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As the meeting began to dissolve into smaller discussions, Sico rose again and stepped to the wide window overlooking Sanctuary. The afternoon light spilled across the valley — fields green with crops, rooftops glinting faintly, people moving through the streets with purpose. Beyond the horizon, faint and distant, a vertibird glided across the sky — a speck of shadow moving against the gold.
The following morning dawned pale and slow, the sky over Sanctuary still holding onto that faint silver wash before the sun had fully claimed it. The light crept over the rooftops, spilling across the training yard and the distant ridges, brushing the Republic in a soft, expectant glow. The storm from yesterday's meeting had left its mark in the air — not the kind that lingered with dread, but one that sharpened the senses, kept every heart beating in rhythm with purpose.
Inside the Freemasons Headquarters, the corridors were already alive with motion. Footsteps echoed lightly against the polished floorboards, and the low murmur of voices drifted through the hallways — clerks exchanging reports, officers discussing routes, the faint hum of radio chatter weaving through it all like an invisible pulse. The scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee filled the air, grounding the bustle with a sense of normalcy.
Sico sat behind his desk in his office on the top floor — a space that was practical more than grand, though every inch of it carried a history. The heavy oak desk had once belonged to an old Commonwealth judge, its surface worn smooth by decades of use. Behind him, a large map of the Republic stretched across the wall, marked with neat rows of pins and annotations — blue for civilian zones, red for military routes, yellow for trade lines. To the side stood a shelf filled with documents, field manuals, and the occasional artifact from the pre-war world — a cracked compass, an old pocket watch, a faded photo of a world that no longer existed.
He was halfway through reviewing a dispatch report when a quiet knock came at the door.
"Enter," he called without looking up.
The door opened smoothly, and Lieutenant Mara Vance stepped inside. She was young — mid-twenties, maybe — but carried herself with the composed precision of someone twice her age. Her uniform was crisp, her dark hair tied back in a tight braid, and the faint lines of fatigue beneath her eyes spoke of long nights spent in the command office. In one hand, she carried a folder stacked with papers; in the other, a clipboard and a steaming cup of black coffee.
"Good morning, sir," she said, her tone firm but respectful as she approached the desk. "I've got the paperwork from last night's council updates and a few new dispatches that need your review and signature."
Sico set down the report he'd been reading and gestured for her to place the folder on the desk. "Morning, Lieutenant. How many are we looking at?"
Mara gave a small, rueful smile. "Enough to make you wish you'd never taught us how to organize reports by priority, sir."
Sico smirked faintly. "That bad, huh?"
"Not terrible," she said, flipping open the folder and sorting a few sheets as she spoke. "Mostly requisitions and updated patrol logs. A few settlement reports, one trade proposal from Bunker Hill, and a personal correspondence from Director Filmore — says she's sending a materials request for the Institute integration program."
Sico raised an eyebrow at that last part. "Filmore again?"
"Yes, sir. She insists the structural reinforcements in BioScience need more steel shipments from the Republic foundries. Says the synth-housing platforms are still under calibration."
He sighed quietly, leaning back in his chair. "Tell her we'll approve the shipment, but not before we confirm that our own storage depots are adequately stocked. Last thing I need is our engineers short on steel while she's building floors under the ground."
Mara nodded, making a neat note on her clipboard. "Understood. I'll have the logistics team confirm the inventories before we send the approval."
"Good," Sico said, then took the coffee she'd brought and sipped it gratefully. "What's next?"
Mara passed him a smaller stack of papers. "Routine paperwork, sir — patrol confirmations, ammunition requisitions, and supply requests from our forward teams. Also, the administrative report for the mobile AA units you authorized yesterday. Mel already sent the initial test feedback."
That caught his attention immediately.
He leaned forward, setting down the mug and taking the documents from her. "They finished the recoil tests already?"
"Yes, sir. The second and third mobile AA units have passed the mechanical integrity check. They're cleared for deployment pending your signature."
