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The wind outside had settled. The afternoon light angled low through the windows. But there was still a long road ahead—more training, more oversight, and eventually, deployment.
Two days later, the final day of training ended beneath a copper sky. The sun dipped low over the walls of Sanctuary, casting long shadows across the training yard behind Minutemen HQ, where the newly selected team of scanner operators stood together, sweat on their brows, but pride in their eyes.
The drills had been grueling—days filled with scenario-based responses, technical troubleshooting under pressure, de-escalation exercises, and long debriefs after every simulation. Mel had pushed them hard on the mechanics of the scanner, ensuring each one knew the quirks and sensitivities of the device better than the back of their own hands. Sarah and Sico had hammered home the psychological side—how to read a room, how to handle fear, how to hold a line with calm authority when the situation got tense. Preston had overseen field scenarios himself, drawing from real incidents that had once nearly torn settlements apart.
Now, the team stood assembled in the meeting room, no longer just candidates—but something more.
Sico stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, his voice carrying a quiet gravity.
"You've earned this," he said, letting his eyes move across each of them—Carter, Mike, Jenna, Marcus, Jake, Jameson, and the others who had risen to the task. "What you've been through these last few days isn't just training. It's trust. The people of Sanctuary—and soon, the whole Commonwealth—are going to look at you as the line between fear and reason."
He glanced briefly toward Sarah and Preston before continuing.
"As of today, we're standing up a new unit. Officially. It's called the Scan Department."
The room went quiet. Some brows lifted. Others just nodded.
"It's your job to manage scanning operations within Sanctuary. Everyone gets scanned—settlers, visitors, merchants. No exceptions. And every scan gets backed by a DNA test when flagged. This isn't a police force. You're not enforcers. You're guardians of process and truth. That means no profiling, no assumptions. Only data. Only protocol."
Carter raised a hand, his voice measured. "What about people who refuse to be scanned?"
Sico nodded, having expected the question. "We'll cross that bridge carefully. For now, refusals won't be punished—but they will be logged, and we'll keep an eye on any patterns. Sanctuary's safety comes first, but we're not in the business of coercion."
Jenna spoke next. "And what about mobile operations? I know the goal is to expand this."
"That's the next step," Sarah said, stepping forward. "Once we're solid here—once we've got full coverage in Sanctuary and the bugs worked out—we start preparing other teams. Outposts, allied settlements, and eventually, major Minutemen hubs. But it all starts here. This is the pilot."
Preston looked around at the faces before him. "We've come a long way since Concord. Back then, we couldn't even protect a single farm. Now we've got people watching our backs, and technology that can root out threats we never used to understand. But we have to wield it carefully. The Synth Crisis isn't about just finding infiltrators. It's about preserving trust in what we've built."
Marcus, ever the joker, gave a short mock salute. "Scan Department, huh? Guess I better stop calling us the Metal Detectors."
That drew a few chuckles. Even Sarah cracked the hint of a smile.
But beneath the levity, the weight of the task ahead remained clear.
—
The next morning, the Scanner Team—now officially operating under the name Scan Department—took their posts.
The main scanning station was set up near the entrance gate of Sanctuary Hills, a small structure that looked like a cross between a field medical tent and a checkpoint booth. Two members of the team were posted there at all times, armed with a scanner unit mounted on a stabilized tripod and a portable DNA testing device in a secured crate nearby.
Inside Sanctuary, another post was established in the town square—near the trading stalls and the water pump. This one was for regular internal scans—voluntary and routine, designed to normalize the process. Every citizen would be scanned over the next week. Re-scans would be scheduled annually, or more frequently for people with roles outside the walls.
And it worked—slowly, cautiously, but it worked.
People were nervous at first. Some approached the gate with suspicion, others refused and turned around, but the Scan Department held their line—not with force, but with calm. Jenna talked to nervous mothers. Carter helped old Mr. Abernathy step up to the scanner without trembling. Mike diffused a near panic when a trader's scan flagged yellow—an issue that, upon DNA review, turned out to be a medical implant from decades prior.
Sico kept close watch, rotating between checkpoints, always ready to intervene but rarely needed. Sarah stayed anchored to HQ, reviewing data as it came in, logging anomalies, coordinating with Mel on the machine's learning model. Preston met daily with the team to debrief, reinforce the mission, and keep morale steady.
By the fifth day, something subtle shifted.
People stopped staring suspiciously at the scanning tents. Kids started waving at Marcus when he called out greetings from the booth. Settlers who'd been wary started showing up for voluntary scans. There were still outliers—always would be—but the tide was turning.
They were building something real.
—
A week after launch, the entire town had been scanned. Seventeen anomalies were flagged. All seventeen were cleared by DNA tests.
That alone shifted the conversation. For the first time, people saw the scanner as something that didn't just accuse—it vindicated. It protected. It brought facts into a world full of uncertainty.
