Team 404's Perspective – Hangman's Alley Approach
The rooftops groaned quietly beneath synthetic feet. Wind curled between rusted vents and broken chimneys. Concrete dust danced in moonlight.
HK416 knelt behind a rusted AC unit, eyes flicking through her scope. Through the lens, she tracked movement below — two raiders idling by a burn barrel, twitchy and armed, arguing over Jet or chems.
UMP45 (over comm, tone dry):"Druggies. Loud, lazy, and baked. Like shooting geckos in a pond."
G11 (yawning):"Wake me when they group up. I want to save ammo."
UMP9 (perched above a broken billboard):"Two more near the scaffold tower. Slaver tags. Got chains and collars on their belts."
HK416 (coldly):"Take priority. Leave no survivors."
The order was unofficial — but understood.
404 was many things. Mercenaries. Dolls. Synth, or even Ghosts in the storm.
But some scum deserved to vanish without a name or trace of them.
Across the street, Sarah observed from a collapsed rooftop accessway, half cloaked in the shadow. She didn't need to speak. One signal flicked through the comm line — a soft pulse of authorization.
".....Execute."
HK416's suppressor hissed once.
The slaver crumpled before his cigarette hit the ground.
UMP9's SMG stitched a whisper through another — both bodies dropping before their companions even turned.
UMP45 (smirking):"Four down. Lexington's cleanup crew reporting in. Hehe"
G11:"uuummmmm....Requesting nap time extension. yawn.....It still too easy."
Below the street, The Minutemen patrols advanced, unaware of the crosshairs that danced ahead of their path — clearing traps, thinning enemy flanks.
HK416 (to Sarah):"Southwest ledge is secure. No signs of reinforcement. Recommend pushing Nate's column forward. Kommandent."
Sarah:"Confirmed. Keep eyes on the stairwells. Alley's going to choke when they corner the runners like scurvy rat they are."
Above them, the night shifted. Lights from Hangman's Alley flickered as raiders regrouped, unaware of the noose tightening around their stronghold.
Raider "Kross" — Hangman's Alley
Kross lit his last smoke with trembling fingers, boot propped on a busted cooler. Not fear, he told himself. Just cold. Just wind.
The Alley was too quiet.
Benny had gone to check the south perch twenty minutes ago. No word.
Cass was supposed to be manning the turret feed. She was always up top.
Now even the fire barrel flickered wrong. Thin. Uneasy.
Then he saw it—Cass's arm, slack and dangling over the edge of the catwalk. No movement.
Kross:
"…Nah. No way."
He stood abruptly—too fast—and that's when he realized: the others were gone. Not "out scoring chems" gone. Gone-gone.
"Hey!" he shouted, spinning. "Wake up! Everybody—"
The turret overhead detonated, fire and steel screaming into the night. He hit the dirt as a shockwave of flame and pressure washed over him.
Then came the Minutemen charge.
From the west stairwell, Delta Squad poured in behind Sergeant Ramirez, disciplined volleys slicing through the confusion.
"Stack right! Suppression up!"
On the eastern breach, Preston Garvey led Charlie Team with an M1 Carbine leveled at the chest.
He fired in controlled bursts—.30-cal rounds punching clean through wooden crates and bone alike. A raider armed with a rusted pipe bomb barely got his arm up before Preston's round dropped him cold.
"Push through!" Preston yelled, slamming a new mag into the receiver. "Sweep tight and don't let up!"
Kross stumbled toward the rear gate—only to stop when it didn't open.
He turned just in time to see two of his crew gunned down, one still clutching a Molotov that shattered harmlessly on brick.
The smoke parted—Team 404 on the rooftops.
UMP45 laid down covering fire with a staccato burst. HK416 picked off targets methodically, almost bored.
G11, perched higher still, fired a shot with lazy precision.
Kross tried to run.
He didn't get far.
A round hit his leg, then another—his world crumpled to the floorboards.
Looking up, half-blind from the muzzle flashes, he saw a shape step from shadow.
HK416, rifle low and unhurried, studied him through her optic.
Kross choked a breath.
"Wha… who are yo.....?"
Ended by HK416 before he can finish utter his final question.
Hangman's Alley – 20 Minutes After Liberated with Smoke clung to the narrow corridor like sweat to skin. The scent of gunpowder mixed with blood and old oil. Shell casings crunched beneath Nate's boots as he stepped through the shattered gate.
Charlie and Delta squads were already spreading out, rifles up, checking each corner and stairwell with quiet efficiency. The last body had fallen five minutes ago—some poor bastard with a sawed-off who thought courage could beat tactics.
Preston Garvey stood near the center courtyard, the M1 Carbine hanging from his shoulder by a worn sling. He wiped his brow and looked toward Nate.
