The Boston Airport's command room was stripped bare of ornament. Exposed steel girders and the hum of arc lamps gave the chamber a severe, almost suffocating atmosphere. Elder Maxson stood at the head of the long table, his greatcoat draped like a banner of iron. Lancer Captain Kells lingered at his side, silent and attentive.
Sarah entered with Nate and Piper in tow, AR Team posted outside. She unbuckled her holster but kept her sidearm in plain view — a gesture of discipline, not submission. Nate followed, jaw tight. Piper's pen was already twitching against her notepad.
Maxson's voice broke the silence. "You asked for this audience. Now speak. What game are you playing in the Commonwealth, Sierra?"
Sarah leaned forward, both palms on the table. Her tone was razor-flat. "No game. Just results."
She keyed her wrist-radio. A burst of encrypted static hissed through the chamber before resolving into a calm, accented voice.Zao: "This is Captain Zao of the Yangtze. Payload launched. May fortune favor your cause. Ah....我终于可以回家了 (I'm finally going home)"
The room rattled faintly, as if in response. Somewhere across the harbor, the horizon flared — a distant thunder blooming upward, stark against the sky.
Nate's chair scraped back. "What the hell was that?"
Sarah didn't flinch. "Hydrogen warhead. Target: Spectacle Island. That Queen you drove out of the Castle is nothing but ash now."
Even Captain Kells's composure cracked. Maxson's eyes burned, but his words were measured. "You… arranged a nuclear strike. And you dare stand here as if that's a mere footnote."
Sarah reached into her satchel and placed a sealed bundle on the table — aged manifests, submarine schematics, coded logs. "The Yangtze carried only one operational payload. It's spent. What remains are documents, blueprints, and ammunition logs. Old world relics — now yours."
Piper's pen stopped cold. Her gaze darted between Sarah and the Elder, disbelief etched across her face.
Nate rose to his feet, anger flaring. "You risked the Commonwealth, and you think handing over Chinese war plans makes it right? You owe me an answer, Sarah. Why?"
She met his fury with calm steel. "Because the Yangtze is done. Its last breath fired in our favor. But Zao isn't just drifting back into the ocean — he's heading east, to clear what remains of the Enclave on their oil platform. The Brotherhood gets the documents. The Minutemen get a secure flank. And the Commonwealth gets rid of another hidden blade at its throat."
Lancer Captain Kells's jaw tightened, torn between duty and disbelief. Maxson's hand closed over the files, knuckles pale, as though anchoring himself to the table.
"Elder," Sarah continued, voice low, deliberate, "you asked for proof that I deal in more than whispers. There it is. One less monster. One less enemy. But this—" she tapped the folder, "—is your part. Your men, your record. As far as the world is concerned, the Brotherhood struck Spectacle Island."
The silence after her words was suffocating. Even Piper couldn't bring herself to scratch a note.
Finally, Maxson spoke, each syllable like a hammerfall. "You are playing with forces that could damn us all, Sierra. But… perhaps you've also bought us breathing room." He glanced at Nate. "General, I trust you see the weight of her bargains now."
Nate exhaled sharply, torn between fury and awe. "I see a woman who deals in shadows. And I see we don't get to choose her timing."
Sarah only folded her arms, letting the silence press on Maxson and Nate both. "I didn't come here for approval. I came to make sure we're not stepping on each other while we burn the real enemies."
Maxson's fist came down on the table, rattling the old manifests. His voice was sharp, clipped. Maxson: "Then I want custody of this 'Captain Zao.' If he's capable of commanding a nuclear submarine and launching a warhead, he is a strategic asset — one the Brotherhood cannot allow to slip away."
Sarah's eyes hardened. She didn't raise her voice; she didn't need to.Sarah: "That won't happen. Zao's no asset — he's a relic who's chosen peace. His reactor was on the edge of meltdown when I found him. I helped patch it just enough for a single voyage home. That submarine has no second strike, no return. One way trip, Elder. A dying sailor's last request."
The air between them vibrated with tension. Piper's brow furrowed, pen hovering like a dagger waiting to fall. Nate's fists clenched, watching for cracks in Sarah's composure.
Maxson leaned forward, eyes like iron. Maxson: "You gave away a weapon that could've served in the war against the Institute. You stripped us of a resource without so much as consultation. You expect me to call that loyalty?"
Sarah tilted her head, meeting him without blinking.
Sarah: "No. I expect you to call it foresight. Zao's war ended two centuries ago. What you've gained is knowledge, proof, and freedom of movement. And right now, Elder, you need to understand the real danger isn't across the sea. It's beneath our feet."
