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They stood there for another long moment — side by side, looking out over the Republic. Below them, Sanctuary pulsed with life, every heartbeat of the community echoing the future they'd fought to create.
The next morning broke cooler than most — the kind of dawn that carried a stillness across Sanctuary, like the world itself was pausing to take a long, quiet breath before the day began. The sun had barely crested the ridges east of the valley, and a thin veil of mist hung over the farmlands, curling in soft ribbons above the newly plowed soil.
Sico was already awake, his boots striking softly against the cobblestone path as he made his way toward the command center. The air smelled faintly of dew and diesel — two scents that had come to define the Republic's mornings. The streets were quieter at this hour; only the early patrols and supply workers were out, exchanging nods as he passed.
He liked it this way. The quiet before the rhythm began.
By the time he reached the main hall — the heart of the Republic's leadership — the first rays of sunlight were spilling through the large windows, cutting sharp lines across the polished floor. The command hall itself had grown since the early days: maps now covered one wall entirely, pins marking out every outpost and relay tower across the Commonwealth. A large central table stood in the middle, littered with reports, holotapes, and schematics.
Sarah Lyons stood near the far end, her arms folded as she studied the tactical map. She was in uniform, her armor plates polished to a muted shine, her blond hair tied neatly at the back. Preston Garvey was beside her, looking over a stack of radio operation plans spread across a clipboard. He looked tired — not in the defeated way, but in the steady, worn manner of someone who'd been awake since before dawn ensuring everything was ready for the day's patrol rotations.
Sico's boots clicked against the floor as he approached, and both of them turned to greet him.
"Morning, Sico," Preston said first, straightening up. "You're early."
Sico gave a faint smirk. "So are you. I guess none of us sleep much these days."
Sarah's lips twitched into a brief smile. "You've trained us too well."
Sico chuckled lowly, then gestured toward the table. "I've got some updates — and a bit of good news."
That caught Sarah's interest immediately. "Good news? That's rare."
"Depends how you see it," he said, setting a small stack of notes down before them. "I spoke with Piper yesterday."
Preston raised a brow. "About the radio?"
Sico nodded. "Yes. She's agreed to the transition."
Sarah straightened, her tone turning sharp and professional. "You mean Radio of Freedom?"
"That's right," Sico confirmed. "Effective immediately, it'll be transferred under the Republic Defense Network. It'll serve as our military communication line — requests for aid, field updates, mission coordination, emergency responses. Every soldier, every patrol, every settlement guard with a receiver will have access to it."
Preston's expression shifted from mild curiosity to something closer to respect. "That's… big. Real big, sir. That channel already has reach across nearly the entire Commonwealth. If we repurpose it right, we could respond to distress calls in minutes instead of hours."
Sico nodded. "Exactly. That's the idea. But there's more."
He reached over, tapping one of the maps on the table — a rough layout of the Republic's territory, dotted with dozens of settlement markers connected by red lines and green routes. "Once a distress call goes out, it won't just reach us anymore. It'll reach everyone in range. That means if a nearby settlement's militia or Freemason patrol hears the signal, they can move in first — buy time until our forces arrive."
Sarah's brows rose slightly. "You're giving civilian settlements access to the alert network?"
"Yes," Sico said simply. "Under strict protocol, of course. But I want every outpost to have a chance to help each other. If the Republic means unity, then our defense shouldn't just come from the top down. It should come from every community that believes in what we stand for."
Preston's face broke into a small grin, the kind that only showed when he genuinely admired an idea. "That's… brilliant, actually. It's exactly what the Minutemen used to dream about — neighbors helping neighbors, all connected through one signal. No more isolated towns falling before help can reach them."
Sico gave a faint nod, his tone steady. "That's what we're going for. A real network of mutual defense. We've been stretched thin lately, especially with the Brotherhood conflict pulling our soldiers south. This way, settlements can act as the first line of response."
Sarah circled the table slowly, studying the idea with that sharp, strategic eye of hers. "It'll work," she said finally, though her tone carried that cautious weight of someone already running through contingencies in her mind. "But we'll need tight frequency encryption. The last thing we need is enemies hijacking the channel or broadcasting false distress calls."
