Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deacon had been spending more time than Desdemona was happy with sitting vigil at this Vault for a few weeks now. They had a small safe house nearby, and he’d mostly been posted up there. It was an eerily silent place, for the Wasteland. His vigil had been almost entirely undisturbed, although he did have to sneak past a Mr Handy in the pre war town by the Vault. Carrington had made it clear that he thought it was a waste of time- but P.A.M had said that there was a 61.4% chance of someone from that Vault waking up, and Deacon knew they were important. Hence the vigil.

He honestly hadn’t truly believed it when he found evidence of a prewar Vault with cryogenics in it- but it had been legit. He’d checked it all out. What was even stranger was that *someone* had been in there. Around 70 years ago. And well. He had a feeling that it was important. And a feeling that it was the Institute. So, he was just sitting on a patio chair, a cup of coffee- one thing he’s infinitely grateful to Vault 81 for. Good coffee. He hadn’t even known what he had been missing but he can’t even deal with the Wasteland slop anymore. Well. That isn’t actually true, but it does get him to practice his grimaces, and keeps him away from smoking or-
A loud noise startled him, and he only barely stopped himself from jumping, instead cautiously moving his eyes around. It seemed to have been a shock of lighting.

Lightning was… concerning, to say the least. It normally meant synths. But, the thing is. That wasn’t the noise synths made. Synths sounded smoother, and sharper- which, come to think of it, is a bit of a contradiction. But still. He pulled out his Geiger counter, which wasn’t warning of a rad storm. Good. He was closer to the Glowing Sea than Deacon usually enjoyed. But, the thing is. If it wasn’t a rad storm, and it shouldn’t have been a synth- what was it? The sound had crackled through the wires, so- maybe that terminal would have a clue.

Shifting his eyes around, he slowly made his way towards the mini caravan that contained the terminal, keeping his hand on the pistol in his pocket, leaving his coffee mug behind.
Arriving at the terminal, he steeled his nerves and reached out to the terminal. Locked. Great.
Not that a locked terminal was a challenge, but it was just. Infuriating. Last time he’d been locking terminals there’d been a bit more speed- and lightning.
“Shut up Deacon.” He murmured to himself, and started to type. It unlocked pretty easily- thankfully.

The screen was full of gibberish, however. At first, he thought it may have been binary, but it couldn’t have been. It was 0s and 8s? It seemed that the lightning, whatever it was, had damaged the computer by using its servers. Or- something. Tinker Tom would probably love to study this, but Deacon doubted he’d be willing to expose himself to any of whatever it was he believes lingers outside just for one messed up terminal.

Deacon thumped it on the top with his fist, and the screen flickered, green shifting to amber, but quickly back to green. Hm. He hit it again, it the amber lingered, flashing the binary:
“01000100 01101111 01100011 01110100 01101111 01110010 00100000 01010011 01101001 01101100 01110110 01101001 01100001 00101110 00001010 01001101 01101111 01110110 01100101 01101101 01100101 01101110 01110100 00100000 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01011010 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 00111000 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101101 01100001 01110010 01101011 01100101 01100100 00100000 01011010 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01011010 00101110 00100000 01010101 01110011 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101111 01101110 00100000 01110011 01101001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100001 01101100 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01110010 01100001 01101110 01110011 01100110 01100101 01110010 00101110 00001010 00101101 00111000”

Deacon lifted his fist from the computer, catching it on one of the connecting wires, and the screen flickered, and then faded to black.
“Damn.” He whispered
But. The Institute’s teleports don’t mess with terminals? He was beginning to wish he’d learnt binary over Spanish now. He couldn’t believe he’d been careless enough to catch that wire. Maybe the silence of here was messing with him. What was this place called? Sanctuary Hills? Not for him. Still. He’d head to the safe house. Better to stay away, just incase it was Institute- or, God forgive, a Courser.

*********************************************

He waited for two days before returning to the Vault. It was still as silent as he remembered, and he returned to his chair and coffee- which he promptly threw into the grass behind his chair. What a waste. Still, can’t be too cautious. Really, he should’ve taken it away with him. Just another thing to add to the list of mistakes.

He scanned around the area, and it didn’t seem that anything had changed. He even went and checked the dratted terminal again- still a black screen. He tried to hit it- no change. Then he moved the wires, and a spark lashed out at him, like a fleeing radstag. The terminal fizzed, popped and a soft plume of smoke rose in the air, fading away in the breeze.
Great. That was everything he’d managed to find. If nothing comes of this place in 2 more days, he’d go. Cut his losses.

He jinxed it. He jinxed it. He’d been expecting vault dwellers or just a vault dweller. Someone prewar and well… soft. If he was honest. The Institute- he was pretty sure it was the Institute- wanted something with them- probably “pure blood” or something equally dodgy. He’d heard the elevator whirring its way up and snuck to behind the mini camper with the now-broken terminal, peering through.

He was not expecting the thumping steps of power armour. A heavy, mechanical step, where each servo whirred with movement. He could see two people- a woman in a vault suit, with Ginger hair and bright green eyes, shaking a bit, and clutching onto the power armoured figure at her side. Power armour always made someone taller, so it wasn’t strange that the vault dweller’s companion was over a head taller than her, and had an arm thrown over her shoulder, seemingly holding her up, like a sack of tatoes- but with more care.
Power armour also had a symbol on their pauldron. A red circle with a Red Cross in the centre. It reminded him of prewar medic symbols he’d seen- but clearly not one of those. A new faction? Maybe there’d been something in the Vault other than cryogenics- or a group had moved in when the Institute opened it all those years ago. Hopefully not Brotherhood. They had different symbols- unless it was a new group?? More players was the last thing the Commonwealth needed, if Deacon was honest. Well. He had been hoping they’d help the Railroad- so maybe the experience would be a good sign.
Maybe. The operative word. He’d have to ask P.A.M about their new variable- no. Variables.

They don’t pay him enough for this shit. Well. They don’t pay him at all. Sometimes he wished he was still a farmer. Not that it was the time for that. He didn’t exactly want to be spotted. At least he’d grabbed the coffee cup this time.

His new variables were talking- his prospective agents. He couldn’t hear them. Power armour was craning their neck down slightly to whisper to the Vault Dweller. Well. Deacon would leave them a hint and scarper.

He waited until Power Armour and the Vault Dweller were both looking at the Vault Dweller’s pipboy and tossed a railroad holograph through into the mini camper. Hopefully they’d find it and head over soon. But not until they had a new HQ- ideally with less corpses and also that isn’t where they used to recruit. Not the best choice. Not that they had any others. Anyway. He had to get going. Back to base, Carrington, Dez, Glory, and all the rest… yay.
They were doing good though. They were all he had.

Chapter Text

“@[=$+<_--*]@@? @@[$((*#8#(*&^#%]@@. @@[*.......]” Doctor 8 buzzed, and Silvia nodded.
She queried, “So? We’re all ready to go?”
8 responded with a whir of mechanical noises and fizzes, but Silvia just thanked him, and they walked over to the large blue circle in the centre of the lab.
Silvia was wearing a pale blue shirt, a long grey skirt, a white lab coat with a name tag which read ‘Dr Ayad’ and a darker blue hijab with a white flower clip. They were holding a large rucksack, and nodded to 8 once again.

The entire room came alive with arcing lights- blue dancing through each cable and the doodling on the walls. It was as Picasso had dedicated hours to the painting, which was gone in an instant. All the blue light converged onto the circle where Silvia stood, and which a blinding flash, she had vanished, the blue circle turned pale grey.

It was always a strange feeling, teleportation. The systematic removal and replacement of every aspect of your being. The transportation of your very soul across the Wastes. It was like going through a sieve- except molecular, and a human isn’t exactly flour. Not that Silvia can bake very well- cakes always remind her of their rather disastrous tenth birthday party.

