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Mel watched them disappear into the controlled order of the Science division, then he turned back toward the production floor.
The production floor never truly slept anymore.
It only shifted rhythms.
When the next day arrived in Sanctuary, it didn't announce itself with birdsong or laughter or the slow creak of people waking. Inside the Science division, morning came as a subtle change in lighting levels, a recalibration of generators, a fresh rotation of technicians taking over stations that had been warm with use only minutes earlier.
Mel hadn't left.
He stood near the central assembly line, sleeves rolled up, hands bare despite the warning labels plastered everywhere. He trusted his people. He trusted himself. And more importantly, he trusted the work.
Night vision goggles moved down the line in careful stages, each unit a small miracle of precision born from scrap and stubbornness. Lenses were seated, calibrated, removed, reseated. Power cells were tested, rejected, replaced. Casings snapped shut with a sound that echoed softly across the room that final, decisive.
This wasn't art.
This was survival.
Elias moved like a shadow between stations, murmuring corrections, answering questions before they were fully formed. The new recruits were still kept to the outer rings of the process wkth documentation, diagnostics, observation but they watched everything with hungry eyes, absorbing the flow, the discipline, the unspoken rules.
Mel caught Mae staring too long at a lens alignment rig and raised an eyebrow.
"Ask," he said without looking at her.
She startled slightly. "I... sorry. I was just… the way you're compensating for the microfractures. You're not discarding them."
Mel glanced at her then, really looked. "We don't have the luxury of perfect," he said. "We have functional. Explain the risk."
Mae thought for half a second. "Stress failure under prolonged thermal load. But at night, ambient temperature drops. Risk decreases."
Mel nodded once. "Good. That's why you're here."
Mae flushed, but she smiled.
The line kept moving.
And then the guards at the main entrance straightened.
Word passed quickly, quiet but unmistakable.
Sico is here.
Mel didn't turn right away.
He finished checking a power output reading, tapped the side of the casing twice with a knuckle, then nodded to the technician.
"Move it," he said.
Only then did he step away from the line.
Sico entered the production room without ceremony, coat unbuttoned, eyes sharp and taking everything in at once. He didn't interrupt. He didn't speak. He walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back, studying the flow of work like a general surveying a battlefield before the fighting began.
He noticed the details.
The way people moved without colliding. The way commands were passed in half-sentences. The way mistakes were corrected immediately, without ego.
This wasn't improvisation anymore.
This was infrastructure.
Sico stopped beside Mel, close enough that they could speak without raising their voices, far enough that neither blocked the other's view.
"How many?" Sico asked quietly.
Mel didn't hesitate.
"Thirty-eight," he replied. "Fully assembled. Tested. Logged."
Sico's eyebrow lifted slightly. Not surprise. Approval.
"That's faster than I expected," he said.
Mel allowed himself a thin smile. "That's because I didn't stop at expecting."
Sico exhaled through his nose, amused. "Fair."
He watched another unit slide off the line, get picked up by a tech who handled it like glass despite the rugged casing.
"And the bottleneck?" Sico asked.
"Optics," Mel replied immediately. "Always optics. We're stretching what we have. Which is why—" He paused, then added, "I've already spoken to Hancock."
Sico glanced at him sideways. "You did."
"Yes," Mel said. "He's got scavenging teams out already. Priority search. Old military depots. Vault ruins. Anything with pre-war optical tech. Even civilian camera stores if they're still standing."
Sico nodded slowly. "Smart."
"We can't afford to stall," Mel continued. "If we run out of parts now, momentum dies. People lose confidence. I won't let that happen."
Sico studied him for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
"You're pushing yourself," he said, not accusing. Observing.
Mel shrugged faintly. "That's the job."
Sico's gaze moved back to the production line. To the recruits watching veterans with barely contained intensity. To Elias, who caught Sico's eye and nodded once in greeting before returning to his work.
"You've built something real here," Sico said quietly.
Mel didn't respond right away.
When he did, his voice was lower. "It has to be."