"Already in motion," Sico replied. "Sturges's team is setting up relay encryption as we speak. Mel's providing the algorithms — something about adaptive frequency rotation that changes every twelve hours. Even if someone cracks one code, it'll shift before they can use it."
Sarah gave a small approving nod. "Good. That's solid."
Preston was still flipping through the plans, a thoughtful look settling on his face. "This'll change everything out there. I mean… I've seen what it's like when a settlement sends out a flare and waits days for help. But now? They'll have a voice. A real one. That matters."
Sico watched him quietly for a moment. "That's exactly why Piper agreed to it. She understood what it meant. Radio of Freedom started as a beacon of hope — and it'll stay that way. Only now, it'll be a call for unity too."
Sarah smiled faintly, crossing her arms. "And her new station?"
"She'll have one," Sico said, tone softening slightly. "Freemasons Radio. It'll go live in three days. Public news, cultural broadcasts, interviews — everything the people need to feel connected. It'll be her domain, and her voice will reach farther than ever before."
Preston chuckled lightly. "So the people get their voice, and we get our ears. That's one hell of a deal."
Sico allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. "That's the goal."
Sarah leaned against the edge of the table, studying him. "You know, Sico, sometimes I forget just how much of this is built on your ability to think five steps ahead. You could've easily just turned the radio into another command tool, but instead, you made it a bridge."
Sico shrugged slightly. "The Republic isn't a fortress, Sarah. It's a network of people — all of them carrying a piece of what we're trying to build. If we forget that, we'll end up just like the Brotherhood or the Institute."
Sarah's expression softened, a faint glint of pride flickering in her eyes. "You really believe in them, don't you? The people."
He met her gaze evenly. "I do. Always have."
Preston smiled faintly, his voice quieter now. "That's why they follow you."
The room fell into a comfortable silence for a moment — the kind that needed no explanation.
Outside, the faint hum of machinery and morning chatter filtered through the windows. The world beyond these walls was still rough, still uncertain, but in here, there was direction. There was purpose.
Sarah eventually broke the silence, pushing herself off the table. "Alright. We'll begin transition immediately. I'll have the Communications Division start rerouting the Radio of Freedom frequencies to our command relay. Preston, you handle the regional posts — make sure every outpost captain knows how to use the new protocol."
Preston nodded. "Already on it. I'll also get the training units to run practice drills — simulated distress calls, timed responses. Let's see how fast we can get help from point to point."
"Good," Sico said. "And once it's stable, I want a test broadcast sent out across the region. A simple message — something every settlement can recognize when they hear it."
Sarah tilted her head slightly. "What kind of message?"
Sico thought for a moment, then replied quietly, "Something like… 'The Republic stands with you. You are not alone.'"
Preston smiled, nodding. "Has a nice ring to it."
Sarah agreed, her tone soft but approving. "Direct. Honest. I like it."
They both looked at Sico again, and for a brief moment, he seemed to allow himself a breath of quiet pride.
It wasn't about speeches or slogans — it was about connection. For the first time since the bombs, the Commonwealth wasn't just surviving. It was talking to itself again.
A few moments later, the doors opened and one of the communications officers stepped in, saluting sharply. "Commander, ma'am, sir — transmission nodes are warming up for rerouting. We'll have the Radio of Freedom frequencies switched to the command net within the hour."
Sarah nodded. "Good work. Keep the transition seamless. We can't afford to lose contact during setup."
"Yes, ma'am," the officer replied before hurrying out.
As the door closed behind him, Sico turned back to his two senior officers. "Once the change goes live, I want to monitor the response across the region. See which settlements react first. That'll tell us who's most prepared — and who still needs reinforcement."
Preston grinned. "Smart move. We'll learn who our strongholds are."
Sarah smirked faintly. "And maybe we'll inspire a few others to step up, too."
Sico gave a nod. "That's the hope."
He took a step back, letting his gaze linger once more on the sprawling map before them — all those dots, each one representing a community that had once been alone in the dark. Soon, they'd be linked by sound. By trust.
