Canvas tents lined the inner courtyard, hammer blows rang from scaffolds, and the cracked walls now bore fresh scaffolding where new stone was being set in place. For the first time in generations, the Minutemen looked like an army instead of scattered farmers with muskets.
General Nate stood in the center of the yard, Preston and Ronnie at his side. A line of minutemen recruits and veterans waited, dust from the recent drills still clinging to their boots.
Nate raised his voice so all could hear:
Nate:"Today we turn the Castle from ruins into a command post worthy of its history. That means discipline, logistics, and command. We can't fight scattered anymore — we fight as one."
He turned to Ronnie Shaw. The old veteran straightened, hands clasped behind her back.
Nate:"Ronnie Shaw. You've kept the Minutemen alive through the darkest years. From this day, you'll serve as Master Sergeant. You'll oversee drilling, standards, and ranks. More than that — you'll act as Quartermaster. The armory's yours to manage."
Ronnie grinned, weathered face breaking into something almost youthful."About damn time someone put me back to work proper. These kids'll shape up quick enough — or I'll march 'em 'til they do."
A ripple of laughter broke the tension.
Nate faced Preston next."Preston Garvey. You've carried the Minutemen's burden longer than anyone here. You'll maintain our lifeline — supply convoys from the northern settlements. Tenpines, Oberland, Zimonja, all of them. Without food and ammo, this whole effort dies in the dirt."
Preston nodded firmly."You can count on me, General. No caravan's gonna run empty while I'm breathing."
The men and women around them cheered. Nate raised his hand for silence, then continued.
Nate:"The Castle is our heart. But our reach? That comes from allies and strongholds. That's where Commander Sarah steps in. While we rebuild here, she's focusing her Dolls on establishing a new base at Spectacle Island. From there, she'll secure the coastline, build forward operations, and give us a shield on the water."
The sea breeze carried a bitter tang of scorched salt and ash. What had once been overrun with mirelurks was now a barren cratered expanse — blackened shells, shattered trees, and the rusted bones of shacks vaporized by the hydrogen blast. The shoreline was littered with glassed sand and twisted debris, still giving off a faint chemical stink.
A flotilla of fishing boats pushed up onto the ruined dock, their hulls scraping against the warped pylons. Minutemen jumped into the shallows, unloading crates of food, steel, and timber. Above, Vertibirds from Starlight Drive-In circled low, dropping pallets onto the cracked earth with a heavy thud-thud-thud.
On the island's Northen beach, Commander Sarah stood with her coat whipping in the sea breeze, binoculars pressed to her eyes. Team 404 clustered near the supply drop, voices carrying over the crash of waves.
Sarah stood on the scorched hill that once overlooked the shanty settlement, her coat whipping in the wind. The sight was grim, but her voice carried sharp conviction.
Sarah:"Good. Nothing left for the mirelurks to crawl back to. That means we start fresh clean."
Minutemen boats ferried in supplies from the Castle, docking against warped pylons. Crates of steel, food, and timber were unloaded onto the blasted ground. Above, Vertibirds from Starlight thundered overhead, lowering prefabricated frames. Minutemen crews bustled to and fro — but only along the designated lanes marked by Sarah's holographic beacons.
Beyond those markers, other shapes loomed. Sleek armored pods — taller than a man — were lowered into craters and sealed behind blast-shielded bulkheads. Minutemen gave those areas a wide berth, muttering uneasily at the sight of faint blue lights pulsing beneath the pod casings.
Team 404 treated the ruins like a playground.
UMP9 wrinkled her nose, kicking a charred crab shell.UMP9: "Ugh~~Still smells like a bad cookout."
HK416 set up overwatch with clinical precision.HK416: "Field's open. Once the walls are up, this island is untouchable."
SOPMOD gleefully mapped explosive zones into her datapad.SOPMOD: "Ooooh, we could wire the whole beach to blow!"
UMP45 shot her a look.UMP45: "HEY! We're building a base, not your art project."
