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The stars above were faint, hidden behind thin clouds, but he could still see them flickering—like distant embers refusing to go out. Somewhere out there, in the wasteland, Paladin Danse was sitting alone, thinking. Maybe staring out a window the same way. Maybe realizing that the war he'd been fighting wasn't against enemies, but against the part of himself that still wanted to believe in something better.
The next morning came gray and cold, the kind of dawn that felt more like an echo of the night before than the start of something new. The Commonwealth sky was washed in muted silver, the sun struggling to pierce through a thin veil of mist rolling across the hills. In a motel on the outskirts of Sanctuary's southern valley, a single light flickered behind a boarded window.
Inside that room, Paladin Danse sat on the edge of a rusted metal bed, the springs creaking beneath the weight of his armor. His helmet was off, lying on the small table beside an old radio transmitter patched together with scavenged wires and military-grade parts. The static from the speaker hissed like a whispering ghost, waiting for a voice that might never come.
Danse's gloved hands hovered over the transmitter controls for a long time before he finally reached out and tuned the frequency. His reflection in the cracked mirror beside the bed looked like a stranger — tired, hollow-eyed, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw betraying nights of sleeplessness. The Brotherhood insignia on his shoulder plate still gleamed faintly, but even that seemed to weigh heavier than usual, like a badge carved into his skin rather than sewn into his armor.
He exhaled slowly, then pressed the transmission key.
"Paladin Danse to Elder Maxson. Code alpha-zero-four-delta. Requesting priority channel."
Static answered first with a long, drawn-out breath of white noise that seemed to fill the entire room. Then, finally, a voice broke through. Deep, controlled, unmistakably sharp.
"Danse. Report."
Elder Maxson's tone was clipped, direct, every syllable laced with the command of a man used to being obeyed without hesitation. Danse's posture straightened instinctively, muscle memory snapping him into old discipline.
"Sir," he began, his voice steady but low. "My cover's been compromised."
There was a pause that is brief, but heavy.
"Explain," Maxson said.
Danse swallowed hard. "My disguise at Sanctuary has been blown. They know who I am. I request to abort the mission and rendezvous with the Prydwen."
For a few seconds, silence filled the channel. Danse could almost hear the faint hum of the Prydwen's engines in the background or maybe it was just his imagination, reaching for the familiar.
When Maxson spoke again, his voice was quieter, but sharper. "Who discovered you?"
Danse's jaw tightened. He didn't want to say it. Saying the name out loud made it too real. But there was no point hiding it.
"It was Sico, sir," he said finally.
The line went dead silent. Not even the hum of static. Just the empty void between two men divided by belief.
Then, Maxson spoke again, his voice heavy with controlled fury. "Sico. The so-called leader of that… 'Freemasons Republic.' I should've known he'd be involved."
Danse didn't answer. He just sat there, his hands gripping his knees, staring at the floorboards.
Maxson continued, "You did well to report this immediately, Paladin. Return to us. You'll be extracted once you're outside their territory. Maintain radio silence until then. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Danse said automatically.
But Maxson's voice didn't stop. There was a subtle shift in tone now as it was something colder, more calculated.
"There's one more thing," he said. "Before you leave."
Danse looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Sir?"
"I want you to remind them that the Brotherhood is watching," Maxson said. "Before you extract, you'll place a charge on their transmitter array. Nothing major, just enough to disable it and send a message."
Danse's head lifted, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "Sir… you're ordering me to sabotage their communications?"
Maxson's tone hardened. "Not sabotage, Paladin. Demonstration. They think they're safe, hiding behind their walls, building their so-called republic. It's time they learn the truth, that they're never beyond our reach."
Danse felt a chill run down his spine. He hesitated. "Sir, the transmitter's located inside the central square. There will be civilians nearby from engineers, settlers, childrens, families. You're asking me to—"
"It's a necessary sacrifice," Maxson cut in, his voice as unyielding as iron. "For the future of the Brotherhood. For humanity. Do I make myself clear?"
The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. Danse's throat went dry. He stared at the transmitter, listening to the faint buzz of the radio static, his mind caught between orders and conscience.
"Sir," he said slowly, "what about the mission's purpose? You sent me here to destroy the Freemasons Radio and Radio of Freedom, not hurting civilian."
"I know," Maxson snapped. "And you've done that, if not for your cover was blown. But now you have to do it, as their threat is real. They've deluded themselves into thinking they can rebuild civilization without control, without purity, without the Brotherhood. They are the disease, Danse. And like any disease, it must be cauterized before it spreads."
Danse stared at the floor, his hands curling into fists. He'd heard Maxson speak this way before from the Enclave remnants to the Railroad, but something in his tone now was different. It wasn't passion. It was fear, dressed as conviction.
He wanted to say something. To remind Maxson of what the Brotherhood had once stood for that is preserving technology, protecting knowledge, guiding humanity through discipline, not annihilation. But when he opened his mouth, the words didn't come.
Instead, he heard his own voice saying, quietly, "Understood, sir."
