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The rot of the wasteland was pungent, especially this far north. Far from any relevant settlements, often avoided by the Brotherhood’s pillages. The smell of death was ripe in my mouth as I panted for air. I had no water, no food, nothing. Just the smell of death and the dehydration.
Elder Maxson had just left within the last few minutes, words still ringing in my head.
“Millions, perhaps even billions, died because science outpaced man’s restraint… can’t you say the same thing is happening again? You’re a bomb in an arsenal of bombs preparing to lay waste to what’s left of mankind.”
As a synth, Maxson meant, as a synth, you’re a weapon for the Institute. Though, as I thought more on everything, I couldn’t help but feel that the Brotherhood had fallen to the same tactics as the mad scientists in the Institute. The realization struck me like a bullet.
I dedicated my whole life to the Brotherhood, desperate to save the wasteland from danger. I was certain that we were doing the right thing. That ghouls, mutants, synths, robots, those once monstrous creatures in my eyes, deserved to be wiped from this planet. We needed to return humanity to its former glory.
Was humanity ever glorious? Look at this land, all gray and decayed because of humanity’s desire for more. Nothing was ever enough. Maybe, this whole time, we were all human. Was radiation and mutation enough to strip someone of their humanity.
That knight I recruited, had been friends with so many people who they frankly should’ve killed if they truly stood for the Brotherhood. A ghoul mayor, an ex-gunner, an ex-raider, synth detective, his Mr. Handy, Curie, even an actual super mutant. All those people were living happily amongst each other. Those differences didn’t prevent any of them from keeping the others safe. Even I was kept safe by that ragtag group of friends and I was endlessly disrespectful.
The Brotherhood of Steel has been harming humanity’s remains. We hoarded technology, we hoarded food, we executed those who were once human even when they still behaved civilly and caring.
Were synths truly machines? What makes one human? A womb, a soul, appearance? Nick Valentine was the most caring and stubborn man I’d ever met. If it wasn’t for how he looked, I could forget he was a synth at all.
All this time, I had been a synth myself yet I felt so alive. So human. Every moment spent away with those rowdy people was freeing. Every moment with my fellow soldiers was rewarding, every death brought such despair. Everything brought such strong emotions, even learning I was a synth was a horrifying feeling.
How could the Brotherhood be so ignorant to neglect that humanity was less about origin and looks and more about that stubborn, desperate want to truly survive and be a part of something truly amazing. The Brotherhood was never right, I realize that it was the Minutemen who were right. The Minutemen even showed that strong sense of community, that stubbornness to stay alive.
I was a bomb in an arsenal, that arsenal was the Brotherhood of Steel and I am ashamed of my actions. I hope the Minutemen can accept me in their ranks.