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Sico knew that Brandis' visit had not ended anything. It had only begun the first step in a dangerous, delicate dance that one that would require precision, patience, and an almost impossible level of foresight.
The office door swung open with a low metallic groan as Paladin Brandis stepped through, the faint whir of his power armor joints echoing down the hallway. Sico rose from his chair a heartbeat later, the weight of unspoken tension still lingering in the air like a fog that refused to thin. He followed Brandis out into the corridor, the dim overhead lights flickering as if the building itself sensed the strain between the two men.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Sico pulled the door shut behind them with a firm click. For a few long seconds, they walked side by side in silence, their footsteps tapping against the metal flooring—one set heavier, armored, resolute; the other quieter but carrying the unmistakable weight of authority.
Brandis adjusted the helmet tucked under his arm, his posture rigid but no longer confrontational. When he glanced sideways, Sico's eyes met his with a steady, unreadable expression.
Only when they reached the wider hall leading toward the training yard did Sico finally speak.
"Paladin," he said quietly but clearly. "A word, before you go."
Brandis slowed his pace, then came to a stop. The muted hum of generators and the distant clang of metal-on-metal training exercises drifted from down the hall, a constant backdrop of life inside the Freemasons HQ.
Sico turned slightly toward him, lowering his voice, not out of secrecy, but out of a firm, controlled calm.
"I hope," he said, "that next time you or anyone from the Brotherhood visits Sanctuary… you come with notice."
Brandis raised a brow beneath the shadow of his helmet. "…You imply we overstepped."
Sico's jaw tightened, but his tone remained even. "I'm stating a fact. Sanctuary is on edge. The Republic is on edge. You arrive unannounced, armored to the teeth, asking to search our territory and any reasonable commander would take that as a sign of aggression."
Brandis's hand flexed lightly on the helmet's curve. "This was an investigation, not a raid."
"Doesn't matter," Sico said. "Perception is reality out here."
He took one step closer as it was not threatening, but firm enough to ensure his words landed exactly where they needed to land.
"If the Freemasons ever believe the Brotherhood is about to attack, Brandis… our anti-air guns will fire."
Brandis stilled.
Not offended.
Not angry.
But assessing with calculating and measuring the truth behind the warning.
Sico continued, his voice steady as stone. "Our AA batteries are calibrated to identify vertibird silhouettes at two miles out. If your pilots don't identify themselves or if we believe the incoming craft is hostile, we will shoot it down. We will not gamble with civilian lives. Not with defectors hiding from your command. Not with anyone living under our protection."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"I'm sure," Sico added, "you understand why that is."
For the first time since entering Sanctuary, something like genuine concern that were subtle, buried, but real as it's flickered across Brandis's expression.
"You would risk war over a misunderstanding?" he asked, though the question lacked accusation; it carried instead a grim sort of resignation.
"No," Sico answered. "I want to prevent one."
A low wind pushed through the hall from an open side door leading out toward the training yard, carrying with it the sharp scent of gun lubricant, dust, and the faint echo of soldiers shouting orders as drills continued.
Sico turned his gaze in that direction, then back to Brandis. "We are willing to coexist with the Brotherhood. But every unannounced arrival, every demand, every suspicion risks pushing this from tension into open conflict. I cannot allow that. Not for Sanctuary. Not for the Republic."
Sico pressed on. "Your command is hunting phantoms Of deserters, stolen suits, missing personnel. I cannot control what Maxson or Kells will eventually decide to do. But I can control what happens when a vertibird enters my airspace without clearance."
He nodded toward the open doorway. Beyond it, through the haze of warm dust and sunlight, the outline of one of Sanctuary's AA turrets could be seen as its barrel rotating idly, scanning the horizon in a slow, vigilant sweep.
Brandis followed his gaze. The machine stood like a sentinel, silent but unmistakably ready.
"What you're saying," Brandis murmured, "is that even if we come peacefully… you will treat us as a threat unless we announce ourselves."
"What I'm saying," Sico corrected softly, "is that my people come first. Always. My soldiers have been trained to act decisively. They will not wait to see whether a vertibird is carrying a diplomat or a strike team."