By something stronger than walls.
Sarah's voice cut softly through his thoughts. "I'll coordinate with Sturges and the engineers to expand the radio tower range beyond Lexington. We'll need a stronger backbone if this network's going to reach the far settlements."
Sico nodded. "Good. Tell them to prioritize the northern relay stations first. If we can connect the Red Rocket outposts near the border, it'll help the entire northern region stay linked."
Preston chuckled as he adjusted his hat. "Looks like Founding Day's coming with more than fireworks this year."
Sico gave a faint grin. "It's coming with something better — connection."
For the next hour, the command center buzzed with movement. Officers came and went, couriers relayed orders, and the faint sound of static occasionally cut through the radio consoles as technicians rerouted frequencies. Sarah worked efficiently, her voice sharp but calm as she oversaw coordination, while Preston dispatched field teams to test the outposts' receivers.
Sico stood near the main terminal, watching it all unfold with a quiet, steady pride.
Every light that blinked green on the console meant another settlement connected. Another voice joined the chorus.
And somewhere far out in the Commonwealth — in a farmhouse, a workshop, a guard post — someone would soon hear that simple message through the static:
"The Republic stands with you. You are not alone."
It wasn't just a broadcast. It was a promise.
The next morning, the sky over Sanctuary broke in pale gold, painting the rooftops and the distant treeline in warm light. The air smelled of dust, morning bread from the plaza bakery, and the faint ozone hum of the generators kicking into their daily rhythm. It was a day that felt alive — one of those rare mornings where the world didn't seem like a remnant of ruin, but something reborn.
Sico stood at the base of the scaffolding as Sturges and his engineering crew worked overhead, their shouts and laughter blending with the clang of tools. The site was just a few hundred feet from Freemasons HQ — close enough for protection, but far enough to feel like its own pulse of life. The building was new — still half skeleton, half vision. Steel beams rose in clean lines, surrounded by stacks of polished concrete panels and wiring coils.
At its center, a tall antenna mast was being lifted into place — the future voice of Freemasons Radio.
Sico squinted up against the sun, a gloved hand shading his eyes. "You think that mast's gonna hold, Sturges?"
From above, Sturges' drawl carried down through the morning air. "Boss, I've built bridges outta worse scrap than this. Trust me, this baby could take a Behemoth punch and still sing your anthem!"
One of the younger techs laughed nervously as he bolted down the base clamps. Sico smirked faintly — Sturges had always had that blend of confidence and madness that somehow made the impossible seem doable.
Beside him, Piper was perched on a low crate, her coat half unbuttoned and her hair tied back messily, a notepad resting against her knee. She was watching the whole process with a journalist's curiosity, her pencil tapping against the page.
"So this is it," she said finally, her tone a mix of wonder and disbelief. "My new empire, huh?"
Sico glanced at her. "That's one way to put it."
She grinned, the kind of grin that carried both nerves and excitement. "You realize this is the first actual radio station in the Commonwealth built after the bombs, right? Not some salvaged pre-war relic, not some bunker transmitter — a real, honest-to-God station."
Sico's mouth curved slightly. "That's the point. Something new. Something that belongs to this world — not the old one."
Piper's gaze softened a bit as she looked around at the construction. "You really don't do small gestures, do you, Sico?"
He shrugged lightly. "You don't build hope halfway."
Sturges jumped down from the scaffolding just then, wiping sweat from his forehead with a rag. "A'ight, that's the antenna mount done. We're runnin' power lines straight from the HQ grid, so she'll have juice even if the rest of the town blacks out. Next up, we wire up the control booth."
Piper arched an eyebrow. "Control booth?"
Sturges grinned and pointed with his wrench toward the unfinished first floor. "Oh, yeah. We're talkin' state-of-the-art setup — well, as state-of-the-art as you can get with twenty-first-century junkyard tech. You'll have a mixer console, dual mic array, pre-war signal modulator, the works. Even a window that looks out at the plaza. You'll be able to see the people while you talk to 'em."
