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As the convoy engines roared to life and the Republic forces began their return, Sico looked once more at the road where Maxson had stood. History would be written, he had no illusions about that. But for today, at least, his people would go home alive.
Morning returned to the Commonwealth the way it always did after history bent a little with quietly, indifferently, as if the land itself refused to acknowledge how close it had come to burning.
At Sanctuary on the Freemasons HQ, dawn light filtered through reinforced windows and settled across concrete floors worn smooth by boots, crates, and years of preparation. The building had once been a half-collapsed office. Now it was the spine of a Republic from command rooms, intelligence hubs, logistics centers, and offices stitched together by discipline and necessity.
Sico stood at the wide window of his office, hands resting on the sill, watching the compound wake up.
Below him, patrols rotated shifts with practiced ease. Soldiers exchanged nods, not words. A supply truck rumbled past, its canvas sides marked with the Republic's sigil. Somewhere in the courtyard, a radio crackled to life, the operator's voice calm and professional as she relayed overnight perimeter checks.
Normal.
As normal as things ever got after you stared down Elder Arthur Maxson and told him no.
Sico exhaled slowly.
Time.
That was what they had bought on the road yesterday. Not peace. Not safety. Time. And time, used poorly, was as dangerous as any enemy.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Sico said, already knowing who it would be.
Preston entered first, hat in hand, expression thoughtful rather than alarmed. Sarah followed close behind him, helmet clipped to her belt, posture rigid even when she tried to relax. Both of them looked like people who hadn't slept much, not because of panic, but because their minds refused to stop moving.
Sico turned from the window.
"Sit," he said.
They did, taking the chairs opposite his desk. For a moment, none of them spoke. There was no rush. They'd earned the silence.
Finally, Preston broke it.
"Border reports are coming in," he said. "Brotherhood units fully cleared our territory overnight. No lingering patrols. No air presence."
"Good," Sico replied. "Any signs they're probing?"
"Not yet," Preston said. "But they've repositioned. Heavier concentrations along their side of the eastern line."
Sarah crossed her arms. "They're regrouping."
"Yes," Sico agreed. "And deciding how much that 'for now' really means."
He moved back to his desk and sat, fingers steepled loosely in front of him.
"So," he said, "let's talk about what comes next."
Sarah didn't hesitate.
"We should activate the robots again," she said.
Preston's head snapped toward her. "No."
The word came out sharper than he probably intended, and he grimaced slightly afterward, but he didn't soften his stance.
Sarah met his gaze evenly. "We're facing the Brotherhood of Steel. Power armor. Air superiority. Heavy weapons. The robots give us parity."
"They give us leverage," Preston countered. "And leverage is only useful if the other side doesn't know exactly how much you have."
Sico watched the exchange without interrupting, eyes thoughtful.
Sarah leaned forward slightly. "We're past the point of hiding," she said. "Maxson already knows we're not bluffing. If he comes back, it won't be with words."
"And if we roll out the robots now," Preston shot back, "then when that happens, we've got nothing left to surprise him with."
Sarah's jaw tightened. "You think Maxson doesn't already assume we have something like that?"
"I think assuming isn't the same as seeing," Preston replied. "And once they see it, they plan around it."
Sico raised a hand gently.
"Enough," he said.
Both of them fell silent, eyes returning to him.
Sico leaned back in his chair.
"The robots are not a panic button," he said calmly. "They're a last resort."
Sarah frowned. "With respect, we're already on the edge of war."
"Yes," Sico said. "Which means every move we make now gets watched, cataloged, and countered."
He glanced at Preston.
"And you're right," he added. "A secret weapon only works while it's secret."
Sarah exhaled through her nose. "So what? We wait? Hope the Brotherhood respects borders now?"
"No," Sico said. "We prepare in a way that doesn't escalate unnecessarily."
He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the desk.
"We recruit."
Preston nodded immediately. Sarah didn't look convinced.
"People?" she asked. "Volunteers?"
