"Get him!" the guard commander at the northern gate shouted, raising his AK rifle. Bursts from five soldiers tore into the target, ripping him in half. The lifeless body collapsed to the ground, and after five seconds, his head exploded, releasing a red mist that spread nearby and settled on the ground like a grotesque yet strangely beautiful flower.

Two soldiers slowly approached the dead body, weapons raised, with the commander following close behind. Apart from the soldiers, the open square was empty—not unusual, as it was the most difficult to reach of the three northern gates leading into the capital wasteland. Since the wall had gone up nearly a year ago, security had been constantly improving. For every person who managed to sneak past the perimeter, two new countermeasures were deployed. Now, barbed wire, tall concrete walls, and armed guards surrounded the area.

The entrances to the subway stations served as gateways, where those seeking shelter were admitted, health-checked, and registered into the system. Yet, there was always a problem.

Raiders who tried to sneak in, chem users, or the worst of them all—slavers. Although they had taken a hit, there was still the Paradise Falls slave centre just at the border of what constituted the Capital Wasteland. They now avoided the main routes, and many had been slain trying to approach the area, but they were not beaten. Like all extreme capital profit seekers, they adapted quickly, attempting to sneak into the city of the Capital Wasteland and quietly put a slave collar on unsuspecting victims. The poor souls had no choice but to follow them back to Paradise Falls or die. It was cruel and barbaric, and lately, the attempts had been increasing—like this poor soul who was now missing his head. The guards had no choice but to shoot him when he desperately ran towards them, a neck collar full of explosives and a rapidly beeping timer in place. A desperate man's final, hopeless act.

TLW ran out and covered the few meters to the gigantic door held up by a crane. He nodded to the Steel guard outside before entering the inner sanctum. The war council had been adjourned. A lot had changed inside the walls of the Citadel since its early days. The walls had been repainted, and the area inside had been transformed from a rugged training ground into a refurbished parade ground. The Steels no longer trained here; they had been moved to a nearby camp. While the Citadel remained the headquarters for the organization, it was now more of a place for scribes and civilians hired to archive documents and handle secretarial duties.

In the inner ring was the main meeting room, now equipped with modern lighting and new furniture. The hallways, however, were still as rundown as ever—priorities. The interactive map of the wasteland had been transferred into the room and now displayed a larger map of the area, with the borders of the Capital Wasteland clearly highlighted. Several people were already waiting when TLW entered. Elder Lyons sat at the far end of the room, at the edge of the seating area, with his daughter, Sarah, the leader of the Steel unit, sitting beside him. A scribe named Baxter occupied the seat to Elder Lyons' left; he oversaw the newly formed Intelligence unit, Third Link. However, it was still in its early stages and hadn't even found a headquarters yet. It was one of the many reforms introduced in the Capital Wasteland.

The entire armed forces had been reorganized. The Steels became a branch of the Capital Wasteland Armed Forces, tasked with executing expeditions and special operations. The newly established Capital Wasteland Army, under the leadership of Brigadier Reilly, had become the primary land warfare branch and the largest. It currently comprised 5,000 soldiers divided into three legions, each rotating guard duty at the perimeter walls.

The Vertibirds were now part of the Capital Wasteland Air Force, led by Head Lancer Farrow. This was also part of a major reorganization, as the acquisition from the Enclave had included a large fleet of Vertibirds—both attack and support types. One of the ongoing challenges was finding a suitable place to store them. The Regulators and Guards from Rivet City had been merged into the newly formed Police Corps, tasked with protecting the city's inhabitants and the streets between settlements. Lastly, the Third Link Intelligence Agency, led by Baxter, was expected to be up and running in the near future.

All of these branches answered to the Security and War Council, which was currently in session.

