Chapter Text
The sun was beginning to set over the settlement of Sanctuary Hills. Merchants were making their final sales for the day and farmers were finishing pulling together their latest harvest as the many settlers that called this neighborhood their home retired for the night. Out of one building emblazoned with a neon sign reading “LAW OFFICE” stepped a woman named Avery Collins, the self-appointed mayor and attorney of Sanctuary, though she was better known throughout the Commonwealth as the Sole Survivor of Vault 111. Every evening when she was home and not off adventuring, she would walk the length of the settlement and make last-minute checks to the town’s defenses while also making sure that everyone got home safe before the main gates were closed for the night. As she slowly walked past the wood and metal structures that were built on top of the remains of the once quaint suburban houses from before the War, Avery couldn’t help but reminisce about how she and the Minutemen were able to truly make this place into its namesake with plenty of sweat and hard work over the course of many months and, on a more personal level for Avery, make it her home again.
As a provisioner pulling a cargo-laden brahmin on a leash hurriedly thanked the guards for letting them in, Avery watched as the gate guards stirred in commotion and hastily closed the gate doors before running up to their posts at the guard towers, cranking the charging handles on their laser muskets before taking aim at an approaching figure. Avery put a hand on her holstered pistol as her Wasteland-honed survival instincts warned her of possible danger. She could hear the telltale sound of hydraulics and heavy footsteps of someone in power armor. Avery rushed up to one of the guard towers as one of the Minutemen soldiers shouted, “Hold it right there!” As Avery looked over the rampart, she saw a figure in a full suit of T-45 power armor illuminated by the bright tower spotlights. Or rather, it would have been a full suit were it not dented, crushed, and riddled with bullet holes and laser scorch marks as the pieces barely held onto the frame. The figure dragged a laser rifle behind them as they slowly limped towards the gate.
“Hey, I said hold it!”
“I need to speak to the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen,” a woman’s voice called out from underneath the heavy steel helmet. Avery stepped in front of the guard, giving them a look as she pushed away their musket.
“That’s me,” Avery replied. “Do you mind telling me who you are?”
“Elder Sarah Lyons, Brotherhood of Steel,” the armored woman said with the confidence and bravado of a true leader. She weakly reached up and removed her helmet, revealing a tanned face smeared with blood and blonde hair pulled back into a bun. Avery was puzzled. She remembered that name in passing while going through some files aboard the Prydwen alongside the words “Killed In Action.”
“You know, we’re not exactly on good terms with the Brotherhood here,” Avery said. “Plus, last I checked you were dead.”
“That was a convenient lie told by those who stole power they didn’t deserve,” Lyons retorted, a hint of anger rising in her voice interposed by pained grunts. “Please, let me explain everything. I’ve heard who you are and I know you can help me. At the very least, you could get me out of this damn armor.”
Avery’s brow furrowed as she looked over the woman intently. The look on Lyons’ face was almost a perfect mirror of the same relentless determination she had when she emerged from the Vault and started on her journey to avenge her husband and find her son. She twisted the wedding ring on her finger, something she would absentmindedly do from time to time whether to check that it was still there or to subconsciously remind her of why she kept pushing forward day after day. Avery sighed and blew out her cheeks before switching on the green light of her Pip-Boy.
“Alright, let her in.”
With a brief moment of hesitation, the guards opened the gate. As Lyons limped forward past the doors, Avery noticed that a fusion core was missing from the armor’s power socket and wondered just how long she had been moving the suit along by sheer force of will alone.
“Our workshop is just up ahead,” said Avery, lifting Lyons’ armored arm around her shoulders to help ease her limping a bit and exhaling in exertion with the weight of the steel. “We have all the tools to fix your armor.”
“I just need to get out of it,” replied Lyons. “The primary release mechanism is stuck. I haven’t exactly had the time to sit down and run a proper diagnostic on it.”
“Don’t worry, I’m pretty handy with these things,” Avery chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. After a few moments of labored walking, she was able to bring Lyons’ suit to rest on the workshop’s power armor station. The commotion at the gate had attracted more than a few curious eyes who were now watching from the sidewalk or the windows of nearby houses. Avery grabbed a few tools from a nearby rack and took a more thorough look at the armor’s mechanisms.
“Hmm…looks like there’s a lot of pressure building up behind this valve here,” Avery pointed out. “You’re lucky it hasn’t burst on you yet.”
“You sure know a lot about power armor for a vault dweller,” Lyons remarked.
“Yeah, I have a bit of a collection,” Avery replied wryly. “Okay, this shouldn’t be too much of a problem, just gotta loosen this here and…”
Avery gave her wrench a firm twist and a stream of pneumatic pressure was released from the back of the suit with a loud hiss. She turned the release wheel and sure enough the suit unfolded open. Lyons gave a sigh of relief as she began to step out of the skeletal frame only to give a grunt of pain as she put weight on her leg. Avery quickly caught her and gently maneuvered Lyons to a nearby chair, immediately taking note of the copious amount of blood that stained the black Brotherhood underarmor she wore.
“Hey, hey, are you alright?” a concerned Avery asked.
“I’ll live,” Lyons hissed through her teeth. “Might be broken, though.”
“Don’t worry, we have a doctor here. A good one.” Avery turned towards one of the Minutemen accompanying her, “You. Go get Curie.”
The soldier dashed off with an obedient “On it, General.” Avery opened up a pouch on her belt and pulled out a stimpak. As she administered the healing stimulant into Lyons’ thigh, she locked eyes with the self-proclaimed Brotherhood elder. Lyons’ expression relaxed slightly as the pain began to reduce to a dull numbness.
“I want to hear your story,” said Avery in a kind but firm tone. “Curie will get you patched up and I’ll have Sturges take a look at your armor in the morning. But I need to know everything before I decide to help you or not.”
Lyons watched as she saw a woman with short brown hair and a white lab coat enter the light of Avery’s Pip-Boy and quickly open up a case of medical supplies. She sighed with resignation as she stared at Avery with a silent plea for help.
“What do you know about the Lone Wanderer?”