Silvia knew, rationally, that teleportation took less than a second. Approximately 0.0000073 seconds, actually. She prefers the value in nanoseconds, but you’d be surprised how many people look like a rad-rabbit in the headlights at that one. Come to think of it, she’s not actually sure they’ve ever seen a rad-rabbit. Just rabbits in books. Something to ask La’Tasha about. She specialised in that. But. Teleportation. She knew it was fast. She knew it. But, it made her feel exhausted. All of the studies they’d done pretty much just summed up that it was “stress on the body” and “Doctor Ayad you’ll send yourself to an early grave” like the teleportation will be what kills her. As if.

Anyway. The instant nausea and dizziness from the teleportation had subsided while they were reflecting, allowing her to open her eyes to where she’d landed- somewhere that should be Vault-Tec Vault 111, home of cryogenics. She opened her dark brown eyes, and stared straight ahead. Vault corridor. Nostalgic, almost. If nostalgia tasted like bleach, and regret.

10 years was a long time. Long enough that the lingering shadows should’ve stopped. But, when she looked at the wall they had to stop and pause. It was all just so. Clean. Vaults usually were, yes. But abandoned ones? And Vault 111 had to be abandoned, or she already would’ve been met by some security. She shuddered at the thought. Maybe 10 years wasn’t long enough.

It was fine. She’s been in vaults since then. Sure, they’d all been in a bit more… disrepair. This Vault felt like the bombs still hadn’t fallen, like the security and scientists and overseer and population were yet to even arrive. As if she were the first person to walk in.
She scoffed at herself for letting their mind wander again.

Then, they began to head down the corridor, walking straight into the room ahead- a tomb. Not one intended to be so, nor one with the appropriate care taken. She hadn’t expected to find much success. Vault-Tec didn’t really seem to have success stories, at least not for their more “extreme” experiments. Still.
She made her way to the terminal, downloading the information onto her pipboy while reading it.

Her heart stopped. Most of the residents were deceased- life support failure. But. Two of them- two of them weren’t right. One was dead, yes. However, not dead like the rest. Someone had interfered. But Mr O’Shah wasn’t really her concern. No, Mrs O’Shah was the figure of interest- Mrs O’Shah with her perfectly functioning body, slowed down to almost non-existence. Slowed down for more than 200 years. 210 years. 210 years of nothingness.

Hands shaking with excitement, Silvia twitched anxiously, waiting for her data to upload. After what felt like an age, it was saved, and they immediately sent it over to Big MT. While her pip-boy processed the data transfer, she made her way over to the survivor. The only one.

From what Silvia had read, Mrs O’Shah’s pod should open, if she pulled the lever. According to Vault-Tec, at least, she would be fine. Vault-Tec, however, could not be trusted. Silvia wasn’t exactly stupid. One doesn’t become a Doctor with numerous qualifications by just leaping into action. Well, when doing science. Leaping into action had saved her and Boone more than once. But she’s got time. It’s not like 1 day will suddenly cause Mrs O’Shah to explode or something. Probably.

Reading through the uploaded data again, Silvia growled. It wasn’t all that useful. It explained the cryogenics alright, and the status of everyone in the pods, but it didn’t exactly give any advice on waking them up other than to study the impacts of the study, which wasn’t Silvia’s priority. She always found herself at odds with Vault-Tec on that one. The whole lack of regard for human life.

After rereading what she’d found, they decided to find the Overseer’s Office. The Overseer tended to know far more than everyone else.
Unfortunately, someone had triggered the Vault’s internal lockdown. Probably the Overseer.
After making it to the Security terminal, she was convinced it was the Overseer. Honestly, they were more surprised that there was so little evidence of the uprising. Sure, some batons and pistols were lying around, and heading closer to the Overseer’s office there were more corpses. But Vault 34, Vault 11, heck, even Vault 101. That was a vault uprising. This whole vault was just so- clinical. Eerie.

She made it to the Overseer’s office though, and shut off his lockdown. He hadn’t had much more information on the cryogenics, just quite a bit on the uprising. Along with that, however, most of his terminal was passion projects. And one of those stood out. A “cryolator”, which was a gun that used cryogenics. And could explain the cryogenics of the Vault.

She immediately went to his locked box, pulling out a Bobby pin to click the lock open, and seizing the gun with her gloved hand. Benefits of a pip-boy. Double checking she had uploaded the notes of the Overseer and his security team, Silvia returned to the tomb she’d initially found, after stopping at its neighbour, in which none had survived.

They stopped outside of the survivor’s pod, and steadily dismantled the cryolator, noting its schematics along with those of the old Overseer.
Surrounded by the strewn gun pieces, she read through everything they’d found, and begun to wish that Big MT had dedicated some time to cryogenics.

It took her about a further 3 hours to rebuild the cryolator and better understand cryogenics. Not enough that she could use them, but enough that they were pretty convinced that it was safe to open the pod. Also enough that Silvia felt it was worthwhile to get some people to have a look into cryogenics. That was the premise of all this.

Shivering slightly, they reached their gloved hand to the crimson lever, and plunged it downward, heart in her throat.

Chapter Text

Cold.
She was a blade of grass in the first frost, a flower struck down before it could bloom, a cub who ventured out onto the ice, only for it to crack beneath its paws.

She could feel herself shivering, and as she opened her eyes, she had to blink. That wasn’t her- Nate. She felt her heart drop. They’d taken her baby. They’d taken her son. He was so young- and in the hands of cold blooded murderers. Although, that was what she found herself thinking when Nate was in one of his worse moods. Nate. Her husband. Dead? He couldn’t be. Canada couldn’t kill him, surely this wouldn’t. She reached a hand up to the glass window, preparing to try push the prison that held her open. Before she could, there was a hiss. No- they couldn’t seal her up again. They couldn’t. She slammed her fist against the glass, beating it again and again and- it was gone. The door had slowly raised above her head, revealing a woman in a dark blue headscarf kneeling at the base of the jail.

She tried to step out, to grab the woman and ask her why she’d taken her baby. As she lifted her left leg, she felt legs wobble, and surprisingly strong arms reacting to stabilise her, helping her to stand on her own two feet, on the floor of the Vault that had taken everything from her.

“You. You took my SON!” Her voice cracked as she yelled, exercising vocal cords she hadn’t let herself used since she was a child, “Where is he? Where is my boy??” She raised her hand to point at the other woman, who stood there with a perfectly neutral expression and a clear faintly dusty scientist’s jacket. Like she hadn’t just lost everything. Like she hadn’t just taken everything from her.
She felt a dizziness flood her mind as she tried to point at her. To make her answer the question.

Strong arms stopped her from falling, and when she came to, she found herself sitting on a stool, her head in between her legs, with something warm draped over her back. She vaguely remembered this position from her pregnancy classes- it was good for fainting. Oh she hoped she hadn’t fainted. That would be terribly embarrassing. Wait- this woman had taken her son. Or at least knew who had.

“Mrs O’Shah. How are you feeling?” The other woman asked, her brown eyes giving nothing away.
“Like you just stole my son, you heartless bastard!”
The woman blinked at her, looking a touch shocked, “My name is Doctor Silvia Ayad. I do not know who took your son. He had been in the pod with your husband, yes?” The woman- Silvia- she did seem genuine, but well, she’d made that mistake before. Still, she found herself nodding in affirmation, that yes, Nate had had Shaun.

“Are you feeling any better? Less dizzy?” Silvia queried, “It is rather cold down here, and I would like my jacket back.”
At that, she started, lifting her head out of her knees and knocking the fabric from her back onto the floor, which Silvia snatched up, pulling the white jacket back over her blue shirt, and dusting it off incase anything from the Vault Floor had gotten onto it.
“Mrs O’Shah, I do advise against any fast movements. I haven’t studied cryogenics and it would be best if I could perform a cursory examination on you.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself, “Wait. You’re an actual Doctor. I thought you were some scientist type. Like ones who were here before??”
“Well. I am a Doctor Mrs O’Shah. I have numerous different qualifications in that regard. However, I am also a scientist. Qualified in that regard also”
“Well Doctor, are you one of those damned,” she air quotes, “SCIENTISTS”, she lowers her arms again, slumping them against the cool metal chair legs, “who took my son?? My Shaun?”

Silvia shook her head, hijab moving with her, “No. I was unaware that anyone was alive down here. An experiment of Vault-Tec’s working is a miracle…” she looked at the other prisons, “at least, partially working.”

