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The tension in the room pressed against the walls. The Brotherhood command center just beyond the hallway throbbed with distant voices, power conduits, and the rhythmic clang of Liberty Prime's final leg plate being bolted into place.
The next day, the sky above Sanctuary was that soft, pre-storm color—an iron-gray with flecks of low, orange light streaking the eastern clouds. You could feel it in your bones. A change coming. Not the kind that made you glance up and wonder if you should carry an umbrella, but the kind that stirred something older, primal. Something that whispered of shifts too large to name.
Sico stood by the tall, reinforced window of his office on the third floor of the Freemasons HQ. The pane was warped slightly from when the Brotherhood shelled the town two years ago—before the ceasefires, before the treaties, before the Congress. That had been another lifetime. Another war.
His fingers rested against the cold edge of the steel frame, eyes locked on the distant hills, though his thoughts were far below the horizon.
The knock on the door was gentle. But he already knew who it was.
"Come in," he said, voice low but steady.
The door creaked open, and Nora stepped in, her frame shadowed against the hall light behind her. She looked tired—no, beyond tired. She looked like a person who'd stopped counting the days since their last full night's sleep. There were bags under her eyes and a tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there even during the worst months after the Institute's fall. But her expression? Her expression was made of granite.
She closed the door behind her, then took a long breath.
"It's done," she said.
Sico turned.
"The relay code?"
Nora gave a single, sharp nod. "Finished it late last night. Double-encrypted the packet stream, masked the biometric headers, rerouted it through a falsified synth identifier node. As far as the Institute's tracking systems are concerned, it'll look like a synth squad returning home for diagnostics. We'll go in clean."
Sico walked over to his desk. It was a heavy thing—not the kind of desk that moved when you leaned on it. Everything about the Freemasons headquarters had been built with permanence in mind. Permanence and defiance.
He reached for the notepad where he kept operation codes in shorthand—he never trusted terminals for things like this. "How long does the relay stay open once activated?"
"Fifteen minutes," she said. "Enough time to get everyone through if you're tight and efficient. After that, the window closes, and any attempt to use it again will trigger internal alarms."
"Fifteen minutes," Sico repeated.
Then came the silence. The kind that fills a room like steam, slow and clinging.
He looked at her now. Not the technician. Not the former General. Not even the woman who had, once upon a time, carried the hopes of a thousand fragmented people in her arms like firewood.
Just Nora.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
Nora hesitated. Then walked forward, closing the distance between them until only the desk stood between their convictions.
"I have to go back," she said. "To the Institute."
Sico blinked once. "You mean… now?"
Nora nodded. "Today."
A silence like cold iron dropped between them.
"I need to report to Shaun," she continued. "They're watching me—closely. They're starting to get suspicious about my delays, the limited data I've been sending back. I've bought us time by claiming it's technical setbacks and deep political manipulation. They don't know I've already coded the relay, but they're expecting progress."
Sico didn't sit. He didn't pace. He stood still, but his chest rose and fell, slow and deliberate.
"You're going back… to tell him what?" he asked carefully.
Nora's eyes didn't waver. "That the fracture in the Freemasons Republic is widening. That Congress is paralyzed by Sico's mistrust, that Piper's broadcasts have turned public perception volatile, that our unity is a façade stretched thin over real, boiling tension. I'll give him exactly what he wants to hear."
"You're playing both sides."
"I'm feeding him a story," she corrected. "One that buys us just enough time to position ourselves for the strike."
Sico exhaled through his nose. "And when do we move?"
"When the time's right," she said. "I'll contact you through the relay net. You'll use the activation code I left in the engineering archive. From there, the team has exactly five minutes to suit up, arm, and be on the pad. When you're ready, I'll open the line. You'll jump. I'll be inside by then."
Sico slowly circled the desk, hands brushing along the worn metal edge, his mind sifting through the dozens—no, hundreds—of implications.
"You're sure they won't trace the relay signature back here?"
Nora gave a tired half-smile. "I'm good. Not arrogant enough to say perfect. But good. The moment we're inside, I'll shut the loop from my side. They won't even see the portal open. As far as they'll know, it was a routine synth recovery glitch."
He looked up slowly, jaw clenched. "If Shaun suspects you—if he finds out…"
"He won't," she said, cutting him off. "Not yet. He still believes I want to bridge peace. That I see the future the way he does—clean, ordered, synthetic. He's convinced I just need time to turn the Freemasons into allies."
She shook her head, voice lowering. "He doesn't understand what you've built. Not really. He sees the Republic as a primitive tribal structure, bound to collapse under the weight of human error."