"Another one?" TLW asked after hearing what the meeting was about.
"Yes, the third one this week. It's starting to affect the morale of the border guards," Reilly answered. She was in overall charge of the poor bastards who had to protect the perimeter.
"What do we know about them?" Elder Lyons asked.
Baxter stood up and positioned himself next to the screen.
"Slavers. The worst of the worst. They use a slave collar to control their victims." The screen switched to a picture of the collar.
"It's a pre-war prisoner control device, adapted by slavers after the Great War to capture and force slaves into submission. Designed so the wearer always feels the collar when it's used, it basically blows your head off if the explosives inside are activated. It also has a frequency receiver, so the controller can always track the slave and kill them instantly." Baxter paused.
"The slavers' favourite toy."
The next picture showed a large, deserted mall.
"Paradise Falls. The hub of slavery. In pre-war times, it was a place for trading commodities and food. Now, it's an oxymoron, a place of great misery. Fortified from every angle, surrounded by a minefield, bloodthirsty slavers guarding the area, and most likely enough supplies to last years, if needed."
The third picture showed a black man in his mid-forties, captured from a distance and zoomed in. He was seen sideways, talking to people dressed in raider outfits.
"This is Eulogy Jones, the leader of the bunch. Every source we've spoken to says the same thing—he's a crazy motherfucker who rules by fear. He took over the Falls some years ago and now feels the pressure. His supplies are steadily decreasing as we push forward, but his lackeys still manage to find more."
"Who are the customers who need slaves in large quantities?" Lyons asked.
"We believe the majority are shipped east to the steel forges of The Pit, though we've seen some being put on ships bound for the Commonwealth, where demand for them is increasing," Baxter replied.
The last picture went back to the interactive map overview. Baxter continued.
"Make no mistake, Paradise Falls needs to be addressed soon. If not because of the slave trade, then because of its proximity to our area of influence." The map changed, with the border cutting into the frame, highlighting the left side of the area.
"Paradise Falls is only 30 km away from our established area of influence. It's a direct threat to our security. With it gone, we can patrol the rivers, fertilise and populate the land, and secure our eastern territory along Megatron."
"So what's the problem? We can send a squadron of Vertibirds and burn the place," Farrow stated.
"There are innocent slaves there. We do not kill innocents like that. And there's also valuable intel on people, factions, and projects that the slaves have been sold to," Sarah Lyons countered.
"Not to mention registers of slaves sold, which could help track them down or at least give families some closure," Hannibal Hamlin added. He had sat silently at the end of the room, not saying a word until now. For 23 years of his life, he had been a slave, and before the war with the Enclave ended, he had managed to free many slaves. He was now a powerful figure in the Capital Wasteland.
"The seeds of the nation we are sowing today will be corrupted if we do not save these people. If need be, I will lead a charge of volunteers to attack this hellhole and send them all back to hell."
Silence filled the room.
"We take your point, Hannibal. So, can we move our army against these people?" Elder Lyons asked Reilly.
"We need time. I can only send two of the legions, as the third is needed for perimeter duty. Moving 3,500 men this distance will take at least five days. Not to mention the logistics we need to organise, and the fact that my men haven't been trained for besieging a fortified position. And, of course, there's the question of resistance and intelligence on the enemy," Reilly replied.
"I can answer that," Baxter said, pulling out his papers.
"Unfortunately, we don't have many scouts to spare, but we've sent a few recently, and their reports have started arriving. We estimate there are at least 100 slavers guarding the area at any given time. We know that caravans with new slaves arrive at least once a day, with an auction once a week. There are both medical facilities and gunsmiths inside. The area is barricaded on all sides, except for the front, where you need to navigate a minefield and contend with sentries."
"So, we're going to need Vertibird support," Reilly said, making notes.
"We'll provide whatever's needed. However, our missiles are axes, not scalpels. Anything they target, they'll hit—slaves included," Farrow added, making the intent clear to the room.
"Can we use the Steels as a strike force? They can fly with the Vertibirds, attack, clean the place, and burn it down before anyone is the wiser?" The suggestion came from Hamlin.
"Let there be no mistake. We need to burn the place down. The history of that place, and the symbol and message the burning flames will send, will be engraved in the minds of every slaver on the East Coast."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
"Then we'll burn it," TLW said.