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Above them, the Prydwen continued its slow, relentless patrol. And far below, in the quiet glow of green lenses, the night watched back.
The night did not end when the Prydwen's lights drifted away.
It simply shifted again.
Morning at Sanctuary came quietly now.
Not because the world had grown peaceful, but because it had grown disciplined.
Guards rotated off the walls in smooth handovers. Patrols returned, debriefed, swapped equipment, and vanished back into the streets with barely a pause. The faint green glow of lenses winked out one by one as helmets were lifted, straps loosened, sweat wiped from brows that no longer carried the constant tension of blindness after sunset.
Inside Freemasons HQ, the building hummed with that same controlled energy. Not frantic. Not relaxed. Purposeful.
Sico sat at his desk with the door closed.
That alone was unusual.
Normally, his office was a thoroughfare. Preston coming in with updates. Sarah leaning against the doorframe with a situation report. Messengers slipping in and out with patrol logs, casualty lists, supply tallies. Strategy was a living thing here, shaped in conversation as much as on paper.
But today was different.
Today, Sico was doing paperwork.
Real paperwork.
Stacks of forms lay arranged in careful order across the desk, weighted at the corners with metal clips so they wouldn't curl. Each bore the Freemasons Republic seal, freshly stamped, the ink still dark. Distribution authorizations. Logistics directives. Quota approvals.
Night Vision Goggles: NVG-MK.I.
Sico picked up his pen, rolled it once between his fingers, and exhaled slowly.
This wasn't glamorous work.
It wasn't even satisfying in the immediate sense.
But it was necessary.
Because meetings, no matter how efficient, still took time.
And time was the one thing they could not afford to waste.
He'd come to that conclusion the night before, after Preston and Sarah had finally left HQ sometime well past midnight. They'd lingered in the hallway afterward, voices low, still debating edge cases, still refining scenarios.
Sico had watched them go with a quiet, almost reluctant pride.
They were good.
Both of them.
Which was exactly why he didn't want them tied down to the same conversation every time a new batch came off Mel's line.
They'd already done the hard part.
They'd argued. Adjusted. Tested. Refined.
Now it was time to formalize it.
Sico pulled the top document closer.
NVG DISTRIBUTION PROTOCOL – FREEMASONS REPUBLIC
REVISION: 1.3
He skimmed it, even though he knew every line by heart.
Sanctuary Hills: baseline coverage, permanent allocation, surplus reserved for training and emergency response.
The Castle: reinforced perimeter allocation, extended coastal patrol coverage, rotating reserves for artillery spotters and rapid response teams.
Freemasons Stronghold: elevated allocation, permanent night patrols, counter-patrol units authorized.
Minutemen Plaza: proportional increase tied to civilian traffic flow, market security, and transport routes.
Outposts: tiered system. High-risk outposts receive permanent units. Low-risk outposts operate on rotation schedules, with shared reserves.
Patrols: mobile allocation pool managed by regional commanders.
It was clean.
Clear.
Flexible enough to adapt without reopening the entire discussion every time production ticked upward.
Sico flipped to the final page.
Authorization clause.
That was the part that mattered.
With this signed, he wouldn't need to convene Preston and Sarah for every new shipment. Quotas were set. Adjustments could be made within defined parameters. Commanders could request reallocations without triggering a full strategic review unless something truly changed.
It was delegation, formalized.
Trust, written in ink.
Sico signed his name.
The pen scratched softly against the paper.
One line.
Then another.
Stamp.
Finalized.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting up to the ceiling for a moment.
The quiet felt… strange.
Earned, maybe.
A knock came at the door, light but confident.
"Come in," Sico said without looking up.
The door opened and Preston stepped inside, tablet tucked under his arm, hat absent for once. He paused when he saw the paperwork spread across the desk.
"…Am I interrupting something?" Preston asked.
Sico glanced up, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Only bureaucracy."
Preston snorted softly and stepped closer. "That might be a first."
Sico slid one of the documents toward him. "Take a look."
Preston picked it up, eyes scanning quickly. His brows lifted slightly as he realized what he was reading.
"You're locking in quotas," he said.
"Yes."
Preston looked up. "Without us?"
"With you," Sico corrected. "Based on what we already agreed."
Preston considered that, then nodded slowly. "This saves time."
"That's the point."
Preston exhaled, something like relief easing his shoulders. "Sarah's going to like this."
