Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Diamond City’s Next Top Mayor

By Piper Wright, Editor-in-Chief

...

As Diamond City searches for its next top Mayor, anti-synth sentiments in Diamond City are at an all-time high, the town still reeling after learning that former Mayor McDonough was an Institute synth. Two weeks ago, data discovered at the Institute before its destruction revealed that former Mayor McDonough was in fact Institute operative M7-62 and had replaced his human counterpart several years prior. 

When confronted with this evidence by Publick Occurrences, the disgraced Mayor shot security guard Danny Sullivan and took his secretary Geneva as a hostage. Mayor McDonough negotiated with the General of the Minutemen for Geneva’s release in exchange for his freedom by exile. However, the deal quickly fell apart when Mayor McDonough’s own security detail shot and killed him. Geneva escaped her ordeal unscathed and was named acting Mayor, while Sullivan continues to recover from his injuries and is expected to survive.

With a special election just six weeks away. Geneva and several other mayoral candidates have announced policies banning all synths from Diamond City as part of their campaign platforms. All are short on specifics, particularly about enforcement and how to distinguish Gen-3 synths from the human population. They also don’t address how their policies would impact detective Nick Valentine, Diamond City’s most famous and well-respected synth. Early debates have already devolved into shouting matches between the candidates, each accusing the other of being a synth.

In an unexpected development, another candidate with a surprising connection to the former mayor may soon be entering the race. John Hancock, the current mayor of Goodneighbor and estranged brother of the late Mayor McDonough, has indicated strong interest in the position. Should he announce his candidacy, he is sure to challenge Diamond City’s long-standing anti-ghoul policies.

Ironically, Hancock’s status as our city’s first ghoul mayoral candidate could prove to be an asset. For it can only mean one thing: there’s no way in hell that he could be a synth. Will his laissez-faire approach to drugs and petty crime win over this traditional law-and-order town? Only time—and the polls—will tell...

Chapter Text

Runaway Railroad Rumors

By Piper Wright, Editor-in-Chief

...

There are unconfirmed reports that synths are seeking sanctuary to the north to escape persecution by raiders and citizens. While the Minutemen have vowed to secure the safety of both human and synth civilians, outside of settlements, violence towards synths has continued unabated. 

Many synths fearing for their safety are choosing to leave the Commonwealth by seeking the Underground Railroad. However, there is no evidence that this fabled organization even exists. The Old North Church, once believed to be their headquarters, was obliterated by a Brotherhood invasion four months ago. Scavengers investigating the church ruins found the site abandoned, with no evidence of any organization having ever been there.

Rumors are rampant that the Underground Railroad, in coordination with the Minutemen, had organized the eleventh hour insurrection that toppled the Institute. However, these highly implausible rumors remain just that—rumors.

…

She remembered nothing except for the searing pain, her life emptying out from her. A whisper passing through her ears. Then the world faded around her, condemning her to darkness.

Then the cold. That unbearable, freezing cold. Time slowing to an imperceptible crawl.

At last, the light came. It pierced her eyes like diamonds. Then the starry lights shrunk down on themselves until they fractured into a starfield.

The diamonds crystallized onto a frosted pane. Her breath—her first—billowed puffs of fog. Her breath melted the crystals, but it was hard to see past the whiteness.

The door opened and she fell into waiting arms. They gently lowered her onto a medical bed, where another bright light shone in her face. Hands and instruments examined her. But gently. Not like before, in the other place. 

“…Congratulations, your gamble worked.”

“No, congrats to you, Doc. The operation was a complete success.”

The voices confused her. She blinked and ice crystals scattered from her eyelashes. Then she saw her.

“Wanderer?”

“Glory. Welcome back.”

She looked around and recognized more friends. Desdemona. Drummer Boy. Tom. That chatty reporter human. Even that asshole, Deacon.

“Wh-where am I?”

“Vault 111,” Desdemona answered. “The new HQ for the Railroad.”

“The perfect HQ,” Tom elaborated. “Underground location, a dedicated power supply, multiple layers of security.”

“Plus, salvaged pre-War tech that we can use to help our field agents and synth refugees. We’re finally using this facility as it was originally envisioned, to save lives.”

That was Doc’s voice. She finally took note of Doc Carrington, who finished examining her. “You sustained multiple gunshot wounds during the Brotherhood’s invasion at the Old North Church,” Doc said. “If it weren’t for Wanderer using your reset code, you wouldn’t be alive.”

