Fallout: Wasteland Doll Commander

The late sun struggled through layers of dense cloud, casting a sickly amber hue over the overgrown industrial site. Tall weeds rustled in the breeze, curling around shattered concrete and corroded catwalks. The air was thick with the sharp tang of oxidized metal, fouled algae, and something like rotting plastic.

Near the outer floodgate, a matte-black Humvee, call-signed Ghost Mule, idled low. Its reinforced frame shimmered with grime-streaked armor plates, the turret mount bristling with a 50.cal machine gun.

Sarah stood by its side, arms crossed and coat fluttering in the breeze. Her eyes scanned the skyline instinctively—tired, calculating, always ready for the next problem.

Z11 sat calmly in the driver's seat, her frame unmoving except for the faint oscillation of her luminous optics.

Sarah:"Status report"

Z11:"Ghost Mule is green. Fuel cell at 87%. Main engine warm. Team 404 is inside—working on pressure stabilization protocols."

Sarah gave a curt nod, resting her hand on the rifle slung across her chest. Her breath curled in the air despite the humidity.

[Interior – Weston Valve Chamber]

Below ground, the echo chamber of rusted ducts and dripping water amplified every movement. The entire valve wing looked like it hadn't seen maintenance since before the bombs. Layers of calcified scale and ancient grime caked every surface. Moss clung to some pipes like green fur. The lights flickered overhead—half-dead fluorescents powered by a patched-up junction box.

UMP9 crouched at a pressure control valve, struggling with a jammed wrench. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing artificial musculature streaked with filth.

UMP9 (grumbling):"Why does it always smell like rad-chowder in places like this?"

UMP45, standing nearby with a plasma torch in one hand and a calibration slate in the other, chuckled.

UMP45 (mocking):"Because you keep opening pipes with your face."

She flicked the torch on, slicing through a rust-welded access latch with bored precision.

UMP9:"No, seriously. This entire place smells like mutated soup."

UMP45:"That is the soup and you're breathing it."

Steam hissed as a pressure valve released upstream. The pipe vibrated, then stilled. The light changed—slightly bluer. Water flow was returning.

UMP9:"Okay… gauge is stabilizing. Still spiking a little."

UMP45:"Redirect pressure to the overflow reservoir. Let Delta mop up the rest."

Their banter paused as the sound of heavy boots echoed from the eastern maintenance tunnel—measured, steady, and armored.

Delta Team entered in full Minutemen gear: faded combat kevlar vest patched covered with, their blue-trimmed coats stained with road dust and blood. Their rifles were slung safe, but alert. Leading them was Sergeant Ramirez, a seasoned frontliner with more scars than stripes.

Sgt. Ramirez:"Perimeter's secured. One Raider scout to the north tower—dealt with. No hostiles inbound. We brought welders, kits, and spare tubing."

UMP45 (raising an eyebrow):"Well, boys, welcome to the glamorous world of pipe maintenance. Mind the sludge. And don't trip over the broken dreams."

Ramirez:"If it means getting clean drinking water for Graygarden and other settlement up north, I'll happy that we'll swim in it."

UMP9:" Eh~~~Just don't touch the green foam. We still don't know if that's alive."

Ramirez (wryly):"haha, Copy that."

Meanwhile, Outside of Treatment Plant, Sarah stood with one boot on the front bumper, headset pressed against her temple. She listened, unmoving, until the static resolved into a voice.

Nate (radio, crackled but urgent):"Command Actual, Charlie Team has arrived at Fort Hagen. Dogmeat tracked the scent directly to the structure. Synth resistance confirmed — heavy turret presence. Cleared now. But the command center's main access is sealed. Reinforced steel. It seem like they're recently welds. Someone doesn't want our company."

Sarah's jaw tightened. As her voice snapped back in crisp.

Sarah:"Understood. General, Fort Hagen priority confirmed. Please get Defensive posture —and hold position, no breach attempts until we're on-site."

She stepped away from the Humvee's frame and turned toward Z11, who stood beside the vehicle's rear tailgate, tapping into the local uplink node with her left interface arm.

Sarah (commanding):"Call in Echo-Two. Get Anti-Rain in the air — full kit. Full stack. I want them boots-down and breach-ready within ten."

Z11:"Vertibird transport scramble authorized. Echo-Two in the green. Routing signal to Starlight Flight Pad now."

A brief chirp confirmed the automated uplink had taken hold.

Z11 (continued):"Anti-Rain deployment initializing. M4A1, ST AR-15, SOPMOD II, M16A1. Confirmed that they in transit."

Sarah exhaled slowly as she watching the horizon. Then she radio into the 404 squad's comm line.

Sarah (on squad comms):"Team 404, status?"

UMP45 (through static, faint clanging in background):"Well, The pressure's stabilized. Delta's welding up the last bypass. 9's complaining about the smell again."

UMP9 (distant, muffled):"AAAAAAAAAAH, I will burn this place down if one more pipe coughs green sludge at me!"

Sarah (dry):"Copy. Once Weston's secure, mount up. Rendezvous at Fort Hagen. We're going support. HK416, grab G11 off the tower and get into humvee"

HK416 respond: "Jawol, My Kommandant"

She lowered her hand and looked up —as she feel the wind shifting.