Sarah – POV
The roar hit like a detonation—low, primal, and wrong. The asphalt behind the diner buckled again, erupting in a geyser of dirt and fractured concrete. From the hole, a shape surged—towering, feral, furious.
Deathclaw.
Its hide was blackened and cracked, laced with radiation scars and twisted muscle. Its eyes—embers set in a skull of jagged bone—locked on Team 404.
ISAC (urgent): "Category: Deathclaw. Mutation level—advanced. Caution: extreme threat."
Nate didn't hesitate. The minigun screamed as he charged, shredding the air with slugs that hammered the creature's plated chest. Blood sprayed—but the beast didn't stop. It met him head-on.
The collision sounded like a car crash. The Deathclaw slammed into him, claws screeching over the T-45's armor. Nate staggered, crashing into a wrecked truck. The minigun jammed mid-spin—barrel bent, feed torn.
UMP45 (tense): "He's down—minigun's out!"
HK416: "Target moving. Evasive pattern—now!"
404 tightened formation instantly. UMP9 flanked right, suppressing with short bursts. UMP45 strafed left, flashbang out, bursts to the flank. HK416 dropped to a knee, tracking fast and high.
But it wasn't enough.
The Deathclaw tore through a parked car like paper, swiping hard—almost catching 9 mid-dive. Pavement cracked beneath its charge.
Sarah (on comms): "Keep it away from Nate! G11—where the hell is—"
She stopped cold.
G11 was asleep.Curled under a sandbag pile beside Red Rocket's perch, headset askew, rifle nestled like a teddy bear. Mouth open. Light snore. Dreaming.
Sarah (furious): "You gotta be kidding me."
She grabbed the nearest thing—a dented bottle of Nuka-Cola Quantum—and kicked the cap off.
Sarah: "Wake up, you lazy doll."
She threw it.
It struck G11 square in the gut. She bolted upright mid-snore, eyes wide, body twitching like she'd been rebooted with a taser.
G11 (slurred): "Wha—Quantum... overdose... system reboot... Awoooh—!"
She snapped upright, HUD flaring, rifle spinning into her hands like a waking gunslinger.
Sarah (dry): "Field drop in three. Two. One."
She shoved.
G11 flew over the sandbags, landed in a crouch—and opened fire mid-slide.
Her burst fire shredded the Deathclaw's forelimb, breaking its momentum. HK416 and UMP45 took the opening, bullets driving into exposed sinew. 9 dropped a shock mine under its heel.
The Deathclaw howled—and Nate returned.
He charged, unarmed but unrelenting, and tackled the beast like a tank. They grappled—armor grinding against claws, dirt flying. This time, 404 didn't miss the window.
UMP45: "Party's over!"
G11's bursts tore bone. HK416's shot cracked through the skull. 9's thermite lit the wound.
The Deathclaw collapsed with a bone-shaking thud.
Blood and ash pooled beneath its broken form. Then—silence.
A groan of hinges broke it. The Museum of Freedom's doors creaked open. Figures stepped into the sunlight, squinting at the wreckage and corpses.
Preston Garvey led them, laser musket on his back. Mama Murphy leaned on Sturges. The Longs followed behind, wide-eyed.
Preston (stunned): "That... was the loudest welcome we've ever had."
Sarah (relieved): "Quincy survivors confirmed. Preston Garvey. Mama Murphy. Sturges. Long family—all alive."
Dogmeat limped to Nate's side and laid his head on the battered armor's shin.
HK416 (softly): "Took you long enough."
G11, half-conscious, collapsed across the Deathclaw's corpse like a couch.
G11: "Wake me when Concord's fixed…"
UMP45: "Not until you earn a pillow."
Sarah looked to the sky, ISAC's drone still circling.
ISAC (quiet): "No additional threats. For now."
But beneath Concord's fractured surface... something still stirred.
One Hour Later
Concord was quiet. Fires extinguished. Bodies removed. The sun dipped westward, casting the ruined town in rust and shadow.
Inside the Red Rocket garage—now a repurposed command post—Team 404 regrouped. Monitors flickered. Radios buzzed. A tattered American flag fluttered gently from a ceiling beam.
Nate sat against a workbench, helmet off, face streaked with soot and sweat. Dogmeat lay beside him, bandaged and breathing easy.
Sarah stood by the holotable, eyes scanning ISAC's projected terrain map.
Sarah: "Garvey and the others are stabilizing the museum. We'll hold perimeter support until they're secure."
HK416 stood at a shattered window, cleaning her rifle.
HK416: "That Deathclaw wasn't wild. It was sent."
UMP9 nodded from the corner, crouched by a charging station.
UMP9: "It hunted. Not just attacked. Like it was following something."
UMP45 (dryly): "Great. So, bets on what's under us—Rogue Institute pets? Vault experiment? Alien zoo?"
Nobody laughed.
G11 snored nearby, sprawled across three chairs like royalty. A half-drained bottle of Quantum bubbled beside her.
HK416 (flat): "She earned the nap. Barely."
Sarah finally turned to Nate.
Sarah: "You charged that thing head-on. No backup. No heavy weapon. Why?"
Nate looked up, quiet but sure.
Nate: "Because no one else was going to."
A beat.
Sarah: "Your armor's wrecked. Weapon's junk. You're lucky you lived."
Nate: "Luck died the day the bombs fell. Everything after that is a choice."
Silence.
Then ISAC chimed in, uninvited but always listening.
ISAC: "Subsurface anomaly persists. Seismic readings stable, but inconsistent. Recommendation: investigate Concord underground infrastructure."
Sarah groaned softly.
Sarah: "Because we can't have one goddamn win without a mystery attached."
She turned to her squad.
Sarah: "Four hours. Rest, resupply, prep for breach."
HK416: "Joy."
UMP45 (grinning): "Think they've got Deathclaw-sized rats down there?"
G11 (muffled): "Tell them to bring snacks..."
Sarah allowed herself the faintest smile.
Outside, Concord began to breathe again. Civilians cleared rubble. Children peeked around broken walls. And in the shattered diner behind them, the cracked asphalt pulsed once.
A faint tremor.
Unseen.
Unheard.
ISAC (softly): "Anomaly remains active."