Fallout: Wasteland Doll Commander

The sun hovered above the rusted arches of the Starlight Drive-In, casting long shadows over cracked pavement and the still, green-glowing pool of irradiated waste at its center. Wind rustled faded posters and flicked sand across the bones of a forgotten era.

Team 404 had deployed first.

Perched atop the movie projection screen, HK416 adjusted her optics. G11, already prone, lined up shots through a scope too advanced for the age it mimicked. UMP45 and UMP9 covered both flanks, hidden behind collapsed beams and broken floodlights.

Sarah's voice echoed softly through their comms:

Sarah: "Sweep the area. High ground overwatch. Mark any hostile concentrations."

Through thermals and ISAC data relayed from recalibrated uplinks, they saw the source of the disruption: a massive Molerat Queen nesting beneath a collapsed concession shack, surrounded by dozens of glowing mole rats—burrowing, hissing, twitching with unnatural pulses of bioelectric energy.

HK416: "Queen spotted. Target priority confirmed. Range 360 meters. Wind, minimal."

G11 (muttering): "Ugly. I've seen prettier scrap heaps."

With coordinated precision, Team 404 opened fire. The queen's armored bulk shuddered as .308 and 5.56 rounds tore through muscle and plated hide. She shrieked—bone and bile spraying as she collapsed mid-charge. The swarm around her scattered—but not far.

Then came the EMP surge.

UMP9: "There's your glitch. boss, Glowing rat, 2 o'clock low—pulsing hard."

One particularly grotesque mole rat—glowing with erratic, arc-jumping energy—scurried from beneath the queen's body, arcing pulses of static that had fried Sarah's recon drone days earlier.

Sarah: "Mark and eliminate. EMP class. Do not let it move in burrow."

G11's second shot took the creature mid-leap, scattering chunks across the radioactive lot.

But the nest wasn't dead yet.

From burrows near the cratered lot, a horde of common molerats surged—fast, erratic, dozens of them in a coordinated burst.

On the hillside to the northeast, Able Team of the Minutemen—five settlers in mismatched gear—took firing stances. Garand rifles cracked, firing in rhythmic thunder. Laser muskets charged and discharged with pulsing hums.

Preston (Able Lead): "Keep your spacing! Slow your breath—aim low when they jump!"

The creatures veered toward them, drawn by the noise and muzzle flashes. It worked. The swarm redirected uphill.

From the screen's opposite side, Bravo Team—another five settlers armed with Thompsons and BARs—slid down behind cover, catching the distracted molerats in a blistering crossfire.

Nate (Bravo Lead): "Light 'em up! Watch the burrowers!"

Gunfire stitched across the dirt. A few mole rats burst out of the ground under Bravo's position, knocking down one settler with a vicious bite to the shin before UMP45 moved in to stomp and fire with lethal calm.

Despite a few cuts and one bad gash, the operation held. The last of the molerats twitched and fell.

Sarah (over comms): "Area secure. Teams regroup and sweep. Triage on site. ISAC—log as forward site Starlight Bravo."

The projection tower's ancient light flickered briefly from a power re-route. Behind it, Bravo and Able squads stood together, breathing heavy—but victorious.

Nate (looking to the others): "Well done, That's what we'll need to take Lexington."

Preston: "And that's we'll be ready."