Legs aching and hands still trembling from the battle with the behemoth, Altan climbed the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor of Galaxy News Radio. He glanced back at Delilah, her face streaked with grime but lit with an eager grin. "C’mon, Lily. We’ll get some grub and sleep after we talk to this guy."

  The girl nodded, stifling a yawn. "Okie dokie. That was really scary." Her lips curled into a small grin. "But also kinda cool. That mutant was huge! And when you shot it with the missile launcher—Bryan’s gonna freak when I tell him!"

  Altan chuckled, holding out a hand. “Make sure you tell him you helped, alright? We couldn’t have done that without you.” He helped her up the landing, and she darted ahead, pushing open the door marked “STUDIO."

  Inside, a cozy yet cluttered room hummed with the warmth of old machinery. Speakers crackled faintly with bluesy static, while shelves lined the walls, overflowing with vintage records. At the top of another staircase, a man lounged casually in a leather jacket, his dark sunglasses catching the dim studio light.

  “Ah, Vault dwellers in my house!” the man exclaimed, spreading his arms theatrically. “Welcome to GNR—Galaxy News Radio—the last bastion of good vibes and better music. I’m Three Dog, your host, and the voice of the people.”

  Altan raised a brow, unimpressed by the showmanship. “We’re here for information.”

  Three Dog grinned, leaning against the railing. “Straight to business, huh? No ‘Hey, Three Dog, love the tunes,’ or ‘Thanks for keeping the Wasteland entertained’? Tough crowd.”

  Altan crossed his arms. “Look, man, it’s been a long day. We’re looking for our father. We heard he may have come this way, and if he did, we need to know where he went.”

  Three Dog’s grin faltered slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “Ah, James. Good man. He was here, and he told me a lot about the two of you. But here’s the thing—information like that doesn’t come cheap.”

  Delilah frowned. “Why does everyone out here always want something? Can’t you just... tell us?”

  “Kid, if I could, I would,” Three Dog said gently, crouching down to meet her eye level. “But this isn’t just about you or your dad. It’s about the Wasteland—people out there need my help too. And right now, I’m flying blind.”

  Altan’s jaw tightened. “Fighting that behemoth wasn’t enough? What do you want from us?”

  Three Dog stood, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “My broadcast relay dish is busted. Without it, my signal doesn’t reach far enough to help the people who need it. But lucky for me—and now you—there’s a replacement at the Museum of Technology.”

  Delilah tugged at her brother’s sleeve. “A museum? That sounds easy. Right?”

  “Not quite,” Three Dog cut in, his grin returning faintly. “The place is crawling with super mutants. You know their deal already. But hey, you made it here, so you’ve got what it takes.”

  Altan rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tightening. “Fine. We’ll do it. But once we bring that dish back, you’d better have answers.”

  “You’ve got my word, Vault boy,” Three Dog said, his voice sincere. “Help me help the Wasteland, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know about James.”

  l

  Altan stared hard at Three Dog for a moment, then nodded. “Right. Well, we’ve been on our feet all day. We’re crashing here for the night and setting out tomorrow.”

  "Down the stairs and to the left, there's a bunk room with a washroom connected. On the right is the mess hall. Tell 'em ole Three Dog sent you, and they’ll give you an extra portion." He paused. "Best of luck, kiddos, and welcome to the Good Fight."

  Altan guided Delilah toward the stairs, her small frame leaning against his. "Alright, time to grub out. I think we’ve earned that." Delilah nodded, and the two of them followed the scent of chow into the mess hall. It was mostly empty at the moment, but a few Brotherhood soldiers in strange jumpsuits were clustered at a table, poking at their trays. Altan ignored them and headed to the cafeteria counter, where a stern-looking man in an apron stood, stirring a large stewpot.

  "Hey," Altan greeted, "Three Dog sent us."

  The man nodded and set out a pair of trays. He added large, greasy chops to each. "Hound chops, vegetable stew, and grain porridge," he drawled, setting a pair of bowls on the trays and filling them. "Sauces and trimmings are on the table over there." He pointed to a table laden with various bottles, shakers, and jars. "First serving’s on the house. You want more, it’s fifty caps a mouth."

  Altan took the trays with a thankful nod, and followed Delilah as she drifted over to the condiments table. The girl picked through the jars, and her face lit up when she found the one she was looking for. With a grin, she turned to Altan. "Hey, look—it’s that stinky vegetable stuff you like!"

  "Hell yeah, gimme some of that." Delilah wrinkled her nose as she opened the jar and forked some onto each of their trays. Altan raised an eyebrow. "You finally gonna give it a try?"

  Delilah nodded. "Yeah. You like it, so I guess it can't be that bad. Want some honey in your gruel?" Altan smiled as his sister busied herself with another jar. Honey was drizzled into their gruel, and a few other condiments were added until the girl was satisfied.