Sico's smile deepened a fraction. "She already suggested it. Last night. Between arguing about coastal coverage and Plaza traffic."
Preston laughed quietly. "Sounds like her."
He skimmed further. "This gives regional commanders more autonomy."
"It does," Sico said. "Within limits."
"And if Mel's production spikes again?"
"Then quotas scale automatically."
Preston let out a low whistle. "You're future-proofing."
"I'm trying," Sico replied. "Because this isn't slowing down."
As if summoned by the thought, another knock sounded, firmer this time.
Sarah didn't wait for permission.
She pushed the door open and leaned in, arms crossed, expression sharp and then stopped when she saw Preston already inside.
"Oh," she said. "Am I late?"
"Depends," Sico said calmly. "Did you come to argue about distribution?"
Sarah glanced at the desk, at the paperwork, at the stamps already set.
Then she smiled.
Not wide.
But real.
"So you did it," she said.
Sico nodded. "Quotas are approved. Adjustments can be made within defined ranges. No more full meetings unless something breaks."
Sarah stepped fully into the room, relief plain on her face. "Good. Because I have patrol commanders asking for authority to make calls on the ground."
"They have it now," Sico said. "In writing."
Preston handed her the document. She scanned it, nodding along.
"This will cut response delays," she said. "Especially for outposts."
"And it keeps you both where you're most useful," Sico added. "In the field. Not in this office."
Sarah smirked. "You saying you don't enjoy our company?"
Sico met her gaze evenly. "I enjoy results."
She laughed, short and sharp. "Fair."
Preston cleared his throat. "There's something else."
Sico's attention sharpened instantly. "Go on."
"Patrol commanders are reporting a shift," Preston said. "Not just fewer attacks. Fewer attempts."
Sarah nodded. "Raiders are testing the edges, pulling back when they realize they've been spotted."
"Creatures too," Preston added. "They're changing routes. Avoiding lit zones."
Sico absorbed that quietly.
The night was adapting.
Just like they were.
"That won't last," Sico said finally.
Sarah tilted her head. "No. It won't."
"But it buys us time," Preston said.
"Yes," Sico agreed. "And time is leverage."
He gestured to the paperwork. "Which is why this matters."
Sarah folded the document and handed it back. "I'll push this through the chain."
"Do," Sico said. "And make sure Mel gets a copy."
Preston blinked. "Mel?"
"He should know where his work is going," Sico replied. "And how much is expected."
Sarah nodded. "He'll appreciate the clarity."
Sico almost smiled.
The Science division didn't notice the paperwork.
Not at first.
They noticed the crates.
They noticed the manifests changing with longer-term allocations instead of ad hoc requests. Predictable numbers. Schedules that extended weeks ahead instead of days.
Elias was the first to connect the dots.
He stood beside Mel as another batch finished calibration, watching the units cycle through final checks.
"Distribution orders just came in," Elias said casually. "They're… different."
Mel didn't look up from the diagnostic screen. "Different how?"
"Structured," Elias replied. "Quotas. Scaled allocations. Less back-and-forth."
Mel frowned faintly. "Sico?"
"Has to be."
Mel considered that.
The line kept moving.
"That's good," Mel said finally.
Elias glanced at him. "You don't sound surprised."
"I was expecting it," Mel replied. "You don't build infrastructure and then keep treating it like a crisis."
Elias smiled faintly. "You've been thinking about this longer than anyone."
Mel shrugged. "Someone has to."
He tapped the casing of the next unit, listening for the tone he wanted.
Perfect.
"Well," Elias said, "production's stable. Hancock's teams are still bringing in optics. Not pristine, but workable."
"Good," Mel said. "Then we keep going."
Elias hesitated. "You know the Brotherhood is watching."
Mel didn't pause. "They always are."
"You don't worry?"
Mel finally looked at him. His eyes were tired, but clear.
"No," he said. "I prepare."
High above the Commonwealth, the Prydwen drifted on its slow patrol.
Inside, orders were being written of a different kind.
Recon teams were reassigned. Observation protocols updated. Retrieval objectives quietly amended.
Night vision goggles had changed the calculus.
And the Brotherhood did not ignore shifts in power.
Elder Maxson stood alone in his quarters, reviewing the same images again. Green-lit figures moving through ruins with confidence that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Not because the technology was unfamiliar.
But because of who wielded it.
"They're organizing," he murmured to himself.