Nearby, AR Team worked with cold efficiency. M4A1 directed Minutemen engineers, while SOP-II and Mayling coordinated clearing operations with Ghost Mule dragging away irradiated debris. Behind sealed barriers, Zas M21 supervised the installation of Doll-exclusive equipment: advanced Maintenance Pods, fabrication tools, and racks of weaponry that no wastelander could begin to understand.
Sarah made sure the lines were clear.
Minutemen had access to the supply depots, barracks, and docks.
The Division kept the inner compound locked, armored, and off-limits.
Those who asked too many questions were gently but firmly redirected. Sarah had already spoken with Nate: "This base is for everyone, but some parts aren't yours to walk into. Trust me on this."
From her vantage, Sarah keyed ISAC.ISAC: "Perimeter staging at 40%. Recommend fortification priority: northern seawall."
She gave a sharp nod.Sarah:"Make it happen. Walls first. Then pads. This island is more than a fort — it's our shield, and our spear."
Behind her, G11 cracked open a soda and sprawled across a supply crate.G11 (murmuring):"Call me when the wasteland looks less… nuked."
Sarah allowed herself a rare smirk. To the Minutemen, Spectacle Island was becoming a bulwark against the sea. To the Dolls, it was something far more: the first stone of the Division's hidden stronghold under commenwealth watch.
Shortly after the few day of construction of Spectecle Island. The new foundation rose out of the ruins with uncanny speed. Prefab walls and sealed corridors locked into place as if the island itself were being reassembled by unseen hands. Minutemen laborers shook their heads in disbelief, muttering that "no one builds this fast." Sarah knew better: it wasn't just manpower — it was the Dolls, ISAC, and tools far beyond the wasteland's imagination.
Inside the command post, Sarah knelt over a steel case, bolting down the C&C Node. Cables snaked into the armored housing as Mayling hovered nearby, holo-screens flickering with progress bars.
Mayling:"ISAC kernel installation at seventy-four percent. Integration stable. We'll have full tactical relay by nightfall."
Sarah wiped a streak of dust from her glove, leaned back against the crate, and let the soft hum of processors fill the silence. For a rare moment, she allowed herself to feel tired.
That's when her hand brushed against a smaller box pushed into the corner. Dust coated the latch, but the mark stenciled across its face was unmistakable: Division Black-Orange Chevron.
Her throat tightened. Slowly, she opened it.
Inside lay a battered holotape recorder. The label was half-faded, but she could still read the scrawled words: "Hensley – Last Transmission."
With a trembling thumb, she slotted it into the terminal. The device crackled to life.
[Holotape Playback – Secretary Robert Hensley's voice, gravelly and strained]"…This is Robert Hensley, Secretary of Defense… no, was. The government's gone. The enclaves tore us apart from within, and the bombs did the rest. Directive 51… failed. Or maybe it was betrayed. Too many agents went dark. Too many chose themselves over the mission…"
Static. Then his voice again, lower.
"…To those still carrying the badge, you are America's last guardians. Even if you stand alone, the Division endures. I don't know if anyone will hear this. But if you do, fight the long war. Protect what remains. Don't let the light go out."
A long pause. She thought the tape was over. Then one final whisper:
"…God help us all."
[Holotape Ends]
Sarah stared at the dead screen. For a long time, she said nothing. Only Mayling noticed the way her hands tightened on her knees.
Mayling (softly):"Commander…?"
Sarah exhaled slowly, masking the weight pressing on her chest.
Sarah:"He was the last voice. After Hensley fell, I was it. Just me… and the Dolls. That's how I'm still here. Why I'm still fighting."
Mayling looked at her, hesitation flickering across her usually mechanical composure, then simply nodded.
On the console, ISAC pinged.ISAC: "Installation complete. Division Command Node online."
Sarah rose, straightening her coat. Whatever ghosts lingered, they had no hold on her now.
Sarah (under her breath):"Last agent or not… the mission continues."
She keyed in her authorization, and the room came alive — blue tactical overlays blooming across the walls. Outside, the stronghold took its breath as the Division become center once again.