Piper's eyes lit up at that, and she stood, brushing dust from her coat. "You're serious?"
"Sure am," Sturges said proudly. "Sico said this wasn't just gonna be a box with an antenna — he wants a home for stories. So that's what we're buildin'."
Piper turned to Sico, her expression softening in a way she rarely showed. "You said that?"
He gave a modest shrug. "You're not just reporting news, Piper. You're shaping how people remember it. Might as well give you a view worth remembering."
Her smile this time wasn't teasing or sharp — it was warm, almost quiet. "That's… damn poetic for a guy who usually speaks in mission briefings."
Sico chuckled under his breath. "Don't get used to it."
As the crew resumed their work, the soundscape filled again with the clang of wrenches and the crackle of welders. Sparks flew against the sunlight as beams met steel. The skeleton of the building was slowly transforming into something solid — not just a structure, but a symbol.
Piper walked a slow circle around the site, her fingers brushing one of the unfinished walls. "You know, I used to dream about this kind of thing when I was stuck in that old shack in Diamond City. A real newsroom — one that reached beyond the walls, beyond the fear. I wanted people to feel connected again. But this…" She turned toward Sico, shaking her head with a small laugh. "This is something else."
Sico's gaze followed her as she spoke, the faintest smile playing on his lips. "You've earned it. You gave the people a voice when we didn't have one. Now we're just giving that voice a microphone big enough for the whole Commonwealth to hear."
She tilted her head slightly. "Speaking of microphones — I'm gonna need a crew."
"Already thought about that," Sico said, his tone shifting into that calm, decisive cadence that meant he'd already planned two steps ahead. "Since your old Radio of Freedom team's been reassigned to military comms, you'll need a new team for Freemasons Radio. You can recruit anyone you trust — writers, speakers, sound techs, whoever you want. Just keep it civilian."
Piper arched a brow. "You're giving me full control?"
"You'll be under the Republic, yes," he said. "But not the command chain. Freemasons Radio will be independent — free press. Within reason."
Her lips quirked into a grin. "So no propaganda orders, no speech vetting, no government mouthpieces?"
"Not from me," he said firmly. "I meant it when I said your voice needs to stay honest. The Republic doesn't need another chain of command — it needs a conscience."
For a moment, she just stared at him, caught somewhere between admiration and disbelief. "You're a strange leader, Sico. You build armies and radio towers with the same conviction."
He smiled faintly. "They both fight for the same thing — just in different ways."
She chuckled at that, shaking her head. "Alright then, I'll take you up on that. I already have a few names in mind. There's a kid named Eli working in the press office — quick with words, good voice for reading bulletins. And maybe Lucy from the school — she used to teach broadcast literacy to the settlers' kids. She's sharp, reliable."
"Recruit them," Sico said without hesitation. "Anyone else you think fits, add them to your roster. Sturges'll help with training them on the equipment."
Sturges, crouched nearby with a cable in hand, grinned without looking up. "Sure thing, boss."
The morning wore on into afternoon. The sun climbed high, baking the dirt around the construction site. Settlers stopped occasionally to watch — curious, whispering to each other as they passed by. Everyone in Sanctuary knew what was being built here. Word had spread quickly: The President's giving Piper Wright her own radio station.
To most, it wasn't just news — it was a sign. Another piece of the Republic's promise coming true.
By noon, the antenna stood tall and locked in, its shadow stretching across the plaza. Inside, the framing for the studio's main room was nearly complete — a rectangular space with a large viewing window facing the street. A pre-war "ON AIR" sign, scavenged from some ancient radio shop in Cambridge, sat on a table nearby, its faded red lettering waiting to glow again.
Sico stood with Sturges and Piper inside the half-finished studio. Dust swirled lazily in the shafts of light cutting through the wooden beams.
"So this'll be where you sit," Sturges said, tapping a rough-outlined area on the floor. "We'll put your mic and console right here. And that back corner? Storage for tapes and notes. Maybe a coffee machine if I can rig one that doesn't explode."
Piper grinned. "You had me at coffee."
