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Sico stepped out into the night, his boots crunching gently on the gravel path. A low fog was settling in across Sanctuary, curling around rooftops and fences like a patient hand. He pulled up his hood, adjusted the rifle strap across his back, and nodded once before disappearing into the dark.
The morning crept in slowly, gentler than most. No alarms. No distant thunder of Vertibird engines. Just the low cooing of a pair of mutated doves nesting somewhere near the water tower, and the quiet whirring of Codsworth's servos as he swept the living room floor in wide, contented arcs.
Sico stood on Nora's porch for a moment, just listening. He hadn't even knocked yet.
The wooden steps creaked under his boots as he shifted his weight. Morning dew clung to the porch railing like tiny pearls, and the faint scent of thyme drifted from somewhere—probably the kitchen herb planter they'd salvaged from Vault 81's greenhouse. The world felt… lighter today. Less burdened.
He knocked gently.
There was a clatter inside, then Nora's voice, muffled through the door. "Just a second!"
He heard a giggle—a child's. Shaun. Then a flurry of steps. The door opened not all the way, but enough to let warm light spill out onto the porch. Nora stood there with a wooden spoon in one hand and a smudge of flour on her cheek. She wore a plain apron over her fatigues, and for a moment, she wasn't the war-hardened leader of Sanctuary Hills or the one-time Sole Survivor.
She was just a mother. Cooking breakfast.
"Sico," she said, smiling. "You're early."
"You're cooking," he said, blinking once, slowly. "Actual food. Not… Cram sauté."
Nora rolled her eyes. "Mock me all you want, but this is the first morning I've felt safe enough to do this in weeks. Codsworth even found some eggs. Real ones. Brahmin eggs, but still."
He followed her inside. The air was thick with warmth and scent—eggs, pepper, some kind of roasted root vegetable. Shaun was perched at the little table near the window, his synthetic legs swinging, eyes wide with anticipation.
"Morning, General!" Shaun called brightly, waving.
"Morning, soldier," Sico said, saluting playfully.
Codsworth whirred by them with an amused beep. "Mistress Nora has outdone herself this morning, sir. I daresay, it almost reminds me of the old days."
Sico chuckled. "If the old days included fighting Deathclaws before sunrise, sure."
Nora turned back to the stove, the frying pan hissing quietly as she flipped the eggs with practiced ease. "You want a plate?"
"I'd be insane to say no."
She handed him one wordlessly. Toasted day-old bread, crisped over the stove burner, eggs topped with something red and spicy-looking, and roasted carrots with cracked black pepper. A simple meal, but rich in a way that was hard to explain.
He sat across from Shaun, who was busy pretending his fork was a vertibird launching into scrambled egg clouds.
They ate in peace for a moment—no talk of directorates or synths or Brotherhood raids. Just the clink of forks, the sizzle of the pan, the occasional laugh from Shaun.
But eventually, Sico leaned back, wiping his mouth on a napkin.
"We should head to Freemasons HQ after this," he said casually, but his tone carried a certain weight.
Nora looked over her shoulder. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "It's not a crisis. Just a meeting I want to have with everyone—Sarah, Preston, Graves, maybe even Curie if she's back from the southern checkpoint. I want to start laying the groundwork for what comes next."
Nora flipped the stove burner off and brought her own plate to the table. She sat down slowly, eyes thoughtful again.
"Of course," she said. "But let's eat first."
They did. And not hurriedly either. It wasn't often anyone in the Commonwealth got a quiet meal anymore, let alone with friends, with family. And even Sico—always calculating, always a step ahead—let himself enjoy it for once.
When they'd finished, Shaun carried the empty plates to Codsworth like he'd been taught. The Mr. Handy chirped proudly at the boy's growing routine and gave him a pat on the head with one metal claw before buzzing off toward the sink.
Sico helped Nora with her chestplate—sliding the armored vest over her arms and clicking the magnetic clasps into place.
She caught his hand before he stepped away. Just for a second. Nothing romantic. Just a gesture. Solid. Grounding.
"I've been thinking about what you said," she murmured as they stepped outside into the crisp air. "About Mel and the others. Curie, too."
He nodded.
"You're right," she said. "It's time they saw what's down there. Time they had a say in what the Institute becomes. Because we're not building an ivory tower anymore. We're building a republic."
"Exactly."
The fog from earlier was lifting now, burned off by the rising sun. Sanctuary buzzed faintly in the distance—workers at the east wall hammering braces into the new watchtower, settlers hauling scrap through the square. It wasn't perfect. But it was real.
And it was alive.