  They picked a table and dug into their food, ignoring the chuckles and glances from the Brotherhood soldiers who were now filing into the mess hall in greater numbers. The siblings were finishing up when Sarah Lyons joined them. Altan’s attention flicked to her, and Delilah seized the moment, pushing the rest of her fermented vegetables onto Altan’s tray.

  "Sentinel Lyons," Altan greeted her. "We were just finishing our meals." He shot a pointed look in Delilah's direction. The girl quickly averted her eyes and pretended to focus on her Pip-Boy.

  Sarah chuckled and took a sip of her soup. "Good evening. I trust your talk with Three Dog went well?"

  Altan narrowed his eyes. "As well as could be expected. We're going to have to wade through more mutants to get what we need."

  The older woman paused, fork halfway to her mouth. "Let me guess," she started, frustration creeping into her voice, "he's sending you to get a replacement dish?"

  "Yep. We're gonna rest here for the night and figure out our next steps." Altan glanced at Delilah, who was eyeing the jumpsuit Sarah wore. "Might head back to Rivet City and pick up some mercenaries for the job. Not sure."

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  Sarah nodded, an unreadable expression flitting across her face. "So you're actually going through with it? The Museum of Technology's in the Mall, a war zone crawling with super mutants and Talon Company mercs. The only places even remotely safe are the Washington Monument and..." She frowned. "...Underworld. But that place is full of ghouls."

  Altan raised an eyebrow but kept silent, letting Sarah continue. "So," she said, leaning forward slightly, "tell me about yourselves. You're looking for your father? How's that been going?"

  Delilah perked up, glancing at Altan for permission. He gave a small nod, chuckling as he gestured to his tray. "Go ahead. I’m just gonna finish these veggies that mysteriously appeared on my tray."

  Delilah grinned and launched into an animated retelling of their journey: daring escapes, close calls, giant ants, raiders, super mutants, and more. Altan chimed in occasionally, either toning down her dramatic flourishes or correcting her memory when she wandered too far from the truth.

  Sarah listened intently, her gaze flicking to Altan whenever he spoke, her expression thoughtful. By the time Delilah finally wound down, out of breath and stories to tell, Sarah sat back and folded her arms.

  "Alright, Lily. Time to get you to bed," Altan murmured, gently lifting his drowsy sister. She squirmed half-heartedly but quickly surrendered to the familiar warmth, falling asleep almost instantly as he began walking.

  Sarah followed at a measured pace, lingering outside the bunk room while Altan carefully tucked Delilah into bed. Once satisfied, he turned to face Sarah, his sharp eyes guarded and his hand resting instinctively on the stock of his rifle.

  "What do you want?" he asked, his tone cool but measured.

  Sarah chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Ease off, Tiger. If Three Dog is sending you into the Mall on his—and by extension, our—behalf, then I figure it’s my job to make sure you stand a chance." She frowned slightly. "Besides, the Brotherhood doesn’t forget those who help us. That behemoth could’ve done a lot more damage if you two hadn’t stepped up. That thing took us all by surprise."

  Altan nodded, his hand easing off the rifle as he fell in step behind Sarah. “I’m not too proud to accept help,” he admitted. “And I hate that I have to drag Lily into another damn war zone so soon. We don’t have much of a choice, though—not with Dad, or Project Purity, on the line.” He hesitated, his voice dropping into a somber tone. “I heard you Brotherhood types were involved with it, back before I was born.”

  Sarah glanced over her shoulder, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know much about it myself. Father—uh, Elder Lyons—rarely spoke about it. All I know is that it took a lot of manpower and resources, and it fell apart after your dad left.” She paused, then added, “No offense. Your father made a difficult choice. He did what he thought was best.”

  The conversation died after that, leaving only the sound of their footsteps echoing softly in the hall. Soon, they entered a workshop filled with the faint hum of equipment and the metallic tang of grease and coolant. Several sets of power armor stood in various states of disrepair, their hulking frames gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Sarah stopped in front of a frame missing several sections of its plating and fished a fusion core from a pouch on her belt.

  “Here,” she said, holding it out to Altan. “Plug it into this suit right here. It’s about your size, so all you need to do is step in, and the suit will do the rest.”

  Altan’s head snapped back and forth between the fusion core and the armor, his mind racing. “Wh-what?” he stammered, the word barely audible.

  Sarah smirked faintly but didn’t tease him. “You heard me. That behemoth wouldn’t have gone down without you, and you’ll need more than grit to survive the Mall. Power armor isn’t just protection; it’s a force multiplier. Consider it a loan from the Brotherhood.”

  Altan hesitated, staring at the suit as if it might come alive and bite him. “You’re serious? You’re giving me power armor just like that?”