"Citizens," Sico corrected. "People who live under our protection and want to defend it."
Sarah hesitated. "That takes time. Training. Integration."
"Yes," Sico said. "And it strengthens us in ways machines never will."
Preston leaned back in his chair. "We've already seen an uptick in applications since the broadcast."
Sico's eyebrow lifted slightly. "How many?"
"More than we projected," Preston said. "Especially from settlements near the eastern border. People who saw the Brotherhood columns. Who heard about the standoff."
Sarah's expression shifted then. Not doubt. Realization.
"They're scared," she said.
"They're motivated," Sico replied. "There's a difference."
He stood and moved to the map wall again, gesturing for them to follow. Colored markers still dotted the Commonwealth, but new annotations had been added overnight from border watchpoints, reinforced patrol routes, fallback positions.
"We increase border security," Sico said, tapping the eastern edge. "Permanent checkpoints. Early warning systems. More eyes."
"And the Brotherhood?" Sarah asked.
"They don't cross without permission again," Sico said simply. "Not without understanding exactly what it costs them."
Preston folded his arms. "That's going to strain manpower."
"Yes," Sico said. "Which is why we recruit."
Sarah studied the map, then him. "And the robots?"
Sico looked at her.
"They stay offline," he said. "Maintained. Ready. But unseen."
Sarah didn't like it, but she nodded.
"Fine," she said. "But if Maxson makes another move—"
"Then we reassess," Sico finished. "Together."
Silence settled again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was purposeful.
Preston cleared his throat. "There's another factor."
Sico turned to him. "Go on."
"The Institute," Preston said. "They won't have missed what happened yesterday."
"No," Sico agreed. "They won't."
Sarah frowned. "You think they'll exploit it?"
"I think they'll test us," Sico said. "Just like everyone else."
He straightened.
"That's why we can't look overstretched," he continued. "Robots rolling out now would tell everyone we're bracing for immediate war. Recruitment tells them we're building something sustainable."
"And sustainable scares people more," Preston added quietly.
Sico nodded.
"Especially tyrants," he said.
By midday, the recruitment offices were busy.
Not chaotic. Organized. Lines formed outside repurposed buildings near HQ, people standing with quiet determination rather than desperation. Some wore patched armor. Others simple clothing. Farmers. Traders. Former mercenaries. Parents who'd lost someone to the wasteland and decided they were done running.
Sico walked among them briefly, not to give speeches, not to posture, but to listen. He heard the same themes repeated in different words.
"I want my kids safe."
"I don't want Brotherhood soldiers deciding where I can walk."
"I don't want another faction using my home as a shortcut."
No grand ideology.
Just ownership.
That evening, back in his office, Sico reviewed intake reports with Preston.
"We'll need expanded training capacity," Preston said. "And clear messaging."
"We're not building an army for conquest," Sico replied. "We're building guardians."
Preston smiled faintly. "Funny how that still sounds radical out here."
"It is," Sico said.
A knock interrupted them. Sarah entered, helmet off, expression serious.
"Border patrol just reported Brotherhood scouts near checkpoint Delta," she said. "Not crossing. Watching."
Sico nodded. "Good."
"Good?" Sarah repeated.
"Yes," he said. "It means they're cautious."
Preston raised an eyebrow. "Or planning."
"Both," Sico said. "But caution means they heard us."
The night passed without incident, but it didn't pass without weight.
Sanctuary slept in layers as outer patrols rotating under floodlights, inner guards posted at choke points, generators humming quietly beneath the soil. Even in rest, the Republic breathed vigilance. And somewhere beneath the calm routines, everyone felt it: the sense that something irreversible had begun.
When the sun rose the next morning, it did so gently, casting pale gold across Sanctuary's rooftops and watchtowers. Mist clung low to the ground, curling around barricades and sandbags, softening the hard edges of fortifications that had been built for exactly the kind of future now pressing closer.