He stepped forward again, lowering his voice even further.
"You come with notice, Brandis. You send a signal. A report. A request. You give us a moment to prepare, so no one misreads your intentions."
Brandis's jaw clenched. "And if we don't?"
Sico didn't blink.
"Then I hope your pilots can fly faster than a homing round."
For a long, heavy moment, neither man spoke.
The tension between them was no longer hostile, it was something else now. A mutual recognition. A shared acknowledgment that the line between peace and war had become razor thin, sharpened by secrets, defection, and the Brotherhood's relentless pursuit of control.
Finally, Brandis exhaled, slow and heavy, shoulders lowering just slightly.
"I will relay your message," he said. "To Maxson. To Kells. To the command."
"And I will hold you to that," Sico replied simply.
Brandis looked toward the training yard then toward the soldiers running drills, the clang of melee practice, the hum of energy weapon diagnostics. Sanctuary wasn't a village playing pretend at military order. It was organized. Disciplined. Prepared.
A settlement that had hardened into a faction—one strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with giants.
Brandis shifted his helmet under his arm again, tightening his grip. "This place…" he murmured, almost to himself. "It's changed."
"It had to," Sico answered. "The world doesn't forgive those who stay weak."
"And the Brotherhood doesn't forgive betrayal," Brandis reminded him softly.
Sico nodded. "Which is why you and I are standing here having this conversation instead of fighting in the mud."
Another silence, but one that held a strange, fragile balance now.
Brandis finally straightened. "I will inform the command that Sanctuary is to be approached with caution. And notice."
"Good," Sico said.
Brandis began to walk again toward the main gate and the open sky beyond, where the Brotherhood's vertibird waited on standby, its engines idling faintly like a restless beast ready to take flight.
Sico remained a few steps behind him, hands clasped behind his back, gaze unwavering. As they exited the hall and stepped out toward the training yard, sunlight washed over them, mixing with the metallic scent of spent cartridges and sweat.
Brandis stopped at the threshold of the yard, turning to face Sico one last time.
"You realize," he said quietly, "this warning of yours… it will not deter Maxson."
"It's not meant to," Sico replied. "It's meant to prevent your pilots from dying unnecessarily."
Brandis stood there for a long moment, the sounds of the training yard blending into the background as boots striking dirt, shouted commands, the distant clatter of rifles being reassembled. He seemed to absorb the atmosphere around him, the disciplined orderliness of the Freemasons forces, the quiet hum of industry and rebuilding that Sanctuary had become known for.
There was a heaviness in his stance but not defeat, but something quieter and more human. Weariness. Reflection. Caution. And the awareness that every word spoken in these past minutes would ripple across two factions already hanging by a thread.
His gaze drifted away from Sico's for a moment, toward the wall where the AA gun rotated its barrel again as it was slow, patient, watchful. The sun caught its metal surface in a sharp glint, like a glare of warning.
Brandis exhaled, his voice dropping softer, almost tired.
"I hope…" he began, pausing just long enough for the wind to carry a faint whir of the turret. "I hope this matter doesn't change the trading between our factions."
His words weren't political. They weren't strategic or rehearsed.
They were human.
Behind them lay all the tensions of missing suits, missing defectors, suspicion, unannounced visits, but trade? That was lifeline, necessity. That was the difference between factions surviving and factions starving.
And Brandis knew that.
Sico looked at him, not as a commander gauging a rival, but as a man who had been forced into leadership because the world had demanded it. His expression softened slightly as it was not enough to be weakness, but enough to show understanding.
"Brandis," Sico said, and there was a faint warmth to the name. "Of course not."
Brandis turned his head fully toward him, listening.
"What we receive from the Brotherhood," Sico continued, "is needed for the Republic. Your shipments from steel, circuitry, weapon parts as we rely on them. Our engineers factor that supply into every building plan and defensive schedule we make."
He leaned his weight subtly forward, shoulders squared but not hostile.
"There's no benefit in severing something that keeps both our people alive."
Brandis seemed to consider that for a moment. The wind carried the faint thumping of vertibird engines spinning idly in the distance as it was waiting, impatient like the men that piloted them, yet humming with the discipline that defined the Brotherhood.