Sico scanned the top page quickly. It was thorough — a complete systems evaluation detailing every aspect of the machines' stability, mobility, and field endurance. The notes from Mel were characteristically blunt: "Recoil stable at 70% capacity. Suspension reinforced. Gun rotation smooth. Truck frame ready. Recommend deployment within 48 hours."
He could almost hear Mel's gravelly voice in the words. It brought a faint smile to his lips.
"These are good," he said quietly, then signed the approval with a practiced flourish. "Make sure Mel and Jenny get the go-ahead. The faster we spread the units, the less predictable we are."
"Yes, sir," Mara replied, collecting the signed sheets and setting them aside neatly. "Anything specific on where you want them deployed?"
Sico thought for a moment. His gaze drifted to the large map on the wall — the Commonwealth's patchwork of territories and safe zones spread before him like a living, breathing organism. He stood and crossed to it, one hand sliding into his coat pocket as his eyes traced the terrain lines.
"First one's already stationed at Lexington Ridge," he murmured, mostly to himself. "That covers the western air route. The second…" He tapped a finger near the northern edge, where a chain of settlements hugged the boundary near the old Malden ruins. "Deploy it here — at Northwatch Outpost. The terrain's open enough for clean targeting, and it gives us coverage over both the northern and northeastern sectors."
Mara nodded quickly, jotting it down.
"And the third unit," Sico continued, "send it toward the river route — just east of the Cambridge perimeter. That area's been quiet, but it's too exposed. If the Brotherhood tries a low-flight recon over the water, we'll be ready."
"Understood, sir. I'll issue the deployment orders immediately."
"Make sure it's done quietly," he added. "No public convoys, no announcements. Move at dawn or dusk. Only authorized personnel."
"Of course," she said, already making notes on her clipboard. "And the crews?"
"Pick your best," Sico replied. "No one who'll get jittery under pressure. I want people who understand what they're operating, not soldiers looking for an excuse to pull the trigger."
She gave a short nod, her expression steady. "I'll see to it personally."
He turned back toward his desk, letting out a quiet breath. "What else have we got?"
Mara glanced through her notes again. "A trade manifest from Bunker Hill's merchant council — they're requesting an increase in escort patrols along the southern trade route. Caravans have been reporting scattered raider activity again."
Sico frowned faintly. "Raiders? I thought Garvey's men cleared that corridor last month."
"They did, sir. But it looks like another crew moved in after the last sweep — smaller, faster, probably scavengers from the ruins around Quincy."
He nodded slowly. "Alright. Have Preston assign one of his squads to reinforce the route for the next two weeks."
Mara made another note. "Will do."
As she continued flipping through the paperwork, the morning light caught on the side of her clipboard, reflecting a brief flash across the room. Sico glanced out the window — the streets below were coming alive now. He could see settlers hauling crates through the main road, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer ringing from a nearby workshop. Even from this distance, he could make out the faint, comforting hum of power generators — a sound that symbolized civilization reclaiming its rhythm.
"Lieutenant," he said after a moment, breaking the quiet. "How are people feeling this morning?"
Mara blinked, caught off guard by the question, but she recovered quickly. "You mean… the settlers, sir?"
He nodded. "Yes. You talk to more of them than I do lately."
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then spoke carefully. "They're… watchful, sir. But not panicked. Most of them trust that we're prepared. After your meeting yesterday, word got around that the Republic's strengthening its defenses. It's made people feel… safe, I think. Or at least safer than before."
"Good," Sico said softly. "That's what we need. Calm minds build stronger walls than fear ever could."
She smiled faintly at that, her composure softening for just a moment. "I think they believe that because they see you walking among them, sir. You don't hide behind walls — it makes a difference."
He met her gaze briefly, then looked back to the papers, a small but genuine warmth in his tone. "I walk because I remember what it's like not to have walls at all."
For a moment, the office was quiet — just the faint ticking of the clock and the distant murmur of voices from below. Then Sico leaned forward again, scanning the remaining reports.
"Alright," he said, his tone turning brisk again. "What's next?"
Mara shuffled the last few papers. "There's a message from Director Evan Watson — he's requesting authorization to begin integration testing between the Institute's robotics systems and the Republic's power grid. Says it'll increase efficiency by twenty percent."
