of Atom; they too have become a nuisance with their radiation guns,” the man from before, with the radiation burns, spoke out, an obvious victim of the radiation weapons that the radiation cult frequently used.

The man's question was precisely what Nate had hoped would come up at some point, as he did not need to gesture for his hand. A large super mutant entered the meeting room, accompanied by a few other mutants, causing many of the guest leaders to gasp and reach for weapons they had been requested to remove for these peace negotiations. “Like the Institute, I have gained an alliance with the super mutants, one in particular named Strong.” He gestured to the one with the shiniest looking armor who had his arms crossed. Unlike the other human guests, he still had his weapon, a modified jet-powered super sledge with four jets and a quarter ton of steel attached to it, turning it into a mighty hammer capable of crushing almost anything.

“Strong crush other super mutant leaders. Strong help friend destroy other enemies of friend,” the mutant said with a sinister grin, his red eyes blazing with glee at the thought of fighting whoever his friend would tell him to fight, as it always meant food for himself and his Brothers.

 After the various leaders of the Commonwealth settlements began to calm down from the shock of seeing well-armed and armored super mutants, many of them started looking at each other and murmuring, with the exception of John, who didn’t wait for everyone else to make their decision.

“I’m with you, kid. It’s high time to get rid of these raider bastards, and Pikmin is needing to get some new paint. He’ll be quite excited to join in the fight,” John said smugly as he put both of his boots onto the rounded table and leaned his chair back, putting both hands behind his head and looking at the mutants with more curiosity than caution—only because he was a ghoul, and super mutants didn’t attack nor did they eat ghouls.

Next, unexpectedly, the mayor of Diamond City cast his own voice by joining the alliance with the Minutemen and the Institute. Soon, the rest began to fall in line, primarily because they were afraid of the possibility of facing a combined force of the Minutemen, the Institute, and super mutants as a single fighting force—something they could not hope to counter, even if they managed to arm themselves with the latest weapons they could get hold of, assuming they could rip them from the Gun Runners, who seemed to have the best military hardware at the current time.

With everyone agreeing to unite, Nate stood up with a proud smile on his face. “Good! I’m glad that everyone has agreed to be part of this new alliance, this new Commonwealth Empire. Together, we shall rid ourselves of the menace that is the raiders and other threats that have yet to truly show their colors.” The last part he said was somewhat cryptic, though he could see the shadow of the other threat to his current rise hovering over an airport, and it had certain hardware he wanted. Yet, he did not have the home field secured yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Porter was sitting comfortably on the throne that he found in some storage warehouse. They had millions of them, but this one was made of a shiny metal material he hadn't seen before. It was just one of many luxuries he had taken upon himself after traveling alongside the disorganized group that was known as the Raiders. At least they originally were disorganized until he started whispering in the ears of a few, who then whispered into the ears of others, until down the line the three major factions had formed: the Pack, a bunch of paint-sniffing battle-to-the-death individuals that somehow tamed whatever creature they got a hold of and gave them a specialized paint job that made the animals in question even more fearsome than they originally were—turning a half-burnt hound into a demon. Then there were the Disciples, a sadistic bunch of individuals wearing black leather and black metal armor, with blades coming out of every facet of their outfits. Surprisingly enough, they had the most numbers, despite the urges among them wanting to kill each other in the slowest and most brutal of ways. How they hadn't killed each other off due to their preferences boggles the mind. Last but not least were the Operators; they were more or less the most agreeable of the bunch. Their only interest was to make money, whether it was through drugs, weapons, or slaves—it hardly mattered to them so long as they had the caps. This place was a gold mine for caps.

This would be truly perfect if he could get the other attractions under control and distribute them to the appropriate factions, something he was unwilling to do on his own. Only because he didn't want to piss off one group over the other. As much as he was ambitious, he was every bit the coward that those of his line of profession were. Attack method number one: there are a lot more of your own numbers than the enemy, and hopefully, the enemy is not better armed than you. That was the type of mindset that Raiders like him always had, and it seemed to have kept him alive the longest, following that rather than simply playing settler or mercenary.

“Hey boss, we got some trouble,” a gruff man said as he marched into his boss's little private space, wearing the typical Raider armor of scrap metal and leather, and armed with a salvaged submachine gun.

He looked at his subordinate who had busted into his little sanctuary. “Report, and please tell me in specific details what type of trouble?” He had to make sure to speak very slowly, as not all the Raiders had an intact amount of brain matter since most of them had their brains liquefied to some degree due to the radiation.

“The large army that's going to stomp on us kind of trouble,” the Raider stated before explaining the details: there was a slow-moving army that numbered in the tens of thousands of people—not just people, but ghouls and super mutants, and a number of men and women dressed in what looked like black armor.

