Fallout: Wasteland Doll Commander

The low growl of the "Ghost Mule" rumbled through the cracked asphalt as it rolled past scorched wrecks and rusted signage. Z11 sat at the wheel, her expression unreadable, hands steady—more machine than human behind the controls. Mounted on the roof, a T-Doll gunner pivoted a belt-fed .50 cal machine gun, scanning for threats with quiet, deliberate sweeps.

In the passenger seat, Sarah rode shotgun, her Division coat drawn tight against the wind, rifle resting across her lap. In the back, Team 404 crouched in ready silence—UMP45 checking mags, HK416 synchronizing HUDs, G11 half-dozing with her weapon in hand, and UMP9 humming softly through her comms.

Trailing behind on foot were squads Charlie and Delta—Minutemen recruits, green but resolute, armed with refurbished World War II rifles and Division-issued sidearms. They advanced with practiced formations, the uneven rhythm of their boots echoing faintly through the ruins.

Above them loomed Lexington's shattered skyline. Smoke curled lazily from the Corvega Assembly Plant, and jagged rebar rose from collapsed structures like the ribcage of some long-dead giant.

ISAC (calmly):

"Target site approaching. Raider patrols at medium density. Estimated hostile force inside Lexington Car Factory: 70 to 100. Confirmed RPG-7s present. Caution advised."

Sarah adjusted her earpiece, watching as the dark silhouette of the overpass came into view.

Sarah:

"We hold position at the northern overpass. No one moves until 404's flanking units are in place. That RPG squad gets the first round if they so much as blink wrong."

From her HUD, she tracked movement—blips representing 404 already breaching the southern utility sector. The Dolls were ghosts, silent and precise.

Lexington Car Factory – Upper Gantry

The steel framework groaned faintly in the wind, rusted beams whispering stories of a world long collapsed. HK416 moved like a shadow, her movements precise and measured. The dim light reflected off her optics as she scanned the factory floor below.

Beside her, UMP45 crouched near a hole in the gantry grating, gesturing for silence. Her eyes tracked figures beneath them—raiders clustered around flickering floodlights, weapon crates, and old machinery now repurposed into barricades.

A short distance behind, G11 had tucked herself into a half-collapsed maintenance nook. She was already assembling her rifle with a practiced calm, hands moving with the nonchalance of a bored barista, muttering about bolt tension and suppressor fit like someone preparing a lazy lunch.

HK416 activated her thermal lens, eyes narrowing.

HK416 (whispering):

"Visual confirmed. That's Jared. Near the turbine hall. He's issuing orders to the heavy squad."

UMP45 (quietly):

"He's all yours if this goes loud. Just give me ten seconds with that RPG group first."

Below, Jared barked commands with theatrical bravado, pointing toward the northern gate while a few jittery raiders scrambled to obey. The paranoia in his voice echoed louder than the metal under their boots.

They relayed positions back to Commander Sarah. Inside the factory, Jared barked at his lieutenants, paranoia dancing in his eyes.

Factory Interior – Raider HQ, Corvega Assembly Plant

The reek of oil, rust, and sweat hung heavy inside the makeshift command post—once an office, now a den of blood-streaked maps and scrap-welded barricades. Jared paced near a flickering terminal, the glow highlighting the deep lines etched into his face from chems and sleepless paranoia.

Outside, the faint whirring of servos echoed through the steel bones of the factory.

Jared (growling):

"You hear that whirring? That's not some of the damn Brotherhood. That's the Dollmaster's freak squad. I want every chokepoint barricaded—weld it shut if you have to. And get those RPGs loaded now. Ain't no metal doll gonna snuff me out like I'm some settler scrap."

He slammed a fist onto the table. The raiders around him flinched but didn't argue.

They'd heard the rumors—synthetic soldiers that moved without sound, hit hard, and vanished like ghosts. And now they were here, picking off scouts and slipping past traps like they weren't even real.

Raider Scout (muttering):

"They ain't like the Minutemen… too clean. Too precise."

Jared turned, eyes bloodshot.