"I'm relieved to hear that," Brandis said quietly.
"But understand… once news of this conversation reaches Maxson, he will evaluate everything through his own lens. Through Brotherhood principles."
"I expect nothing less," Sico replied. "Maxson has his mission. I have mine. But trade… that's neutral ground. Even in war."
Brandis gave a small, almost inaudible chuckle, a rare crack in his austere demeanor.
"Neutral," he echoed. "A strange word for these times."
"Strange," Sico agreed. "But necessary."
Another silence settled between them, but this one felt different.
No tension, no veiled threats, just the mutual recognition that both of them were men trying to hold two massive, unstable structures together with their bare hands.
Brandis adjusted his grip on his helmet once more, fingers tapping lightly against the metal. "Then… I suppose this is goodbye for now."
Sico nodded once. "For now."
Brandis took one last look around at the yard, the soldiers, the walls, the AA guns perched like hawks on the horizon. Every detail mattered. Every observation would be relayed to Maxson and Kells and the scribes who charted the political maps of the wasteland.
Then he turned, shoulders rolling as he shifted into a soldier's purposeful stride, making his way across the packed dirt toward the landing zone where the vertibirds waited.
Sico followed slowly behind him, not escorting, but witnessing.
The air grew heavier with each step as the hum of the vertibirds thickened, their rotors slicing the air in slow, powerful rotations. Dust rose in swirling patterns around the landing pads, catching the late-afternoon sun in luminous streaks.
The other four vertibirds sat in formation that sleek, armored, unmistakable in their presence. Even at rest, they looked predatory. Even silent, they looked dangerous.
Brandis paused at the base of the ramp leading up into the nearest one. The Brotherhood knights waiting inside gave Sico only passing glances as some cautious, some hostile, some unreadable behind their helmet visors. To them, Sanctuary was either a potential ally or a ticking bomb. And Brandis's report would decide which.
Brandis stepped onto the ramp, then turned around one last time.
"Sico."
Sico raised his chin slightly. "Yeah?"
"Whatever path this goes down…" Brandis began, his voice barely carrying above the strengthening roar of the engines, "make sure your people stay close. Stay hidden. Stay ready."
Sico's eyes sharpened. "We always are."
Brandis nodded. "Good."
And then, something unexpected.
A faint, sincere softening in Brandis's expression.
"Goodbye, Sico."
There was no hostility in it. No threat.
Just a farewell spoken by a man who'd lived long enough to know that every goodbye in this world might be the last.
"Goodbye, Brandis," Sico replied, steady.
Brandis gave a final nod, then turned and stepped fully onto the ramp. The heavy hydraulic hiss of the vertibird doors closing echoed across the yard, sealing him inside.
Sico took several steps back, boots digging into the dirt as the engines flared brighter and louder. Sand and grit whipped around him, his coat snapping violently in the wind as he raised an arm to shield his eyes.
The first vertibird lifted off with a thunderous roar, its rotors carving through the air in fierce, mechanical spirals. It rose steadily, climbing upward until it hovered several stories above the ground, the sun casting its silhouette like a dark bird of prey circling over the Republic.
The second followed.
Then the third.
The fourth.
And finally, the lead craft as Brandis's rose to join them.
Together, the five vertibirds shifted into formation, engines screaming against the sky as they angled eastward. Their shadows stretched long across Sanctuary's rooftops, sweeping over watchtowers, fences, and the distant shimmering river beyond the settlement.
Sico watched them.
Watched the Brotherhood leave his airspace.
Watched the machines grow smaller and smaller until they became little more than specks moving across the pale horizon.
And when they finally disappeared, swallowed by clouds and distance, Sico exhaled a breath he'd been unknowingly holding.
The sky was still shaking from the passing vertibirds when the last echo finally died off into the far horizon, leaving behind only the natural hum of Sanctuary again as the working drills, the shouts of soldiers, the familiar clang of metal against metal. Dust settled slowly in the air like drifting ash.