In front of the Freemasons HQ, the space that usually served as a transit yard had transformed.
A line stretched down the cracked road.
Not a mob. Not a riot of desperation.
A line.
Men and women stood shoulder to shoulder, spaced with quiet patience. Some clutched old rifles slung over their backs. Others carried nothing at all. A few wore bits of scavenged armor, mismatched plates polished as best they could. Many wore simple clothes from farm jackets, work boots, patched trousers are still dusted with soil from fields they'd risen early to tend before coming here.
They waited.
The recruitment banner hung between two reinforced poles, its fabric stirring slightly in the morning breeze. Beneath it, tables had been set up. Clipboards. Identification scanners. Medical kits. Recruiters moved with methodical calm, calling names, asking questions, directing people toward interview tents.
The Republic had opened its doors.
And the Commonwealth had answered.
Sico stood just inside the HQ's main entrance, arms folded loosely behind his back, eyes fixed on the line outside. Preston stood beside him, hat pulled low, gaze scanning faces the way he always did with looking for fear, for anger, for the things that could turn conviction into recklessness.
Neither of them spoke at first.
The scene didn't require commentary.
After a long moment, Preston exhaled slowly.
"That's… more than I expected," he said.
Sico nodded once. "Fear spreads fast," he said. "So does resolve."
Outside, Sarah moved between interview stations, posture straight, voice firm but not unkind. She listened more than she spoke, eyes sharp as she assessed each volunteer. When she asked questions, they weren't about hatred or revenge.
They were about commitment.
"Do you understand what this means?"
"Are you prepared to take orders even when you disagree?"
"If this turns into war, can you still protect civilians first?"
Some people faltered at those questions. Some nodded without hesitation. A few walked away, deciding that courage had limits.
Sarah didn't stop them.
That mattered.
Preston watched her for a moment, then glanced at Sico. "She's not cutting corners."
"No," Sico said. "She won't."
A pair of recruits passed medical screening and were directed toward orientation. One of them with a man with gray at his temples and scars down one arm are paused, glanced up at the HQ building, and touched his forehead briefly, as if in respect.
Sico noticed.
"People don't do that for nothing," Preston murmured.
"They're not saluting a building," Sico replied. "They're saluting the idea that someone finally drew a line."
The morning wore on.
The line grew longer.
News traveled faster than radio waves in the wasteland. By mid morning, settlements farther out had sent small groups from neighbors walking together, families deciding who could afford to leave their farms for training rotations. Caravan guards signed up. Former Minutemen who'd thought their days of standing watch were behind them stepped forward again, older but unbowed.
Inside the HQ, logistics officers scrambled that not in panic, but in focused urgency. More rations ordered. More bunks cleared. Training schedules revised.
Preston rubbed the back of his neck. "We're going to need to stagger intake," he said. "We can't train them all at once without dropping standards."
"I know," Sico said. "Standards don't bend."
He turned slightly toward Preston, lowering his voice.
"I want a thousand."
Preston blinked. "A thousand?"
"New soldiers," Sico clarified. "Recruited, trained, integrated."
Preston looked back at the line, then at the border maps still etched in his mind. "That's ambitious."
"It's necessary," Sico said. "The Brotherhood doesn't test weakness twice. If they're watching now, they're measuring response time, numbers, posture."
"And you think a thousand more boots changes that math," Preston said.
"I think it changes their confidence," Sico replied.
Preston was quiet for a long moment.
"Sarah and I can do it," he said finally. "But it'll take months before they're truly ready."
"That's fine," Sico said. "We're not racing Maxson. We're outlasting him."
Outside, a raised voice cut through the murmur of the crowd that not anger, but confusion. A young woman, barely more than a teenager, clutched a worn hunting rifle as she spoke to one of the recruiters.
"I just want to help," she said. "I don't care where you put me."
Sarah stepped in, voice steady. "We don't take people who don't care where they're put," she said. "We take people who care enough to know what they're risking."
The girl hesitated.