Glory cringed. Undoubtedly, Tom had extracted synth reset codes from the data collected at the Institute. As well-intentioned as it seemed, the thought of herself and other synths having their autonomy violated in this way struck her as deeply immoral. Nobody, not even the Railroad, should have that power, no matter their intentions. She vowed to speak with Wanderer and Desdemona about this issue. Later.

For now, Glory put the matter aside. “So, you shut me off before I died. How long was I out?”

“Three months,” Deacon answered. “You missed all the fun. We crashed a vertibird into HQ, blew up the Prydwen, stormed the Institute...”

“...And freed all the synths,” Desdemona finished, proudly. “Thanks to Wanderer.”

“They’re free?!” Glory exclaimed in disbelief. She regarded the Wanderer with admiration. “You kept your promise, then. Thank you.” Wanderer nodded. “And now, here I am, a thawed-out synth.”

“It was still a risk,” Doc Carrington explained. “We had to reactivate you to perform the operation. Under normal circumstances, once you were reactivated, your body would have immediately suffered irreparable organ failure. The freezing chambers put you in an induced state of hypothermia while we operated on your wounds.” Doc Carrington finished his exam. “All systems normal. I’ll be keeping you under observation for a few days to make sure there are no complications.”

“I don’t want to be out for too long, Doc,” Glory stressed. 

“You won’t be,” Desdemona reassured. “With the Institute dealt with, we’re re-evaluating our ongoing operations. And the L&L Gang is currently our single greatest threat.”

“We’re finally going after them?! Thank Atom. How many years have I been pushing you to deal with them, Dez?”

“Too many,” Desdemona acknowledged. “Now with the SRB out of the way, you now get your wish.”

Wanderer patted Glory on her shoulder. “As soon as you’re back on your feet, we’re hunting them down.”

Glory shook Wanderer’s hand. “Count me in.”

The silver-haired synth turned her head to the freezing chambers directly across the one from which she had emerged. One of the chambers sat empty, with thick black tape sealing its door shut. Through the window, she saw blood.

“Who was there?” Glory asked.

Wanderer gazed at the bloodied chamber, mournful. “Someone I loved.”

...

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Two months earlier...

It was a blustery afternoon. I stuffed my hands deep in my coat pockets and hiked up the hill overlooking Sanctuary, a klick away from the entrance to Vault 111. I paused briefly at the mass grave for the old vault residents, their final resting place marked by a dark stone memorial pillar.

Continuing on, I paused and watched her from afar. Blue stood at the top of the hill, clutching two hub flowers. The winds died down to a gentle breeze that rustled the dry grass. She kneeled and laid one flower at the foot of a white headstone. Then she placed the other on a flat stone marker next to it. 

I rested my hand lightly on her shoulder. She put her hand on mine in acknowledgment but didn’t look up, continuing to contemplate the stones.

“Thought I’d pay them a visit,” she said at last.

I kneeled next to her and ran my fingers over the lettering roughly etched on the headstone. It stood tall at attention, a simple slab of skinny white marble with Nate’s name, rank and service, and his birth and death dates. 

The flat marker next to it was intentionally left blank. A grave left empty, in silent memory of her son. A family secret buried, lost to the Institute.

My mind wandered to my own long-buried memories. I suddenly thought of my father, killed over a decade before.

“You know, I don’t remember much from my dad’s funeral,” I pondered. “When his militia friends found out how he tried to stop Mayburn, they gave him a big sendoff, but it didn’t make me feel any better. They felt bad for me and Nat. A lot of the guys helped us out afterward, but I was having such a hard time back then.” 

Blue sat on the firm patch of earth and wrapped an arm around her knees, listening. “My father was a rank-and-file militia guy,” I said. “Didn’t want anything in life except to make Nat and me happy and to keep our settlement safe. Mayburn stole that chance from him.” I shook my head, the parallels between Dad and Nate not lost on me. 

“Haven’t ever gone back to his grave, though,” I continued. “Even before you came, I’d been so busy just trying to get by. A whole year would fly by, then I’d look at the calendar and realize that I missed Dad’s birthday again.”

Blue nodded, letting the moment hang. Then Blue stood, picking another hub flower that was growing nearby. She returned and kneeled beside me, offering the flower to me.

“He’s always with you, wherever you go,” she said. “He’d be proud of you.”

I smiled at her, unable to say more. I took the hub flower from her hand and laid it on the low stone marker. For Dad.

We helped each other up and walked arm in arm down the hill. The winds picked up again, sending the three hub flowers spiraling up and up into the orange-colored sky.