Sico dropped his arm from shielding his face and blinked at the sudden quiet. It felt almost unnatural after so much roaring engine noise, as if the Brotherhood had ripped a piece of the world away with them when they left.
He inhaled once, slow and heavy.
He knew that wasn't just a courtesy visit. He knew that deep down, in the gut-level instinct that leadership carves into you, that Brandis didn't show up on five vertibirds just to "talk."
The Brotherhood smelled something.
They always did.
And Sanctuary… Sanctuary had more secrets than anyone outside the Freemasons Republic could ever imagine.
Bootsteps approached from behind him.
Purposeful. Familiar.
Preston Garvey arrived first, still brushing dust from his coat, his expression focused but edged with unease. Sarah Lyons walked right behind him, helmet tucked under one arm, her stride confident but stiff with the kind of stiffness that meant she was already planning for possible fallout before any order was even given.
They stopped on either side of him.
Preston adjusted his hat slightly, eyes still locked on the sky where the vertibirds had vanished.
"Well," he said, trying for a light tone but falling short. "That looked… intense."
Sarah folded her arms, dark brows narrowing. "How did the meeting go, boss?"
Sico didn't answer right away. His jaw flexed slightly with a tiny tightening, the only outward sign that his mind was already running calculations two steps ahead.
He looked around the yard.
Soldiers had returned to their drills. Couriers rushed across the field with documents tucked under arms. Engineers hauled crates toward the AA platform. Life continued, but the wrong ears could easily catch the wrong words if he spoke here.
"Not out here," Sico said, voice low but firm. "We talk in my office. Now."
Preston and Sarah exchanged a quick look that show one part concern, one part confirmation that whatever was coming wasn't small. Then they nodded and followed him.
Sico turned toward the Freemasons HQ, his steps quick but controlled. He didn't need to bark orders or wave anyone off; people naturally parted for him, sensing the tension in his stride, the focus in his gaze. Even the training yard seemed to quiet slightly as he passed.
Preston walked just behind his right shoulder, Sarah on the left as two shadows of different histories but the same loyalty. Sarah kept scanning the perimeter, her tactical instincts refusing to let her relax yet. Preston kept glancing at Sico, reading him, piecing together what he could from body language alone.
The walk to HQ felt longer than usual.
Finally, they entered the reinforced concrete building, passed the guards standing stiff at attention, and climbed the short stairwell down to Sico's office with more bunker than office, built to survive artillery fire and political storms in equal measure.
Once the heavy door shut behind them with a resounding thud, the room seemed to seal the outside world away entirely.
Sico stood behind his desk for a moment, bracing his hands against its edge. The map of the Commonwealth spread across it looked suddenly smaller, somehow more fragile.
Preston leaned on the wall beside the window, arms loosely crossed.
Sarah stepped up to the table opposite Sico, hands resting lightly against the surface, her posture straight as rebar.
Neither spoke.
They waited.
Sico finally straightened, exhaling sharply through his nose as if releasing leftover tension from the meeting.
"Brandis's visit," he began, his voice quiet but carrying the full weight of the truth he was about to drop, "shows one thing."
They held still.
"He and by extension, the Brotherhood are suspecting the defectors are hiding here."
Preston stiffened.
Sarah's jaw clenched, her expression sharpening instantly into something colder, deadlier.
A silence pressed into the room, thick and heavy like the air before a storm.
Preston pushed off the wall, taking a step forward. "They're sure of it?"
"No," Sico replied. "Not yet. If they were sure, they wouldn't have come to talk. They would've come with a Paladin strike team."
Sarah nodded grimly. "He was scouting. Observing. Trying to smell the smoke before he sees the fire."
"Exactly," Sico said.
He moved around the desk, pacing slowly, running a hand along the back of his chair. It was a rare sign of nervous energy from him as pacing wasn't something Sico did unless something truly rattled him.
"They won't move without evidence," he continued. "But Brandis made it clear that Maxson is going to analyze every word, every detail, every little pause from our meeting."
Sarah's eyes flicked to the closed door. "So what's our window?"
Sico looked at her. "Days. Maybe less."
Preston muttered a low curse.
"Brandis didn't accuse us," Sico said, "but he came to confirm a suspicion. And he found enough irregularities here today to feed Maxson's paranoia."