"He's not wrong," Sico said quietly. "We're barely holding this together."
Nora stepped closer. "But you are holding it together. That's the difference."
There was another pause—longer, heavier. A gust of wind howled through the upper rafters, rattling something loose on the far scaffold. Neither flinched.
"Tell me the truth," Sico finally said. "Do you think we can pull this off?"
Nora considered her words carefully. "I think… we're already pulling it off. Just by being this close. Just by having the pieces in motion. The Institute doesn't know the full extent of the Freemasons' evolution. They still think you're a militia."
He smiled faintly. "We were. You helped change that."
She ignored the compliment. Or maybe deflected it.
"I'll send a burst through the relay network when it's time," she said. "A simple tone-pulse. Three short beeps, then one long. That's your go signal."
Sico nodded. "Understood."
Nora turned to go, but hesitated at the door. Her hand rested on the frame, fingers twitching slightly.
"I won't lie, Sico," she said. "This next part? It's going to be harder than anything we've done so far. The Institute is tightening control. There's tension inside, especially after your last data leak. They're paranoid now. And Shaun… he's not the same as I remember. He's colder."
Sico took a step forward. "Then maybe he's finally showing his true side."
"Maybe," she said softly. "But even monsters believe they're saving the world."
She opened the door.
"Take care of them," she said. "The Republic. The people. Keep them from turning on each other."
"I'll try."
She lingered a heartbeat longer, as if waiting for something else to be said—then left.
The door closed behind her with a click that echoed through the stillness like a trigger pulled in slow motion.
The halls of Freemasons HQ were strangely quiet in the hour after she left. Not because work had stopped—but because it had changed. Everyone felt it, somehow. An undercurrent. A shift in tempo.
Preston passed Sico in the hall without a word, only a nod. Sarah sent a tight-beamed message to MacCready to double-check their infiltration gear. Albert tripled the checklists on the T-60 units and began quiet discussions with the surgical team about casualty prep.
No one said "goodbye."
But they all knew what this meant.
Nora was going dark.
And now came the waiting.
Not passive waiting.
Active. Terrible. Churning.
The kind of waiting where every minute feels like a countdown.
Meanwhile, somewhere below the broken bones of the old C.I.T., the lights of the Institute glowed soft and clean.
Nora walked the long corridor alone, her boots the only sound against sterile tile. The smell here was antiseptic. Cold. There was no dust. No rusted beams. No wind through the rafters. Just the hum of machines and the low murmur of automated systems running endless diagnostics.
She passed two Generation 2 synths near the gene splicing lab. Neither turned. Neither needed to.
She was one of them again now.
At least, as far as they knew.
When she entered the Director's chambers, Shaun was already waiting.
He didn't look up from his datapad. Not at first.
"Nora," he said without inflection. "Report."
And so she did.
She told him the story they had written—carefully, meticulously. About the Freemasons' internal drift. About Piper's broadcasts turning public opinion. About Sico's increasing paranoia. About the slow crumble of unity.
Shaun didn't look at her when he asked the question.
It came quiet, clinical. A probe masquerading as an afterthought.
"And Sico?" he said, still scrolling through the datapad, the soft blue light reflecting off his pale skin. "Is he… confused by your change in behavior?"
Nora didn't breathe for a second.
She'd prepared for questions about troop strength. Movement. Political fractures. Logistics. She'd rehearsed a dozen variations of the same lie—that the Republic was fragile, unstable, leaning closer to collapse every day. But she hadn't prepared for this.
He was prying into the relationship. The trust. The human part.
Her chest tightened—but she didn't let it show. She stood straighter. Let the words come slow, deliberate, as though she were confessing something real.
"Yes," she said, nodding just once. "He is confused."
Shaun finally looked up.
There was something surgical in his gaze. He didn't blink often, and when he did, it was slow, like even his eyelids obeyed calculated programming. Like he was studying not just her words, but the neurons behind them.
"He thinks what he's doing," she continued carefully, "is exactly what I want. That we're still walking the same path—just disagreeing on methods."
She let a silence hang there. Let it ferment. Then added:
"But it's not just about him anymore."
Shaun raised an eyebrow.
"Go on."
Nora folded her arms—less defensively, more like someone tired of shouldering the weight of too many truths. Her voice shifted, a subtle weariness woven into it. The exhaustion of a supposed double agent navigating a Republic in flux.
"Half of the Freemasons Republic's leadership is now with me," she said. "Not publicly. Not officially. But behind closed doors? They see where this is heading. They want a future with structure. With logic. With direction."
"Not idealism," Shaun said flatly.
She nodded. "Not a man in a coat waving a flag and pretending that sentiment is strategy."
