Thump, thump, thump.
Slow and steady, one strike after another, with a certain rhythm to it.
Someone was fixing something.
He opened his eyes and stared at the sheet-metal roof above him for two seconds.
Sunlight leaked through the cracks, falling across his face in thin, warm lines.
Sanctuary Hills.
He sat up and rubbed his neck.
He had slept more deeply last night than he had in the past few days.
Probably because all the supplies had been brought back, and everyone was here.
The bed board was still just as hard, but lying on it felt different now.
Safe.
The sounds outside gradually became clearer.
Voices, footsteps, and dull hammering mixed together, along with the low mooing of Brahmin.
The Brahmin rented from the caravan had not been returned yet.
For now, they were penned in the open space beside the workshop, waiting to be sent back to Diamond City today.
Jace stood up and pushed open the door welded together from sheet metal.
The sunlight was brighter than he had expected.
It was still the kind of cloudy day common in the Commonwealth during this season, but the clouds had thinned a little.
The light had shifted from gray-white to warm white, falling over the settlement and over the people busy at work.
Puddles on the ground reflected the color of the sky, and a few shards of broken glass caught the light, sparkling faintly.
At the workshop entrance, Anthony was leading a few people in repairing a house.
The tall, thin man stood beneath a ladder, passing a sheet of metal up to the roof.
Another person took it, laid it flat, and started hammering in nails.
A little farther away, Codsworth hovered beside a short tree, several mechanical hands working at once as he dismantled a broken sewing machine.
The parts were sorted into different places.
Screws went into a small box on the left, gears on the right, and the rusted drive shaft was set aside on its own.
A mechanical finger reached into the shaft hole and turned it a few times, making a faint scraping sound.
Several female residents stood around him, holding the fabric brought back yesterday, waiting for the machine to be repaired so they could start making clothes and bedding.
Codsworth’s voice drifted over.
“Ladies, please wait a moment.
This machine’s drive shaft is somewhat rusted.
I need to clean it first.”
“We’re not in a hurry,” one of the women replied with a relaxed smile.
“Take your time.”
Over by the wounded shelter, Sturges was crouching beside someone lying down.
The man’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling faintly.
Sturges held a bandage in his hands and was changing the dressing.
He unwound the old bandage, tossed it into the metal bucket beside him, then wiped the skin around the wound with a damp cloth before picking up a new bandage and wrapping it around, layer by layer.
His movements were slow and steady, as if he had done this many times before.
Jace watched for a while, then walked toward Sturges.
His foot stepped on a small pebble.
It rolled away, hit another stone, and made a faint clack.
Sturges heard his footsteps and looked up.
“Morning, General.” Then he lowered his head and went back to work.
“Morning.” Jace crouched down and glanced at the wounded man.
“How are they?”
“This one’s much better.
He still had a fever last night, but it broke this morning.” Sturges nodded in another direction and lowered his voice.
“That one may have to stay down for a while, but he’ll live.”
Jace nodded slightly.
He did not ask anything else.
He stood up and turned toward the bridge.
Preston was standing at the bridge, holding his laser musket as he watched the Wasteland outside.
Hearing the footsteps, he turned his head.
“General.”
Jace did not respond to the title.
He tilted his head slightly, gesturing toward the open ground by the river in the distance.
“Walk with me.”
The two of them followed the riverbank slowly upstream.
The river was still clear, and sunlight scattered across its surface in tiny ripples of light.
From inside Sanctuary Hills, the sound of hammering drifted over in fits and starts, clinking and clanging, not loud enough to be annoying.
Wind brushed across the river, carrying moisture and the sharp, earthy smell of wild grass.
It felt cool against his face, refreshing.
After walking along the bank for a while, Jace suddenly stopped.
Preston stopped too, watching him quietly, waiting for him to speak.
Jace stood by the river with his back to Preston.
Sunlight fell over the water.
The ripples were the same as ever.
The regular hammering in the distance continued as usual.
Everything around them looked exactly the same as yesterday, calm enough to make a person relax.
But Preston still noticed the difference at a glance.
Jace’s shoulders were slightly tense, and his whole body carried a hard-to-detect tightness.
“I saw something,” Jace said first, his voice flat, without the slightest fluctuation.
“We need to move faster.”
Preston paused, then immediately understood.
His tone grew heavier.
“General, your second sight?”
Jace did not turn around.
He only answered with one quiet word.
“Mm.”