Sico frowned. "Watson's brilliant, but I don't want him pushing too fast. Tell him to run it on an isolated circuit first — one of the smaller facilities, like the robotics depot at Concord Station. If that test succeeds, then we'll talk about scaling it up."
"Yes, sir."
"And what about Dr. Holdren's team? Any updates from BioScience besides Filmore's request?"
Mara flipped a page. "Just a brief note. He's requested permission to conduct field studies on crop resilience under varying radiation levels. Says Curie's been assisting him with data models."
That made Sico's expression ease slightly. "Good. Tell him he's got approval. Curie's one of the best minds we've got for that kind of work."
"I'll relay the message."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said after a beat, his voice quieter. "That'll be all for now."
Mara nodded, sensing the shift in tone. "Yes, sir. I'll get these orders processed right away."
"Good work, Mara."
"Thank you, sir."
She saluted smartly, gathered her clipboard, and left the room, the door closing softly behind her.
Sico sat there for a long moment, the morning sunlight creeping slowly across his desk. The hum of the settlement outside felt distant now, muffled beneath the weight of the letter resting between his fingers.
The sun had risen higher now — a pale gold disc climbing slowly above the tree line, washing the settlement in its calm light. The hum of the Republic had settled into its usual rhythm: boots striking gravel, mechanics shouting to one another over the clang of tools, and the faint rumble of engines warming somewhere in the distance.
Sico stacked the last of the paperwork neatly on his desk, tapping it once with the edge of his palm. He'd signed enough reports and dispatches for one morning — more than enough. His mind, though sharp as ever, had begun to drift beyond the walls of his office. He needed to see the work himself — the engines, the steel, the living pulse of the Republic he'd helped build.
He stood, stretching slightly as the chair creaked beneath him. The view from his window caught his eye again — not the horizon this time, but the yard below, where faint shapes of armored trucks were lined up beside the southern lot. Even from here, he could tell the two mobile AA guns were almost ready. The black-painted barrels gleamed faintly under the morning sun, long and angular, mounted on reinforced flatbeds. Workers moved briskly around them — checking bolts, adjusting harnesses, running last-minute diagnostics. And near the center of it all stood Mel.
Sico smiled faintly at the sight. Mel never could stay out of the dirt when something mechanical was involved.
He slipped into his coat, clipped his holster shut, and left the office. The sound of his boots echoed softly through the hallway, past clerks and officers who stepped aside with brisk nods or quick salutes. He returned them absently, but his thoughts were elsewhere — on what these new defenses meant, and what lay beyond the horizon that they were meant to protect.
Outside, the air was crisp with the scent of oil and metal. The HQ courtyard opened into the wide industrial yard — a space carved from the bones of an old pre-war logistics depot, now repurposed into one of the Republic's most vital hubs. Rows of vehicles sat parked in neat formations: Humvees with polished armor, Growler recon cars fitted with modified plating, and trucks heavy with supplies.
The ground trembled faintly as the mobile AA platforms idled in the center of it all, their engines emitting a deep, low growl that resonated through the air like a heartbeat.
Sico walked toward them, his coat brushing against his boots, the dust curling up in soft spirals behind each step. The men and women working there spotted him early — they straightened instinctively, saluting or calling out a respectful "Sir!" as he passed. He returned their nods, but his gaze was fixed ahead.
Mel was crouched on one of the flatbeds, his thick gloves slick with grease, a wrench clutched in his hand as he adjusted the hydraulic couplings beneath the cannon's base. His gray hair was streaked darker with sweat and oil, and the faded tattoos on his forearm caught the sunlight each time he shifted.
"Mel," Sico called, voice steady but carrying easily over the hum of the engines.
The old engineer looked up from his work, squinting through the glare before his face broke into a familiar half-smile. "Well, I'll be damned. The boss himself walks down from the tower. You come to bless my handiwork, or just checking if I'm still alive?"
Sico allowed a faint chuckle. "Bit of both. Figured I'd see the machines before they roll out."