He leaned back in his chair.
"And the other half?"
"Still loyal to him," Nora said. "They believe in Sico like a religion. They think he's the only one who can hold the Republic together, even when it's clear he's the one making it unstable."
Shaun made a quiet sound in his throat. Not quite a scoff. Not quite approval. A little of both.
"And Congress?" he asked.
"They're terrified," she said without pause. "They've seen the fractures forming. The debates are growing more hostile. The last two proposals came to shouting matches. Preston's trying to play peacemaker, but he's stretched thin. Some want a military resolution—others are desperate to keep things together until the Institute is no longer a threat."
"And what's their solution?" Shaun asked. "What action has Congress taken?"
"They formed a committee," Nora said. "One with oversight over both Sico and me."
Now he leaned forward again. Interest sparked behind his eyes.
"To do what?"
"To prevent a civil war," she answered. "To slow us down. Keep us in check. Make sure neither side gets too much momentum. They're scared this will split the Republic permanently."
Shaun set the datapad down.
Silence returned, like a curtain falling between acts. The humming of the overhead lights seemed louder in its wake.
And then Shaun did something strange.
He smiled.
It wasn't warm. Or proud. It was the smile of a chess master watching the board finally tilt toward inevitability.
"Good," he said.
Nora said nothing. Let the quiet draw out, waiting to see how he'd play the next move.
"It means our pressure is working," Shaun said, standing now. He paced slowly behind his desk, fingertips brushing the back of a synthetic leather chair. "They're afraid of losing control, so they try to centralize it. Classic. Pre-War governance behavior—Committee-based equilibrium. But it never lasts. You can't legislate fear away."
Nora's jaw clenched. She let none of it show.
"This committee," he continued. "Who leads it?"
"Congresswoman Callahan," she said. "Starlight Drive In. Moderate voice. Old-school ethics. She believes the Institute is still the primary threat and sees this internal rift as a dangerous distraction."
"And does she trust you?"
"She doesn't trust anyone," Nora replied. "But she believes I want peace."
Shaun's smile returned.
"And what do you want, Nora?"
The question cut sharper than the others.
Not because she hadn't prepared for it. But because she had. Too well. She knew the exact lie that needed to be said—but the truth behind it still flared, briefly, inside her chest.
"I want survival," she said. "Order. I want to prevent the Republic from devouring itself before you ever raise a weapon against it."
"Diplomatic," Shaun said. "Pragmatic. I like that."
He circled back to the desk, tapping a few notes into the datapad.
"There's a summit next week," he said. "A gathering of our senior department leads. I want you there. You'll speak on the political vulnerability of the surface powers."
Nora raised an eyebrow. "You want me to debrief the Directorate?"
"I want them to see what I see," he replied. "That the old world has already failed. That these fledgling attempts at civilization are romantic echoes. Disorganized. Sentimental."
He looked up again.
"You'll bring them clarity. Make them understand why the surface must be controlled—not courted."
Nora didn't answer right away. She needed to be careful. Agree too quickly, and she'd look opportunistic. Hesitate, and she'd seem disloyal.
She let out a slow breath.
"I'll prepare something," she said.
The silence between them stretched thin again, like wire pulled taut. Nora could hear the faint buzz of the terminal to Shaun's left, the mechanical wheeze of a vent pushing recycled air through the pristine walls of the Institute office. Somewhere down the corridor, a synth's footsteps echoed in rhythmic metallic cadence. But inside the room—it was just the two of them. No distractions. No masks left to wear.
She let the last words linger—"I'll prepare something"—as though she hadn't just committed herself to standing in front of the most calculating minds the Institute had ever assembled. They would dissect her. Analyze every word, every microexpression. They were scientists and visionaries, yes—but they were also sharks, swimming in cold data and colder ambition.
Still, she held Shaun's gaze.
Then finally, her voice returned—lower now, curious, probing gently along the contours of his plan.
"What's the next move?"
The question felt heavier than she intended. But not accidental. Because for all the performances she'd put on—for Sico, for Congress, for the people who still called her General Nora or Mother of the Republic—there was always this nagging current underneath. The question that woke her at night and pulled at her ribs like a hook caught in bone.
What are we doing?
What am I doing?
Shaun didn't answer immediately. He moved slowly, methodically, as he always did—crossing back behind his desk, placing the datapad down with a calculated tap. Then he laced his fingers together and looked at her with that quiet intensity again, like he was examining not a person but a variable in an equation that had finally begun to balance.
"I need you to gather more people," he said. "Quietly. Deliberately. Those who already lean toward you, even if they don't say it out loud. Cabinet members. Generals. Governors. Local leaders. Anyone with influence and enough doubt in their heart."