And organization, in the wasteland, was dangerous.
Back in Sanctuary, Sico signed the last document of the morning and stacked it neatly with the others.
He stood, stretching stiff muscles, and moved to the window overlooking the settlement.
Daylight washed over the rooftops. Children ran between buildings. Farmers tended crops. Guards watched from towers, lenses flipped up for now, eyes squinting in the sun.
The night had not vanished.
But it no longer ruled.
Sico rested a hand against the glass.
"Let them watch," he said softly.
The Republic would not stop.
The morning after the quotas were finalized broke warmer than expected.
Sunlight spilled over Sanctuary in wide, unhurried bands, catching on metal roofs, watchtower railings, the slow rise of steam from cooking fires and generators waking for the day. The settlement had the quiet confidence of something that knew what it was doing. People moved with purpose, not urgency. Guards checked in, merchants opened stalls, children ran errands without being shouted back indoors at the first hint of danger.
Inside Freemasons HQ, Sico's office door was open again.
That, too, was deliberate.
He sat behind his desk, reviewing overnight reports that had already been filtered and summarized by the new system Preston had helped implement. Patrol logs flagged anomalies automatically. Resource usage was clean. Casualty lists were short, shorter than they'd been in months.
The night had passed without incident.
Not silence. Never silence.
But control.
A knock sounded from the hallway. Not the crisp, professional knock of a courier or guard.
This one had rhythm.
Tap-tap. Pause. Tap.
Sico looked up.
"Come in," he said.
The door swung open and Piper Wright walked in like she owned the room.
Not arrogantly. Just… naturally.
Her hat was tipped back slightly, brown coat dusted from travel, notebook already in hand. The familiar, sharp curiosity in her eyes flicked around the office once before settling on Sico himself.
"Well," she said, grin tugging at her mouth. "You really leaned into the whole 'leader of a growing republic' aesthetic, didn't you?"
Sico blinked once.
Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair.
"…Good morning, Piper."
She shut the door behind her with her heel and strolled closer, tapping the notebook against her palm. "Morning, President. Or General. Or Supreme Shadow Master of the Freemasons." She tilted her head. "What are we going with these days?"
Sico exhaled through his nose, almost amused despite himself. "Sico works."
"Still modest," Piper said approvingly. "That'll play well."
He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "You didn't walk all the way here for commentary."
Piper dropped into the seat without hesitation, crossing one leg over the other. "Straight to the point. I like that about you."
She leaned forward slightly. "I want to do a weekly interview."
Sico didn't respond.
Not immediately.
The silence stretched that not awkward, but measured. The kind of pause that meant calculation, not confusion.
Piper watched him closely, eyes sharp but not hostile. She was used to people reacting fast with deflecting, refusing, blustering. Sico did none of those things.
He simply thought.
"A weekly interview," he repeated finally.
"Yep," Piper said. "Short. Focused. Consistent. One sit-down a week."
"For what purpose?" he asked.
She smiled, but it wasn't playful this time. It was earnest. Intentional.
"For the people," she said. "For my paper. And for Freemasons Radio."
That got his attention.
"Go on," Sico said.
Piper straightened a bit, her voice shifting into the tone she used when she believed in what she was saying.
"The Republic's growing," she said. "Fast. Faster than most folks can wrap their heads around. Patrols are tighter. Nights are safer. Trade's up. People feel it, but they don't always understand it."
She tapped her notebook. "Right now, everything they know comes secondhand. Rumors. Guards talking. Traders exaggerating. That leaves room for fear. And fear fills gaps with ugly stuff."
Sico remained silent.
"So," Piper continued, "you talk to me once a week. About what you're building. What's changing. What isn't. Not secrets. Not ops. Just… direction."
She met his gaze directly. "Let them hear you."
The words hung in the air.
Sico leaned back again, fingers steepled loosely in front of him. His eyes drifted past Piper, to the window beyond his desk. Sanctuary spread out below it that orderly, alive, still fragile in ways no map could show.
He thought of the Brotherhood's eyes in the sky.
Of green lenses cutting through the dark.
Of quotas and production lines and preparation quietly replacing panic.
He thought of settlers who slept easier but still whispered questions.
Who decides?
Who watches the watchers?
What happens when power settles in?
Piper broke the silence gently. "You don't have to answer now."
He looked back at her.
"How long have you been thinking about this?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Since I noticed guards walking like the dark doesn't scare them anymore."