Preston:
"Place is clear. No movement or sight of any raider. We got this, General."
Nate nodded slowly.
He looked up.
The rooftops were empty—but he knew they were up there.
"And The Team 404?" he said, softly.
A slight shimmer of light near a roof vent was the only reply. A subtle flicker of reflection where there should've been none. Then, silence.
Sergeant Ramirez jogged up, weapon lowered.
Ramirez:
"Turrets are fried. But we've got defensive angles, natural chokepoints. If we sandbag the stairwells and reinforce the gate, this place'll hold."
Nate:
"Do it. And put two guards on rotating shifts. We can't afford tardiness. Not after today."
A young recruit from Charlie—his helmet too big, his voice still shaky—raised a trembling hand.
Recruit:
"Sir… what do we name it?"
Nate paused. The question hung in the air.
He turned to Preston.
Preston offered a small grin.
Preston:
"We always called it Hangman's Alley. Maybe it's time we cut the rope."
Nate gave a small smile.
Nate:
"Then it stays. Let the next group of raiders know we took their gallows and turned it into a wall."
As the Minutemen began fortifying the position, Sarah's voice crackled over the comm in Nate's ear—detached, but satisfied.
Sarah (comms):
"Message received. Hangman Alley's yours. 404 exfiltrating. We'll continue scout ahead around Diamond City."
Nate:
"Don't You ever sleep?"
Sarah:
"Only when Minutemen gain solid foothold first."
Above them, as twilight deepened into night, shadows melted from rooftops and vanished east, silent as smoke on the wind.
The Minutemen, meanwhile, got to work—hammering boards, wiring lights, and raising the banner over the alley's cracked concrete heart. For the first time in a long time, the city began to feel like it might be home again.
By evening, the Minutemen flag snapped from the rooftop antenna, freshly stitched and fluttering in the river breeze. Sandbags stacked, and walls reinforced with salvaged makeshift plating. New recruits drilled under the watchful eyes of Delta and Charlie squad leaders.
Preston Garvey paced near the supply station, clipboard in hand, when the radio crackled.
Radio Operator (static):
"Command, this is Abel team reporting. Sunshine Tidings secure. Repeat—ghoul and radroach infestation neutralized. Minimal injuries, zero KIA. Local structures intact."
Preston's eyes widened slightly. He keyed his mic.
Preston:
"Copy that, Abel. Solid work. Begin defensive prep and survey. Send scans of nearby hills—let's not get caught off guard out there."
He turned toward Nate, who was overseeing a map table nearby.
Preston:
"Sunshine's clear. That gives us a straight stretch west toward Tenpines and the northern farms. Good coverage for trade routes. This should invite more settlers to come to join us."
Nate nodded.
Nate:
"We need to start thinking logistics—fuel, medical, and power grids. Sunshine might become more than a relay point."
South of Hangman Alley – Industrial Ruins, Nightfall
The patrol route from Hangman Alley to Diamond City was supposed to be simple. But with recent super mutant sightings and D.C. guards pinned by ambushes along the back alley sewer junction, no sane caravan would dared to use it.
Until tonight.
In the moonless dark, a pair of mutant sentries stood over the shattered remains of a delivery bot, lazily gnawing on a Brahmin skull.
One grunted.
Mutant Sentry:
"Boss say me guard here. Me WANT go smash shiny town!!!"
The other never got a chance to reply.
A suppressed shot hissed through the gloom—straight through its brow. The body collapsed with a wet thud.
HK416 emerged from the shadows, rifle still warm. Nearby, UMP45 vaulted over a collapsed pipe and drove her knife into the second mutant's neck with surgical force. G11, barely roused from her usual haze, perched atop a rusted canopy, calmly covering the perimeter.
At street level, Sarah stepped forward from concealment, checking the ruins ahead.
Sarah (quietly, over comms):
"Target cluster eliminated. Supermutant pack thinned. Path to Diamond City cleared."
UMP9 (over comms, cheerful):
"And zero casualties! It's like we're getting good at this or something."
Sarah gave a faint smile but didn't respond. Her eyes were already scanning the rooftops beyond.
ISAC's voice pinged in her earpiece:
"Local threat density dropped below operational threshold. Suggest coordinating with Minutemen to restore route access."
She glanced down the alley where Diamond City's battered security team had holed up earlier that week, pinned by mutant pups and heavy mutants too tough for their patrol loadouts.
Now the path was quiet.
Sarah (to ISAC):
"Let D.C security find the bodies. Let them keep guessing."
Then she turned, her cloak sweeping behind her as Team 404 disappeared once more into the shadowy ruins—