Sarah frowned. "Such as?"
"Too many patrols on the southern side," Sico replied. "They don't know our deployment patterns. To them, that looks like we're guarding something."
Preston groaned. "Damn it…"
"And the defectors' absence from your scouting logs," Sico added. "If the Brotherhood ever cross-checks our reports with theirs, the gaps will be obvious."
Sarah drummed her fingers once on the table, her expression razor-sharp. "Alright. What's our play?"
Sico let out a long breath and leaned both palms on the desk again.
"Our play," he said slowly, "is to stay ahead of them. To tighten our secrecy. To prepare for the possibility that the Brotherhood will come demanding answers."
Preston hesitated, then asked quietly, "Do we… want to prepare for war?"
The question hung like smoke in the air.
Sarah's gaze shifted to Sico, searching.
Sico closed his eyes for a brief moment, just long enough to acknowledge the weight on his shoulders then he opened them again with resolve.
"No," he said firmly. "I don't want a war. Not yet. Not unless they force our hand."
Sarah raised a brow. "But if Maxson decides to make a move?"
"Then we'll be ready," Sico said. "But right now, we buy ourselves time. Time to hide the defectors better. Time to fortify without drawing attention. Time to prepare political cover in case we need it."
Preston nodded slowly. "Alright… what do we need to do first?"
Sico lowered himself into his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he looked at the floor for a long moment before speaking again.
"The defectors knew," he said quietly, "that hiding here wouldn't stay a secret forever. They understood the risk."
Sarah's expression softened by not much, but enough to show she was thinking about the young scribes, the frightened initiates, the disillusioned knights who'd fled Maxson's steel grip and sought asylum here.
"They're scared," she said, calmer now. "If the Brotherhood takes them back… they won't survive the interrogation."
Preston nodded grimly. "They came to us because they trusted you, Sico. Because the Republic gave them something Maxson won't."
Sico lifted his gaze.
"Freedom," he said. "A life."
Sarah crossed her arms again, her tone lowering. "Then we protect them. No matter what."
A flicker of pride tugged at the corner of Sico's mouth.
"That's the plan."
He stood again, pulling out a drawer in his desk and retrieving a folder with thick, marked with multiple colored tabs. He placed it on the table.
"This," he said, tapping it, "contains the location of every defector currently inside Sanctuary and the outlying safehouses."
Preston inhaled sharply. "You kept it all here?"
"No copies," Sico replied. "Only this. And only the higher-ups know."
Sarah smirked faintly. "Even my father didn't keep records this tight."
Sico allowed himself a brief, dry laugh. "Well, your father didn't have Maxson breathing down his neck."
The mirth faded quickly.
He opened the folder, spreading out several documents.
Preston and Sarah leaned in.
"These people," Sico said, gesturing to the names, profiles, ages, backgrounds, "trusted us. And if the Brotherhood finds out we're sheltering them, Maxson will take it as a declaration of war."
Sarah glanced up. "Even if they're just civilians now?"
"Especially if they're civilians," Sico said bitterly. "In Maxson's eyes, a defector is worse than a raider. Worse than a synth."
"Traitors," Preston muttered.
"The unforgivable sin in the Brotherhood," Sarah finished.
Sico nodded.
"And that's why Brandis came. Quietly. Without a Paladin squad. Without Maxson's full force."
Preston frowned. "Because he wanted to give us a chance to come clean?"
"No," Sico said. "Because he wanted to confirm his suspicions without tipping off Maxson unless he was sure."
Sarah exhaled harshly. "Damn it… Brandis walked through here with his eyes open and his mouth shut."
"He did," Sico said. "And we have to assume he saw everything he needed to."
Sico closed the folder gently and turned toward the window. The training yard stretched outside, busy and oblivious. The AA gun still rotated slowly, watching the sky.
He spoke without turning around.
"From this moment on, we triple-check all patrol schedules. Nothing irregular. Nothing suspicious."
"Got it," Preston said. "I'll speak to the militia captains."
"And the defectors?" Sarah asked.
"We move them," Sico said. "Quietly. Tonight."
