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As they left the room, Sico lingered behind once more. He walked to the window slit carved into the concrete, looking out at the distant lights of Sanctuary flickering against the dark hills.
By the time dawn crested over the Commonwealth, the whole world looked… quieter.
Not safer. Not more certain. Just quieter.
The wind passed low over Sanctuary's hills, rattling through the old skeletal remains of pre-War trees, brushing over the solar panels on the rooftops, and humming softly between the wires strung from tower to tower along the inner perimeter. In the east, light bled in orange over the ruins of Concord. The mist still lingered across the riverbed that once ran thick and grey with sludge. It felt like a morning that held its breath.
And so did the people.
Public whispers had become questions. Questions had become fears. And fears had a way of breeding wild stories: that Nora and Sico were going to tear each other apart, that Sanctuary would split in two, that the Republic would fall before it ever took root.
But stories were just that. Stories. And stories could be rewritten.
So Sico stood at the edge of the congressional plaza just past seven in the morning, his long coat fluttering behind him as the wind caught its hem. A half-dozen early risers were already there—some traders wheeling carts, a couple of guards exchanging notes, an old scavver from Bunker Hill sitting cross-legged on a bench, puffing a pipe.
They noticed him.
They always noticed him.
But they didn't speak. Not yet. Not until they saw her.
Nora arrived not long after.
Her coat was lighter—a deep olive green reinforced with bits of stitched Kevlar—and her stride was unhurried, chin high, eyes forward. MacCready trailed her from a distance, as did Piper, scribbling on a pad with a cigarette tucked behind one ear. The former Sole Survivor didn't flinch when the traders paused their banter. She didn't falter when the guards glanced her way. She only walked until she stood beside Sico.
The moment held.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Then, quietly, she extended her hand toward him.
Not a stiff shake. Not something rigid or cold. Just a hand—open, waiting, something human.
Sico looked at it.
Then he took it.
The clasp wasn't long. Just enough for every set of eyes on the plaza to see. Just enough for Piper to capture the image. Just enough for the murmurs to start in the distance, soft like the crackling of old campfires.
They were working together again.
And that meant hope.
"Good morning," Sico said, voice steady, low, just enough for her to hear.
"Let's give them a show," Nora replied with a faint, dry smile. "Before we give them a plan."
He glanced sidelong at her, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You really think we fooled them all?"
"No," she said. "But we gave them something to believe in."
They turned together and walked toward the Congress hall, side by side.
By mid-morning, the hall was packed.
The building itself had been rebuilt from what was once a battered municipal center. Its marble pillars were cracked, but restored with fusion-smooth resin that gleamed under the overhead lights. Banners of the Freemasons Republic—white thread on midnight blue, stitched with the torch-and-wreath crest—hung from the rafters like the symbols of something ancient and rising.
Congressional members filled the benches in layers. At the central table sat Piper, Hancock, Preston, and Sarah Lyons—who wore her new Freemasons officer coat like it had grown into her bones. Danny Sullivan of Diamond City had taken the floor near the front, speaking to a quiet cluster of urban reps from the Charles River district. Magnolia was here too, though not seated—standing instead near the rear wall, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Even Curie was here, glasses perched on her nose as she thumbed through a medical report binder. Across from her sat Cait, one boot slung over a knee, daring anyone to speak too loudly.
The noise dropped when Sico and Nora entered.
They didn't need to speak right away. Just standing there—together—did more than any opening speech could. Every person in the chamber, every citizen watching via the terminals rigged to transmit the proceedings, understood the message.
They were unified again.
Not identical. Not in agreement on everything. But unified.
Sico stepped forward first.
"Congress of the Freemasons Republic," he began, his voice clear and resonant, "we've come through a storm of doubt. Some of it… by design."
He let that linger, just enough to draw the tension tighter.
Nora stepped up beside him.
"There were disagreements," she said plainly. "Serious ones. About power. About purpose. About what comes next."
She scanned the chamber with eyes like steel.
"But disagreements don't break republics. Lies do. Secrecy does. And the Institute? They built their empire on both."
Sico continued. "We chose to reveal those disagreements publicly. To fracture, on purpose. Because we knew Shaun would be watching. We knew the Institute needed to believe we were split—divided, unprepared."
He stepped toward the center of the chamber.
"We let them believe that."
Nora's voice cut in, softer now, but no less firm.