"Good thing you did," Mel said, wiping his hands on a rag as he climbed down from the flatbed. "You'd be surprised how many miracles it takes to keep these beauties from rattlin' themselves apart."
Sico circled one of the mobile AA trucks slowly, eyes sweeping across every angle. The platform was impressive — a heavy-duty truck frame reinforced with Republic-grade armor, its bed carrying a twin-barrel autocannon that could swivel near a full 360 degrees. Hydraulic braces anchored its base to handle recoil, while compact targeting sensors nestled beneath the gun's mount.
The Republic insignia — the square-and-compass emblem of the Freemasons — was freshly painted along the side, the white lines sharp against the matte black surface. Two Humvees stood to its left, engines idling in low gear, their gunners seated and ready. Three Growlers sat behind them — lighter, faster scout vehicles fitted with roof-mounted turrets.
A full escort, efficient and disciplined.
Mel crossed his arms, watching Sico's silent inspection. "We finished the alignment tests this morning. Both platforms are locked, primed, and synced with the targeting grid. Power feeds are stable — she'll hold under recoil."
"Field stability?" Sico asked, crouching to glance at the suspension joints.
"Triple-reinforced. My design of course," Mel said proudly. "You could drive this thing through a crater and still get clean targeting. The only thing that'll stop her is if you forget to feed her fuel — and even then, she'll probably still shoot once or twice before dying."
Sico nodded approvingly. "You did good work. The Republic's safer for it."
Mel snorted, though the grin didn't fade. "Safer, sure. But you and I both know safety's a temporary state in this world. We make something good, someone else builds something to break it. Same old dance, boss."
Sico glanced up at him, the ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "That's why we make sure we lead the rhythm."
Mel barked a short laugh. "Ha! Spoken like a damn general." He leaned closer, lowering his voice a notch. "But between you and me — these things aren't just guns. They're statements. Word gets out that the Republic's fielding mobile AA units? Brotherhood's gonna think twice before they fly that fancy airship anywhere near us."
"That's the idea," Sico said simply.
Mel nodded, satisfied. "Where you sending 'em?"
"Northwatch Outpost and Cambridge perimeter," Sico replied. "The first will cover the northern approach — keep an eye on any aerial recon. The second's to watch the river route. If the Brotherhood tries a low pass, I want them to remember the Republic's no longer blind to the skies."
Mel gave a low whistle. "Good placement. Smart. You're boxing in the high airspace routes."
Sico straightened, his gaze lingering on the horizon. "The Brotherhood's not stupid, Mel. They'll read our moves just like we read theirs. But I want them to see discipline — not aggression. If they come close, we respond. Not before."
The older man's smile faded slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, then said, "You think they'll push again after yesterday?"
Sico's eyes flicked toward him — sharp, steady, thoughtful. "Danse isn't the type to act rashly. But Rhys…" He exhaled slowly. "He's got fire. Too much of it. One spark from his kind, and all of this could ignite."
Mel grunted in agreement. "Then it's good we've got these. Insurance, if things get messy."
Sico said nothing for a moment, only ran a gloved hand along the cannon's cool metal surface. The hum beneath his fingers was steady — alive with potential energy, restrained power. It was a tool, but also a symbol. A warning, if needed.
"How's the targeting system linked?" he asked finally.
"Independent circuits," Mel replied. "Not tied to central command, so no chance of hacking or signal jamming. The operators will run manual protocols. We're using the new optics — sharper focus, better distance clarity. You could pick a fly off a wall from a mile away."
Sico smirked faintly. "Let's hope no one tests that theory."
Mel chuckled again. "I'll drink to that."
Behind them, the drivers and gunners were beginning to assemble — moving with the smooth, efficient rhythm of a trained team. Mechanics shouted final checks: "Fuel pressure steady!" "Hydraulics green!" "Sensors synced!"
The Growler engines revved, their engine whining with that distinctive rising pitch. The Humvees followed, engines growling low like resting beasts.
Mel climbed back up the side of the truck, giving one last look at the alignment screen before hopping down again. "They're ready, boss. Just say the word."