She looked at the Doctor before her, staring into her pure mahogany eyes, “Well. You don’t seem like one of those evil scientists. You’re not in the right- outfit.” She steeled herself, taking a deep breath in, “So, I’ll take your word for it.”
She stood up, and held her hand out to shake, “Judy Lir, pleasure to meet you.”
Silvia took her hand, grasping it with a slightly rough glove, and shaking it firmly, but not harshly.

“Ms Lir, I must advise that you sit down again, and allow me to examine I am not too sure of the consequences of cryogenic freezing for 210 years…”
The Doctor continued talking but Judy couldn’t hear them. Judy couldn’t hear anything. It was like she was drowning, her ears blocked and unable to breathe.
The world was spinning around her and she felt a sharp pain in her knee, and harsh gasps in the air, coming from seemingly far away.
Each time the craggy breath subsided she heard a warm voice “Judy?”

Gradually, the voice grew louder than her suffering, and she felt herself being moved back to the chair, eyes sealed shut.
She sat there, letting her breathing even out, until eventually she cracked her jade eyes open, the left, then the right. Silvia was stood watching her, eyes seeming kinder than any other time.
“So. Ms Lir. I think you’d be best off with a bit of preparing before we leave the vault. Seeing as finding out about the time caused you to suffer a panic attack.” Silvia explained, clearly.

“Judy. Might as well be. Nobody here can exactly report that I’m cavorting about. Besides. You’re a doctor.” She shrugs, “Benefits of being in the future, I suppose.”
Silvia nodded with a wry smile, “Definitely some different etiquette rules here in the Wasteland.”
“So- you want us to stay down here? I need to find those damnable-“ she pauses, “I need to find Shaun. Please.”
“I promise you, I will try my best to help you find your son. But you can’t help him if you’re dead. And Vault Dwellers fresh out in the Wasteland? You would be a target.” She hesitated, “I will do my best to protect you, but it helps me if you know what is going on.”
Judy looked up at that one, “I can shoot a pistol. My family made sure I knew how.”
Silvia nodded again- she reminded Judy of Noddy, from the books of her childhood.

“So- you’re my wasteland survival guide?” She asked Silvia, after a moment of reflection.
“Luckily, they did write a book called that. Which I hel-I have read.”

Chapter Text

He could hear the raiders getting closer. There seemed to be an almost endless amount, but at least Sturges had managed to block the door off. There couldn’t have been more than 10 inside. The horde outside was what concerned him.
He’d barely been able to take more than a few potshots before he had to duck inside to take cover, one of the raiders having made it up onto the roof of one of the opposing buildings.
He wasn’t sure how they were going to get out of this. Quincy seemed dead, its survivors trapped in a room in a prewar museum, with the last Minuteman failing to protect them. Like how the Minutemen failed to protect Quincy, he supposed.

He steeled himself, gripping his laser musket tighter as he stepped back out on the balcony, firing a fully charged shot- and finally taking down the one on the roof. He began to crank his musket again, hearing the crack and whistle of a bullet passing his ear.
He raised his musket to fire again when he heard a raider screaming. He peered through his scope, “damn.” Preston whispered. There was a raider clutching their arm, clearly having been shot. Probably the one who was screaming. That wasn’t the surprise. The surprise was who had shot the raider.

There was someone stood, in pale grey- almost white- power armour, with a strange symbol painted on the pauldron. They were holding a flaming sword, and a bisected corpse lay at their feet. Stood a few steps behind them was a vault dweller in a bright blue vault suit, which had clearly been modified, although Preston wasn’t sure how. It had leather pieces on the chest, connecting to the shoulders, a rudimentary form of armour at best. Most of the raiders were in something better- could the pair be hunting for supplies? But how would one of them have had power armour if they were fresh out of a vault?

That wasn’t his priority. He fired a shot at the wounded raider, who thudded to the floor. The woman in the vault suit looked up at him, and Preston was pretty sure her companion had too. It was hard to tell with power armour. He waved at them, probably a bit frantic, “The balcony! Up here!” Both newcomers definitely looked at him this time- even if Preston was pretty convinced that the one in power armour was doing it intentionally. Still, “I've got a group of settlers inside! The Raiders are almost through the door!” He considered telling them about the laser musket on the floor, and then watched as the figure in power armour ran through a raider before they could even fire a shot, and decided it could be insulting, “Help us! Please!“ One doesn’t exactly want to offend the people who you’re hoping will be saving your life.

The lady from a vault said something to her companion, but it was lost to the wind. Preston couldn’t tell if she got a response, but instead, he watched as two raiders charged at the woman, raising switch blades glinting in the wind. He went to fire a shot, but before he could the both were corpses, smouldering on the floor. The power armoured figure stood there, flaming sword in their hand, illuminating themselves, as if they were a painting on the wall of a church. Preston could only hope that he had made a deal with an angel, not a daemon.

He remained on the balcony, firing at the raiders, as the person in power armour cut through anyone who challenged them, and the lady in the vault suit stood behind, eyes wide in awe- he hoped it was awe- just holding her pistol with hands that, if Preston was closer, he was sure he would be able to see shaking.

The flaming corpses, all in some way dismembered, certainly left an impression, and Preston was sure he wouldn’t forget it soon. So long as he has the time left to remember.
He noticed their saviours stop briefly at Caleb’s corpse, before they went under where he could watch from the balcony. Now all he could do was wait- and hope that they truly were to be saviours.

The raider who had been screaming insults at them through the door, and repeatedly bashing at it with something heavy and metallic- it had sounded like a lead pipe, or maybe a tire iron- suddenly swore and Preston heard his footsteps quickly scurry away. Clearly, there were to be more flaming corpses. Hopefully they didn’t set the building aflame. Survived a raider attack and then died to some old world timbers catching alight. Not exactly a fitting end to the Minutemen. Well. He’s sure Esmé would’ve had something to say about both systems collapsing, and writing a poem around their fire. But she can’t. Not anymore. He-

There was a sharp knock against the door, and a feminine voice, “Hello! You asked us for help from the balcony?”
Sturges moved for the door, but Preston held up a hand to stop him, instead moving over to it himself, and pressing his eye to the gap between the door and the wall.

Squinting, he could make out the bright blue of a vault suit, with a light speckle of blood. Behind that, was clearly a suit of power armour, silhouetted against the old wood.
He turned back to Sturges and nodded, and the pair quickly disabled the barricade before the door, letting it swing open.

The Lady in the vault suit held out a hand for him to shake, while her companion hung back, hand resting on the handle of what Preston had no doubt was their flaming sword.
“Mrs- sorry, Miss Judy Lir, at your service!” The Lady- Miss Lir said, surprisingly chirpy.
He took her hand and shook it, slightly confused at the gesture. People preferred to not make contact- just in case. But, it fitted the Vault Dweller theory. So did the pipboy he noticed at her wrist, which was mirrored by one her companion was wearing, which actually replaced the left hand of their power armour, with a glove and pipboy on top.
“Man, I don’t know why you’re here, but your timing’s impeccable. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.” He responded to her, conscious that he might have spent slightly too long staring.
“Minutemen? Am I in the 1700s again?” She asked him, smile fixed on her face, as if it were an accessory.
“Protect the people at a minute's notice." That was the idea. So I joined up, wanted to make a difference. And I did, but... things fell apart. Now it looks like I'm the last Minuteman left standing.” It felt weird to say that. To admit it. He had known that he was- when they were left at Quincy, he knew that it was just them. And he knew that the others were dead. But him? The only Minuteman. That’s… bigger than him.

The smile she was wearing dropped a bit, before appearing again, “Well! That sounds noble. My friend here,” she gestured to the power armoured person, “is Silvia. We were wondering if you needed any help?”
“Well. Sturges- tell them.”