"But in truth… we've never been more united. Our split was a trap. Our war of words was a ruse. And while they watched our theatrics, we prepared for something bigger."
"Something final," Sico added.
Gasps fluttered through the seats.
"Final?" Sullivan asked, rising slowly. "You mean an end to the war?"
Sico nodded. "Yes. In two days, we strike the heart of the Institute."
Now the room erupted.
Voices raised. Papers scattered. Someone shouted from the upper gallery. Hancock chuckled darkly. Preston didn't flinch. Sarah stood still as a statue, watching the storm rise with cool blue eyes.
It was Nora who quelled it.
Her voice rose—not loud, but commanding. Decisive.
"We're not asking for permission. This is happening. The Institute is weak. Their outer networks are collapsing. Their synth control tech is broken. And we have the codes to walk through their front door."
She paused, letting the words land like anchors.
"We're not asking for volunteers. But we're not turning away help either."
The room steadied.
Piper raised a hand. "What's the goal?" she asked. "Retaliation? Occupation?"
Sico looked straight at her.
"Victory," he said. "No mass bloodshed. No mass executions. We go in, take control, secure the scientists and the synth tech. We bring it here. And we use it for everyone."
Nora added, "We're not building a new dictatorship. We're building something better. Something freer. The Institute's knowledge belongs to the people now."
A quiet followed that couldn't be broken by arguments. Even the most skeptical reps—from the western camps, from Bunker Hill, from the fringes near Taffington—sat without protest.
Then Sico raised his hand.
Just a subtle gesture—open palm, fingers slightly spread—but the effect was immediate. The chamber quieted like someone had drawn a curtain across a gale.
"Before we go any further," he said, eyes sweeping across the faces—familiar and uncertain alike—"this plan, this operation, stays in this room."
He turned slowly, his coat brushing against the edge of the speaking podium.
"I don't care if it's your spouse, your cousin, your brahmin-herding neighbor. I don't care if it's someone you've bled beside on the walls of Quincy or patrolled the tunnels of Somerville with. As of this moment, the only people authorized to know are those already here and the command staff of the Freemasons Republic. If word of this leaks, even a whisper, we risk everything."
A murmur—mostly assent, some silent concern—passed through the room like a ripple on water.
Piper, who was already biting down on her bottom lip, raised her hand again, slower this time. "That mean no reports from me until it's over?"
Sico nodded, appreciation flickering behind his tired eyes. "For once, yeah. Not even a headline. We're walking a razor's edge, Piper. And the wind's already howling."
She clicked her pen closed, gave a slight nod, and slid the notebook back into her coat.
Then Sico stepped closer to the central dais, near the heavy holotable that stood dormant at the heart of the room. He placed both hands on its edge, leaning forward with the kind of weight that wasn't just physical.
"There's another piece to this," he said, voice lower now. "And it's not going to be easy to hear."
He waited for a beat, made sure every eye was on him. When he continued, the room had settled into an uneasy hush.
"I'm talking about the Brotherhood of Steel."
Now came the murmurs again—sharper this time. Sarah shifted slightly but didn't interrupt. Preston's mouth pressed into a thin line. Cait muttered something under her breath. Even Danny Sullivan sat straighter.
Sico didn't flinch.
"We've kept our alliance with them intact. Barely. Maxson's still convinced we're useful. He believes we're committed to the same goals—eliminating the Institute, removing synth infiltration, securing advanced tech before it spreads. And so far, we've done just enough to keep that belief alive."
He looked toward Sarah, whose gaze met his like a mirror—unflinching, calculating, already ten steps ahead.
"We gave them Institute locations," Sico continued. "Fed them just enough of the truth to keep them moving. What they don't know is that we've only given them the smaller outposts, the fringe science labs, the dead-ends."
He tapped the edge of the holotable now, fingers drumming lightly.
"And while they've been launching strikes, chewing through synth patrols, they've been losing men. Equipment. Focus. They're stretched thinner than they've been since the Quincy Massacre."
Curie looked up from her medical binder, frowning faintly. "You are… intentionally weakening them?"
Sico didn't hesitate. "Yes. Not with lies. With precision. Every Brotherhood unit marching into ruins to fight Coursers is one less unit watching our skies."
"You want to use them," Cait said, arms crossed, "like a damn battering ram."