Sico took one final look — the sharp sunlight gleaming off the barrels, the hum of synchronized engines filling the yard. This was the Republic's strength, he thought. Not just the machines, but the people behind them — the hands that built, the eyes that watched, the hearts that refused to break even when the world demanded it.
"Roll them out," Sico said quietly, but the command carried like thunder.
Mel nodded to the convoy leader, who signaled with two short hand waves.
Engines roared.
The first mobile AA truck rolled forward, its massive tires crunching over the gravel. The convoy formed around it in perfect coordination — the two Humvees taking lead and rear positions, the three Growlers flanking the sides. The Republic banners on their sides fluttered in the wind as they passed through the main gate, sunlight glinting off armor and glass.
Workers paused in their duties to watch them go — some saluting, others simply standing in silent pride as the convoy thundered down the road. The sight of Republic strength in motion — deliberate, powerful, united — filled the air with a quiet sense of reassurance.
Mel stood with his arms folded, watching them disappear beyond the rise of the eastern ridge. "Damn fine sight," he said softly.
Sico's gaze followed until the last echo of engines faded. Then he looked back toward the workshops. "Keep the next one ready by dusk. Once these units are deployed, I want our engineers focusing on the ground network — radar, comm relays, everything. If the Brotherhood moves, I want to know before they've even left their hangar."
Mel grinned faintly. "Already ahead of you, boss. We started tuning the relay towers last night. Sturges and I got the first frequency links stable."
"Good," Sico said with a slow nod. "The Republic's going to need eyes everywhere."
The two men stood in silence for a moment — the morning wind sweeping softly through the yard, carrying with it the scent of steel, dust, and purpose.
Then Sico turned toward the inner gate. "Keep me updated, Mel. I'll be checking in with Sarah next. We'll need to coordinate patrol coverage once these units are in position."
"You got it, boss," Mel replied, picking up his wrench again. "Oh, and hey — tell Sarah to quit stealing my mechanics for her patrols. I'm runnin' short on hands."
Sico smirked as he walked away. "You tell her yourself. I'm not stepping into that crossfire."
Mel's laugh followed him halfway across the yard.
Then Sico decide to see Sarah and Preston at the Army HQ, the path from the industrial yard to the Army Headquarters wound through the heart of Sanctuary's command district — a stretch of stone and steel that had grown from rubble into order over the years. The sun was climbing now, fully awake, gilding the rooftops and sending long shadows across the cobblestone streets.
Sico walked with the same calm stride that soldiers across the Republic had come to recognize — measured, deliberate, but not distant. As he moved, the people he passed acknowledged him with nods or quiet salutes. A few mechanics still streaked with grease gave him respectful waves. Some settlers just watched silently, a flicker of reassurance softening their faces as he passed. They didn't need words — his presence alone told them things were steady. Controlled.
And yet, beneath that calm, Sico could feel the hum of tension that always came before change. Yesterday's council meeting had stirred more than just strategies. Rumors spread faster than radio signals in the Commonwealth, and soldiers had long memories when it came to whispers about war.
The Army Headquarters stood near the western wall of the complex — a solid, rectangular structure built from salvaged concrete and rebar. A pair of flags fluttered from its front columns: the Freemasons Republic standard and the faded pre-war American flag, side by side. Together, they represented the old world's endurance and the new world's defiance.
Two guards at the entrance straightened as Sico approached, their rifles held firmly across their chests.
"Morning, General," one of them said, voice crisp.
"Morning, Corporal," Sico replied evenly, stepping inside.
The HQ's interior was alive with motion — soldiers in fatigues crossing between briefing rooms, runners carrying sealed envelopes, the constant clatter of boots and the rasp of radios. The air smelled faintly of gun oil and brewed coffee, the scents of discipline and exhaustion in equal measure.
Through the bustle, Sico caught sight of Preston first. The Minutemen commander stood at a large tactical map table near the center of the main hall, surrounded by a few squad leaders. His sleeves were rolled up, his brown jacket hanging over the back of a nearby chair. Even from across the room, he carried that quiet steadiness — the kind that didn't come from rank, but from experience.
