Fallout: Wasteland Doll Commander

Paladin Danse's Perspective – Cambridge Police Station

The walls of the Cambridge Police Station shook with every impact. Feral ghouls howled like demons outside, scratching and smashing against the barricades as if sheer desperation could erode steel and concrete as the hordes try to breach in.

Paladin Danse kept low by the second-floor window, his power armor humming faintly as he reloaded his laser rifle. Scribe Haylen was below, while strenghten barricade back to shape while stabilizing Knight Rhys, who'd taken shrapnel to the leg, who in no shape to move. They couldn't hold much longer.

Then the shooting began —but not from within police station.

Outside, the distinct rhythm of controlled bursts rang out. Neither Brotherhood issue on nor pipe guns. They are Clean, Not Professional but they Efficient.

Danse squinted through the broken slats of the window.

Across the square, a five-man squad emerged from behind a half-collapsed laundromat. Some Tan dusters, civilian dress yet they all blue under-armor vest like — Minutemen, if his memory served.

The hell are they doing here? And where did they get that kind of fire discipline?

The squad moved like they'd trained for this. Their formation was tight, arcs overlapping. One covered with a laser musket while the others provided suppressive fire with unfamiliar, compact rifles. They weren't just fending the ghouls off — they were clearing the square.

Danse recognized a glowing one rise from the back line — but a burst of three well-placed rounds dropped it before it got close.

He zoomed his helmet optics. The weapon bore no visible markings. Sleek casing and Aftermarket like optics. And most of all, Unregistered weapon platform.

These aren't just scavenged gear. Someone's manufactured and supplying them.

Minutes later, the last ghoul fell. The squad didn't celebrate. But some give victory cries. Oddly is they didn't request for entry.

They simply watched the station for a moment — then turned and heading into the ruins of Cambridge, like they didn't seek for recognation nor reward from other.

Danse stepped back from the window, jaw tight.

"Scribe Haylen," he called down the stairwell, voice edged with something unreadable. "I want you to review any records we have on Minutemen activity in this quadrant. Focus on post-Lexington movements and third-party weapons suppliers."

Haylen hesitated. "Are we coordinating with them?"

Danse's pause spoke volumes.

"No. We aren't. And I don't think they willing want to be coordinated with."

He looked once more through the window at the now-empty square.

These minutemen don't move like that. Not without help.

Someone is training them. Arming them. Testing them.

And whoever it is… they're not ready to step into the light yet.