Nora's brow twitched. "You want me to consolidate power."
"I want you to fracture the Republic," Shaun said plainly.
No hesitation. No dramatic pause. Just the raw calculus of his design, laid bare.
"You said yourself—the split is already there. Half the Congress doesn't trust Sico anymore. The Republic's military is strong, yes, but it's fragmented. If you apply the right pressure—subtly, with the right symbols and words—you won't need to seize control. You'll simply accelerate what's already happening."
Nora felt a chill crawl up her spine.
A civil war.
He was saying it aloud now, without euphemism or denial. Without ceremony. He wanted her to pull the thread until the tapestry unraveled—and then stitch together something new in its place.
"And when the fighting starts?" she asked quietly.
Shaun's mouth curled slightly at the edge. Not a smile. A recognition.
"I will send help," he said. "Synth units—strategic deployment. Not a full assault force. Just enough to tilt the scales."
He reached for the datapad again and flicked through something quickly. Then he turned it around so she could see.
A map. Sanctuary at the center. Colored overlays stretched across the Commonwealth—Minutemen strongholds, Freemason Republic logistics hubs, militia concentrations, Brotherhood outposts. Each zone marked in red or blue or grey, based on allegiance. Most of the red—Sico's side. The blue—Nora's hopefuls, her moderates. The grey—undecided or isolated.
The visual was damning.
"You were right to tell me the military leans toward him," Shaun said. "But not all of them. He has the loyalists. The field-tested ones. The heroes. But your side has the strategists. The politicians. The officers who understand that sentiment doesn't win wars—logistics does."
Nora didn't look away from the map. It felt like staring into a future already written. Cities would burn. Fields would blacken. Settlements would be forced to choose or be swallowed whole by the tide. And the people who had trusted her—who had seen her as their salvation in the early days—would now see her face on the other side of the front line.
But she kept her voice steady.
"How do I explain this to them?" she asked. "To the ones I need to convince? I can't walk in and say I'm starting a civil war."
Shaun nodded, as though he'd been waiting for that question.
"You don't say it," he said. "You say you're protecting the Republic. That Sico has become a zealot. That he's consolidating power behind the scenes, preparing for a dictatorship under the guise of democratic leadership."
Nora tilted her head slightly. "Isn't that exactly what I'd be doing?"
He gave a light, dry laugh.
"Perception, Nora. People don't fear power—they fear the other having power. If they believe you're stopping a tyrant, they'll follow you. And if they hesitate—remind them of the Institute. Of us. Of what could happen if we attacked while their house is divided."
A beat passed.
Nora could feel her heartbeat under her ribs, dull and slow, like the opening of a countdown. She didn't move from her spot, didn't lower her arms or soften her jaw. Her whole posture had shifted since entering the room—less soldier, more agent. Less mother of the Republic, more architect of its undoing.
"How long before you intervene?" she asked.
Shaun shrugged. "Depends on how quickly things escalate. If you can stage your side as the stabilizers—defenders of peace—then we'll move within the week. The synths will enter in civilian gear. Quiet insertion. They'll help enforce your side's narrative. Police, not soldiers. Keep order where order breaks down."
"And if Sico calls it what it is? If he exposes the truth?"
"Then he looks like a man panicking," Shaun said. "A man losing control. They won't care. They'll be too afraid of what happens next. You'll be the face of calm. You'll be the one with a plan."
She wanted to scream.
Not at Shaun. Not at the Institute. At herself.
Because this was what she'd trained for. What she'd agreed to. What she'd quietly accepted the moment she stepped into that relay chamber and reactivated the old code. The moment she told Sico she needed time to disappear. The moment she started weaving the double life that would eventually collapse in on itself like a lung punctured from the inside.
And now it was happening.
Not as a possibility. Not as a contingency.
As an inevitability.
She exhaled slowly and looked away from the map. Out toward the blank white walls of the office. Not a speck of dirt, not a crack, not a hint of time's passage. It was like the Institute existed outside reality—detached from the pain it was about to unleash.
"What happens if I lose?" she asked quietly.
Shaun considered her for a moment.
Then he walked around the desk again, until he was standing close—just a few feet away. He didn't touch her. Didn't lean in like a conspirator. He just stood there, looking at her like a father would look at a child who had just asked what dying felt like.
"You won't," he said.
But she noticed he didn't smile this time.
By the time Nora left his office, the air outside the Institute's inner sanctum felt heavier. Like gravity had shifted just slightly, dragging at her bones and the corners of her thoughts.
________________________________________________
• 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:-