Fallout 4 Mercenary Novels & Stories

Every corner was cleared before Maya took a step forward; every shadowed threshold was screened by his imposing, broad frame. ​As they reached the eighth-deck access door—just below the main bridge—the heavy steel hatch suddenly hissed open. ​A tactical mercenary in dark tactical gear carrying a short-barreled automatic rifle stepped out onto the landing, heading down the stairs. ​Before the man could raise his weapon, Julian lunged forward like an apex predator breaking cover.

The loud crash shook the floor beneath my boots. Marcus spun around to face the next guy. His gray eyes were glowing bright. He ducked under a rifle barrel and drove his elbow hard into another man’s chest. The man folded over, coughing and gasping for air. Marcus picked him up and tossed him through another glass wall just like the first one. It was a total mess of flying glass, broken bones, and terrified shouts. The highly trained mercenaries were falling apart in seconds. They couldn’t fight back at all. Marcus was just too fast. He was breaking them and throwing bodies like they weighed absolutely nothing. I felt a deep, warm wave of pride in my chest. My mate was fighting for us. But I

"Hold the frequency. Don't let the rhythm break." I watched the digital map of the Iron Yard on my screen—a jagged, wireframe representation of a skeletal kingdom. The four red dots of the mercenaries were stuttering, their movement erratic as they tried to navigate the "Sonic Screen." They were elite, likely former Sokolov specialists or "Sanitizers" who had survived the purge of the Cavallo Estate, but they were built for the "Architecture." Here, in the "Vault of Sin," the architecture was actively trying to kill them.

Unlike his friends, the now Alpha and Beta. I can't feel anything except this burning rage, the want for revenge is swallowing up my life. I wish I cared, but I don't they will pay they all will. This was four years ago and now I work hard to rise through the ranks and drown myself in drink at night, but I will burn this pack to the ground before I take my last breath. ---- Enyo Burnside (Unexpected encounter)

He turned his void-black eyes toward us. "Get inside!" he bellowed, his voice a distorted growl. He pointed a clawed finger at a heavy reinforced door down the hall. "The code is 4-4-Alpha-9! Go!" A team of four more mercenaries rounded the corner behind him, raising their net launchers. "Kai!" I screamed. Kai didn't turn. He dropped to all fours and charged, a runaway train of muscle and rage. He slammed into the mercenaries, scattering them like bowling pins.

Now it is a cascade of glittering shards catching fire on the way down. Thick black smoke swallows the panels where Harvey and I used to have breakfast. The same window where he taught me to observe Boston as if we were gods above the city. Now, orange flames lick the exterior of the building, illuminating the American afternoon with a ferocity that makes my stomach drop. Declan rises slowly from his chair, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the feed with lethal tactical analysis. “Mercenaries,” he says, his voice flat like the surface of water before a storm. “Professional work. C4, probably. Four simultaneous detonations, minimum of four operators, Swiss-clock coordination.”

He was aware of that. The God of War once made that oath to everyone from the five strongest nations. However, the foreign mercenaries simply served as ordinary soldiers in the war. He did not expect someone superior like the God of War to take notice of them. Yet today, these mercenaries offended the God of War. Kaze said indifferently, “What are you waiting for? Slit your throat.” “Wham!” Moments later, the foreign mercenary collapsed to the ground, his hand gripping a blood-stained dagger. His face bore his reluctance to depart from the world.

She was fading fast. "Incoming!" Hayley shrieked. From the fog, the Mercenary Captain emerged. He was alone. His squad was dead. His exoskeleton was dented, covered in claw marks and green slime. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but he was still standing. And he was furious. "You!" he roared, leveling his rotary grenade launcher at them. "You fed my men to the dogs! You think you can hide?" He pulled the trigger. THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

That meant I had no qualms about spending a few million on some very nice mercenary fighters who wouldn't hesitate to use their advanced fighting skills to rip Marco's warriors to shreds. The gathered, including me, turned suddenly and unloaded like a group of AK-47s with silver-tipped bullets into the area surrounding the mansion, tearing out through the night, shifting as they went, ripping through muscle, blood, and fur. Screams pierced the night, as well as howls. We stopped after destroying Marco's initial line of attack. 'Anyone who wants to live, you better come out now!' I called, using the mind-link then waited for a response. Luckily, all of the packs in the area were able to mind-

Lucien, mid-combat, eyes burning gold, met her gaze once—and she swore the battlefield bent to their shared will. Still, Kael’s forces were relentless. Gunfire and claws clashed against luxury steel, drones swooping low with precision strikes, holographic shields flickering as Mara poured power into them from afar. Then came the break. A mercenary—not wolf, not mage, something else—broke through the western flank. He wasn’t aiming to kill. He held a sleek device strapped across his chest, its holographic core flashing. He ran—not toward battle, but away, darting through the chaos with impossible speed.