"Where?" Preston pressed.
"Not far," Sico replied. "Just redistributed. Rotated through different safehouses. No one stays in the same location more than two days."
Sarah nodded. "Smart. Makes them harder to track if the Brotherhood tries to send recon teams."
"And we burn the original records," Sico added, tapping the folder. "Once we memorize what we need."
Preston blinked. "All of them?"
"All of them."
Sarah's lips tightened. "You're expecting things to escalate."
Sico met her gaze.
"I'm preparing for the scenario where Maxson stops asking questions and starts issuing demands."
Preston breathed out slowly. "And if that happens…"
Sico finished for him.
"…then they're never getting these people back. Not alive. Not while I'm breathing."
Sarah's eyes hardened that not in fear, but in respect.
"You'll have us line behind you," she said quietly. "Every step of the way."
Preston put a hand on the desk. "Yup, always."
Sico stood again, straightening, gathering the folder and stacking the documents. He didn't look overwhelmed; he looked like a man shifting into battle-mind, the steady kind of resolve that anchors armies.
Sico didn't sit when he said it. He remained standing behind the desk, one hand still on the folder, the lingering tension coiled behind his shoulders like a taut steel cable. His voice didn't rise, didn't bark, didn't strain, but it carried the kind of authority that didn't need volume to be felt.
"After Sturges and his team finish clearing out the Brotherhood insignia on the twenty-five T-60 suits the defectors brought," Sico said, his tone steady and final, "I want those suits reassigned back to the defectors. And they're joining our Power Armor division from now on."
Preston blinked once.
Sarah didn't blink at all.
The room itself seemed to register the shift.
A quiet settled between the three of them but not an uncomfortable silence, but the heavy kind that follows a decision that changes the shape of future events.
Preston was the first to speak, pushing off the wall again, his brows lifting slightly. "You want… the defectors armored up?"
"I do," Sico answered.
Sarah tilted her head slightly, gears already turning behind her eyes like the grinding of a minigun's barrel before it spins to life.
"That's a big move," she said carefully.
"It is," Sico agreed.
Preston let out a low, slow whistle. "That'll send a message."
"It's not about the message," Sico replied. "It's about survival. And loyalty. And giving those people something Maxson would never let them have."
Sarah leaned forward a little, resting her palms on the table again. "A chance."
Sico nodded once. "A chance."
For a moment, none of them spoke. It felt as if the entire office or hell, the entire HQ, held its breath through the thick concrete walls.
Then Preston lifted his chin, the brim of his hat catching a sliver of lamplight. "Alright," he said. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do. But we need to prepare for the blowback."
"Oh, the blowback will come," Sarah murmured, rubbing her thumb slowly along a scratch on the tabletop. "Maxson sees defectors in T-60 suits under a different banner? He'll take that personally."
"He already takes everything personally," Sico muttered, leaning his hip against the desk. "But this isn't about him. This is about the people who fled him."
Sarah nodded slowly. "You're right. And… honestly?" She sighed. "This might be exactly what they need."
Sico raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well," she said, straightening, "you've seen them. They're terrified. Half of them still sleep with their boots on, like they're expecting Maxson to burst through the door at night with a firing squad behind him."
Preston nodded somberly. "Those kids, most of them are younger than the jet addicts in Diamond City. They didn't defect because they wanted power. They ran because the Brotherhood stripped them of everything but fear."
"And we're going to replace that fear," Sico said quietly, "with purpose."
Sarah's gaze softened—not with fragility but with that deep, earned empathy of someone who'd spent a lifetime inside the power structures of the Brotherhood and knew exactly what it meant to claw your way out of it.
"You're turning them into something stronger," she said. "Something Maxson won't know how to predict."
"Something he won't know how to control," Preston added.
Sico crossed his arms, exhaling slowly. "Good."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. His decision wasn't about provoking the Brotherhood. It was about refusing to let frightened defectors stay frightened forever. Sanctuary was a home, not a hiding place. And if the Freemasons Republic stood for anything, it stood for the idea that people could rise as no matter where they came from, no matter who they'd been forced to serve before.