"Not exactly," Sico replied. "I want them to be so preoccupied that when the Institute does fall—when we turn the synth army loose—we use that moment to hit the Brotherhood from behind."
The room stilled again, sharper than before. This time, no one muttered.
Sico let it settle, then kept going, eyes locked on the center of the chamber like he was staring down a sniper's barrel.
"We take the Prydwen."
That did it.
Magnolia exhaled sharply. Sarah raised a single brow. Hancock broke into a wicked grin and muttered, "Now that's a headline."
Preston, leaned forward. "You want to board it?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Board it. Take it. Bring it down into our hands. They built that airship as a symbol of dominance. I want it to be a symbol of our future."
He turned to Nora now, who had remained silent as he laid it out.
"She's working on an override," Sico added. "Once we seize the Institute, she can rewire the relay to beam a strike force straight into the Prydwen's command deck."
"I'll need time," Nora said at last. "In a day or two, at most. I can hack their transponder codes and spoof an emergency recall. We'll slip through their defenses like a ghost."
"And you're sure it'll work?" Danny Sullivan asked. "Because if it doesn't…"
"We'll be vaporized before our boots touch the steel," Nora finished for him. "Yeah. We know."
MacCready, from the sidelines, gave a short whistle. "So we're hitting the Institute and the Brotherhood in the same damn week?"
Sico replied, "Of course not."
He straightened from the holotable, his voice no longer just calm—it was sharp now, honed like a blade freshly whetted.
"We won't launch everything at once. We'll use the synth army—what's left of it—to keep the Brotherhood distracted. Let them think they're still chasing ghosts. Let Maxson believe he's winning while we gather our real strength after taking the Institute's main base."
His eyes swept the room again, and this time, the weight behind them wasn't just command—it was belief, resolve tempered by risk. "This is going to take everything we've got. Patience. Precision. Coordination. And above all, deception."
A flicker of understanding passed between him and Nora. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a shared gravity, forged in the fire of months of maneuvering. Once, they'd clashed so bitterly that half the Congress feared an actual civil war was on the horizon. Now, they had become conspirators behind the scenes of a Republic barely holding together, their public feud a smokescreen thick enough to shield the boldest plan the Wasteland had ever seen.
Sico continued, voice lowering again, as if confiding in each of them personally. "That's why the world has to keep believing that Nora and I are at odds. That we've put aside our guns, but not our grudges. That the tensions in Congress are still real. If they suspect we've reunited… if they even sniff it…" He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Nora stepped forward now, not from necessity but because the moment asked it of her.
She rested one hand on the edge of the holotable, the other hanging by her side, fingers brushing the faded hem of her vault suit jacket. "The Congress thinks our alliance shattered over ideals," she said quietly. "Over how fast we were rebuilding. Who we were trusting. Whether to nationalize the workshops. The truth? That was all real once. But not anymore."
Her gaze moved from face to face—Preston, Piper, Sarah, Hancock, Danny, even Cait. Her voice stayed measured, but the burn behind it was unmistakable. "We put it all aside. Not because we stopped believing in our principles. But because this moment—this mission—requires something bigger than either of us. If the Institute survives, everything we've done dies with it."
Silence again. Heavy, but not paralyzing.
Then Piper said, just loud enough to break the quiet, "You're asking us to keep playing roles. Like actors in a show no one knows is fake."
"Exactly," Sico said. "Every argument in Congress, every bitter exchange Piper puts to print—has to look like it's real. We'll be staging more of them. Heated debates. Strategic leaks. A few walkouts. Even Sarah here's going to have to pretend she's leaning more toward my vision."
Sarah gave a sardonic grunt. "Pretending you're not an idealistic maniac? That'll be a real stretch."
Laughter followed. Brief. Tense. But necessary.
It passed quickly, though, as Sico lifted a hand again, reining the room back in.
"We strike the Institute first," Sico said. "They're the backbone. The mind behind the machine. Take them, and we gain three things: the teleportation relay, the synth production lines, and the scientists."
"You're serious about sparing them?" Preston asked, arms crossed, brow furrowed.
"Absolutely," Nora answered before Sico could. "They're not soldiers. Some of them don't even believe in what the Institute's been doing—they've just never seen another way. We give them one. But we need them alive. Their tech, their knowledge, could remake the world—if it's in the right hands."