They stood there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, watching the future take shape one unit at a time.
Hancock's scavenging teams moved fast.
They always did.
Word from Sico carried weight, and word from Mel carried urgency. The combination meant doors opened that normally stayed shut and favors were called in that people pretended they didn't owe.
Old checkpoints were cracked open. Rooftops were stripped. Half-buried storefronts were excavated with more care than they'd seen in decades.
Pre-war binoculars. Camera lenses. Targeting optics. Anything with glass worth saving was tagged, packed, and hauled back.
Not everything would be usable.
But enough would be.
Hancock himself sent a message that evening that brief, characteristically casual.
Found a warehouse with optics out the ass. Some busted, some pristine. Sending what I can. Tell your egghead not to get too precious about it.
Mel read it twice.
Then forwarded it to Elias with a single line attached.
Prep intake.
By nightfall, the Science division was running on rotations.
Veterans swapped out in disciplined shifts. Recruits shadowed them, took notes, asked questions until their throats were dry.
Elias gathered the new intakes in a side room once production stabilized.
"Listen carefully," he said, arms crossed. "What you're seeing out there? That's phase one. You don't touch the line yet. You learn it. You understand why each step exists. You rush, you break something. You break something, someone dies."
No one argued.
Jenna raised a hand slightly. "When do we start?"
Elias studied her for a moment. "When Mel says you're ready."
That answer carried weight.
Sico left the Science division late, long after most of Sanctuary had settled into its evening routines. He walked the perimeter once, nodding to guards now testing their issued night vision prototypes under the fading light.
The results were immediate.
Patrol routes extended. Blind spots vanished. The night lost its teeth.
Sico watched it all with quiet satisfaction.
This was what preparation looked like.
Back inside, Mel finally allowed himself to sit.
Just for a minute.
He leaned against a crate of housings, head tipped back, eyes closed. The hum of machinery filled the space around him, steady and reassuring.
Elias approached, careful not to startle him.
"Hancock's teams should be back by morning," Elias said quietly. "Assuming nothing explodes."
Mel huffed a laugh. "That's optimistic."
"You've got twenty-one recruits now," Elias continued. "They're solid. Hungry."
"I know," Mel said. "Which is why we don't rush them."
Elias nodded. "Agreed."
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Then Elias spoke again, softer.
"You alright?"
Mel opened his eyes.
"Ask me again when the line stops," he said.
Elias smiled faintly and walked away.
The night stretched on.
And the goggles kept coming.
Thirty-nine.
Forty.
Forty-one.
Forty-one became forty-two sometime before dawn.
No one marked it.
No cheer, no pause, no acknowledgment beyond a quiet tick on a clipboard and a unit sliding into a padded crate. The number only mattered later, when exhaustion caught up and someone asked how many they'd made overnight and the answer sounded unreal even to the people who'd done the work.
The Science division lived in that space for days afterward, where numbers climbed faster than anyone had time to process, where the line between one shift and the next blurred until it barely existed at all.
A week passed.
Not cleanly. Not neatly.
It passed in measured batches of output, in scavenger deliveries rolling in at all hours, in cracked knuckles and burnt fingertips and voices gone hoarse from shouting over generators. It passed in recalibrations and redesigns, in arguments over tolerances that ended with someone being right and someone else nodding and fixing it without resentment.
It passed because it had to.
By the seventh day, the count stood at two hundred and fifty-three.
253 night vision goggles.
Fully assembled. Fully tested. Fully logged.
Mel stood in the storage annex, staring at the stacked crates like they might rearrange themselves if he looked away. Each one was stenciled in clean black lettering with NVG-MK.I that followed by a serial range. Elias stood beside him, tablet in hand, eyes tired but sharp.
"Two hundred and fifty-three," Elias said quietly, as if saying it louder might tempt fate.
Mel nodded. "And we're still holding?"
"For now," Elias replied. "Hancock's teams came through again. Optics, housings, power cells. Some of it's junk. Some of it's gold. Enough to keep us running another… two weeks at this pace, maybe more if we slow production slightly and tighten rejection thresholds."