Sico almost smiled.
Almost.
"You understand what you're asking," he said. "Visibility invites scrutiny."
Piper nodded. "That's the point."
"And criticism," he added.
"Good," she said. "Keeps people honest."
"And enemies," he said quietly.
Piper didn't flinch. "They're already watching."
That landed harder than anything else she'd said.
Sico studied her for a long moment that really studied her. Not as a reporter. Not as a potential liability.
As a constant.
Piper Wright had been asking uncomfortable questions since before the Republic had a name. She'd survived because she knew how to listen, how to speak, and when to push.
She wasn't asking for access.
She was asking for voice.
Sico exhaled slowly.
"This would improve public confidence," he said.
Piper's lips twitched. "And your image."
He gave her a flat look.
"Hey," she said, hands up. "I'm a journalist. I call it like it is."
He nodded once. "Settlers trust you."
"They trust honesty," she corrected. "I just try not to waste it."
Silence returned but this time, it was different.
Sico's mind moved through implications the same way it always did: routes, outcomes, risks, leverage.
A weekly interview meant consistency. Predictability. It meant anchoring narrative instead of reacting to it.
It meant making the Republic feel less like a faceless system and more like a direction people could understand.
It also meant putting himself where arrows could fly.
He looked at Piper again.
"When?" he asked.
Her eyebrows lifted. "That's a yes?"
Sico nodded. "Weekly. Same day. Same time."
Her grin spread fast and genuine. "You won't regret this."
"I might," he replied calmly. "But it's still the right move."
Piper laughed, delighted. "You really are different."
"Don't romanticize it," Sico said. "What format?"
She flipped open her notebook. "Interview segment for the paper. Transcript excerpts. Then a radio version that edited, but not sanitized. People like hearing voices. Yours carries."
"Topics?" he asked.
"Rotating," Piper said. "Security. Development. Trade. Reconstruction. Education. Night patrols."
He raised an eyebrow.
She smirked. "Relax. I know where the lines are."
He considered for a moment longer.
Then nodded once.
"Approved."
Piper snapped the notebook shut like she'd just sealed a deal worth a lifetime.
"I'll announce the first one this afternoon," she said, standing. "Let people know it's coming."
Sico stood as well. "You'll submit questions in advance."
"Of course," she said lightly. "I'll still ask follow-ups."
"I expect nothing less."
She paused at the door, hand on the handle. "You know," she said, glancing back, "this isn't just good politics."
He met her gaze. "No."
"It's leadership."
Then she was gone.
The news traveled fast.
Faster than Sico expected.
By midday, the buzz was already spreading through Sanctuary. Merchants talked about it between trades. Guards mentioned it during rotations. Radio operators adjusted schedules. Even the Science division heard whispers when a technician walked in humming the Freemasons Radio jingle with suspicious enthusiasm.
Mel heard about it last.
Elias mentioned it offhand while checking inventory logs.
"Apparently Piper's doing weekly interviews with Sico now," Elias said. "Radio and print."
Mel paused, screwdriver hovering mid-adjustment.
"…Weekly?"
"Yeah," Elias said. "Public-facing. Development updates. Stuff like that."
Mel considered this for several seconds.
"That's risky," he said finally.
Elias shrugged. "Also smart."
Mel resumed tightening the component. "Words spread faster than equipment."
"And shape perception longer," Elias added.
Mel didn't argue.
That evening, high above the Commonwealth, the Prydwen's listening stations picked up the chatter almost immediately.
Not the interview itself, it hadn't happened yet.
But the announcement.
A calm voice on Freemasons Radio, unmistakably Piper's, teasing an upcoming weekly segment.
"Starting this week," she said, "I'll be sitting down with Sico to talk about where the Freemasons Republic is headed and why."
Captain Kells listened in silence.
Elder Maxson listened alone.
Public communication.
Regular.
Intentional.
"They're consolidating narrative," Maxson murmured.
That, too, was dangerous.
Back in Sanctuary, Sico stood on the same balcony he'd stood on the day before, watching the sun dip low.
The night would come again.
It always did.
But now, it would come to a Republic that could see and be seen.
He didn't know yet how the interviews would shape things.
He only knew this:
Power didn't just need to be held, as it needed to be understood.
The next day arrived without ceremony.
No alarms. No crises. No sudden runner pounding down the hall with bad news clenched in his fist.