Maxson narrowed his eyes. "Go on."
Sarah turned to Nate, a subtle nod urging him forward. He reluctantly stepped up.
Nate: "At Fort Hagen, Kellogg didn't just vanish — he was pulled out. Teleported. The Institute moves through walls, through lines, through any barricade he desire. They can strike wherever they want, whenever they want."
The words landed heavy. Lancer Captain Kells stiffened at the revelation, lips parting as though to argue, but the weight of Nate's conviction silenced him.
Sarah continued, her voice measured but firm.
Sarah: "If you want to stop the Institute, it won't be with submarines, or with fortresses, or with scorched earth. It'll be by unraveling their trick — their teleportation. Nate's heading toward the Glowing Sea. What lies out there might give us the means to track them, maybe even corner them."
Maxson folded his arms, gaze locked between the two. Maxson: "So. You bury a nuclear strike under the rug, deny me control of a foreign commander, and then you expect me to place faith in ghost stories and irradiated wastelands."
Sarah's lips curved into the faintest, coldest smile.Sarah: "Not faith, Elder. Evidence. Nate saw it. I corroborated it. You can keep chasing relics, or you can focus on the one enemy who's already inside your walls."
For the first time since the meeting began, Maxson's stern composure cracked into thoughtfulness. He said nothing more, but his hand slid the Yangtze documents closer to him, as though gripping the future he still understood.
Piper's Perspective
The war room emptied in fragments — Maxson striding off like he'd swallowed glass, Lancer Captain Kells a shadow at his side, Nate silent and brooding. Sarah lingered, calm as stone in the storm.
I stayed, notebook balanced on my knee.PLA sub, hydrogen warhead, one commander rewriting the battlefield with a single call…That's headline ink. That's the kind of story that rattles every foundation in the Commonwealth.
I started to write. Then Sarah looked at me.
Her smile was small, almost friendly. Almost.
Sarah (light, conversational):"Piper, maybe don't frame it as my call. Credit it to the Brotherhood instead. The Prydwen launches a strike, Spectacle Island cleansed, glory to the big blimp in the sky."
She chuckled softly, like she was suggesting a headline tweak, nothing more. But her eyes… her eyes didn't laugh. They pinned me to the chair. Cold steel beneath the velvet tone.
Sarah (still smiling):"People will sleep easier believing in that version. You don't want settlers thinking there's another 'nuclear trigger finger' wandering around, do you?"
I bit my lip, pen hovering over the page.Truth is my currency. But survival… survival trumps all.
In the end, I scribbled in shorthand: Prydwen command launches warhead on Spectacle Island — decisive blow, BOS tech hailed.Not a lie. Not the whole truth, either.
As I closed my notebook, Sarah gave me that small, knowing nod. The kind you hate from someone who's already two steps ahead.
Aboard the Prydwen – Elder's Quarters
The door shut behind Danse, leaving only Elder Maxson and Lancer-Captain Kells in the war room. The glow of the holotable bathed their faces in pale blue. For once, Maxson wasn't standing tall — he leaned on the console, one fist clenched tight.
Maxson (gravelled, to himself):"She's changed from previous meeting. That wasn't the same Sierra-45 I met as a boy under Lyons. She negotiates like a hammer now — every word calculated, every angle pushed. More forceful than even my sister remembered her."
He rubbed his temple, eyes narrowing.
Maxson (low, troubled):"Was it because of the White House Militia? The order to fold them under My banner… the way we broke them apart. Did we really make her into this?"
Kells cleared his throat, sliding a stack of printed schematics and translated logs onto the table.
Kells (measured):"We've started verifying the Yangtze manifests she provided. The cross-checks against our own archive — including the scraps we pulled from the DIA archives — match too closely to be fabrication. Dates, payload counts, even decommission tags. The submarine carried exactly close what she claimed."
Maxson's eyes flicked down at the paper, scanning the meticulous notations of pre-war armaments. He exhaled slowly.
Maxson (gritted):"So it's true. She had the leverage all along. She used it, then cut off the trail before we could even question further."
Kells looked up.
Kells:"With respect, Elder — she negotiates like someone who knows she'll only get one chance to make her case. If she were still Division, then perhaps… it's survival reflex."
Maxson turned sharply, cloak flaring.
Maxson (cold):"No. It's more than that. Sierra-45 speaks like someone who's lived too long watching good men die for nothing. She doesn't bend anymore. She forces thru it to preserve what remain."
For a moment, silence stretched. The distant hum of the Prydwen's engines filled the space.
Then Maxson straightened, steel returning to his voice.