"Which means not Maxson's," Sico added. "Because believe me—if he finds out what we've got after we take the Institute, he'll try to raze it to the ground. Wipe out the tech, the scientists, the synths—everything. That's why the moment we strike them, we use the synths we capture to keep the Brotherhood busy. Harassment raids. Feints. Nothing that risks losing them, just enough to keep Maxson scrambling."
"And then?" Hancock asked, eyes narrowed.
Sico stepped closer to the holotable again. This time, his hand passed over the floating image of the Prydwen.
"Then we finish it. We board this thing. We take it. We bring it down—not in flames, not in ruins. Intact. Operational. And we make it ours."
MacCready gave a low whistle again, arms folded over his chest. "You ever think you might be aiming too high, boss?"
Sico smiled faintly. "That's how you hit the stars."
Cait snorted. "And fall just as hard."
But Sarah stepped in now, her voice quiet but resolute. "He's right. If we can take it, if we can pull that off without tipping our hand… it would change everything. The Prydwen is their banner. Their rally point. If we claim it, it shows the entire Wasteland that there's a new order."
Nora nodded. "And if we fail? They'll know exactly where we are. They'll rally every Vertibird, every Paladin, every Squire with a rifle. And we'll be crushed before sunrise."
Piper glanced between them, chewing on her pen cap, then gave a shaky sigh. "So no pressure, huh?"
"None at all," Sico said with a smirk.
Then he stepped back from the table entirely, letting the glow of the projections bathe the room in flickering light.
"There's a name for this," he said. "This whole operation."
MacCready raised a brow. "Operation Longshot?"
"No," Sico replied. "Operation Ghostlight."
He looked around the room, waiting for it to land.
"We move like shadows. We make the Institute vanish. Then we take their ghosts—those synths, those scientists—and we light up the sky with them. We haunt the Brotherhood with their own fear. And when they turn to strike at that fear…" he gestured sharply to the Prydwen, "we appear on their deck, not as ghosts—but as the new future."
It was quiet again, not from confusion this time, but from conviction. The kind of silence that only follows the weight of understanding. Of realization.
Preston finally said, "Then we need drills. Gear. Quiet movement. Controlled lines of command. And trust—above everything else."
Sarah nodded. "I'll mobilize only my best. Commandos. Power Armor teams. Albert's group. Robert. MacCready. Myself. Sico, if he still insists on leading from the front like a lunatic."
Sico gave a mock bow.
"And me," Nora said. "I'll handle the relay overrides. Both for the Institute and the Prydwen. But I need absolute focus for that. I can't be in a firefight and rewriting teleportation protocols at the same time."
"You'll have cover," Sarah assured her. "You'll get your moment."
"Make sure I do," Nora said. "Because there's no coming back once that code's punched in."
Piper slowly pulled her notebook back out of her coat, only to pause.
Sico looked over. "Just planning headlines?"
She shook her head. "Just needed to write down how scared I am. This is big. Real big."
"We've done big before," Hancock offered with a lazy grin.
"Not like this," she murmured.
Sico moved toward the doorway now but turned back one last time.
"Everyone here has a job. Everyone here has a choice. If you want out—say it now. No judgment. No consequence. But if you stay, then from this moment forward, we are bound to this plan. Success or ruin."
No one spoke.
Not one hand raised.
Not even a breath out of place.
Hancock gave a low chuckle. "Well, shit. That's the most united we've ever been."
"Then let's start moving," Sico said.
And they did.
—
The next hours were a blur of movement.
Down in the Freemasons HQ command halls, Sarah coordinated troop deployment rosters with her Lieutenants while Albert and Robert inspected armor plating and plasma cell reserves. Preston began drilling squads in disciplined ghost formations—stealth movement, no chatter, trigger discipline.
In the upper levels, Nora locked herself in the relay core chamber with Curie's help, wires spilling from consoles like intestines. Her fingers flew over terminals while subroutines danced across screens. Hacking the Institute's signal deflectors wasn't just a code challenge—it was like learning the rhythm of a ghost's heartbeat.
Downstairs in the old archive room, Piper drafted decoy reports, front-page "exclusives" that fed the illusion of bitter fractures between Sico and Nora—power struggles, supply hoarding accusations, ideological threats. Each article was carefully calibrated to paint just enough tension to scare the public and lull the Institute and Brotherhood into underestimating them.
________________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-