Sarah crouched slightly to meet her eye level. "Why are you here?"
The girl swallowed. "Because my brother died when the Brotherhood marched through our land on their war with Institute. Didn't even know his name."
Sarah nodded slowly. "And if I tell you to guard a checkpoint instead of chasing a fight?"
The girl's grip tightened on the rifle. Then she nodded. "Then I guard it."
Sarah stood and gestured toward medical screening.
Preston watched that exchange with a tight smile. "She's good."
"She's honest," Sico said. "That's better."
By noon, the sun was high, the mist burned away, and Sanctuary buzzed with controlled movement. Training yards echoed with shouted instructions as early intakes began basic drills that not to make soldiers yet, but to set expectations.
Discipline first.
Obedience second.
Purpose always.
Sico walked the perimeter with Preston later that afternoon, boots crunching on gravel. From the outer fence, they could see the distant hills where Brotherhood scouts had been reported the night before.
"They'll see this," Preston said.
"Yes," Sico replied. "And they'll wonder how long we've been capable of it."
Preston chuckled softly. "Let them wonder."
They stopped near a watchtower where a new recruit stood beside a veteran, learning how to log patrol rotations properly. The recruit's hands shook slightly, but his eyes were steady.
"Name?" Sico asked.
The recruit straightened. "Elias, sir."
"You nervous?" Sico asked.
"Yes, sir," Elias admitted.
"Good," Sico said. "Means you understand the stakes."
As they walked on, Preston glanced at him. "You didn't give a speech."
"No," Sico said. "Speeches are for later. Right now, they need structure."
That evening, as the sun dipped and shadows stretched long across Sanctuary, the line outside HQ finally shortened. Not because interest had waned, but because the Republic had reached its intake limit for the day.
People were turned away to not be rejected, but scheduled. Names taken. Times assigned.
Tomorrow.
And the day after.
Inside the HQ, Sarah removed her gloves and leaned against a table, exhaustion finally showing.
"That's just day one," she said.
Preston handed her a canteen. "You did well."
She took it, drank deeply. "They're not kids playing soldier," she said. "Most of them know exactly why they're here."
"That's what scares me," Preston replied quietly.
Sico entered then, his presence drawing their attention immediately.
"A thousand," he said again. "That's the target."
Sarah studied him. "You're serious."
"I am," Sico said. "Border guard rotations will triple. No Brotherhood patrol crosses unnoticed. No vertibird flies overhead without us knowing where it came from and where it's going."
"And if Maxson pushes anyway?" Preston asked.
"Then he does it knowing he's stepping onto land defended by people who chose to be here," Sico said.
Sarah nodded slowly. "That changes things."
"It already has," Sico replied.
Outside, the last volunteers drifted away toward temporary shelters, some glancing back at the HQ with expressions that mixed fear and pride.
The last volunteers drifted away as night settled fully over Sanctuary.
Lights came on one by one with watchtowers first, then perimeter lamps, then the softer glow from inside the HQ. The compound never truly slept, but it did exhale. Boots slowed. Voices dropped. The Republic eased into another night of guarded calm.
Sico remained by the window long after Sarah and Preston left the room.
Out there, beyond the walls, tents had been erected for recruits who'd arrived too late to be processed. Fires burned low, carefully controlled. Laughter drifted faintly across the yard that not loud, not careless, but human. People sharing food. Stories. Nerves.
A society deciding, collectively, to stand.
He rested one hand against the glass.
Yesterday, the line had been words spoken to Maxson.
Today, it had been people willing to become that line.
And tomorrow would demand structure.
Two days later, the weight finally arrived.
It came not as panic, not as alarm, but as numbers printed neatly across a report pad and the quiet certainty in Sarah's and Preston's eyes when they stood in Sico's office again.
Morning light spilled across the desk, illuminating maps, rosters, training schedules layered so thick they looked like a single document at first glance.
Preston spoke first.
"We hit the mark," he said.