Sarah was there too, her posture straight, her voice low but commanding as she discussed troop schedules with a nearby sergeant. She looked every inch the field commander — combat uniform pressed, pistol at her hip, eyes sharp enough to cut through the room's noise.
Sico moved toward them, and the chatter around the map table gradually dimmed as the soldiers noticed who had joined them.
Preston turned first, a brief smile flickering across his face. "General. Didn't expect you this early."
Sico returned the nod, resting one hand lightly on the edge of the map table. "Paperwork can only hold me hostage for so long."
Sarah gave a faint smirk. "Good to see you, sir. You missed the morning patrol briefing by about twenty minutes, but we can catch you up."
"I'll take your word for it," Sico said. "I'm not here for the schedules. I came to see how our people are handling yesterday's… talk."
At that, Preston and Sarah exchanged a brief glance — the kind that said they'd both been expecting this question, even if neither had wanted to bring it up first.
Preston leaned back against the edge of the table, crossing his arms. "You mean the rumors about the Brotherhood?"
Sico nodded once. "Yes. I know word's gotten around faster than we'd hoped. What I want to know is — how bad's the spread, and how are the men reacting?"
Sarah folded her arms, her gaze lowering briefly to the map before she spoke. "There's been chatter in the barracks since dawn. Most of it's speculation — some say the Brotherhood's moving troops north, others think we're preparing to strike first. A few are convinced we're already in some kind of cold war with them."
Preston added, "But they're not panicking, if that's what you're asking. A little restless, sure, but calm. You know how soldiers are — rumor fills the gaps before orders do. They just want to know if what they're hearing has any truth to it."
Sico gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. "And what did you tell them?"
Sarah answered first. "That discipline comes from trust — and trust comes from clarity. I told my platoon leaders exactly what we agreed in the council. We're maintaining defense readiness. That's all. The Brotherhood hasn't made a move, and we're not making one either."
"Good," Sico said quietly.
Preston spoke next, his tone a little softer. "I took a different angle. I reminded them what we're fighting for — or more accurately, what we're not fighting for. We didn't rebuild the Republic to start wars. We did it to stop them. That seemed to settle a lot of heads."
That earned him a faint smile from Sico. "Always the diplomat."
Preston shrugged. "Somebody's gotta balance out Sarah's approach."
Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning you scare the hell out of most recruits," he said, grinning.
The faintest ghost of amusement crossed her face. "Good. Then they'll listen when it counts."
Sico allowed the exchange to breathe before interjecting again, his tone measured. "That's exactly why I wanted to hear from both of you. The soldiers will take their cues from how we carry ourselves. Calm leaders mean calm ranks."
He glanced around the room, at the soldiers and officers moving about with quiet focus, and then back to his two commanders. "But I also know how fast fear spreads in a barracks. One nervous recruit can infect a dozen more before nightfall."
Sarah nodded. "We've been rotating the watch teams — mixing veterans with new recruits. The older ones keep the younger ones grounded. No one's left too long to stew in the gossip."
"Good thinking," Sico said. "That's the kind of balance we need."
Preston gestured toward the wall map. "We also updated the defense rotations, just in case. Not to raise alert levels, but to show the men that everything's proceeding normally. Familiar routines help — makes the rumors feel smaller."
"Perfect," Sico said approvingly. "Routine is our best ally right now."
A brief silence followed as the three of them studied the map table. The holographic grid glowed faintly, outlining the Commonwealth's major regions. Colored markers indicated Republic patrol routes, safe zones, and areas of Brotherhood movement reported by scouts.
Sico traced one gloved finger along the northern perimeter line. "You've both done well. But I'll be honest — the Brotherhood's eyes are on us right now. Every engine that starts, every convoy that rolls out — they're watching. I want our people aware of that without fearing it. You understand?"
Sarah's tone was steady. "We'll make sure they do. The soldiers follow your lead, General — they just need to see that you're not losing sleep over it."