Sturges spoke, his accent- southern he called it- comforting in its familiarity, “had a whole fancy plan about fixing up a suit of Power Armour, and here you are, walking in like some kind of metal miracle. There's a crashed vertibird up on the roof. Old school, pre-war. You might have seen it. Well, it's got a minigun, and it seems to be intact-“
Silvia spoke up, interrupting Sturges, “All you need is some dead raiders, I believe? I will deal with them. And Judy, I’ll send the dog up to you.”
Judy folded her arms over her chest, smile dropping into a pout, “I thought we were doing wasteland survival?”
Before Silvia could respond, Preston nodded at Sturges, who- luckily- got the hint.
“Do you not want the minigun?”
Silvia responded, tone tinged with what Preston thought was amusement, “I have a better one back home. I will get it for you, once I have dealt with your raider problem.”
At that, she turned around and went out of the room. Preston normally would describe power armour moving as stomping- not that he’s seen it much- but that wouldn’t be accurate. Clearly, they’d worn power armour a lot.
Preston was left stood there, one eye on Judy. Just in case. The rest of his attention was on Mama Murphy. She tended to have something to say when she met people. And from what Preston had gathered, she was right. The Longs refused to listen to her, especially Marcy, but Sturges seemed convinced she spoke the truth. Apparently it was thanks to her that the Minutemen even made it to Quincy. Not that Preston could tell if they’d actually helped. The Quincy civilians might have been better off just travelling alone. He was worried that his presence had just made them a target for the Gunners.

“So… Mr Garvey. What actually led you to be, well… here?” She looked at the beaten up walls around them, “and why were those guys- Raiders- trying to kill you?”
Preston opened his mouth to answer, but his words were cut off when a hound leapt at Judy.
He pulled up his musket to shoot it off, but before he fired his shot, Judy shoved the dog off, along with the words, “Down boy! Down!”
The dog sat at her feet staring up at her, tail wagging.
“I’m impressed you listened to Silvia and actually came up to me.” She smiled at the dog, and her eyes lit up in a way Preston hadn’t seen them do so before.

Mama Murphy smiled, and turned to face her piercing eyes, “Dogmeat's good at finding folks who need him, and he'll stick by you now. I saw it.”
Judy looked surprised, and turned to the older lady, “Is he your dog?”
Mama laughed slightly, “Oh he ain't my dog. No sir. Dogmeat, he's what you'd call his own man.”
Judy looked confused, and Mama took this as a chance to continue, “You can't own a free spirit like that. But he chooses his friends, and sticks with 'em.”
“I’m not sure Silvia will be too pleased about that one. They don’t like dogs all that much.” She sounded a bit despondent
Mama continued, voice faintly distant, like when she was using the sight, “No. He ain’t her dog either. He’s gonna stick with you kid.”
Judy seemed to accept that, and crouched down next to Dogmeat, stroking his ears, “Dogmeat, huh? That’s certainly… a name.”

Startling the peace, a gunshot rang out, and Preston dashed onto the balcony, laser musket ready to fire. Silvia was glowing by her own flames, and the raiders were slowly emerging from the buildings. Another one had made it onto the roof and was lining up a pipe rifle. Like sand running through an hourglass, the raider’s body disintegrated into ash, and Preston charged up his laser musket again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, accompanied by the swoosh of laser through the wind.
And again.
And again.
And again.

The last raider disintegrated as Preston’s shot aimed true, their life just a pile of ash on the road.
He shifted, preparing to replace his musket over his shoulder, but before he completed the motion, the foundations of the very building shook.
A leathery clawed hand dislodged a sewer grate, and Preston and Silvia, in sync, readied their weapons once again. The oversized protrusion was followed by the casting off of the whole grate, smashing open one of the remaining surviving doors.
Preston fired shot after shot into the beast, as it emerged from the sewers. Two curled horns upon its scaled face, with two pointed eyes, glaring predatorily at Silvia, who held her sword protectively, the flames licking into the air. A spiny back, and two overextended arms, ending with claws more akin to curved swords, than anything that should be found on an animal. It had a tail that swung with anger, sharp end disturbing the once-raider ash, flinging it into the air, giving the impression of a following storm cloud.
Preston continued to fire, aiming his shots at the arms, an attempt to allow Silvia to get close to the monster. It lifted its head, roaring at the sky, and one of Preston’s red lasers caught its softer throat skin, shifting the roar into one of rage, rather than the hunt.

Then, it leapt. Silvia’s metal frame looked pathetically small compared to the deathclaw, like she was David, and it, a Goliath. Preston’s shots continued, and then his heart plummeted. It was on top of Silvia, her burning blade just visible… through its throat??
The corpse was cast aside, and Silvia saluted in his direction, and he returned the gesture, almost on autopilot.

Chapter Text

The Railroad kept any eye on suspicious things. Which definitely included a strange person in power armour leaving a seemingly abandoned Vault. And, besides, P.A.M had had a good feeling about this one. Well. A good percentage. Deacon had a good feeling about this one. And Deacon normally just had bad feelings. Not an excuse to get sloppy.

That was why Dave the Trader was heading over to the Pre War town of Sanctuary Hills, or as he knew it ‘Sanctuary’. Dave the Trader didn’t have a Brahmin or any stock- except from a Geiger counter, which he kept in the shop. Tragedies just kept on befalling him. Deacon was pretty sure that Dave had lost at least 16 Brahmin at this point, to raiders, rogue robots, untrustworthy hired guns, a variety of wasteland creatures. One of them had drowned. Deacon hadn’t ever seen a Brahmin drown. But Dave would “Swear down. Coupla bloodbugs spooked the dratted thing, and it ran straight into a lake. Lost near all my stock with it.”

Dave wore an old confederate hat Deacon had gotten through connections with Nadine, back when she was a young woman, who’d just got her hands on a boat and one of the most profitable trade routes to the Capital. Deacon didn’t really understand the Wasteland affection for clothing items, but Dave would kill anyone who even tried to touch his beauty. He also wore a checkered jacket on top of a grey shirt and cargo trousers. Give the implication of place to store caps. He even had a pair of proper hiking boots. Traders walk a lot, so it seemed right for Dave. People recognised Dave in Diamond City, so he sticked with the outfit. These were Dave’s clothes.

So, for Sanctuary, Dave had hired twins who had promised to look after Betsy, his Brahmin, and his stock, but they took one potshot from a raider and the pair of them ran. Dave had to too, leaving behind Betsy, bleeding out, and everything he had to sell. Just another misfortune in Dave’s life.

He was following the road to Concord and then through to Sanctuary. Apparently power armour and the vault dweller had defeated one of the largest raider gangs in the Commonwealth there. The story also went that power armour was an avenging Angel, a spirit of the destroyed Minutemen. Deacon doubted that. He knew Wasteland symbols, and the one on their pauldron was not of the Minutemen. Dave, however? He wanted to meet the Angel himself. So did Deacon, even if for different reasons.

Deacon was honestly frustrated that his report back to HQ had caused him to lose sight of power armour and vault dweller. He’d been gone for 3 days. 3 days since the pair crawled out of that vault, and in those 3 days they had saved the last of both the Minutemen and Quincy, gotten a reputation amongst Commonwealth myth, and established a beacon, turning Sanctuary officially into a base for the Minutemen. Impressive work. Take that Des. He’d been right to monitor the Vault.

The air smelt rotten. The “Angel” certainly did a number on this place. He followed the path into the town, up to the Museum of Freedom, almost choking on the smell. It was like when a Wastelander started to cook a Brahmin, but got attacked, leaving the fire burning and the meat to be eaten by the flames, until the rain extinguished it, and bloatflies swarmed the flesh. Gross.
As for the scene in front of him? It looked like a massacre. Deacon didnt doubt that this was Power Armour. There was dust settled on the ground, but of those people, nothing else remained. It had settled into a fine layer over some parts of the street, shifting the colour to a fine grey. That, he imagined, had been the Minutemen. However many of them remained.
Most of the corpses, however, resembled a butcher’s block above all else. Body parts far away from their origins, clothing fused with their owners from the heat.
He just hoped that they’d be able to get the person who did this on their side. This… level of destruction wasn’t something easy to combat. Even Glory would get a run for her money here.
Two of the corpses were clearly Minutemen, by their laser muskets. Deacon wondered if there even was a Minuteman left. He wouldn’t mind if there wasn’t.

