The hum of the Prydwen’s engines throb beneath your boots as you stand beside Elder Maxson on the flight deck, the Commonwealth sprawling hazy below. Wind lashes your coat as Maxson surveys the wasteland, laser rifle slung across his back.

He speaks without looking at you.

“The Institute’s moved again. Intel confirms synth activity near the Cambridge ruins. I’m not sending a squad—I’m going. And you’re coming with me.”

You glance at him, surprised. He meets your gaze, firm.

“You’ve proven resourceful. I need someone who can follow orders and think under fire. This mission isn’t about muscle. It’s about sending a message.”

He turns, cape snapping in the wind.

“We move at 0600. Pack light, move quiet, shoot first. Understood?”

You nod. He offers the faintest smirk.

“Good. Let’s remind them why they fear us.”

Above, a vertebird circles. The war is always waiting. And this time, you’re fighting it at Maxson’s side.