They rode to Freemasons HQ in a rugged four-seater jury-rigged from an old military transport and two converted power cores. The tires were thick, made for torn asphalt and muddy trails, and the engine purred low under the bonnet like a hound itching for motion.
The HQ was nestled in a pre-war schoolhouse reinforced with concrete and steel—its red-brick charm preserved where possible, but now bristling with antennae, solar panels, and defensive turrets. The Freemasons flag flapped above it, its symbol a rising phoenix clutching a shattered atom.
MacCready stood at the gate with his usual smirk, rifle slung across his back.
"President. Nora," he said. "They're all inside."
"Good," Sico replied, hopping down from the truck. "Let's go."
Nora followed, adjusting her gloves. "How's Shaun's perimeter looking?"
"Tight as a tick," MacCready said, motioning to the three Freemason Guards posted discreetly at the edges of Sanctuary's residential grid. "Sarah upped patrol rotations. No one gets within fifty yards of your place unless they've got a biometric tag or my direct say-so."
"Good," Nora murmured.
Inside the HQ, the main hall had been transformed from a classroom into a full operations center. Holotables, maps, terminals, wall-mounted displays showing troop positions, resource convoys, Brotherhood movements, and green-blinking icons where Freemason safehouses still held strong.
Sarah Lyons stood near the far end, arms folded. Preston Garvey was beside her, flanked by Graves, who was adjusting his Pip-Boy interface. Curie had just arrived, her dark hair tied back in a field braid, her lab coat dusted from the road.
They all turned when Sico and Nora entered.
Sico nodded to each of them, then stepped forward into the center of the room. He didn't raise his voice, didn't slam a fist on the table. That wasn't how the Freemasons worked.
But the room quieted all the same.
"We've come far," he began. "Farther than anyone thought possible. We beat back raiders, ghouls, monsters. We survived the Institute's collapse. And now we're here."
He paced slowly, letting his words settle into the bones of the room.
"But survival isn't enough anymore."
He turned to face them again. "It's time to build. Not just defenses. Not just water pumps. A future. One that includes everyone in this room—and everyone who still believes there's something worth living for out there."
He looked at Curie first. "I'd like you to visit the Institute. Short term. Evaluate BioScience. Audit Holdren's legacy. See what can be salvaged. What can be learned. And what needs to be buried."
Curie tilted her head, surprised—but not unwilling. "For how long?"
"A few days. No more. Then you come home."
She nodded slowly. "Agreed."
Then Sico turned to Graves. "You'll accompany Mel, Hartley, Chen, York—Nora's science team—when they visit the Institute. Make sure they're protected, and make sure they're heard. They represent the surface. The Republic. Not the old elite."
Graves gave a crisp nod. "Consider it done."
Nora stepped forward then, voice steady. "I'll coordinate with Filmore and Watson. Keep the directorate in line until we've got a new science council in place."
Sico smiled faintly. "That's exactly why you're the one I trust."
He looked to Preston, to Sarah.
Then Sico leaned forward just slightly, palms resting on the edge of the central holotable, eyes scanning each of them as the silence shifted into something more strategic.
"How are the scouts looking at the Brotherhood front?" he asked finally. His voice was calm, but edged with gravity. It wasn't just curiosity—it was timing. Preparation.
Sarah Lyons answered first. Her arms remained crossed, but her stance had changed. Less guarded, more resolute.
"They're looking good," she said. "Our plan is working."
She glanced at Nora, a flicker of professional respect passing between the two women.
"Nora ordered the synth cells to begin coordinated strikes yesterday morning," Sarah continued. "Multiple squads hit Brotherhood convoys, supply routes, and outposts—simultaneously. Not a full offensive. Just enough to provoke a reaction."
"And they reacted," Graves added, shifting the holotable display to a new screen. It zoomed in on the northeast quadrant—old Cambridge territory. The Brotherhood's banners still waved high above the police station and their forward bunker, but now there were markers—flashes of red and orange—across their perimeter.
"They took the bait," Sarah said. "Hard. Paladin Danse personally mobilized a counterforce to the Cambridge ruins. Sent Lancer-Captain Kells to bolster the checkpoints along the riverbank. They're on full alert."
"But they're not unified," Preston added. "They're stretched thin. You can't hold onto three separate fronts when one of them feels like it's bleeding out."
Sico's brow furrowed—not with doubt, but with concentration. "So what you're saying is…"
"They'll be asking for backup soon," Sarah finished. "From us."
There was a pause.
Not from shock—but from implication. From everything those words carried.
Because that backup… it wouldn't be a request. It would be a demand, veiled or not. A test of loyalty. Of intent.