Mel exhaled, long and slow.
"We don't slow yet," he said. "Not until distribution starts."
Elias glanced at him. "You think Sico's ready to move them?"
"He has to be," Mel replied. "Because the moment these sit too long, they stop being assets and start being targets."
Elias didn't argue. He'd learned when to trust Mel's instincts. They were rarely comfortable, but they were almost always right.
Across the division, the mood had shifted.
The early urgency that sharp, brittle edge of panic that came with starting something too big too fast had dulled into something steadier. Focused. Purposeful. People still moved quickly, but they moved with confidence now. Hands didn't shake as much. Voices didn't rise as often.
The recruits had begun rotating onto non-critical sections of the line.
Documentation first.
Diagnostics second.
Then sub-assembly.
Mae had earned her way into lens prep under supervision, her hands steady, her mind constantly working ahead of what she was doing. Jenna had taken to power regulation like she'd been born for it. Rafi proved himself indispensable in quality control, catching faults others missed simply because he looked longer.
Mel watched them grow without comment.
Praise, when it came, was sparse.
But it came.
And that mattered.
Hancock showed up in person on the fifth day.
He strolled into the Science division like he owned the place, coat flaring behind him, grin already in place. Two guards trailed him, hauling crates that clinked and rattled ominously.
"Well," Hancock drawled, eyes sweeping the room, "if it isn't the land of people who haven't slept in a week."
Mel didn't look up from the workbench he was calibrating. "You're blocking the light."
"Ah, see, that's gratitude," Hancock replied, unfazed. "I bring you shiny things and this is the welcome I get."
Elias stepped in smoothly, directing the guards to intake. "What did you find?"
Hancock's grin widened. "Oh, a little of everything. Military surplus warehouse south of the river. Raiders missed it somehow with guess 'optical calibration equipment' doesn't scream 'easy caps.'"
Mel finally straightened, turning to face him. "Condition?"
"Mixed," Hancock said honestly. "Some pristine. Some you'll curse my name over. But there's enough glass there to make your little night toys for a good while."
Mel studied him for a moment, then nodded. "You did good."
Hancock blinked. "Was that… praise?"
"Don't get used to it."
Hancock laughed, the sound echoing off concrete. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Word's getting around, you know. About these goggles."
Mel's expression didn't change. "It was going to."
"Yeah," Hancock said. "Just figured you should know. People are watching. Some of 'em smiling. Some of 'em not so much."
Mel met his gaze. "Then it's good we're ahead."
Hancock clapped him on the shoulder. "Damn right it is."
The distribution meeting happened the next morning.
Sico called it himself.
No delays. No excuses.
By the time Mel heard about it, the goggles were already being inventoried and tagged for deployment. Elias handled the handoff personally, ensuring every crate was accounted for before it left the Science division.
Sico met Preston and Sarah in the command room with the one that still smelled faintly of oil and dust no matter how often it was cleaned. Maps covered the walls, layered with markers and notes, routes and outposts and territories painstakingly defined.
Preston stood near the central table, arms folded, eyes moving constantly. Sarah leaned against the edge, helmet under one arm, expression hard and focused.
Sico entered last, closing the door behind him.
"We have two hundred and fifty-three night vision units," he said without preamble. "That number will increase. But this is what we're working with now."
Preston nodded. "Alright. Let's talk priorities."
Sarah straightened. "Sanctuary first."
Sico didn't argue. "Agreed. Core defense comes first."
Preston gestured to the map. "Sanctuary patrols. Perimeter guards. Rapid response teams. We don't need to equip everyone, but anyone who's on night duty needs eyes."
Sarah spoke up. "Castle next."
Sico nodded. "The Castle holds strategic value. It's a symbol. And it's exposed."
Preston traced the wall lines with a finger. "Artillery crews too. They need to see what they're aiming at."
Sico made a note. "Castle gets a full complement for patrols, command staff, and artillery."
Sarah pushed off the table. "Freemasons Stronghold."
That gave Preston pause.