Word of the Scan Department's success spread quickly—faster than even Sico expected. Caravan traders carried tales of Sanctuary's strange new tech, of the machine that could tell man from machine, fear from truth. Word of mouth in the Commonwealth worked faster than any radio. Soon, settlements as far as Finch Farm and Bunker Hill were whispering about Sanctuary Hills. Whispers turned into interest. Interest turned into questions.
And questions turned into consequences.
—
At the Brotherhood of Steel's base aboard the Prydwen, high above the glowing ruins of the Boston skyline, a very different meeting was underway.
Inside the war room, the mood was grim. The Brotherhood's top officers were assembled, their attention fixed on a large screen displaying surveillance stills—grainy photos of a scanner being operated outside the gates of Sanctuary Hills, captured by an eyebot that had been quietly monitoring Minutemen activity.
Elder Arthur Maxson stood at the head of the table, arms locked behind his back, jaw set in a tight line. His coat, worn and regal, rustled slightly with the hum of the ship. Behind his youthful face was the hard edge of command, sharpened by war and doctrine. Around him, the Brotherhood's inner circle stood tense and silent—Paladin Danse, Knight-Captain Kells, Senior Scribe Neriah, and several others.
"This," Maxson began, voice clipped and cold, "is a disgrace."
He turned slowly, eyes sweeping across the gathered faces. "A disgrace to the Brotherhood. A disgrace to the mission. A disgrace to our principles."
He slammed a gloved hand against the table. The thud echoed through the room.
"We are the ones who recover and preserve lost technology. We are the ones who protect humanity from the dangers of unchecked innovation. Not some ragtag militia in cobbled-together armor and second-hand rifles."
Danse shifted slightly but said nothing. He knew Maxson well enough to let him vent first.
"They've built a device," Maxson continued, pacing now. "A device that can detect synths. Functional. Portable. And—if their field reports are to be believed—accurate. They did it. The Minutemen." He spat the word like it tasted sour in his mouth.
Scribe Neriah, usually one of the more measured voices in the room, cleared her throat. "Sir… I've reviewed some of the intercepted data. The prototype's core uses a modified biometric sensor, yes—but the real breakthrough seems to be in the pattern recognition algorithm. It's machine learning, driven by an organic sample comparison layer. It's… not elegant. But it works."
"Not elegant?" Maxson's eyes narrowed. "It's primitive. But it shouldn't have worked at all. Not for them."
He stopped at the end of the table. "And yet, here we are. They're scanning every person in Sanctuary, rooting out infiltrators one by one. And the people trust them for it. That should've been us."
There was silence. Maxson let it linger.
Knight-Captain Kells finally spoke, voice low but edged. "We've been working on detection for months. Every time we get close, the Institute evolves. The latest generation synths evade even our most sophisticated protocols."
"That's no excuse," Maxson snapped. "If some settlement tinkerers can do what we couldn't, then we need to ask why. What did they discover that we didn't? Or worse—what did we ignore?"
Danse finally stepped forward, voice steady. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
Maxson gave a curt nod.
"I don't believe this is just about pride. It's about momentum. The Minutemen are growing. Fast. This scanner changes the landscape. If the settlements start rallying behind them because of it, we're going to lose influence. Permanently. We'll be seen as obsolete. Slow. Paranoid."
Maxson glared at him. "You think I don't know that?"
"No, sir. I think you do. But we need to respond strategically, not emotionally."
There was a beat of tense silence before Maxson finally relented with a nod. He turned back to the screen, hands now resting on the edge of the table.
"Options?" he asked.
Neriah was first. "We could attempt to reverse-engineer their tech. Quietly. We've already got sensor logs. If we could get our hands on a prototype—"
"Unlikely," Danse cut in. "They're guarding it. And they know it's valuable."
Kells stepped forward. "There's another option. Pressure. We approach Sanctuary with a diplomatic envoy. Offer 'cooperation.' Maybe even trade. Gain access to the tech on their terms."
Maxson raised an eyebrow. "You want me to go hat-in-hand to the Minutemen?"
Kells didn't flinch. "I want us to be smart, sir. This war isn't just about firepower anymore. It's about legitimacy."
Maxson scowled but said nothing.
Danse turned to the others. "We could frame it as a joint operation—'for the safety of the Commonwealth.' Let the people see us working together, and we get insight into their methods. If they refuse… we pivot."
"And if they don't refuse?" Maxson asked. "What happens when they realize they don't need us anymore?"
No one had an answer.
Maxson paced again, then stopped near the window overlooking the ship's deck. The hum of vertibirds below filled the silence.
"Here's what we'll do," he said finally, voice quiet but absolute. "We will send an envoy. Knight-Captain Kells, you'll lead it. Bring Danse. Scribe Neriah will provide the technical liaison. Tell them we're 'impressed' with their work. That we want to collaborate. Smile. Shake hands. Do what you must."
