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"Will you order your own death, Elder Maxson?" Violet, the sole survivor of Vault 111, cocked her head at the look of shock upon his face. "Hold that expression. I want you to remember this moment. Everything you're feeling. Everything you're thinking. How your brain has frozen solid. How your emotions have short-circuited. How you are running through every possible scenario of denial that you are the very thing which you have spewed hatred toward from every cell of your being in every decision that you have made since becoming Elder and even before."
Seething anger rolled beneath the surface of her calm demeanor as she recalled every quiet moment she'd spent helping Danse reinvent himself after finding out he was a synth. The guilt he carried, the rage, the grief—she had stood by him through it all. Through the breakdown of his belief system, through the self-loathing that nearly destroyed him. And now she stood here, facing the man who had cast Danse aside like debris on the road.
"And yet you, without hesitation, ordered the death of the most loyal, dedicated, honest, forthright and decent soldier in the Brotherhood, in a manner that deliberately made the situation as painful as possible for both the sponsor and the one he sponsored. You trusted the one that man taught, but not the man himself. Well... do you now trust your own judgment, synth? Now you know that your mind was wiped by the Institute, that you were able to do so much so young because you are… what do you call them again..? Because you are nothing more than a machine?"
Vi had stepped out of her power armor the moment she'd arrived on the command deck and now paced around Maxson slowly, eyes sharp, body coiled with restrained fury. Her voice never rose. That made it all the more terrifying as far as Arthur Maxson was concerned.
The Sentinel ran a hand through her short, spiky, purple-streaked jet-black hair and met Maxson's gaze. She waited. Her silence was heavier than any weapon.
What goes around, she thought, comes around.
Maxson looked away. Every commanding presence he'd ever cultivated drained from him, leaving only the shell of a man who now stood condemned by the very code he upheld.
He had condemned Danse.
He had killed his most loyal friend. Or so he believed.
He had been so sure. So righteous. So blind.
He was a synth.
Just like Danse. Just like Nick Valentine. Just like so many others he'd hunted and sentenced.
And worse—thanks to the DNA that made him what he was, he was related to her. Violet. The woman who now looked at him not with pity, not with vengeance, but with something colder.
Clarity.
Father Shaun's data had been damning. Danse had not been a plant, not a weapon—but Maxson? M7-99. Registration DP-362L. Built to bring down the Brotherhood from within, if ever needed.
A tool. A weapon.
A ghost in a mirror.
"Please tell Danse I'm sorry."
He swore he could hear Danse's voice in his head.* Arthur...*
BANG.
Vi didn't flinch.
The antique pistol clattered from his hand to the floor alongside him. She exhaled slowly and shook her head.
What a fucking coward.
This wasn't how she'd expected the day to go.
Shaun's final data dump had changed everything. A truce had been brokered between the Institute remnants and the Brotherhood—ten years of peace. But it was Vi who had brokered it. Vi who had made Maxson flinch. Vi who had held her ground until she stood alone at the top.
And now she stood in blood, gore, and silence. Again.
Lancer-Captain Kells arrived with military precision, only pausing briefly at the sight of Maxson's remains.
"I suppose that places you in command, then, Sentinel. At least temporarily."
Vi raised a brow. "Don't you want to know what happened?"
"I can guess at enough scenarios," he replied. "I prefer them to reality."
She sighed. "Yeah, you and me both, Kells. Thus, my first orders."
He snapped to attention.
"There will be a ceremony at 0800. This bridge. Senior officers in person. Full dress uniform. The rest in formation. Clean this... mess."
"Yes, ma'am."
She leaned in. "Danse is alive. He will be reinstated and promoted. Anyone who objects will be dishonorably discharged and sent packing with a field kit and a bad attitude."
Kells didn’t so much as twitch.
"Also," she added, voice hardening, "we're done with blind obedience. Speak your mind. This ship’s not a dictatorship anymore."
"Understood."
"Good. Ask Polly to start up G4. I've got somewhere to be."
I'm bringing Danse home.
Danse stood in his power armor, the familiar weight strange on his shoulders now. He didn’t know how to feel.
Last time he'd seen the Prydwen, he'd been human. Now? Now he was something else. Something Violet had fought for.
He ran a gloved hand over the polished armor. She had cared for it. For him. Never stopped. And now, because of her, he was walking back into the lion’s den.
He didn’t know what he'd find. Or if he'd be accepted. But he would stand at her side. Because Violet believed in him when no one else would.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to begin again.
He looked at her when she entered the Bridge with all the other officers in tow. Stoic as always, the twinkle in her eyes that told him it most definitely was.