  Sarah crossed her arms, her smirk fading. “I don’t make a habit of handing out Brotherhood gear to outsiders, but you’ve earned it. Besides, it’s not just for your sake—it’s for everyone depending on you to get that relay dish." She gently shoved Altan towards the armor. "Insert the core, twist the lock wheel counter-clockwise to release, then step in."

  Hesitantly, Altan began unstrapping his armor and setting his weapons aside, glancing at Sarah as if to confirm this wasn’t some elaborate prank. She stood with her arms crossed, waiting patiently. Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer to the power armor frame, his fingers trailing along the cold, dented metal.

  “Alright,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Let’s get this over with.”

  With a shake of his head, he did as instructed, pressing the fusion core into its slot with a satisfying clunk, and turning the lock wheel. A deep hum filled the workshop as the frame powered on, joints unlocking with a mechanical hiss. The armor shifted and opened like a waiting guardian. Altan hesitated, throwing a final glance at Sarah, who gave him a firm nod.

  “Trust me,” she said, her tone reassuring.

  With a grimace, Altan stepped inside, tucking his head into the helmet. The frame hissed and rattled, closing around him with a faint metallic clang. For a moment, there was only stillness. He felt the weight of the armor settle over him, its bulk unfamiliar and imposing.

  Then the HUD flickered to life, bathing the inside of the helmet with soft amber light. Data scrolled rapidly across his vision: power levels, environmental readings, targeting assists, and status indicators. It was overwhelming. Altan sluggishly swiped at the air in front of him, instinctively trying to clear the clutter.

  “What the hell…” he muttered, his voice slightly distorted through the helmet’s speakers.

  Sarah smirked, stepping into his line of sight. “Don’t worry, it’ll make sense soon. The HUD prioritizes what you need.”

  Altan exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath as he tried to orient himself. “This is insane. How do you even see anything with all this junk on the screen?”

  “You’ll adjust,” Sarah replied. “The suit responds to you—it’s more intuitive than it looks. Move around a little, get a feel for it, and it'll do the same for you.”

  Altan cautiously took a step forward, then another. The armor’s servos whined softly, each movement feeling heavier yet oddly fluid, like the frame was working to assist him. He flexed his fingers experimentally, watching the gauntleted hand mirror his actions with mechanical precision.

  “Not bad,” he admitted, his voice carrying a note of wonder.

  Sarah smiled. “See? Told you it’d help. Give it time, and you’ll feel like you’ve been wearing it your whole life.”

  Altan rolled his shoulders, the armor moving with him like a second skin. “This’ll take some getting used to. But… thanks, Sarah. I mean it.”

  She nodded, her expression softening. “Don’t mention it. Just stay alive out there. We’ll need people like you and your sister if this wasteland is ever going to change.”

  Awkwardly, Altan nodded, the helmet jerking stiffly up and down with the exaggerated motion. “Right. Uh… Lily’s gonna flip when she sees this. Holy shit, I can’t believe it myself! I—”

  He clamped his mouth shut the moment Sarah gave him a flat, unimpressed look. Clearing his throat, he hastily straightened his posture and threw out a sloppy salute, the motion nearly causing the armor’s gauntlet to smack him in the visor. “Right. I’m… in your care,” he managed, his voice slightly sheepish.

  Sarah blinked at him for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “Well, I’ve seen worse starts,” she said, her smile widening. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  Altan adjusted his stance, the servos whining as he tried to make the pose look more natural. “I mean, sure, it’s heavy, and I can’t really see much past all these readouts… but damn, this thing feels strong.” He flexed his arm, the power-assisted motion making a satisfying hiss. “Like, I could punch through a wall with this, no problem!”

  “Don’t get too cocky,” Sarah warned, though her grin lingered. “The armor won’t make you invincible. It’ll take a lot of punishment, sure, but there’s always something out there tougher than you.”

  Altan nodded again, this time a little less awkwardly. “Got it. Stick to what I know. But seriously—thank you, Sarah. This is… more than I expected.”

  Sarah rested her hands on her hips, her expression softening as she nodded back. “Just keep fighting the good fight. That’s thanks enough.”

  Altan glanced down at the HUD again, overwhelmed but eager. “Lily’s definitely gonna lose it. I can’t wait to see her face.”

  Sarah smirked, motioning for him to follow. “She’ll be impressed, no doubt. But before you strut out of here like you own the Wasteland, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

  Altan quirked a brow. “Like what?”

  Sarah turned, her smirk turning sharper. “Like how to not look like a drunk Brahmin in that suit. Come on—it’s time for your crash course.”

  She walked toward an open space in the workshop, waving for him to follow. “Lesson one: don’t fight the servos. Move with them, not against them. Now, step over here and show me what you’ve got.”

  Altan followed, his steps clunky but determined. “Alright, Sentinel. Let’s do this.”

  Sarah chuckled as she folded her arms. “Let’s hope you’re a quick learner.”