"It's heavily guarded already," he said. "Do they need as many?"
"They need them more," Sarah replied. "They're a target. Always have been. Always will be."
Sico considered that. "Stronghold gets a defensive allocation. Patrols, internal security, outer watch."
"And Minutemen Plaza," Preston added. "It's a hub. People move through it constantly."
Sico nodded. "Plaza patrols. Checkpoints. Quick-reaction teams."
Preston tapped the map again. "Outposts."
"That's where it gets complicated," Sarah said. "We've got dozens spread across Freemasons territory. Some are staffed well. Some barely have enough people to keep the lights on."
Sico exhaled slowly. "We can't equip everyone equally. Not yet."
Preston grimaced. "I know."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing in. Every unit sent one way was a unit not sent another. Every choice carried risk.
Sico broke the silence.
"Here's how we do it," he said. "Sanctuary gets the largest share. Castle second. Stronghold and Plaza split the next tier. Outposts get rotation units."
Sarah frowned. "Rotation?"
"Yes," Sico said. "We move them. Patrols heading into high-risk zones take goggles with them. When they rotate back, the goggles rotate out. We prioritize mobility and flexibility."
Preston considered it. "It's not ideal."
"No," Sico agreed. "But it's realistic."
Sarah nodded slowly. "It'll work. And once production continues…"
"It will," Sico said. "Mel's team isn't stopping."
Preston allowed himself a small smile. "Good. Because once people get a taste of seeing in the dark, they're not going to want to give it up."
Back in the Science division, Mel felt the shift before anyone told him.
Crates started leaving.
One by one, then in groups.
Guards showed up with manifests and careful hands, treating the goggles like they were fragile relics instead of rugged tools. Mel watched them go without comment, but something settled in his chest as the storage racks slowly emptied.
This was the part he hated.
Not because it was wrong, but because it was out of his control.
Elias found him standing in the annex, hands clasped behind his back, staring at an empty space where crates had been stacked hours earlier.
"They'll use them," Elias said quietly.
"I know," Mel replied.
"They'll save lives."
"I know," Mel said again.
Elias hesitated. "You did this. Whatever happens out there as this matters."
Mel turned to face him. "That's why it's hard."
Elias smiled faintly. "That's how you know you're human."
Mel snorted softly. "Debatable."
The first reports came in that night.
Sanctuary patrols moved farther out than they ever had after dark. Raiders spotted before they could set ambushes. Creatures avoided entirely instead of stumbled into.
At the Castle, guards stood watch on the walls, eyes sweeping the coastline with new clarity. Shadows that once hid threats now revealed empty ground or worse, movement that could be dealt with before it got close.
Freemasons Stronghold tightened its perimeter, patrols overlapping with surgical precision. Minutemen Plaza ran smoother, safer, calmer.
Outposts rotated units carefully, night missions planned with an efficiency that bordered on ruthless.
The night changed.
And people noticed.
Back in the Science division, production continued.
Two hundred and fifty-three became two hundred and sixty.
Then two hundred and seventy as the line didn't stop.
Two hundred and fifty three didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like a breath taken at the wrong time.
The number was logged, the crate sealed, the manifest signed, but no one relaxed. No one leaned back and said good. The line didn't slow, the generators didn't ease, and Mel didn't even look up when Elias murmured the updated count to him over the hum of the assembly floor.
Because by then, everyone understood something fundamental.
Stopping wasn't neutral.
Stopping was dangerous.
So the Science division did what it had learned to do best.
It kept moving.
The second week didn't announce itself any more politely than the first.
It arrived with another convoy from Hancock before dawn on the first day with two trucks coughing black smoke, guards riding on the backs with rifles slung loose and eyes sharp. Intake teams were already waiting, clipboards in hand, faces drawn but alert.
Optics again.
Always optics.
Crates cracked open under harsh lights, revealing layers of padding peeled back to expose lenses wrapped in cloth that had once been uniforms, camera housings scavenged from tourist shops that had turned to rubble centuries ago, military-grade components pulled from places that had tried very hard to stay buried.