Just another morning in a Republic that had learned how to breathe.
Sanctuary woke under a pale blue sky, the air cool enough to carry sound with boots on wooden walkways, the low murmur of trade negotiations, the distant clatter of a generator coughing itself fully awake. The settlement felt alert, but not anxious. Like a city that trusted the walls it had built.
Inside Freemasons HQ, Sico's office was quiet again.
Not closed this time.
Prepared.
The desk had been cleared of most paperwork, stacked neatly off to one side. Only a single folder lay open in front of him, not because he needed it, but because it gave his hands something to rest on. The Republic seal stamped on the cover caught the light when he shifted slightly in his chair.
He sat straight-backed, jacket on, posture relaxed but intentional. No armor. No weapons in sight. That had been a choice.
Across from him, two chairs had been arranged instead of one. A small table had been pulled closer, set with a recorder, a fresh holotape, and a steaming mug of coffee that Piper had insisted on bringing herself.
Sico hadn't touched it yet.
The knock came right on time.
This one wasn't rhythmic.
It was professional.
"Come in," Sico said.
The door opened and Piper Wright stepped inside, already halfway into work mode.
She looked different today.
Not dressed up as she never did that, but focused. Hat pulled lower. Coat shrugged off and draped over the chair. Notebook thicker than usual, pages bristling with folded corners and handwritten tabs. A sharpened pencil tucked behind one ear, another already in hand.
She closed the door behind her carefully this time.
"No interruptions," she said, more statement than request.
Sico inclined his head. "Already arranged."
She glanced at him, a quick, assessing look. "You ready?"
"I am," he said.
Piper sat, placing her notebook on the table and setting the recorder between them. She checked the holotape, clicked it once, then paused.
Before she started, she looked at him that not as a journalist, not as a citizen.
As a person.
"You know," she said quietly, "this isn't a trap."
Sico met her gaze. "I know."
"And I'm not here to tear you down."
"I know that too."
She exhaled, tension easing just a little from her shoulders. "Good. Then let's do this right."
She pressed the button.
The recorder whirred softly to life.
Piper glanced down at her notes, then back up.
"This is Piper Wright," she said clearly, voice steady, practiced. "Reporting for the Publick Occurrences and Freemasons Radio. Today, I'm sitting down with President Sico, leader of the Freemasons Republic, for the first in what will be a weekly series of interviews about where the Republic is headed, what it's building, and what that means for the people who live under its protection."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"Sico," she continued, "thanks for agreeing to this."
Sico nodded once. "Thank you for asking."
There it was.
The beginning.
Piper leaned back slightly, pen poised. "Let's start simple. People see changes happening fast. Safer nights. More patrols. New systems. For some, that's reassuring. For others, it's… unsettling."
She met his eyes. "What do you say to settlers who are asking themselves, 'When did all this happen?'"
Sico didn't answer immediately.
He didn't look at the folder. He didn't look at the recorder.
He looked at Piper.
"It didn't happen all at once," he said finally. "It just feels that way when things start working."
Piper nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"For a long time," Sico said, "the Commonwealth survived by reacting. Something went wrong, people adapted. Raiders hit, defenses changed. Creatures migrated, routes shifted. That kind of life keeps you alive, but it keeps you tired."
His voice was calm, even, but not distant.
"The Republic exists because we wanted something different. We wanted to plan. To build systems that hold even when no one is watching."
Piper scribbled quickly. "So this isn't about control."
"No," Sico said. "It's about predictability."
She raised an eyebrow. "Some people hear that word and get nervous."
"They should," he replied without hesitation. "Power should always make people cautious. The moment it doesn't, you've stopped paying attention."
Piper smiled faintly at that. "You're not dodging the concern."
"There's no reason to," Sico said. "Fear doesn't disappear when you ignore it. It just goes underground."
She glanced down at her notes again. "Speaking of fear. Nights."
That word carried weight now.
"A few months ago," Piper continued, "most people planned their lives around daylight. Curfews. Locking doors. Avoiding roads after dark. That's changing."
She looked up. "Why?"
Sico folded his hands together. "Because darkness shouldn't belong to the worst people in the world."
Piper let out a soft breath. "That's going to be quoted."
He inclined his head. "That's fine."
"But there's a practical side to this," she said. "People notice the gear. Night vision. Organized patrols. That's not just confidence, that's capability."