Sico gave a short nod. "They'll see it soon enough. I was at the vehicle yard earlier — watched Mel's teams send off the AA convoys."
Preston's brow lifted slightly. "So they're moving already?"
"First two units are. Northwatch and Cambridge," Sico said. "The third will be ready by dusk. Full escort: two Humvees, three Growlers each. I wanted them visible enough to reassure our side but quiet enough to make the Brotherhood wonder how many we've got in reserve."
Sarah smirked faintly. "A mind game, then."
"Every war starts as one," Sico replied. "Better they second-guess us than act."
Preston studied the map again. "And you're confident this won't spook the troops further?"
"It won't — as long as you both keep them steady. They trust you. They know your orders come from a place of purpose, not fear."
Sarah exhaled slowly, resting one hand on the table. "I'll brief the platoon leaders again tonight. Keep the messaging consistent: we're not preparing for war, we're ensuring peace."
Preston nodded. "And I'll talk to the settlement liaison teams. If the settlers stay calm, the soldiers will too."
Sico gave them both a small, approving nod. "Good. That's exactly the tone I want across the Republic — steady, confident, human. No parades of weapons, no panic drills. Just life continuing, stronger than before."
For a while, they stood there in companionable silence, the hum of the HQ filling the background — radios crackling, boots thudding, the metallic scrape of a chair somewhere in the distance.
Then Sarah said quietly, "You really think the Brotherhood will hesitate? After all this?"
Sico's gaze drifted toward the far window, where the horizon was visible beyond the HQ's walls — the faint shimmer of vertibird trails still lingering in the distant sky.
"They'll hesitate," he said finally. "Because for the first time, they're uncertain. And uncertainty is more powerful than any weapon we could build."
Preston nodded thoughtfully. "You sound like you've studied them more than just as enemies."
Sico's expression softened. "I've studied everyone who thinks they can shape the world through fear. The Brotherhood believes control is salvation. I believe freedom is strength. That's the difference between us — and that's what we'll defend, no matter what."
Sarah regarded him for a moment — her usual iron calm giving way to something quieter, almost reflective. "Then let's make sure our soldiers understand that too."
"They will," Sico said. "Because they're not fighting for orders. They're fighting for people — their homes, their friends, their families. That's what makes the Republic unbreakable."
Preston smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried both pride and exhaustion. "You know, General… sometimes I think that's why they follow you so easily. You talk like one of them."
Sico met his eyes, and for the briefest moment, there was a flicker of warmth beneath his usual composure. "That's because I am one of them."
A quiet chuckle rippled among the few nearby officers who'd overheard the line, breaking the tension that had hung in the air.
Sarah took the opportunity to change the topic slightly. "We've got the afternoon drill scheduled at the east training field. Care to make an appearance, sir? It might go a long way toward reinforcing morale."
Sico gave a small, thoughtful nod. "Yes. I think I will. Sometimes presence speaks louder than orders."
Preston smirked. "Just don't let Mel see you taking any of his mechanics again. He's still grumbling about that."
That earned an actual laugh from Sico — low, genuine, brief. "He'll live. Besides, he complains because he cares."
The room's atmosphere seemed to ease at that — the kind of collective exhale that ripples through a command post when leadership feels human again.
Before he left, Sico placed a hand briefly on the table, the holographic light reflecting faintly across the scars of his gloves. "You've both done good work. Keep it steady, and keep your people focused. The Brotherhood can watch all they want — they'll see a Republic too strong to break and too disciplined to provoke."
Sarah straightened slightly. "Understood, sir."
Preston gave a nod of agreement. "We'll hold the line."
Sico stepped back from the table, his coat catching the light as he turned toward the hall. "That's all I ask."
He started toward the door, but just before he reached it, he paused — glancing once more at the soldiers in the room. Their movements were steady, confident. Whatever whispers had haunted the early morning had already begun to fade.
That was the power of leadership — not just orders, but presence.
As Sico stepped out into the sunlight again, the courtyard's noise greeted him like a familiar rhythm — the thrum of engines, the chatter of guards, the hammering from the workshops beyond.
________________________________________________
• 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:- l