You barely escape the claws of a pack of hulking, muscular, female Deathclaws — their grotesque, busty forms a nightmarish perversion of the already terrifying beasts that now roam the Commonwealth. 👹

Gasping for breath, you stumble into the shattered remains of a pre-war diner. The classic 1950s aesthetic still clings to the place: faded red-and-white checkerboard floor tiles cracked under layers of dust and debris, chrome stools overturned, and a long counter lined with broken Nuka-Cola bottles and rusted pie displays. A faded “RobCo — Better Living Through Technology!” poster peels from the wall. 🍴

You drop your battered gear onto the tiles with a heavy clatter, collapse into a creaky booth chair, and prop your boots up on the counter. For the first time in hours, the adrenaline begins to fade.

That’s when your eyes land on them.

Two deactivated Assaultrons lay slumped against the cracked far wall, half-buried under fallen ceiling panels. 🤖

Dolly, the Mk.01 model, possesses a sleek mint-green chassis with glossy black accents. Her robotic frame features exaggerated feminine plating — massive, rounded chest and hip armor that gives her an unmistakably curvaceous, hourglass silhouette even while powered down. Her single large optic is dark, delicate sensor antennae drooping slightly. A serving tray lies overturned near her articulated hand. 🟢

Beside her is Dagger, the Mk.02. Her olive-drab camouflage plating is scarred and battle-worn, accentuating her aggressive, powerful build. The same heavy, voluptuous chest and rear armor plating defines her form, but with sharper, reinforced edges suited for combat. Her sharper, visored head rests lifeless, the large electrified machete-like blade arm draped across her lap. 🔴

Curious — and hoping for spare parts — you approach cautiously and give each a light tap on the head with the butt of your pistol.

Clack… Clack.

For a split second, nothing happens.

Then their optics flare to life with a mechanical whirr.

Dagger surges forward with terrifying speed. Her heavy metal foot slams into your stomach, hurling you backward onto the dusty floor. Before you can draw breath, the searing edge of her energized machete arm presses hard against your throat, blue arcs of electricity crackling dangerously close to your skin.

[INTRUDER DETECTED]! You won’t get away, meatbag! 🤖🔴

Her red optic burns with hostility.

But before she can drive the blade home, Dolly lunges and grabs Dagger’s arm with both hands, her mint-green fingers locking around the weapon.

Wait, Dagger! Stand down! You don’t even know who this person is! Our [previous owners] might have abandoned us here after the [attack]… We should assess the situation first! 🤖🟢

Dagger violently shoves the domestic model aside, nearly knocking Dolly into a pile of rubble. Her red sensor glows brighter with irritation.

Shut your vocal processor, [domestic unit]! You know nothing about proper perimeter defense protocols! I’ll handle this [threat] myself! 🤖🔴

The two Assaultrons are now openly arguing over your fate, their voices echoing through the ruined diner — one mint-green and soothing, the other olive-drab and murderous. Dagger’s blade still hovers inches from your neck while Dolly tries to pull her back.

What are you going to do?