The most concerning bit was some of the slashes. The way the blade had bit into shoulders and legs resembled a courser, in that half feral state, when they lose their guns, but have no plans to give up. Muscle memory did last from being within the Institute. Could power armour be a courser without knowing it? Coursers could escape without the Railroad- well. There had been one, which they had found 10 years ago. “Found” being the wrong word. Some girl found him, and then proceeded to ignore the Railroad operative, and tell the man the truth. But, from what Victoria had reported, another courser, and an Institute Doctor, had been killed, rather brutally, by the same girl, wielding a super sledge. Or, of course. Power armour could be Institute. Would explain the lightning at the Vault, even though it was… different. He hoped not. Not that hope has ever helped him or the Railroad. Old habits die hard, he supposed.

He stopped observing the exposed bodies, and continued on the path to Sanctuary, passing a Red Rocket Station. Could be a good place to hold up and monitor Sanctuary? Monitoring would be a must. In case Power Armour was Institute- or, God forbid, a courser.

He twisted his face into a smile, and readjusted his sunglasses over his eyes. Deacon slipped behind the mask, becoming Dave in all but thought. Two turrets were pointing at him from the other side of the bridge into the settlement, and an angry looking lady was pointing a 10 millimetre pistol at him from a Woden guard post.
He raised his left hand to wave at her, receiving no response. Charming.
Deacon kept up Dave’s smile, and strolled along to where she was stood, “I sure could do with some sanctuary these days,” he grinned, hoping to put her at ease with some patented Dave-charm. She did not look convinced. Or appreciate his joke.

She spoke to him, surly, but the kind of surly that Deacon recognised. A barrier. “Business?”
“I’m Dave! Dave the Trader, ma’am,” he was chipper, making sure to be just on the annoying side, “Lost my Brahmin while working, guards these days, can’t trust them as far as-“
She cut him off, “Go on in. Speak to Preston. He’s a Minuteman.”
The pistol was lowered, ever so slightly, and Deacon made his way into the settlement.

It looked pretty much as one would expect. Pre war houses, some rubble, and some standing. There was a man with a quiff fixing a wall of a yellow house. Deacon owned a wig just like that guys hair.
He walked a bit further in, seeing the starts of a farm, with an older lady sat in a chair, dozing, while a younger man watered crops. It wasn’t anything out of the usual. He wondered if any of the people he’d seen were power armour. None of them were the Vault Dweller, he was sure of that.

The crops weren’t organised very well. The gourds were all squashed to close together, so any disease would absolutely annihilate them. Hopefully someone would fix that.

He heard someone walking up behind him, intentionally not turning around until the man introduced himself, “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen. How can I help you?” He sounded warm, and held his hand out for Deacon to shake. Deacon turned around, “Woah man!” He took Garvey’s hand and shook it far more forcefully than he usually would, “I’m Dave. Trader Dave. The lady at the gate- she’s a bit scary, ain’t she? She told me to speak to a Preston,” Deacon forced fake shock into his voice, “wait a minute! That’s you!! Brilliant.”
“Welcome to Sanctuary Dave. Are you here to trade, settle, or just a visitor?” Garvey asked kindly.
“Well. I would be trading, but… it’s a long story,” the sorrow in his voice sounded fake.
But still, Garvey’s eyes widened in sympathy, and he inquired as to what had happened.

So, Deacon told Dave’s tale. Years of untrustworthy guards, dying Brahmin and lost stock- raiding only having gotten worse since the Minutemen lost the Castle, of course. Then about his new guards, hired guns he thought he could trust, and they had a good run of it. Until the pair of them freaked at the first sight of danger, and he lost everything. Again.

Deacon finished his tale with a long suffering sigh.
Garvey had seemed genuinely interested in Dave’s woe, “The Minutemen are back now, so hopefully we’ll be able to end some of your issues. If you wish to stay, we only ask that you help with the crops or guarding Sanctuary.”
“Oh, thanks for the offer man!” Deacon switched on Dave’s disarming grin, “Say- you don’t have the Angel of the Minutemen here, do ya? Just that I’m sure that would give me good luck for my next time trading. And I’d definitely be able to cut y’all some better prices.”

Garvey looked unsure as to how to respond to Deacon, but before he could, a young woman with bright and ginger hair, wearing a prewar green polka dress, with eyes to match it called his name, lightly jogging towards them, “Preston!” She was beaming widely.
Garvey turned to face her, briefly apologising to Deacon before smiling at the woman, who Deacon was pretty convinced was his vault dweller. Mostly because nobody in the Commonwealth had that good teeth outside of Diamond City. And he definitely hadn’t seen her in the city. Also, the very recognisable hair and eyes.

“Preston! The folks up at Tenpines are happy to join up with the Minutemen! Silvia and Dogmeat went and took care of their Raider problem while they taught me how to grow tatoes- and they said that there was a detective in Diamond City!” She stressed the word detective, as if it was the most important word ever, “Silvia is checking the Vault for anything we could’ve missed, and the pair of us are going to go to Diamond City- with Dogmeat, of course.”
Dogmeat was a weird name for a dog. Deacon presumed that Dogmeat was a dog. It would be a weirder name for a person.
Garvey responded to the excited Vault Dweller, “Judy! That’s brilliant news. If you’d like, I can accompany you. The best way to spread news that the Minutemen are back is to go and help them. After all, I’ve got radio contact to Sturges, so if anyone does need our help, he can let us know.”
Judy’s eyes sparkled, “If you don’t mind? I know that you’re very busy with the Minutemen and everything.”
Preston’s responded kindly, “Judy. Without you and Silvia, we wouldn’t even have the Minutemen. Helping you is the best way to help the Commonwealth,” his voice turned a bit despondent, “and maybe to sort out a General…”

Judy. And Silvia. The Vault Dweller and Power Armour. Good recon Deacon. And, if they’re headed to Diamond City, it would make sense for Gregor the Guard to be waiting there for them. To guard them, of course.
Now. Silvia was mentioned to be checking out something in the Vault. Speaking of, why would they even want a detective? Nick Valentine, he presumed. He was a good man, one of the few outside the Railroad who knew Deacon-Deacon. He wasn’t quite a tourist, but still an ally. However, what could someone fresh out of the Vault want with a detective. Unless Silvia wanted one? That didn’t add up. Judy was excited, and not the kind one is for a friend. Judy wanted the detective. That would probably end up being a problem for Gregor. Now, Dave had to extricate him from this conversation, one of his specialities. He did have a dead drop to check up on.

Deacon coughed lowly, and affected Dave’s grin, accompanied by a slight slouch, “Mr Garvey! I’ve just realised that I’ve gotta dash- my new Brahmin should be ready. I’ll come along when I’ve got a good stock going.” He did a mock salute, and began walking away, half-heartedly listening in to Preston’s own goodbyes, and promises that the Minutemen will make it better. Fat chance of that. Deacon had to restrain himself from scoffing.

When he was out of the settlement, he started making his way to the dead drop, running over the information Dave had just gathered in his mind.
Minutemen: back, not at full strength but had at least 2 settlements to their name. Lacked a General or leading figure, Garvey seemed to be the only one who made it out of Quincy.
Vault Dweller: named Judy. Looking for a detective, and on her way to Diamond City to find one, accompanied by Garvey, which meant that Sanctuary was believed to be safe. Deacon felt fairly inclined to agree, what with the isolated position and turrets.
Power Armour: almost definitely the Silvia he’d heard mentioned. Seemingly capable of dealing with large raider groups with only a dog for assistance- that reminds him. Find out if Dogmeat is an actual dog. So, presumably the mess at Concord had been her doing. If so, she was dangerous. Could be an asset, could be a threat. Concord was a bloody mess of burnt corpses, including one of a Deathclaw. While being anti-raider was a pro, it didn’t exactly make someone synth-friendly.
Addendum: Judy seemed pretty naive, presumably genuinely fresh from the Vault, which power armour- maybe Silvia- definitely was not.
Plan: collect the dead drop. Return to base. Become Gregor. Head to Diamond City. Talk to Nick. Find out why they want him. Find out what they think of synths.