There was another pause. Then Maxson's voice softened, just slightly. "You've always been loyal, Danse. I know this order is difficult. But remember what's at stake. The Commonwealth is slipping into chaos with mutants, synths, heretics. And now this… republic. They threaten everything we've built. If we show weakness now, we lose the future."
Danse didn't respond. He couldn't. His throat felt like it was closing.
"Complete the task," Maxson said finally. "Then report once you've cleared the perimeter. I'll dispatch a vertibird for extraction. The Brotherhood will not forget your service."
The transmission clicked off. The static hissed for a few more seconds before fading to silence.
Danse sat there for a long time, motionless. His hands were trembling slightly, though he tried to still them. The old motel around him creaked in the wind, a loose shutter banging rhythmically against the window frame.
For the first time in years, the weight of his armor felt unbearable.
He stood slowly, pacing across the narrow room. Every step echoed off the cracked walls. His eyes flicked to the corner where his rifle leaned against the chair, then to the transmitter schematic he'd memorized days ago, the one he'd drawn out on an old scrap of paper, back when he still thought this mission just to destroy the Freemasons Radio and Radio of Freedom.
He picked it up, staring at the hand-drawn lines. The central tower. The relay dish. The generator hub beneath the courtyard. He knew exactly where to plant the charge. He knew exactly how to make it look like an accident.
But he also knew who would be standing nearby when it happened.
He'd seen the children playing in that square the day before. He'd seen the old man fixing a fence, the merchants setting up their stalls, the settlers sharing stories near the fountain. Sanctuary wasn't a military base. It was a home. And in some twisted way, that made it even more dangerous to Maxson's vision. Because it worked.
It was proof that people could live without the Brotherhood's control. That humanity could build again but not through fear, but through cooperation.
Danse sank back down on the bed, burying his face in his hands.
"Necessary sacrifices," he muttered under his breath. The words tasted like poison.
He'd believed in Maxson once, with a kind of faith that bordered on worship. The young Elder had pulled the Brotherhood out of stagnation, united their scattered chapters, given them purpose again. Danse had followed him through fire and blood, believing every order was in service of something greater.
But this?
This wasn't strength. This was desperation.
He looked up, his gaze falling on the small window where faint sunlight filtered through the cracks in the boards. Dust drifted through the light, slow and fragile. Outside, he could hear faint laughter of the settlers, maybe workers from the construction site. It was distant, but real.
He wondered if Sico was out there right now, overseeing the wall expansion, the same man who had looked him in the eye yesterday and said: "If you ever decide to leave the Brotherhood, bring the ones who still have light left in their hearts."
That line echoed in his mind, over and over, until it became almost unbearable.
He stood up again, this time with more purpose. He crossed to the table, pulled open a metal case, and took out two small shaped charges that with the standard issue of Brotherhood demolition tools. Compact. Efficient. Designed for surgical precision.
He turned one over in his hands, feeling the smooth casing against his glove.
All he had to do was walk into Sanctuary one last time, set the charge near the transmitter's power conduit, and walk away. It would detonate ten minutes later. The tower would crumble. Communications would fall. Maxson would get his message.
But what message would he be sending?
That obedience mattered more than conscience? That loyalty demanded blindness? That the Brotherhood's vision of the future required the destruction of those who dared to build their own?
He felt a deep ache in his chest. It wasn't fear. It was grief.
Grief for what the Brotherhood had once been.
He sat back down, running his hand over the old transmitter again, as if touching it could steady his thoughts. The room felt colder now, though the sun was rising outside. He reached up, unfastened his shoulder plate, and set it aside. The Brotherhood insignia gleamed faintly in the dim light.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then he whispered, almost to himself, "You taught me to protect humanity… not to destroy it."
The insignia didn't answer.
Danse leaned back, closing his eyes. In the silence, he heard Sico's voice again with a quiet, certain, resolute voice: "Hope's the only weapon that never runs out of ammo."
He opened his eyes slowly. The decision he'd been avoiding began to take shape as it was not loud and not dramatic, but clear.
He couldn't follow that order.
But he also couldn't just run.
He had to make Maxson believe he had.
The early light spilled pale and uncertain across the settlement as the sound of work began to stir in the distance from hammers, wheels, chatter, the symphony of a place determined to live. Sanctuary's main square was already waking up. Children chased each other near the well, engineers checked power relays, and vendors were setting up their morning stalls with steaming cups of coffee and bundles of salvaged goods.
But Danse saw none of it as he walked.
His boots were heavy against the cobbled path that led toward the Freemasons' Headquarters, each step dragging as if the ground itself were trying to hold him back. His face was shadowed by the hood of a worn coat he'd pulled over his armor, the same one he'd worn the day before. The disguise meant little now as Sico already knew who he was, but habit and discipline were all he had left to cling to.
Every part of him was screaming for silence, for the easier path that is to vanish into the wasteland, to call Maxson and tell him the mission was done, even if it wasn't. But that wasn't who he was. Or maybe it still was, from old instinct buried beneath the doubts and scars. He didn't know anymore.
The Brotherhood had built him to obey. But Sico had shown him what it meant to choose.
