This is a story set within the Fallout setting and universe. It is nothing more than a 'fanfiction', and none of it can be considered 'true'. All in all, thanks for taking the time to read this.
The tiny village of Greendale was on the outskirts of the Republic's borders. While it hadn't been admitted yet, due to its small amount of resources and population, it was still offered protection by the Republic from the Wasteland's many dangers.
In the late hours of the day, in the fading light, the attack came, swiftly and brutally. The Republic's garrison of seven men was taken out by a combined attack of fragmentation grenades and automatic rifle fire. The few men that Greendale could afford to spare on defense, quickly roused and attempted to fight back. The super mutants quickly ran down into the valley in which Greendale was housed in, and soon, the defenders were pushed back into the Meeting House.
More automatic fire from the mutants suppressed the Greendale defenders, forcing them to stay entrenched in the Meeting House, with the few people who had managed to get there. Shotgun blasts rang out and the sound of wood splintering filled the air, as the mutants shot down the doors of the houses.
The few residents who attempted to fight back were promptly filled with buckshot, while the other noncombatants were dragged off. The defenders who were defending the Meeting House were taken out by sheer numbers, having managed to kill six of the attackers. The rest inside the Meeting House were killed, shot in the back as they tried to run from the Mutants.
A ways away from the battle, two soldiers stared down at the carnage that had consumed Greendale. They wore power armor, with the distinctive Brotherhood of Steel emblem painted on the back. From the scopes of their sniper rifles, they followed one person, as he hid underneath the house, out of view from the mutants.
"Think there'll be anyone left besides him?" inquired Paladin Frey.
"It doesn't matter, since The Mil will just blame us anyways. Elder Kronman will not be happy with this though, that's for sure," replied Knight Jeridin.
"That's not what I asked," snapped Frey.
"It doesn't look like there'll be any survivors besides the kid, sir," said Jeridin hastily, not wanting to further anger his superior.
"Get back to the camp, and get the squad ready. We'll clear out whatever's left, and maybe take the kid back with us," ordered Frey.
About two hours after the attack, Markus Isac lay curled up, in the fetal position, under Old Man Frank's house; he'd been there, rocking back and forth, crying, after the mutants left.
He'd heard his dad tell him to go to the Meeting House, and they'd rushed out the door, along with his sister, Margaret. The whole town was in a panic, as they tried to get there. In the chaos, he'd been separated, and he'd hid in the only spot that he could.
With his face still wet from the tears, he carefully edged out from underneath the house, surveying the ruins of the village. Two of the houses were on fire, and bodies lay strewn across the walkways, shot while they were trying to escape. He followed the trail to the Meeting House, stopping in his tracks when he got within a few feet of it.
"Don't move kid. We'll get you out of here," said a Knight, stepping out from the squad that was at the meeting house.
Markus let himself be picked up by the Brotherhood, not moving, unable to get the image of his father and sister, dead, out of his mind.