Mae stood with Elias during intake this time, no longer just observing. She documented fracture lines, flagged questionable pieces, and quietly suggested which items could be repurposed instead of discarded.
Elias watched her work, then nodded once. "Good catch."
Mae flushed, but didn't slow down.
That was the tone now.
No celebrations. No speeches.
Just progress.
The recruits weren't recruits anymore, not really. They were junior technicians, junior engineers, junior analysts. They rotated through stations with purpose now, not just curiosity. Mistakes still happened, but they were fewer, and they were corrected faster.
Mel remained everywhere and nowhere all at once.
He slept in short bursts on a cot shoved into a corner office he rarely used. He ate when someone shoved food into his hands. He shaved when the stubble started itching under his respirator. He lived in the numbers, in tolerances, in heat signatures and voltage curves.
Two hundred and seventy became two hundred and eighty.
Then three hundred.
No one marked that either.
By the end of the second week, the count stood at five hundred and twenty-six.
Another two hundred and seventy-three units.
NVG-MK.I, all of them.
Fully assembled.
Fully tested.
Fully logged.
The storage annex filled again, but not for long.
Because Sico didn't wait.
The second distribution meeting was more efficient.
It had to be.
The first meeting had been about establishing priorities. This one was about refinement.
Sico, Preston, and Sarah met again in the command room, the maps now heavier with annotations. New patrol routes were drawn in confident lines. Areas once marked avoid after dark were crossed out, replaced with arrows and time stamps.
Sico gestured toward the stacked manifests on the table. "Two hundred and seventy-three units," he said. "Same rules as before, but adjusted."
Preston nodded. "Sanctuary's baseline is covered. We don't need to increase there unless we expand patrols further."
Sarah leaned forward. "The Castle does."
Sico looked at her. "Explain."
"We're pushing the perimeter," Sarah said. "With the first batch, guards stayed close to the walls. Now they're ranging farther out along the coastline. Night raids are down, but that means we're drawing attention elsewhere."
Preston added, "And we're rotating artillery spotters more aggressively. More eyes, more angles."
Sico made a note. "Castle gets reinforcement."
"Stronghold?" Preston asked.
Sarah didn't hesitate. "They've become a magnet. Raiders, mercenaries, even smugglers testing the edges. The goggles changed the balance and people are noticing."
Sico nodded. "Increase allocation there too."
"And the Plaza," Preston continued. "Traffic's up. People feel safer. That's good, but it also means more targets."
Sico exhaled slowly. "Then Plaza gets a proportional increase."
Preston traced a route on the map. "Outposts are where we can really leverage this batch."
Sarah's eyes sharpened. "Agreed. Some of them are finally able to run overlapping patrols. Others can start night recon instead of just sitting tight and hoping."
Sico looked between them. "Rotation units still?"
"For some," Preston said. "But a few outposts have proven stable enough to justify permanent allocation."
Sico considered that, then nodded. "Approved."
There was no debate this time.
No silence weighed down by uncertainty.
They were no longer guessing.
They were adapting.
Hancock's scavenging teams worked like they were racing something they couldn't see.
And maybe they were.
They hit old factories. Abandoned suburbs. Pre-war research facilities that made even seasoned scavengers uneasy. They pulled lenses from children's toys, night sights from broken weapons, glass from places that had once promised progress and delivered ruin.
Losses were minimal, but not nonexistent.
One team limped back with fewer people than they'd left with. Hancock didn't joke about that one. He just sent word to Mel that the shipment would be late and heavier than usual.
It was.
Mel didn't ask questions.
He never did.
The day after the second distribution, Sico sat alone in his office at Freemasons HQ.
The room was quiet in a way Sanctuary rarely was. Thick walls muted the outside world. The desk was clean except for a single map and a stack of reports arranged with precise intent.
Sico leaned back in his chair, hands steepled, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as Preston spoke.
"Patrol efficiency is up fifty percent," Preston said, voice steady but unmistakably energized. "Across the board."