Preston took a step forward and stood beside him, pressing in a low voice.
“What did you see?”
Jace was silent for a few seconds.
“A super-giant feral ghoul.
Ninety meters tall.”
Preston said nothing.
Wind blew in from the river, carrying the smell of water and grass.
The hammering in the distance continued.
Clink, clink, clink.
Monotonous and clear.
“…Ninety meters?” Preston finally said, his voice a little dry.
“Ninety-one meters, to be precise.”
“Where?”
“The Glowing Sea.”
Preston fell silent again.
He lowered his head and looked at the weapon in his hands.
The laser musket.
“Ninety meters…” he murmured, as if confirming that he had not misheard.
“If that thing comes out of the Glowing Sea…”
“If something happens, it won’t be our turn to handle it,” Jace cut him off.
Preston suddenly raised his head.
Jace turned and looked at him.
“The Brotherhood of Steel will come.
They have an airship, power armor, and Liberty Prime.
Let them stand against something like that.”
Preston slowly put the pieces together.
“You mean…”
“I mean,” Jace said steadily, “that thing is still in the Glowing Sea.
It hasn’t moved yet.
We have time.”
He paused.
“But not much.”
Preston did not ask anything else.
He only tightened his grip on his rifle.
The two stood by the river in silence for a while.
Codsworth’s voice came from the distance.
He was explaining how to make bedding to the women, perfectly serious, as if giving a lecture.
“First, we need to determine the dimensions of the bedding.
The standard size for a single bed is approximately…”
“Oh, don’t make it so complicated.
Just tell us how big to cut it!”
“Very well.
Then please lay the fabric flat, and I shall draw the lines…”
Preston finally broke the silence and asked, “So what do we do now?”
Jace did not answer directly.
He looked at the river.
“Relying on Vault 88 alone isn’t enough anymore.”
Preston turned to look at him.
“What else did you see?”
Jace’s tone carried no visible emotion.
“Another good place.
But before we go there, we need to find a helper.”
“Where do we find one?”
“Goodneighbor.”
Fifteen minutes later.
The two walked back to the settlement.
The hammering at the workshop entrance continued.
Anthony was focused on nailing boards to the wall, one strike after another.
Over by the wounded shelter, Sturges was crouching as he gathered up the used gauze.
The injured man was already able to brace himself against the wall and walk slowly.
Codsworth hovered beside the repaired sewing machine, several mechanical hands moving smoothly at once as he stitched fabric together.
A few women stood around him, holding pieces of freshly cut cloth, excitedly gesturing and talking in low voices.
Everything looked exactly the same as when the two had left.
Still calm, still busy.
But Preston’s pace was a little faster than before.
Jace walked over to the wounded shelter and crouched down.
“Sturges.”
Sturges looked up.
“How’s the power armor?”
“The T-45’s fine.
It only needs a little maintenance, and it’ll be wearable this afternoon.
The T-51 and T-60…”
Sturges tidied the bandages in his hands and straightened up.
“The T-51’s joints are a little stiff.
They need to be oiled again.
The T-60’s hydraulic lines need adjustment, but after we replaced the core mounting bracket, the main body can already move.”
“How long, exactly?”
Sturges thought for a moment.
“T-51 tomorrow.
T-60 the day after tomorrow.”
“Which suit can be used today?”
Sturges glanced at the three suits of power armor.
The T-45 stood against the wall, while the T-51 and T-60 lay on the ground, parts scattered everywhere.
“The T-45 can be worn right now.”
“Then I’ll use the T-45 this afternoon.”
Sturges froze for a moment.
“Where are you going?”
“To Goodneighbor to find someone.”
As he spoke, Jace raised his hand and tapped a few times on the Pip-Boy, scrolling to the support perks section.
Learn [Awareness]
Allows you to view a target’s resistances in VATS.
He stared at the line for two seconds.
Then he pressed confirm.
The screen flashed, and a green progress bar moved from left to right.
A soft system notification sounded.
VATS upgrade complete.
Activate VATS.
He glanced at Sturges, then at the others.
Good.
No problems.
That afternoon, the sun had shifted slightly west, but the sky was still bright.
Jace stood at the bridge in his power armor alongside Preston, with the five Brahmin tied beside them.
The Brahmin’s backs were empty now.
The goods had all been unloaded, leaving only ropes draped over them.
“Let’s go,” Jace said.
Preston nodded, untied the ropes, and led the Brahmin after him.