Maxson:"Keep cataloging everything from those Yangtze files. I want Teagan, Quinlan, and Ingram on rotation. If she thinks she can bury her tracks, we'll find what she left behind."
Kells nodded stiffly, gathering the documents.
Maxson (to himself, softer):"The woman who once shielded Lyons' men with her own life… now sits across from me, dictating terms. Maybe we forged her into this… maybe not. But I'll be damned if I let her outmaneuver us again."
He turned back toward the viewport, Boston's skyline glowing faint beneath the Prydwen's shadow.
Vertibird En Route – Boston Skies
The rotors thundered against the night as UMP45 guided the Vertibird up and away from Boston Airport, lights of the Prydwen fading behind them. Piper sat wedged between a crate of comms gear and her ever-present satchel, scribbling notes furiously even as the craft bucked in the crosswind. Nate kept his arms crossed, face half-shadowed under his hat, watching Sarah.
Sarah sat opposite, hands clasped over her knees, her gaze fixed on the dark cityscape sliding beneath them. For the first time since the tense negotiation, her voice lost its steel edge.
Sarah (quiet, but firm):"I owe you both an apology. The way I pressed Maxson tonight… I know it looked like I was picking a fight instead of finding common ground. And Nate, about cooperating former enemy, please bury that old ended war, cause we in present conflict with institute."
Piper looked up, brow arched, pen hovering. Nate's expression didn't soften, but he leaned forward, listening.
Sarah (exhaling):"Truth is, I can't risk the Minutemen breaking apart. Not again. If I'd shown weakness, he'd have treated you as another outfit to be folded under his banner — like what happened with the White House Militia years ago. They resisted integration, and they… lost more than just their name."
Her eyes drifted to the cabin floor, for a heartbeat betraying the weight of memory.
Sarah (lower, almost to herself):"I won't let you fall into that trap. Not you. Not the Minutemen."
The silence hung heavy, punctuated only by the thrum of the rotors.
Piper finally tucked her notepad shut, biting her lip. Nate shifted, arms uncrossing, his voice measured.
Nate:"So you'd rather bear the sharp edge yourself… if it keeps us standing."
Sarah managed the faintest nod.
Sarah (tired smile):"Better me than the Commonwealth watching another militia fracture apart again."
UMP45's voice crackled back from the cockpit, breaking the moment:
UMP45 (teasing over comms):"Touching stuff back there. But uh, let's save the drama. I'd rather not get shot down before we hit the Castle."
The cabin shook slightly as the Vertibird banked east, the fort's silhouette beginning to rise on the shoreline.
Piper's POV
The cabin hummed with steady rotor thunder, each vibration rattling Piper's pen against her shut notepad. She hadn't scribbled another word since Sarah's admission, but her eyes lingered on the woman across from her — studying the calm mask, the faint tension at the corners of her mouth.
Finally, Piper leaned forward, voice edged with both curiosity and disbelief.
Piper:"You know, most folks would kill for the kind of credit you're brushing off. You set up convoys, brokered with the Brotherhood, hell, even had a hand in what went down at Spectacle. That's front-page material if there ever was."
Sarah's gaze shifted, meeting Piper's square on. The warmth in her voice stayed, but her eyes told a harder truth.
Sarah (even, deliberate):"And that's exactly why it can't be front-page. Piper… I need you to keep my role in the shadows. Let the people see the Minutemen rising again — their own flesh and blood standing tall. My work? Let it be written off as mercenary logistics, support from the sidelines."
Piper blinked, caught off guard.
Piper:"You really don't want your name out there? Not even a footnote?"
Sarah (soft, but unyielding):"I don't need limelight. I don't need honors. What I need is for the Commonwealth to believe in itself again — not in me. If the story becomes about Sarah, then when I'm gone, everything collapses around a ghost. If it's about the Minutemen… they'll endure."
Piper leaned back, chewing her lip, eyes flicking between Nate and Sarah. For once, her natural urge to pry, to press for the bigger headline, faltered under the weight of the argument.
Piper (grudging smile):"You're asking a lot from a newswoman, you know that? Keeping the juiciest angle buried."
Sarah (gentle, but with steel beneath):"I'm asking you to write a story that lives longer than any headline."
Nate finally chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he glanced at Piper.
Nate:"Trust me, Piper. She's stubborn enough to mean every word of that."
The Vertibird dipped as UMP45 brought them into a wide approach path toward the Castle, lights twinkling below where Minutemen patrols had already begun their work. Piper's notepad remained closed in her lap, fingers drumming lightly on the cover, her mind clearly at war with itself.
But for now, she nodded once — a quiet concession.