Sico's gaze sharpened. "Define efficiency."
"Coverage," Preston replied. "Response time. Threat detection. Casualty reduction. We're seeing fewer engagements and when they do happen, they're shorter."
Sarah stepped in. "Night ambushes are down dramatically. Raiders can't rely on darkness anymore. Same with creatures. We're spotting them before they get close."
Sico nodded slowly. "And the outposts?"
Sarah's expression shifted that not softer, but satisfied. "Tighter. Across the territory. Guards are more alert. Patrols overlap. Blind spots are shrinking."
"The Castle?" Sico asked.
"Stronger," Sarah said. "The coastline's practically lit up at night now, figuratively. Nothing moves without being seen."
"And the Stronghold?"
Preston smiled faintly. "They've started running counter-patrols. Instead of waiting to be tested, they're testing others."
Sico absorbed that in silence.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Good," he said. "That's what preparation looks like."
Preston hesitated. "There's something else."
Sico gestured for him to continue.
"Morale," Preston said. "It's… different. People walk differently at night now. Less tension. Less fear."
Sarah nodded. "They trust the dark again or at least, they're not blind in it."
Sico leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "That's power," he said quietly. "And power attracts attention."
Preston didn't argue.
"Which is why," Sico continued, "we don't stop."
Sarah's eyes glinted. "Mel won't."
"I know," Sico said. "That's why this works."
Back in the Science division, Mel received the report secondhand.
Elias handed him a tablet, the data scrolling across the screen in neat rows and graphs. Patrol efficiency up fifty percent. Engagement duration down. Casualties reduced.
Mel stared at the numbers for a long moment.
Then he handed the tablet back.
"Good," he said.
That was all.
Elias studied him. "That's it?"
Mel shrugged. "That's the goal."
Elias smiled faintly. "You could let yourself feel it, you know."
Mel glanced toward the production line, where another unit snapped shut with that soft, final click. "Later," he said. "When we're done."
Elias followed his gaze. "Are we ever?"
Mel didn't answer.
The line kept moving.
Five hundred and twenty-six became five hundred and thirty.
Then five hundred and forty.
Five hundred and forty didn't slow the line.
It barely registered.
Another unit locked into place. Another soft click. Another number added to a ledger that no longer felt abstract, but heavy and dense with consequence.
The Science division hummed on, blind to the way the night itself was beginning to react.
The Prydwen cut through the clouds like a scar.
Suspended above the Commonwealth, its massive bulk loomed permanent and absolute, engines thrumming with a low, ever-present growl that vibrated through steel decks and bone alike. Floodlights swept the ground far below in slow, deliberate arcs, bathing ruined streets and dead highways in harsh white light.
Inside, the Brotherhood of Steel was awake.
It always was.
But tonight carried a different tension.
The briefing chamber was full that not crowded, but weighted. Power armor frames lined the walls, hulking silhouettes standing like silent sentinels. Flags hung motionless. The air smelled faintly of oil, ozone, and old metal.
Elder Arthur Maxson stood at the head of the table, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid even by Brotherhood standards. He didn't sit during briefings. He never had.
Around the table sat those who mattered.
Paladin Danse, armor still scuffed from recent field operations, helm resting beside his chair. His expression was controlled, but his jaw was set tight.
Paladin Brandis sat across from him, quieter, more withdrawn, eyes sharp beneath a furrowed brow that never seemed to smooth these days.
Captain Kells stood near the holo-display controls, arms folded, eyes flicking between data readouts and Maxson himself.
Proctor Ingram leaned against the table, her mechanical legs locked, posture steady and confident, fingers drumming lightly against the metal surface.
And at the far end, arms crossed, lips pressed thin, stood Madison Li.
She hadn't wanted to be here.
Which was precisely why Maxson had insisted.
The holo-display flickered to life, casting pale blue light across the room. A map of the Commonwealth rotated slowly, overlaid with Brotherhood patrol routes, known settlements, and threat markers.
Captain Kells cleared his throat.