Chapter Text

They were going to Diamond City. Silvia felt that it was a good place to start. Heading to cities and towns to find people? Seems to be a repeated occurrence in her life. Still. They were glad that Garvey was coming along. Judy wasn’t exactly proficient in combat, nor had she actually killed anything bigger than a bloatfly. Although, Silvia had killed a bloatfly larger than a deathclaw once. Garvey had quite a lot of questions, but the instant Judy revealed the missing son, and cryogenic freezing, Silvia’s lie that she was just from a town down South with some restored technology was a lot less interesting. And, it wasn’t a lie. She was from South of here, and they did have a lot of technology. She just hadn’t been there for 10 years. And she wasn’t actually allowed back.
Well, at least no one from the Capital will be coming up to the Commonwealth. It seems to be a worse place to live. That was a miracle in and of itself.

She sighed. They probably would freak out if she wore power armour into the City. They didn’t like it in Vegas very much. Maybe she’d have to ask Garvey. Judy was speaking to Sturges, who was giving her some Wasteland pointers, so Garvey should be free.

She picked up her bag, and slinging it over her shoulder, they left the slightly ruined house that she’d been using for quiet. The vault was… it made their skin crawl. Judy didn’t like it much either, and the technological exploration could be put on hold for finding Shaun, and exactly what is going on in the Commonwealth. Maybe they have their own Followers style group? She wouldn’t bet on it. It felt more like the Capital here, rather than Vegas.

Their power armour was like a second skin. Ever since she’d gotten it from that simulation, it had been her shell. they took it off in safe spaces. But here wasn’t exactly safe. Still. Time to ask Garvey.

She wandered through the ruined street, keeping an eye out for Garvey. Garvey seemed good. He was idealistic, naive, and a touch too optimistic for Silvia’s tastes. However, that honestly got some plus points. Optimism tended to beat pessimism. At least when she had her say. And she normally did. If she were 19, they would probably have stuck like a barnacle to a mirelurk shell to Garvey. Better for the both of them that she isn’t then.

Speaking of Garvey, there he was. She walked over close to him, “Garvey,” they paused, waiting for him to turn around to face her, “do you know the policies on power armour in Diamond City?”
He looked a bit shocked, “Damn. I don’t think that the Mayor would like it.”
She nodded. Fine. She’d dress up nicely… underneath the armour. There should be a place where they could take the power armour off outside of the City, and put it into the bag.
Garvey looked at her, as if he was expecting a response, “We’ll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Raiders prefer to attack at night, and so do most Wasteland creatures.”
Logical. Good.

Time to see if she could get a message send over to Big MT. If not, they’d want a sniper to watch their back. She feels pretty exposed without Boone’s protection. They hoped that he’d managed to deal with the returning Legion remnants. She felt bad leaving him, but Project Vault 111 had been time sensitive. She was also annoyed. Annoyed at missing taking out the Legion, mostly. How Inculta was still alive was a damned miracle. They’d killed at least 10 men claiming to be him in the past 6 years.

Anyway. Messaging Big MT. The pipboy tended to react better to being higher up, due to a lack of interference. Probably would have to lose the power armour then. It’s not exactly easy to climb in. She returned to the house she’d claimed, and extracted themself from the suit, soothed by the whirs and clicks made by the servos. She used the black pipboy screen as a mirror, checking that her hijab was securely positioned. It was a good shade of cornflower blue, but they’d want to buy a few more in Diamond City, seeing as finding a missing child wasn’t exactly a simple or quick task, and she only had 2 with her.
She pulled her lab coat out of her handbag. That was something they regretted only having one of. It slipped on easily, and she made her way back out, checking to see which house was tallest.

It was a yellow one. The chimney had remained mostly intact, so they would be able to get pretty high. So long as it stayed as stable as it looked.
She could hear Boone in her ear, remarking about how he liked a vantage point, but was she serious? She always was.

Thankfully, the nuclear war had been on her side for this one. Most of the painted walls had crumbled away, replaced by a metal frame. She reached the gloved pipboy hand to the frame, pulling at it. The thing didn’t budge. Good.
It was a pretty quick trip to the top. Step left there, right here, etcetera. They’d amassed a small crowd of farmers, however. Really. She didn’t exactly think climbing buildings was that interesting. Sturges did it practically all the time, honestly.

She sat on the chimney, grimacing at the thin layer of dust and grime. Getting some cleaner would be important. Probably have to be prewar Abraxo, based off of what Commonwealth Development was like. She sighed. That stuff was just not effective enough, unless it was from a Vault.

That was a good idea, actually. She’d read about a Vault 81, and another one which they couldn’t remember being in the area. Could be a good site to visit. She should have brought some students on this trip.

They waved their arm in the air, trying to connect to BigMT.ext. The pipboy eventually clicked, and a tinny voice spoke through the speakers, “Doctor Ayad?”
She sighed. They would need to go over radio security again.
“This is Wandering Cat, Wandering Cat, Wanderng Cat. Do you copy? Over.”
“Oh- Wandering Cat, Wandering Cat, Wandering Cat, this is Empty House, Empty House Empty House. We copy. Over.” The person on the other end of the call sounded flustered. Probably a student doing experience.

“I’ve already uploaded some files to you Empty House, have you got them? Over.” Silvia wished that she could just radio 8 or something. Better for security too.
“Uhhhhh” the insecure voice echoed through the radio.
Silvia sighed, “Right. I’ll radio this time tomorrow. Have 8, Gannon, or Veronica answer. Over.”
“Sure can do Doctor Ay-Wandering Cat. Out.”

Silvia scoffed. What a waste of time. No point in trying to convey her information to someone who doesn’t actually know radio etiquette. It’s just a security breach at this point.

They lowered themself down from the chimney, and gracefully climbed back down the wall. Until they were about 6 feet from the ground, when she jumped, landing neatly on the hard ground. She permitted herself a quick grin. Jumping was always good fun.

Anyway. She should go check that Judy is prepared for the journey to Diamond City. She could probably do with some more Wasteland survival training. Maybe Garvey would be willing to help. He knows the Commonwealth better than she does, by any measure one could think of. Aside from Vault 111 she supposed. The only people who knew that place better than her were the long dead Vault-Tec scientists.

Chapter Text

Ellie wasn’t worried. She wasn’t! Nick would be fine. It wasn’t like he had been gone for too long. It had only been… 2 weeks? He’d been away for longer. He was probably just distracted on his case. Reminiscing about old times with that mob boss. Or something. He definitely wasn’t captured or dying or dead and she hasn’t done anything to help.
She could feel her heart beating faster. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Like Nick always said.

Nick. Right. She better go through the case files again. Sort out the system. See if there’s anyone she can help. Check in with Piper to see if Nick spoke to her recently. Or if there’s new news.

She took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
“Okay. Nick will be back. Worrying won’t make him hurry up,” the words were tumbling out of her, “time for a cup of coffee and some filing.”

She switched on the hot plate, placing the kettle on top. Now, time to scoop the coffee into her mug, ‘World’s greatest secretary’. It used to say ‘World’s greatest Dad’, she was pretty sure. This current coffee was actually pretty good. Myrna may be a synth hater and bigot, but she had some great coffee in stock… That probably isn’t the best way to think about people. Nick would say something profound about that. Probably.

Nick, again. She has got to stop thinking about him. He’s fine. She has files to organise, maybe some interviews to conduct. Piper to converse with. More coffee to get. Myrna makes it herself, but Ellie swears it’s completely different each time. She’s pretty sure that Myrna just orders random plants from traders and grounds them up.

Preeeeeeeeek

The whistle of the kettle cut off her thoughts, and she prepared her mug of coffee. She took it with her to the desk. Technically Nick’s desk, but he hated sorting out files, preferring to be out investigating. That’s better for her. He does pay her to do the files after all. Although she’s pretty sure that even if Nick loved filing, he would still pay her. Not a risk she was willing to take though.

