Fallout: Wasteland Doll Commander

Late afternoon sunlight cast long shadows over the rusted train tracks as Delta Squad emerged from the east. Their boots were caked in dried ghoul blood, but their posture was steady. Focused. Hardened.

Sergeant Ramirez stepped forward and gave a sharp nod as he approached General Nate at the Graygarden checkpoint.

Ramirez:"Mission complete. Ferals neutralized. No contact with the Brotherhood."

Nate gave him a long look, then scanned the others. Tired eyes, scuffed gear, but their discipline held. They looked like soldiers now.

Nate:"Good work, Sergeant. Your team held firm."

Ramirez (quietly):"We held because of the gear. Thank to our sponsor supplied those rifles… knew exactly what we'd face."

Nate didn't respond. He only turned toward Sarah, who stood off to the side, arms crossed beneath the shade of a twisted girder. Team 404 lingered near her—silent, watchful, always just out of focus.

Sarah:"Oberland needs eyes. Time for us to move."

Nate (nodding):"Just make sure they don't know you're there."

Sarah offered a faint smirk.

Sarah:"They never do."

Without another word, Team 404 slipped into the trees—like ghosts in daylight, leaving no sign they were ever there.

An hour later, Nate arrived at Oberland Station—a modest rail outpost perched between collapsed freight lines and brush-thick hills. Only two settlers guarded it: one turret, one rifle, and a lot of suspicion.

They eyed the Minutemen banner Nate carried like a trap waiting to spring.

He removed his helmet and softened his tone.

Nate:"We're not here to take anything. We're here to offer something—protection, trade routes, reinforcements if you need them."

The settlers hesitated. The older of the two, a wiry woman with burn scars and flint-hard eyes, squinted at him.

Settler Woman:"so You're with the Minutemen?"

Nate:"yes I am. General Nate."

She exchanged a glance with the younger man. Silence stretched—until finally:

Settler Woman:"You clear out Lexington?"

Nate (nodding):"Lexington, Graygarden, and the Weston plant."

Just then, Preston Garvey and Charlie Squad arrived from the west, uniforms soaked from the canal and boots still muddy from the treatment plant.

Preston:"Water's flowing again. Mirelurks are gone. Filters rebooted. Remind me not to venture the flooded place..."

The woman blinked, stunned. Then she gave a slow, cautious nod.

Settler Woman:"Well I'll be damned."

The younger settler stepped forward.

Younger Settler:"Alright, General. We'll stand with the Minutemen."

Nate gave a small, weathered smile.

Nate:"Then welcome aboard."

The sun dipped below the horizon as the convoy regrouped. With Oberland secured and Graygarden's water supply restored, the Minutemen prepared for their next push:

Hangman's Alley — a narrow, fortified chokepoint buried deep in downtown Boston.

Nate stood at the head of the lead unit, watching foot patrols form into staggered columns along the road.

Preston, scanning his map, gave a short nod.

Preston:"Next stop's the Alley. We take that, and we've got a clean corridor to the waterfront — no more open highways."

Ramirez (dryly):"Small footprint. Big payoff."

Nate keyed his private comm. Sarah's voice cut through the static, low and direct:

Sarah (through comm):"We'll intercept near Back Street Apparel. You won't see us — but we'll be there. Eyes high. Watch the rooftops."

Nate gave a faint grin.

Nate:"Wouldn't have it any other way."

The Minutemen convoy rolled forward into the twilight, headlights flickering, boots kicking up dust that drifted like a living thing behind them. And above — unseen, unheard — shadows moved across rooftops, matching their pace with silent precision.