Without hesitating, Porter grabbed his gun and turned to the ham radio, began to communicate with the leaders of all three factions, and informed them of the danger that was approaching and to be ready for a possible attack.

Half an hour of prep time later, everyone was in their positions in the direction where the supposed hostile force was marching from, towards the center of Nuka World. All three leaders stared off at the horizon, wondering who mustered this force to challenge them.

“Where are they? I want to lick their blood off my knives while listening to the sweet music of their screams,” Nisha said sadistically, as she ran her tongue along the very edge of her blade, flicking the tip of the blade with her tongue.

Mason was unbothered by the leader of the Disciples' sadistic bloodlust; all he cared about was a good fight himself. Maybe if a few were strong enough and were breedable, he would let his men try to sire another generation of strong pack members.

While her companions were either thinking about fucking or slowly killing their enemies, Meg, on the other hand, was quite troubled. Sure, she went ahead and supplied everyone with the necessary amount of ammunition and guns, with a written contract stating that they would have to return or pay back whatever weapons they had yet to return, as well as the ammunition spent. But she had a bad feeling—the same type of bad feeling that she got whenever shit was about to hit the fan. As soon as she had this feeling, she sent forth most of her Operators to begin evacuating their resources and head to the limits of Nuka World. In the event they failed to repel the enemy, at least in this way, the Operators could still function even if they didn't have her at the helm. It was fortunate that she had trained her brothers to carry on the operations of the Operators, but she wondered how long it would last without her, as both of her brothers had ambitions to take over and lead the group in her stead. Would both of her brothers kill each other for the role, or would someone with a greater sense of ambition step up and dethrone the Black family? Those were concerns of hers that came to the forefront of her mind now compared to other times that trouble came to Nuka World, and she hated the idea that this was making her feel soft.

Grabbing hold of some binoculars, Porter looked through them with his one good eye and saw the small dust cloud following behind the large group that was approaching. Before their forces could actually see the enemy, they could hear and feel them in the ground.

Thump, thump, thump.

Those were the sounds of metal boots stomping onto the ground, making the very earth they stood on shake with their approach. A few of the Raiders that were originally from the West commented about Caesar's Legion and how this was similar to those who had managed to escape being enslaved by that overzealous Raider. The small bit of conversation started as the thumping sound and shaking of the earth continued to become more intense, only for the large force, once in view, to stop.

Those who had any visual enhancing optics equipment looked at the army. At the forefront were well-armored and armed super mutants that had what looked like refrigerator doors attached to their right arms and nasty-looking machine guns being held in their left hands. It looked almost as if they were built to be held by one hand. Behind them was a large line of ghouls dressed in armor that resembled the rear forces, looking like something from the old world—black helmets with black masks and red glowing lenses. More murmurs arose about New California Republic Rangers and the type of armor that they could recognize. It was all but an oddity—a strange phenomenon that, in a million years, the Raiders would never have considered a possibility: that mutants, due to their brutal and rather unintelligent nature, would team up with ghouls and humans to be so well organized and armed for this little battle, if it could even be considered a battle.

“We have a lot more than their numbers, though. The super mutants could probably make up 20 men with just one alone, and I have counted at least 200 of them, possibly more yet to spot,” the leader of the Pack commented after putting down his binoculars. He had quite an excited smirk on his face at the prospect of facing more than just the stupid brutes he often tried to hunt down when he was feeling daring.

Again, the Disciples' leader began licking her knives as she imagined peeling off the black armor along with the flesh of the rear guard forces, which seemed to comprise a larger number of men and women. She didn’t know which she preferred to toy with: a man, making him suffer as she slowly stripped away his masculine bits, or a woman, hanging her off some hooks over her dining table and delivering small cuts to make her bleed slowly onto her cups and plates, and whatever meal she would be eating that day—just to spice things up while listening to her beg for mercy. “I’m going to have so much fun once the battle is over. I get the best.”

Mags said nothing. All the others saw that the force was smaller compared to their own, but better organization and better armor made up for their smaller numbers. That’s when she finally made the decision to withdraw herself as soon as the fighting started and pull back the majority of her Operators and resources, while leaving a token force to show that they had not entirely abandoned this place.

The large force just stood there until a number of super mutants broke rank to create a small opening for their leader, a single super mutant with a large modified super sledge who walked a fair distance from the line of his army to climb up on a flipped-over vehicle. He raised his weapon in the air and let out a war cry. The other mutants began banging their chests, making loud metal thumping sounds while letting out hoots and hollers of excitement for battle. Meanwhile, the other forces behind them were already beginning to cock their weapons, chamber their rounds, or charge their energy weapons. This continued for a few minutes before the one mutant thrust his hammer forward and let out another war cry, signaling to the other mutants to start charging at their monstrous speed.