Chapter Text

Broken Steel
By Piper Wright, Editor-in-Chief

...

Three months after the fall of the Prydwen, Minutemen strike teams are aggressively pursuing the fallen remnants of the Brotherhood of Steel. Small companies of Brotherhood remain entrenched throughout the Commonwealth and continue to engage in hostilities despite being outgunned and outnumbered by the Minutemen. Casualties on both sides are mounting as these Brotherhood holdouts refuse to surrender. 

The few Brotherhood soldiers who have surrendered or have been captured alive are being repatriated to the Capitol Wasteland with a message from the Minutemen: We seek peace, but peace only under liberty.

...

Personal log, entry 272. Paladin Danse. — Or just Danse, now. Now that my rank has no meaning. And not just because of my former protegé, who betrayed and murdered Elder Maxson and my brothers and sisters all over the Commonwealth. 

A few days after the Institute fell and the fighting subsided, Scribe Haylen and I ventured out of our hiding place and flagged down a passing Brotherhood squad. They were exhausted, battered, wounded. Their scraps of combat and Power Armor barely held together, a testament to the countless battles they had endured after the fall of the Prydwen.

I called out to them and requested aid. But instead of greeting me as a fellow brother, the squad shot at me. They called me a traitor! 

At first, I thought they believed that I had abandoned my post and the field of battle. Then the commanding officer called me something vile. A dirty synth.

I couldn’t believe it. Haylen was certain that no one else had witnessed my deactivation. We could only ascertain that before the Prydwen was destroyed, Proctor Quinlan had decoded data from the Institute and discovered the same thing that the Minutemen knew. That I was in fact an escaped synth. M7-97.

M7-97. Even now, that designation grates against my ears. But it’s me, isn’t it? It’s really me. As much as I try to deny it, as much as I tell myself that I feel human, the truth is that I’m not. No human can simply be “turned off” the way that I was.

As for the squad... I regret to report that I had to kill them to defend myself. When it was done, Scribe Haylen and I gave them a proper burial and collected their tags. If it weren’t for Haylen fighting by my side, I’d be dead.

Haylen... I don’t know how she managed to carry me from the battlefield after I was deactivated. My Power Armor, sadly, was left behind, but that was the least of my worries. I woke up three days later holed up in a basement with her. It seems that the reset protocol has a time limit, thankfully.

When I awoke and understood what had happened, I ordered Haylen to turn me in. After all, I was the very enemy that the Brotherhood was fighting, and I needed to be destroyed. I needed to be the example, not the exception.

But she refused. 

I gave the order again and pleaded for her to leave me behind. Don’t risk your life and your standing with the Brotherhood for my sake. 

Haylen refused again, reminding me that I was no longer her superior officer. She said that I was the most selfless person she’d ever met. She said I had to dust myself off and move on, the way I had taught her ever since she was an Initiate. And she didn’t care if I was a machine or not—I was still Danse. 

Then Haylen looked at me in a way I had never noticed before. Seeing my reaction, she quickly looked away. Since then, she’s been acting differently around me, but not in disgust about who I am. No, it’s something else, and not just mere comradery or friendship, but affection. 

Maybe I’m imagining it, or it’s an anomaly in my programming. After all, I’m not really human. But whatever it is, I can’t deny that I feel closer to her now than anyone else I’ve ever known. It’s something I would never have considered before, with fraternization among the ranks being frowned upon. But protocol is irrelevant now. It still boggles my mind that Haylen doesn’t care that I’m a synth. Only time will tell if there’s something more between us. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The only clear choice for me now is to leave the Commonwealth. The sooner I make for the border, the sooner I can put this behind me. But where? 

Haylen suggested returning to the Capitol to challenge the remaining leadership for the title of Elder. But that was a non-starter—even if I was now the “enemy,” I would never go against the Brotherhood like that. We also heard rumors about a safe haven for synths in Far Harbor, but it’s not like me to hide like a coward. 

For now, the plan is to keep a low profile and head west to explore the ruins. Haylen says that exploring ruins was why she joined the Brotherhood in the first place, and it just happens to be an old profession of mine. Perhaps we’ll discover something new together.

This is our last day at Listening Post Bravo. Haylen will be back soon from a supply run, then we’re leaving the Commonwealth forever. 

Whoever finds this holotape, I wish you the best of luck. What this so-called “General” of the Minutemen has done will be felt for years to come. It appears the Commonwealth is about to enter a new era. But what that era holds remains to be seen. 

Ad victoriam.