"This briefing concerns a new development," he said, voice clipped and precise. "Information obtained from multiple scout teams operating in Freemasons Republic territory."
At the mention of that name, several expressions tightened.
Maxson didn't move. "Proceed."
Kells tapped a control. The map zoomed in on Sanctuary Hills, the Castle, Minutemen Plaza, Freemasons Stronghold. Red and yellow markers pulsed faintly.
"Our scouts report a significant shift in nighttime operations across Freemasons-controlled zones," Kells continued. "Increased patrol ranges. Reduced ambush success rates. Faster response times."
Danse frowned. "They've been getting bolder lately."
"Yes," Kells agreed. "But this isn't just confidence."
Another tap. The display changed with grainy images taken from long-range optics. Figures moving in darkness. Eyes glowing faint green.
Night vision.
The room went very still.
Brandis leaned forward slightly. "Enhance."
The image sharpened as much as it could. A patrol of Freemasons soldiers moved through a ruined street at night, their movements precise, coordinated. Mounted over their helmets were unmistakable shapes with compact optics, dual-lens assemblies glowing dimly.
Proctor Ingram let out a low whistle. "That's not scavenged junk."
Li's eyes narrowed. "No. It's not."
Kells nodded. "Our analysts agree. These are manufactured units. Standardized. Consistent design."
Maxson finally spoke. "Name it."
Kells hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Night vision goggles, Elder."
The word landed heavier than it should have.
Danse folded his arms. "The Republic doesn't have the infrastructure for that kind of production."
Li's gaze snapped to him. "Not traditionally."
Maxson turned slightly, looking at her directly. "Explain."
Li inhaled slowly, visibly restraining herself from rolling her eyes. "Night vision technology isn't mystical," she said. "It's optics, amplification, power regulation. Difficult, yes. Resource-intensive, absolutely. But not impossible if you have enough skilled labor and a centralized effort."
Ingram nodded. "And scavenging capability."
"Exactly," Li said. "You don't need pristine facilities. You need volume. Consistency. People who understand tolerances."
Maxson's expression hardened. "And you believe the Freemasons Republic has that."
Li met his gaze without flinching. "I believe they're building it."
Kells brought up another set of data. "Scouts report these units across multiple locations. Sanctuary patrols. Castle walls. Outposts. Even rotating deployments."
Danse's brow furrowed. "How many?"
"We don't have an exact count," Kells admitted. "But estimates suggest several hundred."
That got a reaction.
Brandis swore under his breath.
Ingram straightened. "Several hundred means production. Not a one-off cache."
Maxson's voice cut through the murmurs. "How long have they had them?"
Kells glanced at his notes. "Initial sightings began approximately two weeks ago. Effectiveness increased rapidly."
Li exhaled sharply. "That suggests a ramp-up period. Training. Distribution."
Danse looked at the images again. "That changes the night."
"Yes," Ingram said. "It does."
Maxson clasped his hands tighter behind his back. "Continue."
Kells switched the display again. This time, charts and graphs appeared with engagement statistics, patrol outcomes, estimated casualty rates.
"Since deployment," Kells said, "Freemasons patrol efficiency has increased by approximately fifty percent."
Li's eyebrows shot up despite herself. "Fifty?"
"Yes," Kells confirmed. "Fewer successful ambushes against them. Shorter engagements. Increased detection range."
Danse's expression darkened. "That's not acceptable."
Brandis nodded. "They're neutralizing one of the few advantages raiders and us have at night."
Maxson turned to Ingram. "Assessment."
Ingram didn't hesitate. "Night vision gives them dominance after dark. Terrain familiarity plus visual superiority equals control. If this continues, their territory becomes effectively hostile to any incursion at night."
"And during the day?" Maxson asked.
"They already know the ground," Ingram replied. "This just removes their weakest window."
Silence settled over the room.
Li broke it. "You're not surprised."
Maxson didn't look at her. "No."
She scoffed softly. "Then why call this meeting?"
Maxson finally faced her fully. "Because this confirms something."
Danse tilted his head. "What, Elder?"