Sico looked up slowly. "Say it again."
"One thousand," Preston repeated. "Verified. Cleared. Signed."
Sarah crossed her arms, fatigue etched into her face but pride there too. "It wasn't easy," she said. "We turned people away. Not because we didn't need them, but because they weren't ready."
Sico nodded once, deeply.
"That matters," he said.
Preston set the roster down on the desk. Names filled page after page. Not just names from ages, backgrounds, prior experience. Farmers. Mechanics. Caravan guards. Former Minutemen. Even a handful of ex-raiders who'd laid down their past lives years ago and now wanted something permanent to protect.
"They're not polished," Preston said. "Some of them barely know which end of a rifle to check first. But they're committed."
"That's harder to teach than marksmanship," Sico replied.
Sarah leaned forward slightly. "Training starts today," she said. "Veterans are already prepped. We're splitting the recruits into companies, no more than they can absorb at once."
"Good," Sico said. "I want discipline built slowly. No shortcuts."
He stood and moved toward the map wall, gesturing for them to follow.
"This is where we're headed," he said, tapping the eastern border.
The line glowed faintly under the map's projection from checkpoints, patrol routes, terrain elevation.
"After one month of training," Sico continued, "I want seven hundred and fifty of them stationed here."
Sarah's eyebrows rose. "That many?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Rotated in shifts. Reinforced by veterans."
Preston frowned slightly. "That leaves two hundred and fifty behind."
"Reserve," Sico said. "Rapid response. Training cadre. Internal security."
He tapped the border again.
"And I want a stronghold," he added.
Sarah glanced at Preston. "Permanent?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Not a camp. Not tents. A hub."
Preston scratched his chin. "That's going to draw attention."
"That's the point," Sico replied calmly. "I want the Brotherhood to see it. To understand that the border isn't theoretical."
Sarah studied the terrain. "We'll need engineers. Supply lines. Defensive emplacements."
"They'll have them," Sico said. "This isn't a provocation. It's a statement."
Preston exhaled slowly. "Maxson won't like it."
"No," Sico agreed. "But he'll respect it."
Training began before noon.
The yards that had once been quiet except for occasional drills now thundered with motion. Recruits stood in uneven lines, boots misaligned, shoulders stiff with nerves. Veterans paced in front of them—not barking, not screaming, but watching.
Learning who listened.
Learning who resisted.
Learning who might break.
Sarah moved like a blade through the formations, correcting posture, pulling individuals aside for quiet words rather than public humiliation. Preston observed from the edges, making notes, identifying natural leaders, quiet stabilizers, potential problems.
Sico watched from an elevated platform.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The veterans took over.
"Listen," one of them said to a group struggling with basic formation. "You don't have to like each other. You don't have to trust each other yet. But you will move together."
Another demonstrated rifle safety for the fifth time, patient but firm. "This thing isn't your anger. It's a tool. Treat it like one."
Some recruits faltered. Some pushed back. A few walked away by evening, realizing they wanted the idea of defense without the discipline that came with it.
No one chased them.
Those who stayed stayed deliberately.
By the end of the first day, the yards were quieter again, but the silence felt earned rather than empty. Sweat-soaked recruits filed toward mess areas. Veterans gathered to debrief.
Sarah joined Sico as he stepped down from the platform.
"They'll need breaking down," she said quietly. "Before we build them back up."
"Yes," Sico said. "But not breaking spirit."
She met his gaze. "I won't."
"I know."
The month that followed reshaped Sanctuary.
Training schedules became the rhythm of the Republic. Dawn drills. Midday instruction. Evening conditioning. Recruits learned patrol procedures, identification protocols, escalation rules. They learned that protecting land meant knowing when not to pull a trigger.
They learned to stand watch without boredom turning into carelessness.
Veterans rotated in and out, mentoring rather than commanding. Bonds formed that not loud, not dramatic, but steady.