Sturges winked. "Then we're already halfway to success."
Sico walked to the large window frame that overlooked the plaza. The view was perfect — you could see the fountain, the market stalls, the flag fluttering above HQ. "This," he said quietly, "is where people will hear the Republic's heart."
Piper followed his gaze, standing beside him. "And its truth," she added softly.
He nodded. "That too."
The hum of the generator filled the pause that followed, a low steady rhythm like a heartbeat under the floor. Piper took a deep breath, the scent of metal and dust mixing with sunlight. "You ever think about how far we've come, Sico? A year ago, we were just a bunch of survivors with half a gun and less of a plan. Now… this."
Sico looked out at the plaza again, the faintest smile touching his lips. "Sometimes I wonder if the world even realizes how close it came to staying silent forever. Every voice we bring back — every light we turn on — it's another piece of humanity stitched back into place."
Piper nodded slowly. "Guess that makes this little booth of mine one big sewing needle, huh?"
He chuckled. "Exactly."
For a while, they simply stood there, watching the workers move through beams of sunlight and dust. The building was still rough, still incomplete — but even in its unfinished state, it felt alive.
Later that day, as the sun dipped toward the west and the sky turned copper, the team finally finished securing the transmission cables. Sparks flared one last time as Sturges connected the power conduit to the main relay.
"Alright," he said, wiping his hands. "We're live — well, half-live. Signal's running through the antenna, but we ain't broadcastin' yet. Gotta tune the frequency first."
Piper crouched near the console, her fingers brushing the dials reverently. "It's… real," she whispered. "All of it."
Sico stepped closer. "You ready to make it official tomorrow?"
She looked up at him, her eyes catching the orange glow of the sunset. "Yeah," she said softly. "I think I am."
He nodded once, firm. "Then tomorrow, the Commonwealth hears your voice again. Freemasons Radio — first broadcast, first day of a new era."
Piper smiled slowly, her voice steady and certain. "Then let's make it count."
Two days later, the world woke to the sound of Sanctuary stirring earlier than usual.
The first light was pale and soft, washing the rooftops in silver before the sunrise claimed them in gold. From the plaza to the far fields, people were already out — drawn not by orders, but by curiosity. Something was happening today. Something they'd been whispering about for weeks, though it had truly begun only days ago.
Freemasons Radio was going live.
The new building stood proud now — its steel skeleton clothed in clean white siding and wide glass panes that caught the morning light. The tall antenna on the roof glimmered faintly, rising high above the square like a new kind of flag. A fresh coat of paint on the front wall spelled out the station's name in bold stenciled letters:
FREEMASONS RADIO — VOICE OF THE REPUBLIC.
Underneath, smaller script read: "Truth belongs to the people."
The inside smelled of new wiring and coffee — the unmistakable scent of a place about to begin something meaningful. The studio's lights were warm, the equipment alive with the faint hum of electricity. The "ON AIR" sign above the glass window, its old red letters cleaned and restored, waited quietly for its first glow in more than two centuries.
Piper stood just beyond the main control booth, her palms pressed against the cool edge of the mixing console. She'd been here since before dawn, checking everything twice — her notes stacked neatly beside her, mic positioned perfectly, the headphones resting lightly around her neck.
She had done this a thousand times before — back in Diamond City, in the cramped office of Publick Occurrences with walls patched by yellowed paper and candle soot. But this… this was different. This wasn't just her. This was the Republic's first heartbeat carried through the air.
Her reflection in the window looked almost unfamiliar — confident, but humbled. A woman who had clawed her way through chaos to be here.
Behind her, the room buzzed quietly with movement. Eli, the young man she'd recruited from the press office, adjusted the transmission settings on the secondary console. His hands trembled slightly, but his focus never wavered. Lucy — calm, collected, and steady — was setting up the recording archive, labeling holotapes in neat, careful handwriting. She'd been a teacher once; now she was helping write history.
And Sturges, naturally, was hunched over a tangle of cables near the floor, mumbling to himself and grinning like a man who was born in a scrapyard. "There we go… one more voltage tweak and she'll sing sweet as a nightingale," he muttered.