"That the Freemasons Republic is no longer reacting," Maxson said. "They're preparing."
Brandis's jaw tightened. "For us."
"For everyone," Maxson corrected. "But especially for anyone who thinks the dark is still a shield."
Li folded her arms tighter. "Night vision isn't a weapon. It's a force multiplier."
Maxson's eyes flicked to her. "So are power armor frames. So are Vertibirds."
She didn't argue.
Kells cleared his throat. "There's more."
Maxson gestured for him to continue.
"Scouts report that the goggles are not uniform in deployment," Kells said. "Some outposts use rotating units. Others appear to have permanent allocations."
Ingram frowned. "That implies logistical planning."
"And discipline," Danse added.
Li nodded slowly. "And production capacity that exceeds immediate need."
Maxson turned back to the holo-display. "Which brings us to the real question."
He looked around the room.
"Who is building them?"
No one answered immediately.
Then Ingram spoke. "The Science division."
Danse looked at her. "You're guessing."
"No," Ingram said calmly. "I'm inferring. The Freemasons Republic consolidated scientific assets months ago. Labs. Workshops. Personnel movement."
Li's lips pressed thin. "They pulled talent from Diamond City. Goodneighbor. Bunker Hill."
Maxson glanced at her sharply. "You know this."
"I've heard the rumors," Li replied. "And some of the names."
The room tensed.
"Names?" Danse repeated.
Li hesitated, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that they've centralized expertise under someone competent."
Maxson turned away again. "Mel."
The name hung in the air.
Danse stiffened. "The scientist that refuse us."
Li's expression flickered with annoyance, something else beneath it. "He didn't refuse you. You tried to own him."
Maxson ignored that. "He's efficient. Focused. And he understands systems."
Ingram nodded. "If anyone in the Commonwealth could pull this off, it's him."
Danse's voice was tight. "Then he's become a threat."
Li snapped her gaze to Maxson. "Or an inevitability."
Maxson met her stare. "There's a difference."
She scoffed. "Is there?"
The Elder didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer to the table, hands braced on its edge.
"The Brotherhood exists to control technology," he said. "To prevent exactly this."
Danse nodded. "Advanced tech in the hands of unregulated factions destabilizes the Commonwealth."
Li shook her head. "Night vision goggles aren't nukes, Elder."
"No," Maxson agreed. "But they tilt the balance."
Brandis spoke up, voice low. "And if they're building this, what comes next?"
That question lingered.
Ingram answered it quietly. "Thermal optics. Improved targeting systems. Integrated command networks."
Danse clenched his fists. "We can't allow them to outpace us."
Maxson straightened. "No."
Kells shifted his weight. "Orders, Elder?"
Maxson didn't hesitate. "Increase reconnaissance. Focus on Freemasons production hubs. Identify supply routes."
Danse nodded. "And interception?"
"Not yet," Maxson said. "I want more data."
Li's eyes narrowed. "You're stalling."
Maxson turned on her. "I'm choosing the battlefield."
She met his gaze. "You're letting them finish."
"They already have," Maxson replied coldly. "This is the finished product."
Silence fell again.
Finally, Danse spoke. "If we encounter these units in the field…"
"Recover them," Maxson said immediately. "Intact if possible."
Ingram nodded. "We can reverse engineer."
Li laughed softly, humorless. "You're already behind."
Maxson's jaw tightened. "The Brotherhood doesn't stay behind."
She held his gaze. "No. You escalate."
"Yes," Maxson said. "We do."
He straightened fully, presence filling the room.
"The Freemasons Republic has declared the night theirs," he said. "We will remind them that the sky belongs to us."
Danse nodded sharply.
Brandis's eyes burned.
Ingram's fingers stilled.
Li looked away, lips pressed tight.
The meeting ended without ceremony.
One by one, they filed out, each carrying the weight of what they'd just learned.
Above them, the Prydwen continued its slow, relentless patrol. And far below, in the quiet glow of green lenses, the night watched back.
______________________________________________
• 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:-