He turned, his expression hard as steel.
"But while you're there, gather everything you can. Blueprints. Data logs. Test protocols. I want that scanner replicated aboard the Prydwen within a month. And if you can't get their cooperation…"
He let the sentence hang.
Danse tensed. "Understood, sir."
Maxson stepped away from the window, voice dropping to a murmur. "This is bigger than pride. If they control the ability to detect synths… they control fear. And if they control fear, they control the Commonwealth."
He looked to Kells. "Don't let them forget who the Brotherhood is."
Kells saluted. "We'll make sure they remember, Elder."
Before the meeting could formally adjourn, a voice cut through the low hum of whispers and shifting boots. It was Paladin Danse.
He took a single step forward, shoulders squared, voice firm but calm.
"Sir, permission to speak again."
Maxson gave him a slow, cautious glance—one eyebrow raised, the tension in the room tightening around them like a drawn wire. "Go on."
Danse didn't flinch. "With all due respect, Elder… I don't think we should continue underestimating the Minutemen. They're not a ragtag militia anymore. Not even close."
A few of the senior knights and scribes glanced at each other, unsure whether Danse was about to overstep. But Maxson said nothing, so Danse pressed on.
"They've changed. Evolved. What they were before their fall is not what they are now after they rebuild. They've got infrastructure. Logistics. Supply chains. They manufacture their own weapons and armor—real manufacturing, not just workbenches and hand-assembly. They've got factories operating out of old-world facilities. Clean lines. Reliable output."
He paused for emphasis, then added, "And transportation."
That caught more than a few raised brows.
"They've built working trucks and Humvees, restored from pre-war blueprints and improvised with local materials. Operational, armored vehicles. And they've got tanks now—lightweight, fast-deploy units they call 'Sentinels.' They're mobile, well-armed, and they're built for the terrain here. That's not something you dismiss."
Maxson's jaw twitched slightly, but he didn't interrupt.
"And it's not just their gear," Danse continued. "It's their leadership. Everything they've accomplished—these factories, the vehicles, this scanner tech—it all happened under their new General. After Nora stepped down, the command passed to someone else. A man named Sico."
The name brought a faint murmur to the room.
Danse nodded. "I've met him. Fought beside him once. He's sharp. He listens. But more importantly—he learns. Quickly. He surrounds himself with talent and knows how to bring the best out of people. This scanner project? It was him and his team. He's not just a soldier. He's a builder."
Maxson folded his arms, expression unreadable.
Danse kept going, tone measured but direct. "They're building more than just machines. They're building a system. One that people believe in. That's dangerous—for us—not because it's weak, but because it's working. The people don't just see the Minutemen as defenders anymore. They see them as the future. If we walk into this situation thinking we're the only power in the Commonwealth that matters, we're going to get blindsided."
A long pause followed. The air in the war room grew still.
Maxson studied Danse for several seconds, weighing the words. There was no defiance in Danse's tone—just clarity. Honesty. The kind that demanded to be heard even when it wasn't welcome.
Finally, the Elder spoke. His voice was quieter now, but no less forceful.
"You're saying they're equals?"
Danse shook his head once. "No, sir. I'm saying they're on the rise. And if we treat them like they're beneath us, we're going to miss the chance to adapt. Or worse—we'll provoke something we can't control."
Maxson didn't reply right away. He walked slowly back toward the table, resting his hands on its edge once more. His gaze lingered on the still image of Sanctuary's scanning station—grainy, static, but full of implications.
Then, with a slow exhale, he looked back to Danse.
"Fine. We'll treat them with respect. For now. But don't mistake that for submission. We're still the Brotherhood of Steel. And the Commonwealth is still our charge to protect. If General Sico wants to build something better… we'll see if it holds up when the winds shift."
He tapped the table twice—hard.
"Meeting adjourned."
Deep beneath the earth, in the sterile white halls of the Institute, where the hum of quiet machines filled the air and chrome met marble with impossible precision, another meeting was underway.
It was held in the Institute's Central Conference Hall—an oval chamber lined with translucent walls, glowing softly with pale blue light. This was where the future of the Commonwealth was often decided in whispers and projections, not gunfire. Today, however, those whispers had turned into something much sharper.
Father stood at the far end of the table, arms behind his back, his silhouette poised and still. His gray hair was neatly combed, his white lab coat as immaculate as the walls surrounding him. He scanned the room slowly, taking in the faces of the department heads seated before him: Dr. Li from Advanced Systems, Dr. Ayo from Synth Retention, Dr. Clayton Holdren of Bioscience, and Dr. Madison Filmore of Robotics. Even Allie Filmore was present—quietly checking something on her holotablet, brow furrowed.
And seated beside him, at the head of the table, was Nora.