Piper turned toward him, arms crossed. "You sure this 'sweet nightingale' won't burst into flames the second I hit the button?"
Sturges shot her a grin without looking up. "If she does, at least the folks'll hear somethin' before it goes! But nah, trust me — I triple-checked the whole line. The moment you speak, half the Commonwealth's gonna be listenin'."
Piper's smirk softened into something smaller — part pride, part disbelief. "You make it sound like we're lighting a beacon."
Sturges looked up finally, wiping his hands on a rag. "Ain't that exactly what we're doin'? Lightin' one you can't see, but can sure as hell feel."
She smiled at that, the truth of it sitting heavy and bright inside her chest.
The door opened then, and a figure stepped in — tall, composed, the kind of presence that made the air straighten up.
Sico.
He wasn't in full armor today — just his uniform shirt with the sleeves rolled, the insignia of the Republic stitched faintly against the shoulder. There was a certain stillness in him, the quiet kind that came from someone who understood the weight of the moment before him.
"Morning, everyone," he greeted, his voice low but warm.
"President," Sturges called from the corner. "You're just in time. The lady's about to make history."
Sico smiled faintly. "Good. Wouldn't want to miss it."
He crossed the room slowly, his boots soft against the polished floor. Piper turned toward him, trying to hide the flutter of nerves she hadn't felt in years. "Didn't expect you to show before the signal went live."
"Of course I did," he said simply. "You don't launch the Republic's first radio without a sendoff."
She tilted her head slightly, half amused. "Sendoff, huh? You planning to give a speech?"
He shook his head. "No. That's your job. My part's simple — I just came to remind you of something."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "What's that?"
"That this isn't about us," he said softly, his gaze steady. "It's about them — every settler, every wanderer, every voice out there still wondering if the world's listening. Today, you prove it is."
The words hit deeper than she expected. For a moment, she didn't answer. Then she smiled, slow and genuine. "You've got a habit of saying the right thing at the right time, you know that?"
"Occupational hazard," he replied with a faint grin.
She laughed quietly, then turned toward the mic. "Well then, I guess it's time to find out if the world's ready to listen."
Eli gave a small nod from the side console. "Transmitter's primed, signal is stable."
Lucy added softly, "Relay towers are green across the network. We're ready when you are."
Piper took a slow, deep breath. The headphones felt heavier now, not because of weight, but because of what they meant. She adjusted the mic slightly closer, fingers brushing the cold metal.
Sico stepped back near the wall, folding his arms, his eyes never leaving her.
Sturges flicked a switch near the main panel — the old "ON AIR" sign blinked once, then glowed red, its color reflecting faintly in Piper's eyes.
The air inside the studio shifted — the way it always did right before something big.
Silence, and then—
"Good morning, Commonwealth."
Piper's voice carried through the static like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"This is Piper Wright — and you're listening to Freemasons Radio, broadcasting live from Sanctuary, heart of the Freemasons Republic. Yeah, I know — sounds fancy, doesn't it? But believe me, it's as real as the ground under your boots."
Her voice steadied, clear, alive. The same tone that once challenged mayors and raiders alike now carried a new purpose — not just to question, but to connect.
"It's been… a long road to get here," she continued, a smile audible in her voice. "For a long time, the Commonwealth was a place where voices went quiet — where truth got buried under rubble and gunfire. But not anymore. Today, we're taking that silence and turning it into something better."
She glanced up briefly through the glass. Outside, settlers had begun to gather near the plaza, their faces lifted toward the loudspeakers that hung from lamp posts and rooftops.
"This station," Piper went on, "isn't about politics or power. It's about people. About the ones who build, protect, heal, and hope. It's about the farmer who keeps the lights on in a town two hundred miles away, the engineer who fixes a radio tower so a family can call for help, and the soldiers who stand between us and the darkness. You're the Republic. You're the reason this place is alive."
Her hand found the small notepad beside her, the one filled with her scribbled thoughts and crossed-out lines. She didn't read from it — she didn't need to.