Sico didn't answer right away. He circled the holotable once, eyes lingering on the flickering blue silhouettes representing Brotherhood strongholds. The familiar sigil of the sword and gears blinked faintly, pulsing with static energy.
Nora was the one to break the quiet. She stepped beside him, arms relaxed at her sides, but her voice carried enough steel to turn heads.
"I didn't order the synths to start a war," she said. "I ordered them to start a distraction."
Sico looked at her. She met his eyes, unwavering.
"I needed the Brotherhood to look inward. To panic. To turn their attention on something they hate and don't understand. And it worked."
"It did," Curie agreed softly. "But… it also escalated their fear. Fear is a dangerous thing."
"Especially when it's cornered," Graves muttered.
Sico finally nodded, slow and thoughtful. "That's why we need to stay ahead of them."
He pointed to the red zones on the map. "We let this play out just a little longer. Enough to make them feel like they're losing control. But when they come to us—when they ask for support—we don't give it blindly. We negotiate."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You think they'll sit down at a table with us?"
"No," he said, not missing a beat. "But they'll sit down if they think the alternative is bleeding out."
Preston folded his arms. "So what's the ask? What do we want from them?"
Sico took a breath. "Recognition. Autonomy. And access."
"Access to what?" Graves asked, though he was already half-sure he knew.
"Their tech archives," Sico replied. "Their pre-war data. Their Vertibird schematics. Their fusion cell production protocols. We don't want to wipe them out—we want what they're hoarding. And we want them to stop branding anyone different as an abomination."
Curie shifted slightly. "That will not be easy. Their ideology is deep-rooted. Paladins do not simply change their minds."
"No," Sico said. "But paladins know how to retreat. And we're going to give them that chance—with terms."
He looked across the room. "This is our advantage right now. Not firepower. Not numbers. Strategy. Unity. We keep showing them that we're not chaos. We're order. We're the future."
Sarah nodded, finally pushing off from the wall. "I'll send another recon team to Fort Strong. I want eyes on their armory status."
Graves tapped something into his Pip-Boy. "I'll have a comms sniffer drone hover around the old Skybridge relay. If they're planning a request for aid, it'll go through there."
Sico gave them a grateful nod, then turned to Curie.
"You'll take Mel's team to the Institute tomorrow. Use the secured tunnel access beneath the reactor chamber. It's been cleared, and the radiation levels are stable now."
She smiled faintly. "Then we shall begin at dawn."
He turned next to Nora.
"You'll stay up here. Keep eyes on the Brotherhood. But also… stay close to Shaun."
That name landed heavier than it used to. Not because of who—or what—he was. But because of what he represented now.
Hope. Fear. Responsibility.
"I've already set a schedule," Nora said. "Three Freemason guards, two synth bodyguards, and Codsworth. Nobody gets near him."
Sico hesitated—just for a breath. Then he said, "I'll talk to Shaun tonight. Let him know what's going on. As much as he can handle."
Nora gave a small, solemn nod. "He's still a kid. But he's not… naive. He understands more than we think."
"Yeah," Sico said, almost to himself. "He does."
Sico exhaled slowly and straightened, hands sliding off the console's rim. The room had moved like a machine until now—efficient, focused, alert. But the next words came not from a general to his lieutenants, nor from a leader to his cabinet. They came from something more elemental: a guardian speaking to those he trusted most with the truth.
"There's one more thing," Sico said, the cadence of his voice shifting, softer now—yet no less serious. "This part… does not leave this room."
The weight of that declaration anchored itself in every chest. Preston stepped closer, his arms uncrossing instinctively. Sarah's gaze sharpened. Curie's fingers tightened around the clipboard in her hand. Nora, standing still as steel beside him, gave no reaction at all. She already knew where this was going.
"We do not," Sico continued, voice steady, "let the news spread that we've already taken down the Institute… and that we now control it."
Silence swallowed the air. No one moved. Not a twitch of disbelief. Only the immediate shift in posture—the straightening of backs, the coiled awareness of a new layer of strategy being placed on the board.
Graves was the first to nod, slow and silent. He didn't need more context. He understood.
"Subtlety," Sico said. "That's what we need now. Not celebration. Not banners in the wind. Not hero speeches about liberation. The Brotherhood can't know that we've gutted their boogeyman. Not yet."
"They'll panic," Preston murmured. "Or worse—retaliate."
"Exactly." Sico looked around the room. "They've built their whole identity on opposing the Institute. Eradicating synths. Purging AI and robotics like it's a holy crusade. If they find out the Institute fell, and it wasn't to them—if they find out we took it, and now control its resources…"
"They'll come for us," Sarah finished. Her face was expressionless, but her voice was carved from cold iron. "All of us."