Both the Disciples and the Pack, their pure melee fighters, ran forward to meet the super mutants head-on, wielding modified bats, blades, and any other weapons they had on their person.

As soon as the defensive force got close enough, all the mutants slammed their refrigerator shields down and created a wall that had a small openings. They began to open fire on all the pure melee fighters. Those who survived the first wave of gunfire were quickly dealt with by a few mutants that smashed their skulls or ripped their spines right out of their stomachs, creating a large, grisly display of death.

The super mutant that was still on the elevated spot of the upturned vehicle let out another cry, this time pointing back, and the shield army began marching back into formation.

“What the hell? Why are they not advancing? They just slaughtered our first wave!” the Pack leader said, rather annoyed. He was hoping that they would continue marching forward into the small ambush that was waiting at the one entrance.

“Maybe they're trying to draw you out. Your little pups are not as interesting compared to my blades,” the Disciple leader said sarcastically. She was already itching to go down and begin leading her force into the fray; super mutants be damned, she just wanted to feel the warm crimson run down her blade and cover her skin.

The one person that was acting as a mercenary realized what they were doing: they were trying to goad them into leaving their defenses to attack behind the secure walls of Nuka World. They were relatively safe, but outside of it, they were exposed, and no amount of firepower would defend someone who was getting their head ripped off by a mutant or shot up by the rear forces. “We will hold the line. Eventually, they'll either have to attack us, or we will have to attack them, and we will not attack them. We have plenty of supplies; if anything, they will starve out before we do,” Porter ordered, much to the displeasure of those who were being ordered by someone they all didn't agree to be their leader—not officially, only because they didn't have the things they wanted and didn't overall like the Cyclops.

While everyone was starting to follow the commands from the more experienced raider, Meg, on the other hand, had already begun to slip away and rapidly ordered her forces to begin picking up their supplies and use the Secret Service tunnel that they found under the area they claimed as their turf. She would not inform the operators that were currently on the front lines, considering them as sacrificial pawns for the rest of the operators in order to survive. She would have said farewell to the bastards she had dealt with, but she just hoped that all of them died very gruesomely. All that would mean that she would be able to harvest whatever loot they left behind. This was the last thought she had in her head before going into the service tunnel and following behind those who were carrying their goods and the few slaves that were carrying them.

Another length of time passed before the mutants broke rank again, this time allowing the Men in Black to take positions in front, loading up rocket launchers, aiming, and firing a single volley of rockets. The rockets impacted against the walls, causing the concrete structures to shake and explode with shrapnel, wounding several of the defenders and causing many of them to begin opening fire despite the distance between themselves and the opposing army. Unfortunately for the defenders, the super mutants had quickly moved and used their shields to deflect the incoming fire, protecting their long-range combatants before another volley of rockets was fired as soon as the defenders had to either reload or there was an opening in between a Valley of bullets flying.

This continued for some time, as the rockets seemed unending, all while they continued pouring out bullet after bullet in this constant game of back and forth. Eventually, one of the leaders had finally had enough. She marched away from overseeing the army and her own forces.

“Where the hell are you going? You need to be here!” Porter shouted at the Disciple leader, who simply ignored him.

She had enough of this observing and ordering business; she wanted to kill. She wanted to taste blood, and by the dark spirits, she would have it. It did not take Nisha long to find her forces and rally them behind her as she began to march them forward, ignoring anyone who would protest or advise caution, primarily from those of the Pack. Her other followers were already eager for blood, so they marched past their fallen comrades and ran forward toward the army that stood before them. As they charged, a wave of gunfire from the opposing force rained down, killing a number of them, but did not halt their advance. It was when they finally clashed against the shield wall of the mutants that the blood they sought was finally being spilled. Whether it was green or red hardly mattered to any of the Disciples, as they relished the fact they were causing blood and death just as they had to desired. Meanwhile, the super mutants who weren’t letting out battle cries were already laughing as they slaughtered the spiky humans. A few of the mutants even removed the metal helmet from the one living human before biting their head off and swallowing it.