"I want you to know that this frequency — this voice — belongs to all of us. You'll hear news here, stories from every settlement that wants to share them. You'll hear music — some old, some new, maybe even a few broken records from before the war. You'll hear laughter, debate, sometimes even disagreement. Because that's what freedom sounds like."
A soft exhale followed, almost a sigh, but more like relief.
"And to those of you still out there, listening from the edge of nowhere… I want you to remember something. The Republic stands with you. You are not alone."
Outside, the crowd had gone utterly silent. You could almost feel the air vibrate with the weight of her words.
Piper paused, then smiled faintly. "So, Commonwealth… welcome home."
The red light above the booth flickered gently, steady as a heartbeat.
For a moment after she finished speaking, no one said a word inside the studio.
Then Sturges, who'd been watching the meters like a hawk, let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. That was somethin' else."
Eli was grinning ear to ear. "Signal's clean across the board, ma'am. Reports coming in already from Concord and Lexington — they heard every word."
Lucy's eyes were shining, her voice quiet. "They're replying on the feedback channel… settlers are sending greetings back."
Piper turned slowly toward the window. Outside, she could see it — people gathered in small clusters, heads tilted toward the loudspeakers, faces bright with something raw and rare: hope.
Children laughed as the next segment began — a soft hum of music that Sturges had patched through from an old pre-war tape. Someone clapped near the fountain; others followed. Soon the plaza was filled with applause that carried all the way to the building.
Sico, still standing near the wall, finally stepped forward. "They heard you," he said quietly. "All of them."
Piper turned to him, her voice unsteady but full of light. "Feels strange," she admitted. "I've written a thousand headlines, but nothing ever… moved like that."
"That's because headlines tell," he said. "Voices reach."
She smiled softly, shaking her head. "You really need to stop sounding like you're giving speeches."
He chuckled. "Occupational hazard, remember?"
For the next hour, the broadcast continued — Lucy reading updates from settlements across the north, Eli delivering a calm weather report, Sturges even cracking a joke about rebuilding an antenna with duct tape and "a little bit of hope." It wasn't polished, but it was real — the kind of broadcast you felt more than you heard.
Sico eventually stepped outside. The plaza was alive now — people smiling, talking, laughing in a way that hadn't existed here before. The flag above HQ fluttered in the breeze, and the air smelled faintly of dust and sunlight and life.
Children chased each other near the fountain, humming along to the faint tune coming through the speakers. An old man leaned on his cane, tears in his eyes as he whispered, "It's been so long since I heard a voice like that."
Sico just stood there for a while, hands in his pockets, watching. The Republic — his Republic — was breathing.
Back inside, Piper finally removed her headphones, setting them gently on the console. Her voice was softer now, almost awed. "That's it," she said, half to herself. "We're really here."
Sturges looked up from the controls. "Oh, we're just gettin' started. Give it a few weeks, and folks'll be sendin' stories, songs, maybe even recipes."
Lucy chuckled lightly. "And you'll find a way to play them all."
Piper smiled. "That's the plan."
The door opened again, and Sico stepped back in. The sound from the plaza filtered faintly through — laughter, footsteps, life.
"You did good," he said simply.
Piper looked up at him, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "We did good," she corrected. "You gave me the chance. Sturges built the dream. And they—" she nodded toward Lucy and Eli "—gave it a voice."
He inclined his head slightly. "Then let's make sure that voice never goes quiet again."
She met his gaze, her expression firm. "Count on it."
That evening, as the sun dipped low and the sky turned violet, the glow from Freemasons Radio spilled out across the plaza. The red "ON AIR" sign still burned softly in the window, a beacon in the fading light.
And somewhere far beyond Sanctuary — in the broken skeletons of old towns, in distant outposts, in quiet, hopeful homes — people listened.
For the first time in generations, the Commonwealth was connected not by survival, but by sound.
And as Piper's recorded sign-off echoed through the static — "The Republic stands with you. You are not alone." —
Sico stood on the balcony of HQ, looking out over the valley. The wind caught his coat, carrying the sound faintly across the hills.
________________________________________________
• 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:-