Sarah pushed off the table, rolling her shoulders once like a soldier readying for a briefing. "Alright," she said, slipping back into commander mode. "When do you want this implemented?"
"Tonight," Sico replied.
Preston blinked. "Tonight?"
"Yes," Sico said, his tone making it clear there would be no debate. "We're already on borrowed time. The Brotherhood is going to send scouts, even if Brandis plays dumb for a day or two. Every hour counts."
Sarah breathed out sharply. "Alright. Let's break it down. Sturges is still in the engineering bay, right?"
"Yeah," Preston said. "He's been working on those T-60s nonstop. You know how he gets when he's got a project—man forgets what sleep is."
Sico allowed a faint, tired smile. "Exactly why we're doing this tonight. Before anyone outside the inner circle realizes what those suits are actually for."
Sarah stepped back from the table, pacing a slow line. "Okay. But we'll need to think about more than just reassigning the suits. Once those defectors join the Power Armor division, they're automatically part of our frontline units."
"That's the point," Sico said.
Preston raised a cautious hand. "Not to poke holes, but… are they ready for that? I mean, some are trained, sure. But most of them? They were scribes. Logistics. Support. Not Knights."
"That doesn't mean they can't learn," Sico countered.
"No," Preston agreed. "But learning ain't the same as surviving."
Sarah cut in, raising a finger. "But they know that armor better than anyone who wasn't Brotherhood-born. That counts for a lot. Half our own people have to relearn how to maintain those suits from scratch."
Sico nodded. "Exactly."
Sarah continued, "And scrubbing the Brotherhood insignia? That's not just cosmetic. It's symbolic. It'll help break their mental dependency. If they climb into T-60 suits that no longer belong to Maxson, that's the first step toward believing they're not Brotherhood anymore."
"They earned that right when they walked away from him," Sico said.
Preston rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "You know… you might be onto something here. If they start training with our Power Armor team, they'll integrate faster. They'll gain confidence. And Maxson loses more of his psychological hold."
Sarah smirked. "He's going to hate that."
"Good," Sico repeated, even quieter now.
Another round of silence enveloped the room, this one different. Not heavy with threat, but thick with planning. Possibility. Resolve.
Sico turned and walked to the window again. The afternoon sun had dipped slightly lower, casting long shadows across the training yard. The silhouettes of soldiers moving through drills stretched across the cracked asphalt like elongated ghosts.
"Listen," Sico said, still facing the window. "If we're going to do this, we're doing it right. No half-measures. No hesitation."
Sarah folded her arms behind him. "We're listening."
Sico spoke slowly, measuring each word. "Tonight, we gather the defectors in the lower facility. Quietly. No announcements. No drawing attention."
Preston nodded. "I can arrange that, tell the soldiers captains to divert foot traffic around the old barracks."
"Good," Sico said. "Sturges and his team finish stripping the last of the insignia, and then we suit the defectors up. One by one. Walk them through calibration. Training begins immediately."
Sarah smiled faintly. "Throwing them straight into the deep end."
"Better than letting them drown slowly," Sico answered.
Preston snorted in faint amusement. "You got a point."
Sico turned back to them. "This is bigger than just putting them in Power Armor. This is about reshaping their identity. If the Brotherhood wants to call them traitors?" He lifted one shoulder. "Fine. So be it. But they're going to be traitors in armor strong enough to protect their new home."
Sarah gave a sharp nod. "I'll make sure the Power Armor team is ready. We'll have instructors, technicians, and safety personnel on standby."
Preston added, "I'll have recon squads set up a perimeter sweep. Just in case the Brotherhood decides to get curious."
"Good," Sico said again. "We're doing this smart."
He rounded the desk and lowered himself back into his chair, though his posture remained tense as it was not slouching, not relaxing, but sitting like someone preparing to go into negotiations with fate.
Sarah watched him carefully. "What else?" she asked softly.
Sico drummed his fingers once on the wood.
"There's something else Brandis didn't say," he murmured.
Preston frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Sico said carefully, "he wasn't just here to confirm a suspicion. He was here to gauge… us."
Sarah's eyes narrowed slightly. "Explain."