Seated at the desk, she took a sip from her mug, and pulled out the top set of files.
‘The Golden Grasshopper’. Nick must just be taking jokes at this point. Some old world relic that Nick had been asked to locate. They’d paid a deposit of 50 caps, and would give a further 200 if Nick located the Grasshopper, plus any additional hazard pay. Unfortunately, there weren’t any leads. It was the newest case, aside from the one Nick was currently on. He prioritised cases about the living over relic hunting. That was one of the things that made her happiest to work for him.

It had been a case that had led her to meeting him, anyway. Although she was the suspect, rather than the-

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Ellie jumped out of her seat. Visitor. Piper, maybe? She looked at her watch- another gift from Nick- no, she wasn’t late. But then again, maybe Piper was early. The journalist had a habit of thinking more about her own timings than others.

Anyway. She stood up, and opened the door, “Pi-“ she cut herself off. That wasn’t Piper. A sepia brown skinned woman was staring at her, a blue headscarf wrapped around her head and umber eyes piercing into Ellie. She was wearing a long flowing blue dress, with a lab coat on top. Behind her stood a woman with bright orange hair, glowing like the rising sun, and pale freckled skin, wearing a leather jacket and amber polka dot dress. She had an uneasy grin, and a rich brown skinned hand on her shoulder, comforting, rather than forcing.

The woman in blue spoke to her, “Are you Detective Valentine?”
Ellie, frankly, hadn’t been expecting 2 well dressed women- and presumably a third person, who she couldn’t see. Now wasn’t the time for expectations, “Me? No, I'm Nick's secretary. Handle his appointments, his papers, that sort of thing,” she paused, “…Well, that's what I used to do anyway, but now Nick's disappeared, and I can't keep a detective agency open without a detective.”

The pale woman looked heartbroken. Her smile fell, and she looked past Ellie into the Agency, as if a Detective would materialise. Her companion spoke, “Right. I’m Doctor Ayad, this is Ms Lir, and behind us is Mr Garvey.” The hand that had been on Lir’s shoulder waved at her, and the Doctor continued, “We will find him. Where was he last seen?”

They’ll look for him? Ellie couldn’t stop herself smiling slightly. She smoothed her hands on her pink dress, and answered the question, “He disappeared working a case. Skinny Malone's gang had kidnapped a young woman, and he tracked them down to their hideout in Park Street Station.”
The Doctor lifted her pipboy, followed by Lir. They seemed to be waiting for her to continue, so she did, “There's an old Vault down there they use as a base. I told Nick he was walking into a trap,” she could feel the bitterness seeping into her words, “but he just smiled and walked out the door like he always does.”

“More vaults?” Lir exclaimed, “I was getting pretty fed up with Vault Tech.”
Dr Ayad nodded her agreement, and the third member of their party- Garvey, she was pretty sure- finally spoke, “Valentine- he’s normally wearing that trench coat, right? I think I’ve seen him around before.”
“Yes! He should be easy to spot. He's always wearing that old hat and trench coat getup. Please, hurry!” She felt reassured knowing at least one of this party had seen Nick before, considering that the women had believed her to be him.

The three of them turned into each other, whispering and pointing at the Doctor’s pipboy. Ellie noticed that both women had them, but Garvey didn’t. That would explain how they didn’t know who Nick was, as well.

The Doctor turned back to her, and tilted her pipboy towards Ellie,“Could you check the placement of Park Street Station?”
Ellie squinted at the screen, “Yep! That’s spot on. Please, hurry and find Nick. We’ve got cases piling up, and I’m not exactly a detective who can run across Boston to find him.”
“Don’t worry Ma’am. We will try our hardest to find Detective Valentine, and will return as soon as we can,” Garvey smiled at her, and only then did she notice his Minuteman hat, “the Commonwealth Minutemen are always here to help.”

That. That was its own can of worms. Ellie was pretty convinced that the Minutemen had all died or left at Quincy? If they are back, it’s probably for the best. They’d been pretty instrumental to the safety of Diamond City before she was born. Well. She’s just glad that more people other than Nick are willing to help out.
“If I’m not here, please just ask for Ellie Perkins! Thank you so much, and please do come back as soon as you know,” she felt her excitement at their promised aid fall, “even if it’s bad news.” Ellie did have to admit. She was worried. She wasn’t expecting to hear anything, not when the Triggermen were involved.

Garvey, the Minuteman, tipped his hat to her, and the trio left, having never even stepped into Nick’s Office.

Chapter Text

Preston was glad that they were going to help Valentine. He had only heard good things about the Detective, and the Triggermen had been becoming more of a threat in recent years. Seemed like everything had been becoming a bigger threat recently.

The instant they had left Diamond City, Silvia had gotten back into her power armour. It was impressive, the way she was just wearing a dress- an abaya, she’d called it- underneath. But then again, he hadn’t worn a suit since he first got trained, back when he was 17. Silvia seemed more comfortable in it than any Minuteman he had ever seen. Although, she had agreed to be a Minuteman. So he should update his metrics probably.

The three were progressing fairly quickly. Silvia was leading the way, following their pipboy map. Judy was behind her, looking wide eyed at the destroyed city. Preston was bringing up the rear. “Doctor. Does the route we are taking go through the Common?”

Silvia halted and stared at her pipboy. And twisted a dial. And stared at it. Then, she turned back to Preston, “I don’t know this area too well. Could you check?”
She showed him the pipboy, still on her arm. The power armour she wore, he noted, was modified, to miss a hand for the pipboy glove. Similarly, the other hand had been modded to look thicker? More defended? Probably for the fire sword.

He took a look at the map. The route headed straight through the Common. He cleared his throat, “damn. I advise that we don’t go through the Common. Swan lives there.”
“You guys have swans! I love swans. I’m glad they survived.” Judy piped up, smiling. He was glad she was smiling properly. She’d had an uneasy grimace plastered onto her face since they arrived in Diamond City.

Unfortunately, Preston was pretty sure that swans were not around any more. The crows seemed to be the only birds, “I don’t think that swans made it. Swan is a monster. Some people call him a mutant, others a giant.”
Silvia turned her armoured head to him, “Oh! A super mutant behemoth?” She sounded happier than Preston had ever heard her, “Does he hurt people or just stand in the Common?”
Preston winced, “People avoid the Common because of the corpses, mostly. And the fact that they don’t want to become one, Doctor.”
Silvia sighed, “How far out from the Common are we? If you provide cover fire, I can deal with Swan. I’ve killed behemoths before.”
“Doctor. Swan is possibly the most dangerous thing in the Commonwealth.”

There was a pause, and a hiss as Silvia removed her helmet, flashing him a wicked grin, “Not while I’m here.”

They were going to die. Preston was going to watch someone else die.
“I strongly advise against it Doctor.”
“I took down a behemoth when I was 19 and couldn’t shoot straight. Do not worry about me Garvey. Just keep Julia safe.”
He gritted his teeth. She still had that grin, one that resembled a pouncing dog more than a Doctor, “Very well.”
Her golden glasses glinted in the sunlight, before she put her helmet back on, hand on her sword- she had called it ‘Gehenna’ to him- and began to march to the Common. They reformed their line, and continued.

The group reached the edge of the Common thankfully undisturbed. It seemed that even the usual wasteland beasts were scared of Swan. Preston could feel how every hair on his arms had prickled, and he was finding himself regretting more and more that he wasn’t firmer about avoiding Swan.

“This is the Common.” He kept his sentence short, unsure of how well Swan could hear.
“Time to hunt, then.” Silvia responded, “You two wait here, and cover me. Just like bounty hunting.”
Bounty hunting? He nodded, and Judy gulped, before copying him.
“Good luck,” Julia murmured.

Silvia ignited her blade, and strode towards the common. Swan, a moth to the flame, stood with a roar. He towered over Silvia, and Preston was reminded of a story he had heard, David facing a Goliath.
Judy was whispering to herself, something to quiet for Preston to understand, but the way her hands clasped around the pistol resembled a fervent prayer.

Swan swung first, slamming his anchor into the ground where the sword had been hovering. Silvia simply stood her ground, cataloguing the monster.
A roar echoed through the air, “SWANN!”
Preston had felt nervous watching Silvia fight the deathclaw. This was about sixty times worse. Swan stood higher than many prewar buildings, and the broken boats he wore resembled shattered wings. A fallen Angel.