Her presence alone had shifted the energy in the room. She wasn't wearing the standard Institute uniform anymore. Instead, she wore a clean gray jacket over plain clothes—part civilian, part leader. Her hands were folded, eyes thoughtful but observant. She was no longer just the mother of Shaun—she was now a symbol of two worlds. And everyone in the room knew it.
Father cleared his throat, and the quiet murmur of conversation ceased instantly.
"You've all seen the reports," he said. "The Minutemen have done something none of us expected. They've built a scanner—one capable of distinguishing between a synth and a human."
A holo-image flickered to life in the center of the table: a grainy snapshot of the scanner at Sanctuary Hills, taken by a synth field agent before they went dark. Father let it spin slowly as he spoke.
"It's not elegant," he said. "And from what we've seen, it's still reliant on DNA confirmation. But the principle works. The machine does its job. And the implications for us… are profound."
There was a long silence.
Dr. Ayo was the first to speak, voice tight. "We've already lost three agents. One went dark near Tenpines Bluff. Two others were flagged and detained in Sanctuary. Both confirmed synths. Recalled after internal override."
"Were they compromised?" Father asked.
"Not directly. But Sanctuary's scanner flagged them immediately. The operators remained calm, followed through with DNA verification. The test confirmed their identities as non-human. That was all the justification the Minutemen needed to restrict movement and begin interviews. Our retrieval teams had to act fast."
Nora leaned forward, voice even. "Did the Minutemen show signs of hostility?"
Ayo paused. "No. But that's part of what makes this worse. They didn't panic. They didn't overreact. They followed procedure. The public saw it. The press in Diamond City already picked it up."
Dr. Li frowned. "If the public sees the Minutemen as the sole protectors from synth infiltration, we lose the ability to control the narrative."
"We already have," Ayo said darkly.
Father didn't flinch. "We can regain control. But we must understand what we're up against. This scanner is not just a technological breakthrough—it's a psychological one. People fear what they don't understand. The Minutemen have given them a way to see—and once people believe they can see the threat, they'll stop listening to anyone who tells them to doubt."
Dr. Holdren rubbed his chin. "If this continues, it may push the other factions closer together. The Brotherhood—even some of the more independent settlements. We've kept them divided with uncertainty and fear. But now that fear has a focal point. A machine."
"And who's behind that machine?" Allie Filmore asked quietly, glancing at Nora. "This… Sico?"
Nora met her gaze but said nothing.
Father answered instead. "Yes. General Sico. He's the one who took command after Nora stepped down. From what we've gathered, he's methodical. Patient. Not prone to reckless action. And he's earned the loyalty of those around him. He's not a warlord. He's a builder."
"He's a problem," Ayo snapped. "That scanner gives them leverage. Influence. It's only a matter of time before someone starts asking questions about the Institute that we can't spin away."
Dr. Li leaned forward. "We can counter it. If we can determine the basis for the scanner's detection method, we might be able to devise ways to spoof or block the signal. Insert noise into the scan signature. Or design a next-generation synth that remains invisible to it."
"We could deploy misinformation campaigns," Holdren added. "Suggest the scanner isn't accurate. Seed stories of false positives. Undermine its reliability."
Nora finally spoke, voice quiet but firm. "They'll expect that. Sico's team already planned for those angles. They document every scan. Every DNA result. They're transparent by design. And that transparency is what's winning people over. If we try to smear them, we'll look like the liars."
Everyone looked at her.
She met their gazes without blinking. "I helped raise that army. I know how they think. You won't beat them with shadow games. Not anymore."
Ayo scowled. "You're suggesting we do nothing?"
"I'm suggesting we adapt," Nora said. "We find a way forward that doesn't turn us into villains in the eyes of the people we claim to protect."
Father gave her a slow, measured nod. "Agreed."
But his tone shifted, colder now. "We do not need panic, but we cannot afford hesitation either. If the Minutemen continue expanding scanning operations into other settlements, we will lose cover. Every synth in the field becomes a liability. Every one of you must review your divisions and adjust deployments accordingly. No synth agent is to enter Sanctuary Hills under any circumstance without prior authorization."
Dr. Li spoke again. "What about internal options? Should we explore a diplomatic route?"
Father looked toward the spinning image of the scanner again. "Not yet. If we move too soon, we show our hand. We'll watch. We'll learn. And we'll wait for them to become comfortable. Then… perhaps, we extend a hand."
"And if they refuse?" Allie asked.
He didn't answer at first.
Then he turned away from the table, toward the window that looked out over the Institute's artificial lake and the glow of its subterranean lights.
"If they refuse… we remind them that we are not shadows to be swept away. We are the foundation beneath the surface. And they are only standing because we allow it."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implications.
Nora stayed silent, her fingers tracing a slow circle on the table, mind already turning through a hundred possibilities.
________________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-