Jared:

"OF COURSE NOT! Because they ain't just Minutemen. They're something worse."

He paused, staring at the rusted wall as if trying to see through it.

Jared (low, almost to himself):

"That freak in the coat… she's building something at Starlight. Whole damn army, quiet-like. Should've get that Mama Murphy when I had the chance…"

He spat to the floor, then pointed to the stairwell.

Jared:

"Get word to the Forge—tell 'em I'm calling the banners. We hold here, or we burn it all down with us."

Back on the Overpass

Rain streaked down Sarah's visor as she knelt beside a rusted guardrail, the cracked roadway trembling faintly beneath them. Preston crouched at her side, binoculars pressed to his eyes, scanning the factory ruins below.

Preston (grim):

"Never seen raiders in this organized."

Sarah:

"Because they've got something to prove. Jared's trying to carve out a legacy. We'll bury that name in steel and silence."

Preston nodded once, firm.

Preston:

"The men are ready when you are."

Sarah rose, the wind tugging her coat as she keyed into her comms.

Sarah (to comms):

"Team 404, engage on my mark. Z11, Ghost Mule on the flank. Charlie and Delta—hold firm and cover breach vectors. This is it. Trial by fire."

The hum of distant engines was overtaken by a low thump—a mechanical warning tone from ISAC.

ISAC:

"Warning. Hostile reinforcements inbound from the west. Estimated arrival in seven minutes. Twenty-plus signatures, armed. Recommend rapid neutralization of primary target before convergence."

Sarah's jaw tightened.

Sarah:

"How far's our mortar support?"

ISAC:

"HOC Mk47 Striker is online. Targeting solutions acquired. Confirm authorization."

She glanced at Preston.

Preston:

"They'll bring the storm. Let 'em."

Sarah (to comms):

"Striker, this is Command Actual. Fire mission: grid Kilo-Delta-Two, Corvega north ridge—concentrated clusters and outer sentries. Paint the sky."

ISAC:

"Fire mission confirmed. Rounds inbound. Impact in five seconds."

From the far edge of the battlefield—nearly a mile away—a muted thump echoed through the Commonwealth air. Then a whistle. Then thunder.

BOOM.

BOOM. BOOM.

The factory's upper gantries erupted into fireballs—rusted steel beams hurtling into the air like scrap shrapnel. Raider screams rang out as watchposts collapsed into molten ruin.

Dust and smoke billowed outward in a rolling wave.

Sarah (quietly):

"That's the opening bell."

UMP45 (over comms):

"Copy that. We're inside. G11's already tallying body count."

HK416:

"Jared's retreating from the gantry. He's panicking."

Sarah (to all units):

"Now! Everyone advance! We finish this before any more of those reinforcements get anywhere near this factory."

She turned to Preston.

Sarah:

"RPGs or not, I gonna let them taste the freedom rain over his head off."

South Western Approach – Raider Convoy

A battered pack of rust-streaked vehicles and dirt-caked raiders trundled along a cracked overpass west of Lexington, hauling pipe guns, scrap armor, and stolen chems. At their head, a rugged raider with a burning tire strapped to his shoulder armor squinted toward the skyline—just as the horizon lit up with distant fire.

Raider Gunner (wide-eyed):

"What the hell was that?! Factory's went up in flame!"

Convoy Leader (gritting teeth):

"Those mortars. it not some cobble up Mortar Cannon—that's not Brotherhood either."

A second explosion lit up the sky, followed by a trembling thunder that shook their boots.

Younger Raider (panicking):

"That Jared's place! They're flattenin' it! boss...what should we....do?"

Convoy Leader (spits):

"Pull back. Pull the hell back! We're not marching into a meat grinder! Dammit"

Raider Gunner (hissing):

"Thought you said they were just settlers with pitchforks! BOSS!!"

Convoy Leader (growling):

"That ain't settlers. That's the rumored Dollmaster's war dogs. NOW Jared's a fucking dead man walkin'. WE ARE OUTTA HERE! BOYS!!! RETREAT!"