Preston spent his days moving between companies, offering quiet encouragement, redirecting tempers before they boiled over. He knew how easily righteous anger could turn destructive.
Sarah oversaw border simulations from mock incursions, false alarms, emergency evacuations. She pushed hard but never past the point of collapse.
Sico observed.
Always observed.
By the third week, the change was visible.
Posture improved. Movements synchronized. Voices quieter, more controlled.
They weren't soldiers yet.
But they were becoming something close.
On the twenty-eighth day, Sico called Sarah and Preston back into his office.
They looked exhausted.
They also looked proud.
"Status," Sico said.
Sarah straightened. "Seven hundred and eighty are ready for border deployment," she said. "We've got a margin to account for injuries, illness, and washouts."
Sico nodded. "I want seven hundred and fifty."
Preston glanced at the map. "We've scouted three potential stronghold locations."
Sico gestured for him to continue.
"This one," Preston said, pointing to a ridge overlooking a main approach route. "Good visibility. Natural choke points. Hard ground for foundations."
Sarah added, "We can fortify it without making it look like a fortress. Defensive, not aggressive."
"That's exactly what I want," Sico said.
He leaned forward slightly.
"This stronghold becomes the face of our border," he said. "It doesn't threaten. It doesn't provoke. It endures."
Preston nodded. "Supply lines are manageable. We can rotate personnel every two weeks to avoid burnout."
"And the Brotherhood?" Sarah asked.
"They'll see construction within days," Sico said. "That's fine."
He looked at both of them.
"I want this done cleanly," he said. "No speeches. No broadcasts. Let them draw their own conclusions."
Sarah smiled faintly. "They'll draw them anyway."
"Yes," Sico said. "But we won't give them excuses."
The first convoy rolled out at dawn.
Seven hundred and fifty soldiers from newly trained that flanked by veterans are moving east in disciplined columns. Vehicles carried materials: concrete slabs, prefabricated walls, generators, communication towers.
Civilians stood along the roads to watch them pass.
Not cheering.
Watching.
A farmer removed his hat. A mother lifted her child so he could see. An old man leaned on his cane and nodded once.
The soldiers noticed.
They straightened just a little more.
By nightfall, the foundation of the stronghold was laid.
By the end of the week, walls rose.
By the end of the month, lights burned on the ridge, visible for miles.
Brotherhood scouts watched from afar.
They did not cross.
Back in Sanctuary, Sico stood once more at the window of his office.
Preston joined him, arms folded.
"They've adjusted their patrols," Preston said. "Pulled back another kilometer."
"Good," Sico replied.
Sarah entered moments later, dust still on her boots.
"The stronghold's operational," she said. "Command hub, med bay, comms. Border's tighter than it's ever been."
Sico closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
"Then we've done our job," he said.
Night fell over Sanctuary with the slow certainty of something that knew it would not be challenged.
The stronghold lights far to the east were just barely visible from the upper levels of Freemasons HQ with tiny, steady points against the darkened horizon. They didn't blaze. They didn't sweep the sky. They simply existed, calm and unwavering, like a quiet declaration written in electricity and concrete.
Sico stood at his office window again, as he so often did at the end of days that mattered.
Below, the compound had settled into its evening rhythm. Patrols rotated. Generators hummed. The faint clatter of mess tins echoed once, then faded. Somewhere, a pair of soldiers laughed softly at something only they understood, the sound carrying for a moment before discipline reclaimed the night.
The Republic breathed.
Behind him, the office was dim, lit only by desk lamps and the soft glow of map projections idling in standby. Papers lay stacked neatly now from reports filed, decisions logged, orders issued. For once, there was nothing immediate demanding his voice.
That was when the radio chirped.
Not the sharp crackle of an open channel.
Not the routine ping of patrol check-ins.
This was different.
A low, precise tone with three pulses, a pause, then two more. A signal that hadn't sounded in a very long time.
Sico's hand moved before conscious thought caught up. He crossed the room and lifted the radio from its cradle, eyes narrowing as he read the identifier scrolling across the small screen.