Porter didn’t know what he should have expected. Did any of these raiders think with a sense of self-preservation? At least one who could count on wouldn’t act so rashly. He looked toward where Meg should have been, but noticing her absence, he then asked if anyone had seen the operator leader. Everyone looked around stupidly, unable to find her, nor could they locate any of the other operators. It was only then that the one-eyed raider realized she had abandoned them, and he couldn't help but wonder why. If the Disciples continued to stay behind the walls, their defenses would still be quite fortified with their numbers, and with the operators supplying weapons and ammunition, their defenses would be unpenishable. Yet she chose to flee with her tail tucked between her legs. Once this battle was over, he would have a stern talking to with the operator and charge her triple the amount of supplies she should have brought if she tried to worm her way back into Nuka World.

Any further thoughts about how to deal with the deserter were put on the wayside as sudden loud sounds of thunder accompanied by bright flashes of lightning erupted. That’s when the rear guard started fighting within the walls of Nuka World, forcing Porter to see what was going on. He was met with the sight of hulking suits of power armor dealing with the defenders, and not just that—men dressed in black leather outfits moved twice as fast as an average man and were equally as strong. One of the men in the power armor pointed a reddish gun device that shot out a flare, which sailed as high as it could before exploding. That’s when he realized what was happening. This was their plan: to get them to focus on the one enemy in the front while the stronger force snuck their way in and began killing everyone, all while preventing anyone from escaping.

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 He gritted his teeth, pulled out his gun, and began shooting at the well-armored force that was already within Nuka World. His bullets did very little, merely bouncing off the troops in power armor. He even took a pot shot at one of the unarmored men, only to watch in horror as the man he shot in the face did not drop to the ground. Instead, they simply redirected their focus to the shooter, revealing a metal-like skeletal face with a blazing red eye looking in Porter’s direction.

With the signal sent, the mutants, along with the rest of the forces, began slowly marching forward, raising their shields every now and then to deflect the incoming bullets. Once they reached the threshold of Nuka World, a mixture of both mutants and normal soldiers fought together, killing the raiders without remorse or mercy. This continued for another 40 minutes before the majority that remained surrendered.

After the battle was done, another bolt of lightning shot down before the entrance of Nuka World. Nate couldn't help but feel the unpleasant tingling sensation of static running through his skin, even while wearing the riot gear he had found in secret military stashes he was somewhat aware of thanks to his old war buddies. He had stayed in contact with them before the bombs fell, and they told him of various places to head toward if the Reds ever blew up America. Despite feeling the sense of loss for his old companions, he couldn't help but be thankful that those stashes remained undiscovered and undamaged, especially with the large force he had amassed, along with the sets of power armor he was starting to equip on one of the more veteran members of the Minutemen.

Walking past the entrance, he couldn't help but imagine bringing his son and wife here to spend a few days enjoying the attractions. Hell, he could see a 75% discount for all veterans from the Anchorage campaign at the various ticket booths. Not just the idea of spending time here made him feel nostalgic, but also the smells he would no longer be able to enjoy due to the lack of anyone who knew how to make corn dogs without confusing corn and actual dog meat in the mix, or the popcorn and cotton candy—other confections he had grown to miss. Yet he made his peace; his world was gone, his wife was gone, his son was gone, and all he had left was what he had already begun to construct. This would be his legacy, and he would ensure it truly outlasted him long before his name and identity were relegated to the history books, if anyone could still read them by the time his bones turned to dust.

“General!” one of the power armor-wearing Minutemen spoke out, saluting their commander-in-chief.

Looking toward the soldier, Nate gave a nod. “At ease. How many did we lose, and how many of the enemy are now our prisoners?” he asked while looking up at the artificial mountain structure, wondering if that was the VIP section of Nuka World’s motel complex or just an accessory to the many rides still under construction.

“We have only lost one-fifth of our initial forces since we began our full assault. The infiltrators helped minimize our losses, but the enemy had lost a greater amount—two-thirds—with the rest, half of whom have been taken prisoner while the others deserted. We have already sent out scouts to track them down,” the armored soldier reported.

It wasn’t surprising to Nate that some of the raiders would abandon their fellow scum out of a sense of self-preservation. Hopefully, it was the Operators, as he needed trading partners. Apparently, the Operators had knowledge of a surplus of guns and ammunition, which he needed for the next campaign he was planning after neutralizing or absorbing the Rust Devils. “Where is Preston?” he asked. The soldier in power armor pointed toward the mountaintop of the artificial structure.

One ride later, Nate found Preston trying to interrogate a man who had a metal eye patch. The man was tied to a chair and looked rather bloody, as if he had been beaten to within an inch of his life. “Got any useful information, Preston, or at least anything relevant?” Nate questioned as he walked around, finding the mountaintop to be quite the luxury spot, if a little overexposed, before redirecting his attention to the prisoner.

“Nothing yet, besides a great colorful display of words that I think most raiders wouldn't have enough brain cells to articulate,” Preston commented while cracking his bloody knuckles.