She leaned forward slightly. "What changed?"
Sico considered how much to say.
Then decided.
"We stopped treating the night like an enemy," he said. "And started treating it like a condition."
Piper blinked. "Explain that."
"You don't curse the rain," he said. "You build roofs. You don't rage at the cold. You insulate. The night is the same. It doesn't need to be feared. It needs to be understood."
She wrote that down too.
"And the Republic decided it was time to invest in that understanding."
Piper tapped her pen against the notebook. "Some listeners are going to hear that and think: That sounds expensive."
"It is," Sico said plainly.
She laughed, surprised. "You're not sugarcoating this at all."
"No," he said. "Because people deserve honesty about costs. Especially when they're the ones paying them, directly or indirectly."
"So why do it?" Piper asked. "Why prioritize something like night operations when there are still shortages? Still rebuilding?"
Sico leaned back slightly. "Because safety multiplies effort. When people aren't afraid, they trade more. They travel more. They build more. A farmer who isn't worried about getting home after sunset plants more. A trader who knows the road is watched brings better goods."
He looked out the window briefly, then back. "Security isn't the end goal. It's the foundation."
Piper nodded slowly. "You're saying the night vision isn't about fighting."
"It's about living," Sico replied.
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the recorder.
Piper flipped to the next section of her notes.
"Let's talk structure," she said. "The Republic is… organized. More than anything else in the Commonwealth. Some people find that reassuring. Others worry about hierarchy. About decisions being made far away from them."
She met his gaze again. "Who decides?"
Sico didn't flinch.
"I do," he said. "And I don't."
Piper's pen paused. "You're going to have to unpack that."
He nodded. "Final responsibility rests with me. That's not something I pretend otherwise about. But decisions aren't made in isolation."
He counted on his fingers that not literally, but conceptually. "Preston handles civilian coordination and regional needs. Sarah oversees security and patrol doctrine. Commanders manage their own territories within defined limits. Scientists, engineers, medics as they all have authority in their domains. And don't forget about the Congress, that consist of leader from every settlements in Freemasons territory."
"And you?" Piper asked.
"I make sure the pieces fit," Sico said. "And when something goes wrong, I answer for it."
She studied him. "That's a heavy answer."
"It should be," he replied.
Piper glanced down at her notebook, then back up. "Let's address the thing people don't always say out loud."
Sico waited.
"Power," Piper said. "The Republic has it. More than most groups ever have in the Commonwealth. Some folks are wondering what stops it from becoming… something else."
Sico was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Limits."
She raised an eyebrow. "Limits set by who?"
"By structure. By transparency. By scrutiny," he said. "By conversations like this."
She smiled at that. "Smooth."
"True," he corrected.
Piper laughed softly. "You're aware this gives me leverage, right?"
"I am," Sico said. "That's intentional."
Her pen stilled again.
"You're trusting the press," she said.
"I'm trusting accountability," he replied. "They're not the same thing, but they overlap."
Piper leaned back, considering him anew. "You know people are going to disagree with you. Loudly."
"Good," Sico said. "Disagreement means engagement."
"And if they don't like what they hear?"
"Then they'll say so," he replied. "And we'll listen."
She tilted her head. "You make it sound simple."
"It isn't," he said. "But it is necessary."
Piper flipped another page. "Last question, for today."
Sico nodded.
"If you could say one thing directly to the people listening right now," she asked, "the ones who feel safer but aren't sure why… the ones who worry about where all this leads… what would it be?"
Sico didn't hesitate this time.
"This isn't about building a state," he said. "It's about building trust. Trust that when you go to sleep, someone is awake. Trust that when decisions are made, they're made with tomorrow in mind, not just tonight."
He looked straight at the recorder.
"And trust that power doesn't have to hide to be strong."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was full.
Piper reached forward and clicked the recorder off.
She sat back, exhaling slowly. "That's going to resonate."
Sico nodded. "Good."
She closed her notebook carefully, then looked at him that not as a journalist this time, but as Piper.
"You handled that well," she said. "No dodging. No posturing."
"That was the agreement," he replied.
She stood, gathering her things. "I'll get this edited and aired tonight. Transcript in the paper tomorrow."
She paused at the door. "Same time next week?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Same time."
Piper smiled. "You're really doing this."
"Yes," he said again.
She nodded, satisfied, and left.
When the door closed, Sico remained seated for a moment longer.
The interview was over.