ENCRYPTED CHANNEL
LEVEL: BLACK
SOURCE: UNKNOWN (AUTH KEY PENDING)
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached out and activated the signal scrambler embedded into the desk. The room hummed faintly as the walls themselves became soundproof, shielding the conversation from even the most sophisticated listening devices the Brotherhood or the Institute might be running.
Only then did he bring the radio closer.
"This is Sico," he said calmly. "Identify yourself."
There was a pause.
Static whispered across the channel, layered, filtered, deliberate. Whoever was on the other end was taking care with routing through multiple relays, masking origin points, ensuring this conversation could not be traced easily.
Finally, a voice cut through.
Low. Controlled. Familiar.
"This is Paladin Danse," the voice said. "Authentication code follows."
A string of numbers and phrases followed with old ones, agreed upon long before borders hardened and alliances grew sharp edges. Sico listened without interrupting, fingers resting lightly against the radio casing.
When the code finished, he responded immediately.
"Authenticated," Sico said. "Go ahead."
Another pause.
Then Danse exhaled, just barely audible over the channel.
"He's furious," Danse said.
Sico didn't react outwardly. He returned to the window, looking once more toward the distant lights of the stronghold.
"I assumed as much," he replied.
Danse's voice tightened slightly. "You assumed correctly. Today's council meeting wasn't… productive."
Sico waited.
"Maxson expected pressure," Danse continued. "Diplomacy through proximity. He thought if the Brotherhood positioned itself close enough, if the Institute remained the obvious threat, you'd eventually bend."
"And now?" Sico asked.
"And now," Danse said, "you've built a wall without calling it one."
Sico allowed himself a faint, humorless smile.
Danse went on.
"The stronghold changed the calculus. Completely. It blocks the eastern corridor. The flanking route we were counting on, gone."
Sico closed his eyes briefly.
That, at least, confirmed what he already knew.
"You've forced the Brotherhood to reconsider its entire approach to the Institute," Danse said. "And Maxson does not like being forced."
"I didn't build it for his convenience," Sico replied evenly.
"No," Danse said. "You built it to deny him leverage."
"Yes."
Another pause, longer this time.
"When the imagery came in," Danse said quietly, "he didn't speak at first. Just stared at the projections. The walls. The patrol routes. The rotation schedules."
Sico could picture it vividly with Maxson standing at the head of a steel table, jaw set, eyes burning, surrounded by officers waiting for direction.
"When he finally did," Danse continued, "he accused you of sabotaging the war effort."
Sico turned slightly, leaning his shoulder against the window frame.
"And did you agree with him?" he asked.
There was hesitation on the other end now.
"Not entirely," Danse admitted.
That answer mattered more than Danse probably realized.
"He argued that your neutrality was a mask," Danse went on. "That the Republic was deliberately hemming us in, forcing the Brotherhood into a frontal assault instead of a surgical strike."
"And that angers him," Sico said.
"Yes," Danse confirmed. "Because it costs lives. Brotherhood lives."
"And civilian lives on our side, if he had his way," Sico replied.
Danse didn't disagree.
"He said," Danse continued carefully, "that you're playing at governance while others do the hard work."
Sico exhaled slowly through his nose.
"He always confuses restraint with cowardice," Sico said. "It's a convenient belief for someone who's never had to rebuild what he breaks."
Danse was silent for a moment.
Then, quietly, "He ordered contingency planning."
Sico's expression hardened.
"Against the Republic?"
"Not openly," Danse said. "Not yet. But he's requested full threat assessments. Logistics projections. Worst-case scenarios."
Sico nodded once.
"That was inevitable."
"Maybe," Danse said. "But the tone has shifted. This isn't just irritation anymore. It's personal."
Sico looked again at the stronghold lights in the distance.
"Did he say anything else?" he asked.
Danse hesitated again.