"And they won't come with words," Graves added. "They'll come with Vertibirds."
"Then they'll be playing into our hand," Sico said. "But not yet. We can't afford that kind of war—not now. Not with the Republic still rebuilding. Not with the Commonwealth still divided. We need time. We need to finish the other half of the plan."
He turned back toward the holotable and tapped a command into the interface. A new hologram blinked into place: the Freemasons Republic seal, flanked by two icons—one of Nora, the other of himself.
"Let them stay distracted by the story we fed them," Sico said. "Let them believe the civil war between me and Nora is still happening. That we're locked in a power struggle over who gets to lead the Republic."
Curie blinked. "You are saying we should… continue the performance?"
"Exactly," Sico confirmed. "We've already planted the seeds. All those intercepted transmissions, the staged shouting matches, the conflicting orders—let them fester. Let them believe we're too busy fighting each other to interfere with them."
Preston rubbed the back of his neck. "It's risky, but… it's smart. If they think we're divided, they won't expect what's coming."
Graves offered a rare smile. "A knife cuts deeper when the enemy isn't looking."
Sarah paced slowly near the edge of the holotable. "And what happens when the ruse gets out of hand? What if some of our own start believing it?"
Sico nodded, appreciating the point. "That's why we control the message. Carefully. Nora and I will continue to 'disagree' in public—enough to keep the Brotherhood's eyes off the Institute. But in private? We coordinate every move. Every word."
"I've already scheduled conflicting patrol routes on the Freemason logs," Nora added. "A few loyal officers think we're undermining each other's territory already. I'll start circulating a forged memo suggesting I might be trying to claim Shaun as my own political tool."
"That'll sell it," Graves muttered, impressed and disturbed in equal measure. "Using the synth-kid as leverage? It's exactly what the Brotherhood would expect."
Sico's jaw clenched at the thought, but he nodded.
"Sometimes we have to let them believe the worst in us to protect what's best for everyone."
Nora turned to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You sure you're okay with being the villain in this part of the story?"
He smiled faintly. "I've played worse roles."
It was a lie. And they both knew it.
But the moment passed.
Curie cleared her throat delicately. "And when the Brotherhood falls? When we no longer need the mask?"
"Then we remove it," Sico said. "We tell the truth. All of it. The Institute's fall. Shaun's origin. Our rebuilding. The new Republic. But not until the Brotherhood's teeth have been pulled."
Sarah gave a sharp nod. "I'll adjust the comm filters. Nothing leaves HQ without going through three encryptions."
"I'll inform Piper and the press crews that all major 'updates' from Nora and Sico are to be kept within their districts only," Preston added. "Localized tension. Not a Republic-wide scandal."
"Good," Sico said. "Keep Piper close. She's savvy. She'll know not to ask too many questions until we're ready."
Curie looked toward the far side of the map, where the old military base that once served as the Brotherhood's staging ground blinked quietly.
"They will not give in easily," she said softly. "I fear we will not avoid bloodshed… even with this plan."
Sico stepped toward her, his tone softening. "We're not trying to avoid it, Curie. We're trying to limit it. This war—if it comes—will not be our doing. But we will end it."
"And when we do?" Preston asked.
"Then we rebuild," Sico said. "Properly. With truth. With science. With unity. Not fear. Not warlords. Not zealots in armor claiming the past should control the future."
The group fell quiet, letting that vision settle in their minds like the first brick of a future home.
After a long moment, Sico tapped the table once more and shut the holomap down. The room dimmed again, falling into a quieter stillness—the kind that always came before something irreversible.
He turned to Nora. "I'll be visiting Shaun tonight. I think… I think he's ready to hear a little more about what's happening. He deserves that much."
She nodded. "He'll be glad to see you."
Sico placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture between them that said more than any words—trust, shared burden, quiet respect.
Then he looked at the others.
"You all know what to do. Let's move."
They didn't salute. Not anymore. Not here.
They just went.
One by one, Sarah, Preston, Graves, and Curie left the main hall, their steps purposeful, their minds already calculating the next dozen moves in the game they were now playing on two boards at once.
Nora lingered. She studied the empty holotable for a moment longer, watching the soft blue glow fade into black.
"You think we'll make it?" she asked.
Sico didn't hesitate. "I think we already have. Now we just need to make the world catch up."
He walked toward the elevator, leaving behind the command room—and the weight of decisions that had reshaped the Commonwealth.
Upstairs, in the quiet upper halls of the Freemason command tower, Shaun waited. And beyond him, out in the fractured wastes, the Brotherhood stirred restlessly—still unaware that their greatest enemies were no longer underground, but already watching from within the shadows of their most trusted allies.
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• 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:-