Night came softly to Sanctuary.
Not the sharp, predatory darkness the Commonwealth had once known, but something steadier. Lanterns glowed along walkways. Watchtowers hummed with quiet vigilance. Guards moved in pairs, green lenses lowered now, scanning the edges of the settlement with practiced ease. The stars overhead were clear, unchallenged by smoke or fear.
Inside Freemasons HQ, Sico finally stood.
He rolled his shoulders once, the tension he hadn't allowed himself to feel during the interview settling in now that the recorder was gone. He picked up the untouched mug of coffee, found it cold, and set it back down without drinking.
He walked to the window.
Below him, Sanctuary lived.
That still surprised him sometimes.
Not because it existed, but because it endured without constantly bracing for impact.
He stayed there for a long moment, hands clasped behind his back, replaying fragments of the interview in his mind. Not the words themselves, but the weight of them. The way Piper had listened. The way silence had been allowed to breathe.
This was different from issuing orders.
Different from strategy meetings or quiet, brutal decisions made in the dark.
This was exposure.
And he had chosen it.
Somewhere in the settlement, a radio crackled to life.
Freemasons Radio occupied a reinforced building near the settlement's center, as now it hummed with life and purpose, its interior crowded with patched-together equipment, insulated walls, signal boosters scavenged and rebuilt a dozen times over.
Piper liked it that way.
She stood just outside the broadcast room, coat slung over one arm, hat finally off, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. The interview holotape rested in her hand like something heavier than plastic and magnetic ribbon.
Across the room, Nat sat cross-legged on a chair far too big for her, flipping through freshly printed pages of the Publick Occurrences. Ink smudged her fingers. Her tongue peeked out slightly in concentration as she reviewed the headlines Piper had left her.
"Okay," Nat said without looking up. "I fixed the spacing on page three. And I rewrote the lead paragraph on the night patrol story because it sounded boring."
Piper smiled faintly. "You rewrote it."
"Yeah," Nat said, unapologetic. "It needed more punch. Also, I added a quote from one of the traders. The one with the weird beard."
"Solomon?"
"That's the one," Nat said. "He says trade routes are 'less murdery' now."
Piper laughed quietly. "That's… accurate."
Nat finally looked up at her sister. "So. Big night, huh?"
Piper leaned against the wall. "Yeah. Big night."
Nat's eyes flicked to the holotape in Piper's hand. "That it?"
"That's it," Piper said.
"The interview," Nat said softly.
Piper nodded.
Nat studied her for a moment longer than usual. "You nervous?"
Piper considered lying.
Didn't.
"A little," she admitted. "Not about the content. About what it starts."
Nat tilted her head. "Isn't that the point?"
Piper smiled. "Yeah. It is."
She pushed herself off the wall and walked over, placing the stack of papers neatly on Nat's lap. "You good here?"
Nat puffed up slightly. "Please. I've run the paper before."
"I know," Piper said. "But tonight matters. The transcript goes out tomorrow morning. I want it clean. Clear. No twisting."
Nat nodded solemnly. "I won't mess it up."
Piper squeezed her shoulder. "I know you won't."
Nat hesitated, then asked, "Do you think people will listen?"
Piper glanced toward the broadcast room door, where a faint red light already glowed.
"I think they're already listening," she said.
She turned and stepped into the room.
The broadcast room was small, tight, and alive.
Cables snaked across the floor. Consoles buzzed softly. A technician gave Piper a thumbs-up from behind a mess of dials and patched-together screens.
She slipped into the chair, setting the holotape gently into place.
For a moment, she didn't press play.
She closed her eyes.
Not to steady herself as she didn't need that, but to remember why she was doing this.
Faces passed through her mind.
Diamond City citizens who had learned to lower their voices when talking about power. Settlers who asked questions in whispers. Traders who weighed every road like a gamble.
And now, Sanctuary.
A place where the dark didn't feel like a death sentence anymore.
The red light blinked.
Live.
Piper leaned toward the microphone.
"Good evening, Commonwealth," she said, voice warm and familiar. "This is Piper Wright, and you're listening to Freemasons Radio."
She paused, letting the static settle, letting people lean closer to whatever battered speaker or scavenged headset they had.
"Tonight," she continued, "I'm bringing you something a little different. Earlier today, I sat down with President Sico of the Freemasons Republic for the first of what will be weekly conversations about where the Republic is headed, how it's changing life in the Commonwealth, and what that means for all of us."