One in front and one behind, the two of them walked out through the walls of Sanctuary Hills.
Once they reached the main road, there were no Raiders, no Ghouls, and barely even a few radroaches.
It seemed this trade route was cleared regularly.
Every now and then, a few birds flew up from the tops of dead trees, called out once or twice, then settled back down.
Jace led the way, the power armor’s boots striking the ground with a dull thud at every step.
Preston followed behind, leading the Brahmin.
The five Brahmin plodded along slowly, their hooves crunching over the gravel.
They walked all the way to Diamond City.
It was still the same tall green wall, still the same tightly shut gate.
Two guards stood at the entrance with rifles in hand.
When they saw the power armor approaching, their bodies tensed slightly.
Once they recognized Jace, they relaxed again.
“You again?” one of the guards said.
“You’ve been coming around a lot these past few days.”
Jace did not answer.
He walked straight inside.
Preston followed behind, leading the Brahmin.
In the open lot behind the market, the old man was still sitting beside the fence, still wearing the same battered straw hat, still holding the same whip.
When he saw them, he stood up.
“Back already?” He swept a glance over the five Brahmin.
“Not one missing?”
Jace nodded.
The old man circled the Brahmin, patting them one by one.
Then he crouched to check their hooves before standing again.
“Good.
They’re all fine.” He pulled the stack of deposit caps from inside his clothes, counted them, and handed them over.
“One thousand.
Count it.”
Jace took it without counting and stuffed it straight into his pack.
The old man glanced at him and grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
“Renting again next time?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.
I’m here every day.
Come rent them whenever you need.”
The two left Diamond City and stood on the main road downtown.
The sun had shifted a little farther west, and the light had changed from gray-white to warm yellow.
Preston looked around, a little lost.
“Where’s Goodneighbor?”
Jace pointed east.
“Leave Diamond City and head east.
It’s just a few blocks away.”
Preston froze for a moment, then asked without thinking:
“On foot?”
Jace did not say anything.
He bent down and, with clean, decisive motion, hoisted Preston onto his shoulder.
Preston let out a muffled grunt.
Before he had time to say anything, Jace had already straightened up, braced his legs, and launched forward like a cannonball.
Wind roared past their ears.
The ruins along the roadside swept backward in a blur.
Preston lay across his shoulder, clutching desperately at the gaps in the armor, his face distorted by the wind.
He tried to shout something, but the moment he opened his mouth, the wind rushed in and he could not make a sound.
After they had run for about ten minutes, the ruins around them gradually grew denser.
Houses stood packed against one another, their windows black and hollow, their walls covered in cracks and bullet holes.
A wall appeared ahead.
Not a tall sheet-metal wall like Diamond City’s, but a brick wall topped with barbed wire.
Inside was a medium-sized pre-War neighborhood, separated from downtown by sheet metal and fencing, its gray buildings crowded together.
Two guards in worn leather jackets stood at the gate with rifles in hand, their eyes alert.
Jace slowed down and set Preston on the ground.
Preston staggered one step and braced his hands on his knees, panting.
“Could you maybe… give me a warning first…”
Jace ignored his complaint and walked straight toward the gate guards.
When the two men saw the power armor approaching, they tensed and raised their muzzles slightly.
“Stop!” one of them shouted.
“Who are you?”
Jace stopped.
“I’m here to see someone,” he said.
“Who?”
“Mayor Hancock.”
The two guards exchanged a look, then slowly lowered their guns and waved him in.
“Go on.”
“Thanks.”
He glanced back at Preston, who was still catching his breath but had already straightened up and was walking over.
The two of them entered Goodneighbor.
The town was not big.
A few narrow streets, two rows of low houses, and walls covered in graffiti.
Several people in leather jackets squatted in a corner, bottles in hand.
When they saw the power armor walk past, they looked up briefly, then lowered their heads and went back to drinking.
Music drifted from farther away, coming from a building lit with neon.
Someone stood at the door.
No, a Ghoul.
He wore an old trench coat and a felt hat, leaning against the doorframe as he smoked.
Smoke seeped through the gaps in his rotting lips and scattered into the air.
He glanced at Jace, said nothing, and kept smoking.
The street narrowed a little.
Higher walls rose on both sides, covered in rusted pipes and wires.
Water had pooled on the ground, splashing underfoot with soft pattering sounds.
Several figures swayed out of the alley ahead.
Five of them, wearing ragged leather armor, carrying pipe guns and machetes.
