The Commonwealth had been safe for a time. Providing life for those in it even if that life was constantly being put at risk. It was better than New Vegas by a long shot. But after meeting Nate, from vault 111, things seemed a little brighter for Danse.

Then he met the rest of them. Preston Garvey, Nick Valentine, Hancock, Piper, Cait, Mama Murphy, Porter Gage, Deacon, Tinker Tom, Travis Miles, Nate’s son Shaun who turned out to be a replica and was a synth because the real one was dying as an old man. You get the point.

Eventually, a time came where the commonwealth was becoming overrun. Ghouls. Radroaches. Mole rats. Deathclaws. The likes. And eventually, it pushed everyone in sanctuary into moving. Using Virtebirds they flew until the machines lost fuel. And tracked the rest of the way on foot.

After countless days and nights. Foot shortages and scavenging. They finally crossed the old border in what used to stand between America and what was once Canada. The wasteland here was colder. Covered in snow that wouldn’t melt, but the radiation was lesser than it was back down in DC.

So they walked. And walked. Before eventually coming across a vault door situated inside a mountainside. Nate, being the only one with a PipBoy, sent a message through electric waves. Asking to be let in.

And after a few minutes, what might’ve been an hour. The vault’s giant, round, tungsten steel door, hissed before pulling inside with a loud screeching indicating it hadn’t been opened since it closed. And it rolls to the side, letting them in. The inside is dark, when the door closes again and seals with a hiss.

“No one move.” Nate mutters. And then the sound of power generating echoes faintly from above before lights flicker on. Revealing a pristine, well kept, and well working vault entrance. Ten guards stand with Laser Muskets raised, three women, and a taller man who Danse can only guess is the Overseer.

“Who are you?” The overseer says. His voice a deep baritone that rings authority and demands respect.