She tapped the holotape gently.
"You've probably heard the rumors. About safer nights. About new patrols. About organization where there used to be chaos. Tonight, instead of guessing, we're going straight to the source."
She took a breath.
"Let's begin."
She pressed play.
Across Sanctuary, radios came alive.
In homes built from scrap and hope, families paused mid-meal. In guard towers, sentries leaned closer to crackling speakers. In workshops, tools went quiet as voices rose from tinny boxes.
Beyond Sanctuary, the signal carried.
Outposts tuned in. Traders slowed their brahmin caravans. Settlements that had never seen Sico in person heard him speak for the first time.
"It didn't happen all at once…"
His voice filled the air.
Calm. Grounded. Unrushed.
In a farmhouse miles away, an old man leaned back in his chair, listening with narrowed eyes that slowly softened.
In a ruined apartment block, a young woman held her breath, hearing someone talk about the night not like it was a curse, but a problem to be solved.
At The Castle, artillery crews paused their card game, one of them muttering, "Huh. That's… not what I expected."
At an outpost near the glowing sea's edge, a patrol leader nodded once, quietly satisfied.
And in places less friendly, ears listened too.
High above the Commonwealth, inside the Prydwen, Freemasons Radio crackled through monitored channels.
Captain Kells stood rigid beside a console, arms crossed, jaw tight.
The interview played uninterrupted.
Maxson listened in silence.
He stood alone in his quarters, the faint green glow of data screens reflected in his eyes as Sico's words carried through the speaker.
"Because darkness shouldn't belong to the worst people in the world."
Maxson's fingers curled slowly.
"He's careful," Kells said quietly.
"Yes," Maxson replied. "He is."
The interview continued.
Structure. Limits. Accountability.
Not defiance.
Not provocation.
Legitimacy.
"He's not posturing," Kells said. "He's… explaining."
"That's what makes it dangerous," Maxson said flatly.
The radio crackled on.
Back in the broadcast room, Piper sat perfectly still.
She didn't interrupt the tape.
Didn't cut.
Didn't soften the edges.
She watched the sound waves dance across the screen, each rise and fall a word she'd already heard but hearing them now, knowing how many ears they reached, made them feel different.
Bigger.
When the final line played
"And trust that power doesn't have to hide to be strong."
Piper let the tape run for two more seconds before stopping it.
Silence followed.
She leaned forward.
"That was President Sico," she said quietly. "Speaking to you directly."
She swallowed once.
"I'm not here to tell you what to think about that," she continued. "That's never been my job. My job is to ask questions, to give you information, and to let you decide what comes next."
She straightened.
"This interview will run weekly. Same place. Same time. I'll keep asking the questions people whisper. And I'll keep listening."
A faint smile touched her voice.
"This is Piper Wright. Stay safe tonight, Commonwealth. And for once… don't be afraid of the dark."
The red light blinked off.
Nat was waiting outside the broadcast room.
She looked up the moment Piper stepped out.
"Well?" Nat asked.
Piper exhaled, long and slow. "It's out."
Nat grinned. "I heard some of it from the hallway. He sounds… real."
"He is," Piper said. "That's the point."
Nat hugged the stack of papers closer to her chest. "I'll get the transcript ready for morning. Big headline?"
Piper nodded. "But keep it honest. No hype."
Nat rolled her eyes. "You taught me better than that."
They walked together toward the exit.
Outside, Sanctuary glowed.
Guards nodded as they passed. Someone waved. A trader shouted a friendly comment about the radio show already spreading through the night.
Nat looked around, eyes wide. "You think this changes things?"
Piper stopped walking.
She looked out at the settlement, at the lights, at the people moving without fear.
"Yes," she said softly. "I think it already has."
Back in Freemasons HQ, Sico stood at the window again.
He hadn't turned on the radio.
He didn't need to.
He could feel it.
The shift. The subtle rebalancing of perception. The way power moved when it stopped hiding and started speaking.
A guard knocked lightly at the open door.
"Sir," he said. "Radio traffic's up. People are talking."
Sico nodded. "Good."
The guard hesitated. "Mostly positive."
Sico allowed himself a small smile.
"That won't last," he said. "But it doesn't need to."
He turned back to the window.
The night stretched wide and watchful. And for the first time in a long time, it listened back.
______________________________________________
• 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:-