"He wanted to see if we were scared," Sico said. "If we would fold. If we would give up the defectors under pressure. If we would betray our own moral code when tested."
"And we didn't," Preston said.
"No," Sico replied. "We didn't."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Brandis might not agree with Maxson, but he still serves him. And he's going to report everything he saw today."
Preston inhaled deeply. "So… that means Maxson's already making plans."
"Probably," Sico said. "And that's why we move tonight."
Sarah leaned forward again. "This isn't just about hiding our people anymore, is it?"
"No," Sico answered. "This is about preparing for the world that comes after Maxson learns we refused to cooperate."
Preston muttered another low curse under his breath. "Damn…"
Sico didn't scold him because he felt it too, that simmering dread, that awareness of a looming threat on the horizon paired with the responsibility to stay ahead of it.
But he also felt something else.
Resolve.
Determination.
A strange, almost defiant pride.
"These defectors didn't flee just to be hidden in basements," Sico continued. "They came here because they wanted to build something better. And if we're going to protect them, then we protect them fully not just with secrecy, but with strength."
Sarah crossed her arms again. "You want them to stand with us."
"Yes."
"And fight with us."
"Yes."
"And be part of the Republic," she said finally.
"Yes," Sico said simply.
Preston let out a breath that was equal parts disbelief and admiration. "Well… we always say the Republic is built on giving people second chances. Guess this is the biggest one yet."
Sico allowed himself a brief smile. "Exactly."
Sarah shook her head slightly, though her eyes were warm. "You know… you might actually pull this off."
Sico chuckled once. "I plan to."
He took a long breath, straightened, and closed the folder again before sliding it back into the drawer.
"Alright," he said, standing. "We've got a long night ahead of us. Let's get moving."
But Preston didn't move.
Neither did Sarah.
They just watched him for a moment.
Not because they doubted him.
But because they understood the weight of what he'd just committed them to.
It wasn't just a tactical decision.
It wasn't just a political maneuver.
It was a moral declaration.
A promise.
And promises like that carried a gravity that reshaped everything around them.
Finally, Sarah stepped forward and placed her hand on the table, leaning in just slightly.
"Sico…" she said quietly. "Those defectors… some of them are scared of even touching their armor again. They think Maxson cursed it. They think wearing it means they're still chained to him. They're going to need more than training."
"I know," Sico replied. "That's why I want you to talk to them."
Sarah blinked once. "Me?"
"You know the Brotherhood better than any of us," Sico said. "You know what they went through. You know what they're afraid of. And they need to hear from someone who walked away long before they had the courage to."
Sarah swallowed once, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll do it."
Sico turned to Preston next. "And I want you to escort them yourself. Bring them in groups. Make sure none of them feel like they're being herded. They trusted you the moment they came here. I want to keep it that way."
Preston nodded firmly. "You got it."
Sico exhaled softly, then ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion of leadership flickering across his features for a brief second.
"Alright," he repeated more quietly. "Let's get to work."
This time, Preston and Sarah moved.
Preston adjusted his coat, tipping his hat down with a determined set of the jaw.
Sarah grabbed her helmet and tucked it under her arm again.
They started toward the door.
But before they reached it, Sico spoke again—soft, almost to himself, but loud enough for them to hear.
"This is the beginning," he murmured. "One way or another."
Sarah paused at the doorframe, half turning back. "The beginning of what?"
Sico's eyes were on the window again, watching the horizon where the Brotherhood vertibirds had vanished minutes earlier.
"The beginning of the end," he said. "For Maxson. For his control. For the way things have always been."
Preston let out a slow breath. "And the beginning of something better for all of us."
Sico nodded once.
"Let's make sure of it."
With that, the heavy door opened.
The hum of Sanctuary drifted in again from the drills, the distant shouting, the rhythmic pounding of metal.
Life.
Hope.
Struggle.
Sarah and Preston left the office, their footsteps fading into the corridor beyond. Sico stood alone for a moment in the quiet room. He looked at the map of the Commonwealth spread across his desk again, but this time he didn't see a fragile landscape threatened by giants.
________________________________________________
• 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:-