The leader had a scar across his face.
He grinned, showing yellow teeth.
“Well, well,” he drawled.
“Look who it is.”
Preston stopped, his body tensing instinctively.
Jace did not stop.
He kept walking forward.
The men did not move aside.
“Preston,” the leader said.
“Boss Jared’s been looking for you for a long time.
Come with us.”
Preston frowned.
“Jared?
Who’s that?”
The men closed in around him.
The scar-faced man impatiently reached for Preston’s shoulder, his tone turning vicious.
“Cut the crap.
I’ll say it one more time.
Come with us.”
He did not finish the sentence.
A cold, rough metal hand clamped tightly around his wrist.
He froze, looking down at that hand.
The hand of the power armor, gripping his wrist.
He looked up at the metal visor.
No expression could be seen.
But he felt something.
He tried to pull his hand back.
He could not.
“L-let go…”
Jace did not move.
The four Raiders beside him instantly raised their guns, muzzles locked on the power armor, panic on their faces.
“Let him go, or we’ll shoot!” one of them shouted.
Just then.
“What are you doing?”
A voice came from the mouth of the alley.
Everyone turned to look.
Several people in patched suits stood at the entrance of the alley.
The one in front was a human wearing an old felt hat, holding a submachine gun.
Two others stood behind him, one human and one Ghoul.
They were dressed much the same and all had guns in hand.
The man in the felt hat took a step forward.
“Starting trouble in Goodneighbor?” he asked.
His voice was not loud, but every word was clear.
“You boys got a death wish?”
The Raiders’ faces instantly went pale.
The scar-faced man’s voice shook as he cursed under his breath and struggled hard.
Jace let go.
The man did not dare stay any longer.
He took his men and slunk into a side alley, vanishing from sight in the blink of an eye.
The man in the felt hat looked at Jace.
“New in town?” he asked.
Jace nodded.
“What are you here for?”
“I’m looking for Mayor Hancock.”
The man studied him for a moment.
Then he smiled, and the muzzle of his gun lowered.
“Straight ahead.
Old State House.
He’s there.”
Jace nodded.
“Thanks.”
He kept walking.
Preston followed behind him.
Only after they had gone a little farther did Preston lower his voice and ask:
“Who’s Jared?”
“A Raider boss,” Jace said without stopping.
“At Corvega Assembly Plant.”
Preston froze for a moment.
“Why is he after us?”
“Oh, he grew up in the same settlement as Murphy.
Mama Murphy once used her second sight to predict that he would destroy himself with his own hands and eventually become a monster.”
Preston fell silent, his expression darkening.
“So he…”
“He already is.”
Preston asked no more questions.
The Old State House stood at the innermost part of town.
It was a gray stone building, with two guards standing at the entrance.
They were also wearing patched suits and carrying submachine guns.
When they saw Jace approach, one of them raised a hand.
“No power armor inside.
Leave it out here.”
Jace nodded, pressed the release button, and stepped out of the armor.
He leaned it steadily against the wall, then raised a hand and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
It was darker inside than outside.
Faded flags hung on the walls, and a worn carpet covered the floor.
Several old sofas sat along the walls, with people seated on them.
Some were drinking, others speaking in low voices.
At the far end was a high-backed chair.
Sitting in the chair was a person.
No, a Ghoul.
The Ghoul wore an old vintage coat and a tricorn hat.
His face was clearly rotted, but his eyes were astonishingly bright.
He held a glass of amber liquor in one hand, his gaze landing on Jace as he entered.
The corners of his mouth slowly spread into a smile.
Hancock.
Mayor of Goodneighbor.
“Well, now.
Don’t see this every day.” His voice was hoarse, but strong.
“Vault Dwellers in power armor don’t come through here too often.
Have a seat.”
He pointed to the sofa beside him.
Jace walked over and sat down.
Preston did not sit.
He stood behind Jace, his expression guarded.
“What brings you all the way from Sanctuary Hills to see me?”
“I’m here to sell you something.
Something that will benefit both you and Goodneighbor.”
Hancock looked at Jace.
“Oh?” He set his glass down on the low table.
The dull thud cut through the scattered conversations in the room.
“Not many people have the nerve to talk business with me in my own house.
And you’re the first who’s sounded this sure of himself.”
He paused for half a second and leaned forward slightly.
“Don’t keep me waiting.
What is it?”
Jace met his gaze.
“A way to detect Synths.”