Protector Henry Casdin was one of the best paladins and one of the original members who followed Lyons from the western headquarters of the Brotherhood. He fought alongside the High Elder at the Battle of Pittsburgh and was a staunch believer in the Brotherhood's ideals.
After Owyn Lyons changed the Brotherhood's course of action in the wasteland of the capital, Castin showed clear dissatisfaction and incomprehension. After the conflict escalated, he led the members who were willing to follow him into the wasteland, taking most of Lyons' supplies and abandoning the Citadel, establishing the Brotherhood Outcasts.
The loss of men and materiel had a significant negative impact on the combat performance of Lyons' chapter, greatly reducing its ability to project power throughout the Capital Wasteland. They reorganized their rank system and decentralized their operations, to make tech retrieval and long-range patrols easier to organize.
Since Sarah Lyons took over from her father Owyn Lyons's passing, Casdin has led the Brotherhood Outcasts to take over. He considers Lyons a traitor who abandoned his mission.
He believes that once they reconnect with the Brotherhood proper, the Outcasts will be vindicated and Lyons placed where they belong, in front of a firing squad.
Only for the West to aid Sarah Lyons when they reestablished communications—an act that felt like a betrayal carved into stone for Henry Casdin.
He had spent years in exile with the Outcasts, clinging to the belief that the true Brotherhood, the real Brotherhood, would see the Lyons chapter for what it was: a deviation, a dilution, a disgrace. He believed they would be vindicated the moment the West Coast leadership received word of Lyons' heresies—compassion over containment, charity over control.
Instead, the West Coast responded with The Prydwen-class aircraft carriers, packed with supplies, cutting-edge tech, and fully armed Brotherhood soldiers bearing banners not just of the Maxson line, but with new markings—etched VI crests, scribe-tiered engineering logs, and modular codes that weren't standard doctrine.
And among them, a name kept surfacing like a virus in the system logs:
Six VI.
The son of Viktor VI, a long line of journeyman scribes. The VI's, are now the most influential name in Brotherhood logistics, tech recovery, and territory stabilization across the western and eastern wastelands.
Six, a "merchant family" in origin, sure—but with an empire built on reverse-engineered pre-War marvels and repurposed Brotherhood tech. The kind of man who took Knight training, scribe knowledge, and outsider adaptability—and turned it into dominance.
Worse yet—Sarah embraced it.
She welcomed the aid. Integrated the VI's protocols into her command structure. She gave scribe access to commoners, offered wastelanders Brotherhood-manufactured prosthetics and clean power. She shared the strength of the Brotherhood.
And the West applauded her.
They called it Progress.
To Casdin, it was sacrilege.
Casdin's jaw clenched as he watched the cascading information: flight logs, supply chain manifests, scribe reports, even atmospheric readings from one of the newer Prydwen-class fortresses that had crossed the Rockies like thunderclouds of steel.
He turned away from the screen with a bitter scoff.
"Of course, they sided with her. The moment we hold the line on tradition, we're labeled as relics. Lyons gets to play hero with toys she didn't earn while we're left with bones and ideals."
His gaze remained locked on the terminal screen, where line after line of Brotherhood intelligence and high-priority communiques scrolled by faster than his eyes could track.
He stepped back from the terminal, his armored boots thudding against the steel floor as he turned away, staring out the narrow, reinforced window of their hidden outpost. Beyond it, the Capital Wasteland simmered in the muted light of a broken sun.
"They've buried us."
Casdin said bitterly.
"Under a mountain of progress reports and 'cooperative integration initiatives.' They think we'll be too overwhelmed to push back."
"There was a lot to process, Elder Casdin."
Replied the knight in charge of analysis, his deep-set eyes highlighting his exhaustion.
"The situation on the West Coast doesn't make it easy for us. Many of our operatives have gone dark. We assume they have been captured or killed by those traitors."
Casdin's jaw tightened, but his voice remained even—cold, sharp like a scalpel.
"Captured by scribes and merchants."
he scoffed.
"Tell me—did they smother them with goodwill and clean water? Or perhaps they were overwhelmed by the smell of fresh crops and idealism?"
The analyst flinched, but didn't waver.
"Sir, with respect… this isn't the Brotherhood we remember. The VI's aren't just trading scrap for caps—they've created supply lines, stabilized regions from New Vegas to Shady Sands, and now they've embedded themselves into the East as they've always belonged. They don't act like a splinter. They're moving like a nation."
Casdin's hand slammed the edge of the desk, causing the terminals to flicker slightly. The room froze.
"They are a splinter. An aberration built on compromise. The Brotherhood code is clear: protect the technology, secure our future, and keep it from the hands of fools. Not hand it out like pre-War candy."
He stepped forward, the light of the data screens casting harsh shadows on his face.
"I led the Outcasts because Lyons lost sight of the mission. He traded discipline for empathy. Now his daughter plays the same game, just with better pieces on the board."
The analyst tapped his console again. More reports loaded—images of sleek Vertibirds, power-armored patrols assisting settlements, hybrid Brotherhood banners flying beside those marked with a gold VI.
Then… footage of fresh BOS members, disembarking from a flying mobile fortress surrounded by droids and Knights alike. A man who could make Sarah Lyons look like a supporting actor.
"Sir… we can't beat them in open war."
The analyst whispered.
"They revolutionized the East without firing a shot."
"The VI's… they've reshaped the West entirely. They're not like the Elders we remember. It's not just politics. They have logistics. Infrastructure. Air superiority. Even power armor we've never seen schematics for."
Casdin's lip curled, his voice low and harsh.
"Merchants and tinkers. Scribes with delusions of grandeur. They never bled beside Maxson. Never marched on the Pitt. And yet they act like the future belongs to them."
A second screen lit up—combat footage from recon drones near D.C. Brotherhood banners fluttered over newly fortified outposts. Paladins in T-80 Knightmare armor and B1 Battle Droids moved with clockwork precision. They bore the VI's insignia on one shoulder… and the Lyons lion on the other.
Casdin stared in silence.
The analyst didn't answer. What could he say? They both knew the truth: the Outcasts were running on fumes. Supplies were tight. Morale was frayed. And now the West—their Brotherhood—had thrown its weight behind Sarah Lyons and this new, twisted vision of unity and outreach.
"We bled for the Code."
Casdin snarled suddenly, slamming a gauntleted fist into a nearby wall. The sound echoed sharply through the command center.
"And this is how we're repaid? They call her evolution, but call us relics?!"
He turned sharply, facing the analyst.
"Sarah Lyons didn't just get help."
The analyst murmured.
"She got adopted by those traitors VI's. They've merged with her chapter. She's winning hearts across the Capital Wasteland."
Casdin's glare hardened.
"Then we burn down those hearts."
He growled.
"If the people want to follow a fantasy built on charity and compromise, let them choke on the consequences."
Casdin's voice dropped to a simmering growl.
"We give them a crusade. One tech vault at a time. One smuggled nuke at a time. Let the Wasteland see what happens when you dress weakness in steel and call it strength."
Another paladin, a grizzled scout, stepped in from the shadows of the command room.
"Orders, sir?"
Casdin didn't hesitate.
"Get me intel on Goodsprings. On Six. On that entire gilded mockery, they're calling a Brotherhood Chapter. We don't fight them with numbers—we fight them with truth. Let's show the people what kind of Brotherhood survives when the dreamers fall asleep."
He turned back toward the maps of the Capital Wasteland and the Mojave.
"The Outcasts were never meant to win hearts. We were meant to survive the purge. And now, we bring it."