“...Fuck... you... and... your... Minutemen... shit...” Porter managed to choke out just those few words before coughing up a lot of blood, thanks to several cracked teeth in his mouth. He spat a large glob of blood and mucus onto Preston's boots, earning himself a backhanded fist that caused his head to jerk to the side and let out a pained grunt. “...You... hit... like a woman...” he managed to laugh between painful coughs before receiving a few more blows.

Quickly walking over, Nate grabbed hold of Preston's wrist, preventing his second-in-command from accidentally killing the raider. “He's useless to us if he's dead. Remember, we need him alive and his brain intact if he still refuses to tell us anything of his own volition,” Nate said sternly, not wanting this person to die just yet—not until they got the information they needed from him.

Preston looked at his general with an incredulous expression, as if he believed the raider had any useful information after all that he had experienced. Given all that he had witnessed about raiders, he wanted blood for all those who had died or suffered a fate worse than death at the hands of these raider bastards. If anything, he would prefer to put them all on crosses and watch them slowly suffer and wither away until they were nothing but husks. But he yielded to the command of his general, pulling back and walking off to start examining the loot that this raider had accumulated while positioning himself in this place of power.

With his second out of the way, Nate walked toward the bleeding prisoner. “I apologize that my second was overzealous with you. However, we do need some information. Give me what I want to know, and you will go free. If not, I will simply take the knowledge from your head, and then I will kill you shortly after. Which would you prefer?” he offered the injured man a choice between a painful memory extraction followed by death or giving them the information they needed, with the possibility that the man might still die—not by his hand or that of his men.

Taking a moment to catch his breath and clear his lungs, Porter began speaking softly, drawing the leader of the Minutemen closer. Once the man was close enough, he spat in the face of the pale man, flashing his bloody teeth in a triumphant smile and starting to laugh.

Withdrawing himself from the man who had just been spat upon, Nate slowly wiped off the blood and saliva, looking rather displeased that his generous offer of letting the man live had been spat right back at him. “Then you chose a painful route. I hope you don't mind if we end up cooking your brain a bit; then again, I don't think you'll have a mind left,” he stated before walking away from the prisoner and heading toward his second-in-command. He noticed that Preston was pouring out a bottle of vodka into shot glasses.

Nothing was said between the two men as the two glasses of clear liquid were poured and both men took a sip. Despite the risk of radiation that could be inside the alcohol, both men enjoyed the burn of the foreign drink for a brief moment before the silence was broken.

“All there is left are the Rust Devils, and next we will have to deal with the Brotherhood of Steel and the Railroad. After that, the Commonwealth will be secure, and the end of further conflict in this region will finally be achieved,” Nate said, as if he were forecasting the weather. He looked over at Preston and watched as the man nodded in agreement.

“Yes, we are doing this one step at a time, and when it's all over, people can finally start building again,” Preston said somberly, as he remembered all the revolutionary memorials he had spent his life studying. Ever since a Minuteman ranger had saved him and his family, he had become one himself because he wanted to continue that heroism—that a man could be a minute away and save everyone.

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Emperor Molto was sitting comfortably on his throne, his fist resting under his chin as he half-listened to the prophet speaking about the gate on Alnus Hill. It was all about an army of metal with burning red eyes marching into the land from the depths of poison, led by a ruler cast out of time who would march into the heart of the Empire, declare himself the Eternal Emperor, and make all empires kneel or be destroyed.

“Is that all you have to report, prophet? If so, I would like you to leave. I would rather enjoy the company of my concubines, if you don’t mind,” the emperor said dismissively, showing no concern for the prophet’s words, which only served to frustrate and worry him. Without needing an actual command, the guards moved into position to escort the gray-haired man out of the throne room. Shortly after, some demi-human women and regular women began to emerge from the secret servant passageways, dressed in the most exotic outfits. They began to stroke his arms, peppering his cheeks and neck with delicate kisses.

Meanwhile, as the prophet was being dragged out of the palace, he couldn’t help but see the flames of war—the type of war that would see the Empire burn, a war that would change everything. ‘Damn that fool! I should have advised the previous emperor to choose his third son over this warmongering idiot,’ he thought to himself. Any word spoken ill of the emperor, especially in the heart of his palace, would mean certain death. However, the prophet could always go to those kingdoms already on the brink of rebellion to warn them not to heed the emperor’s call if he asked them to lay down their lives for whatever conquest the fool had planned. If the Empire must fall, then at least let the realm of men continue to live amidst the ruins of what is left of it. He must do this, for the war that would change all wars would soon begin when the stars aligned and the gate opened.

BTC