"Yes," he said. "He said that you've made the Freemasons Republic a strategic obstacle. Not a neutral party."
"And obstacles get removed," Sico said softly.
Danse didn't respond immediately.
When he did, his voice was lower.
"That's why I'm calling," he said. "Unofficially. Against protocol."
Sico turned from the window fully now, his attention sharp.
"I figured," he said.
"There are voices within the Brotherhood that don't agree with him," Danse continued. "Quiet ones. Careful ones. But Maxson's authority is… absolute."
"Until it isn't," Sico said.
Danse let out a short breath. "You're playing a dangerous game."
Sico's reply was immediate.
"No," he said. "I'm refusing to play his."
Another silence.
Outside, a patrol passed beneath the office window, boots crunching in unison. The sound grounded him.
"Paladin," Sico said, his voice calm but firm. "You didn't contact me just to vent."
"No," Danse agreed. "I contacted you to warn you."
"About what?"
"About escalation," Danse said. "Maxson won't challenge your border directly, not yet. But he'll look for pressure points."
"Such as?"
"Supply routes. Trade partners. Influence," Danse said. "He'll try to isolate you politically if he can't move through you militarily."
Sico absorbed that without comment.
"And the Institute?" he asked.
Danse's tone darkened. "They're already probing. Synth sightings near Brotherhood fallback points. Interference with our comms. They know the flanking option is gone."
"So they'll adapt," Sico said.
"Yes," Danse replied. "Just like everyone else."
Sico leaned back against the desk, folding his arms.
"Maxson's anger doesn't surprise me," he said. "But his inability to adapt does."
Danse snorted softly. "You'd be surprised how far conviction carries a man."
"I've seen," Sico said.
A beat passed.
"You should know," Danse added, "that some of his officers argued against pressing you. They pointed out the risk of opening a second front."
"And?" Sico asked.
"And he overruled them," Danse said. "Said the Republic would fold under pressure."
Sico's jaw tightened slightly.
"That was a mistake," he said.
Danse allowed a hint of grim amusement. "I told him that."
"I imagine that went over well."
"I'm still breathing," Danse said. "So there's that."
Sico almost smiled.
"Paladin," Sico said, "why are you really helping us?"
There it was.
The question Danse had likely been expecting.
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Because I've seen what happens when the Brotherhood stops seeing people and starts seeing terrain," Danse said quietly. "And because despite everything… your Republic reminds me of what we were supposed to protect."
Sico didn't respond immediately.
When he did, his voice was softer.
"Then you're welcome here," he said. "As long as you choose that path."
Danse exhaled slowly. "Careful. If Maxson knew I was saying this—"
"He doesn't," Sico said. "And he won't."
Silence settled again.
Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of oil and night-blooming plants from the outskirts of Sanctuary.
"What happens now?" Danse asked.
Sico looked once more toward the east.
"Now," he said, "we continue exactly as planned."
"And if Maxson pushes harder?"
"Then he reveals his hand," Sico replied. "And loses what little claim to righteousness he still has."
Danse nodded, though Sico couldn't see it.
"I'll keep listening," Danse said. "For as long as I can."
"That's all I ask," Sico replied.
The channel crackled.
"One more thing," Danse added. "Be careful, Sico. You didn't just block a route."
"I know," Sico said.
"You challenged his authority," Danse finished.
Sico's gaze hardened.
"Good," he said. "It needed challenging."
The transmission ended.
The radio fell silent.
Sico stood alone in the office, the hum of the scrambler slowly fading as it powered down. For a long moment, he didn't move.
Maxson was angry.
That much had been inevitable.
But anger, when combined with wounded pride, had a way of turning predictable men into dangerous ones.
He turned back to the window.
The stronghold lights still burned steadily.
Tomorrow, there would be new reports. New pressures. New tests.
The Brotherhood would adapt. The Institute would strike. And the Republic would stand between forces that had no patience for borders drawn by consent rather than conquest.
______________________________________________
• 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:-