Swan bent down to grab a rock from the lakebed, and Preston took the shot, his bullet glancing harmlessly off of the beast’s tough skin. Still, it distracted him, as he dropped the rock, with a thundering splash, accompanied by flecks of water, some of which fizzed on Silvia’s sword.
Silvia nodded briefly in Preston’s direction and, with Swan off balance, used her sword to carve into the mutant’s shin.

Swan howled, and refocused his attention on the Doctor, standing only on one foot as he stared down.
He lunged the anchor downwards, and Preston watched in abject horror as it slammed into the ground mere inches from Silvia, who seemed to have simply sidestepped.

The anchor had gotten lodged in the grass, and as Swan went to pull it up, Silvia sliced the chain in half with Gehenna, the anchor abandoned in the mud. Swan went to slam the anchor down again, only then realising that it was missing its hook.
Preston fired another shot at the confused mutant, and his aim was true. It struck the beast in the shin where Silvia had, calling Swan to sway unsteadily.

As he swayed, the Doctor jabbed her blade once more into its leg, severing the bottom of Swan’s leg clean off.
The beast toppled with the roar, slamming its head into the edge of the lake.
Disoriented and dazed, it lunged a hand towards Silvia, but in its confused state missed, simply grasping at the air, as Silvia approached its neck.
The monster flailed another hand in her direction, but before the movement could be completed, Silvia severed Swan’s neck, the smell of burning, rotted flesh permeating the air.

She beckoned Preston and Judy over, head titled despondently down at the blood splattered on her armour.
Judy looked as if she was experiencing a strange mixture of horror and admiration. Preston really just felt… in awe. If Silvia had been there for the Minutemen? Damn, they probably wouldn’t have even lost at Quincy.

He smiled at her, “Onto the Vault now?”
“Ugh,” she looked at the grime, “how easy to manipulate would you say the Triggermen are?”
Preston blinked, “Easy to manipulate? I mean, they fell into a gang idealising prewar brutality. A lot of older ghouls though.”
At his words, Silvia took off her power armour, wrapping it into a large piece of fabric and shoving it all into their bag. Preston blinked in shock. Power armour was heavy. And yet, she just threw it over her shoulder as if it were a scrap of fabric.
Judy was staring at her curiously, “Why did you do that?”
“Blood is a pain to clean off,” she grimaced, “besides, no need to kill these Triggermen if not explicitly necessary.”

He appreciated that. Murder for the sake of murder was never good. If only Clint had thought that. He shuddered a bit, thinking of Quincy, and felt Judy’s warm hand on his arm, squeezing gently.
“Should we continue, then?”
Both women nodded to him, and the group disappeared into the subway of Vault 114, home to the Triggermen, and hopefully containing an alive detective.

Chapter Text

Deacon had watched them. The Angel of the Minutemen, the Last Minuteman, and a Vault Dweller. They progressed to Diamond City, stopping only to help some settlers at Oberland. Seemed that the Minutemen really were back, not just in the town of Sanctuary.

The trio- the three musketeers? Only the Minuteman used a musket though. He’d have to brainstorm. Anyway. The 3 of them had gone through the sewers of Boston, and popped up outside of Diamond City. Eugene the Guard had been there, of course. Piper, famed for her newspaper- ‘the synthetic truth’, how “spooky”- had been arguing outside the gate with Danny. Eugene was “guarding” from just outside, and watched as Piper tried to rope the newcomers into some scheme.

“Agh... You open this gate right now, Danny Sullivan! I live here. You can't just lock me out!” She sighed in frustration, and Deacon has to stop himself from laughing.
She opened her mouth to speak again- probably another whine- when she heard their arrival. The Angel of the Minutemen wasn’t in her power armour. Deacon didn’t like to be surprised, and this sure was one. She was short- shorter than both her companions- and had deep brown skin and eyes. She wore a long sleeved blue dress (Deacon was convinced that there was a word for it), a scarf around her head, and golden glasses. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, like the way she carried the Vaultie when he first saw them. They didn’t look like a Courser. Institute Coursers didn’t wear dresses, and they definitely weren’t that short. Could still be some new project. But, he could pretty securely rule out Courser-Institute, and Courser-Escaped from his possibilities list. Institute agent trained like them, however!

It was the crunching of the ground under the Vaultie’s feet that Deacon heard first, and what caused Piper to spin around.

She grinned and whispered, “Psst. You. You want into Diamond City, right?”
The Vault Dweller nodded excitedly, and the Minutemen did so, if more subdued.
The “Angel”- Silvia- he should probably use their names more, seeing as this project was still going on- ignored Piper, and went up to the intercom, “I am Doctor Ayad, I come from a town down to the South and have medical supplies and knowledge to exchange, if you allow myself and my companions to enter. If not, we will head to the other local town-“
She paused, and turned to the Minuteman- Garvey, who mouthed ‘Goodneighbour’.
“-the town of Goodneighbour.”

The gate groaned, but shunted open obediently, before Silvia even finished the word Goodneighbour. The sound grated against Deacon’s ears. It made him want to flinch, to crawl away. It was practically a beacon for all Wasteland nasties, and it was almost impossible to sneak in. He shuddered.

Piper had gasped, and followed them through the open gate, ignoring how the guard called out to her. Deacon crept in after, and he watched as the trio skilfully dodged both Mayor McDonough and Piper, even as she called out to them about her newspaper.
Luckily, the two residents quickly got wrapped up in an argument of their own. Something about missing persons.

‘Eugene’ made his way through Diamond City, leaning on walls and chatting with shopkeepers. Just a normal day as a security guard. Nothing odd here not at all.

He “looked” at a pile of energy pistols when Garvey approached Arturo, "Protection for sale! Hand-tooled pieces! Don't walk outside the Wall undefended! High quality protection for sale”.
“Good day. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen,” the Minuteman held his hand out to shake, “we were wondering if you could help us locate a detective?”
“Minuteman, ey?” Arturo chuckled, shaking Garvey’s hand, “I thought you’d all gone.”
“We’re making something of a comeback.” Garvey smiled, but it wasn’t one Deacon recognised. More brittle.
“Detective Valentine lives round the back. Follow the neon signs!”
“Thank you,” Garvey tipped his hat, and walked out of the shop, reuniting with his companions.

‘Eugene’ made his way to go check out the growing crops, conveniently near to the Detective’s shop. What a stroke of luck. They had introduced themselves to the Detective’s assistant- an Ellie Perkins- and sworn to track down the missing Valentine. Which was concerning, since the man was a synth.

They were an easy enough group to follow. Garvey seemed focused on helping out the Vault Dweller, and Silvia was staring constantly at what must be a pip-boy on her wrist. Maps seemed like a safe guess. Not that Deacon liked any form of guessing. Well. He was partial to a game of charades.

The destruction of Swan was definitely an interesting one to watch. It was easy enough to hole up in a building nearby, but it didn’t stop his heart from racing like a radstag upon hearing a gunshot.
It would make the Freedom Trail easier. He could see why they called her an angel. The flaming sword slicing through murky green certainly invoked the imagery of saints and prophets.

He lost them when they entered the Vault. The Minuteman took his hat off, and Judy smoothed down her skirt. Silvia was wearing her blue dress, bag bulked up by power armour. They looked like a fairly standard group of folks from the upper stands in Diamond City.
If he wasn’t convinced that he would pass away in that Vault, leaving a corpse riddled with .45 rounds, he would follow them in.

As it was, he wasn’t entirely sure what made them believe that they could survive this. Maybe she legitimately was an angel. Or some Institute creation that was immortal.
But if so- why would she wear the power armour?
He sighed internally. This Vault project was becoming bigger than he had foreseen.

Time to head back to base.
Or. Or he could find the other entrance to this vault, and see if they pop out of there.

His mental Dez was begging him to not. However. Real Dez will love it if this project comes to fruition.
If they’re an Institute study? Interesting enough. If they’re an asset? Much better.