He reached the HQ gates, where two Freemason soldiers stood on guard. Their rifles were slung neatly across their shoulders, and their postures were disciplined but relaxed—the kind of confidence that came from defending a home, not enforcing a tyranny.
One of them, a young man with a weathered face and dark stubble, stepped forward. "Morning. Can I help you?"
Danse stopped, lowering his hood slightly. "I need to speak with the President," he said, voice low but firm.
The guard frowned, measuring him with a cautious glance. "The President's a busy man. Who should I say is asking for him?"
Danse hesitated for a heartbeat, then said quietly, "Just tell him… it's the man he met yesterday."
The soldier's expression flickered with recognition, though he tried to hide it. "Wait here."
Danse nodded, standing still as the guard turned and jogged through the courtyard, past the flagpole and up the front steps of the headquarters. The air felt thicker now, heavier with the weight of what he was about to do.
He thought of the radio call again with Maxson's voice, sharp and commanding: "Necessary sacrifices."
Danse's jaw clenched. He could still hear it, echoing in the hollow places of his mind.
After a few minutes, the door creaked open again. The same soldier returned, gesturing. "The President will see you."
Danse followed silently.
The inside of the HQ was cool and faintly metallic, the smell of oil and old wood mixing in the air. Maps lined the walls—careful, precise maps marked with red pins, green markers, and handwritten notes. The sound of typewriters clattered faintly from the lower rooms, mingling with the steady hum of power generators.
The soldier led him up a short flight of stairs and stopped at a double door. "He's inside," he said. Then, with a polite nod, he stepped back.
Danse took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped through.
Sico was standing near the large map table when Danse entered, his coat draped over the back of his chair. Morning light filtered through the window behind him, illuminating the soft smoke of a mug of coffee still untouched beside a pile of reports.
The Freemasons leader looked up immediately, his expression calm but unreadable. "Danse."
The soldier closed the door behind them with a muted click.
"Take a seat," Sico said quietly, motioning toward the chair opposite his desk. "I wasn't expecting to see you this early."
Danse hesitated, then moved forward and sat. His movements were deliberate, heavy, like someone carrying a burden too large to set down.
Sico studied him for a moment, noting the faint tremor in the Paladin's hands, the tension in his jaw. "You asked to see me," he said. "Why?"
Danse's eyes dropped to the desk, where the edge of the Freemasons insignia was carved into the wood. His throat worked once before he finally spoke.
"I spoke with Elder Maxson this morning" he said quietly.
Sico's posture shifted slightly—not in surprise, but in focus. "Go on."
Danse took a deep breath. "My cover's been blown. He knows I've been discovered. He approved my retreat and ordered me to return to the Prydwen."
Sico nodded slowly, expression controlled. "That's not unexpected."
Danse hesitated, then continued. "But before I leave… he gave me another order."
The tone in his voice changed then to a quieter, darker voice.
Sico's eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of order?"
Danse swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "He wants me to plant a bomb at your transmitter tower."
The words hit the air like a hammer.
For a second, Sico didn't move. His hand, which had been resting lightly on the table, tightened slightly. His jaw clenched. The blue light of the holomap cast sharp lines across his face, highlighting the sudden flicker of anger in his eyes.
"…A bomb," he repeated, voice low and controlled, but there was an edge beneath it, like an ember waiting for air.
Danse nodded slowly. "He said it's to 'remind you that the Brotherhood is watching.' He called it a demonstration."
Sico stared at him for a long moment. His breathing stayed steady, but his gaze was unflinching, cutting straight through Danse like a blade. "And what about the civilians?"
Danse's voice faltered. "I asked him that. He said they're… a necessary sacrifice for the future."
For a heartbeat, Sico said nothing. His expression froze, then the storm hit.
He pushed away from the table with sudden, explosive movement, the chair scraping sharply across the floor. The coffee cup rattled and toppled over, spilling across a stack of reports.
"Necessary sacrifices?" Sico's voice cracked through the air, sharp and filled with barely-contained fury. "He calls innocent people sacrifices now? The Brotherhood's supposed to protect humanity, not butcher it!"
Danse didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. "I know," he said quietly.
Sico began to pace, one hand dragging through his hair, his boots echoing on the floor. His anger burned hot and clean—anger not just at Maxson, but at what the Brotherhood had become. "That man's lost his damn mind," he muttered. "He's not the Elder you once served. He's a tyrant wrapped in steel and fear."
Danse's voice cracked slightly as he said, "You think I don't know that?"
That stopped Sico mid-step.
Danse looked up now, his eyes hard and pained. "You think I don't see what he's turning us into? I've followed him since he was just a soldier. I believed in him. I believed in the Brotherhood. But this—" He gestured vaguely, almost helplessly. "This isn't what I signed up for. I came here to do a mission, not kill a civilian. But if I refuse his order outright, he'll know. He'll brand me a traitor and send a squad to finish what I couldn't."
Sico's breathing slowed as he reined in the anger, forcing himself back into composure. The fury didn't vanish—it just settled deeper in his chest, sharp and focused.
When he spoke again, his voice was calm but cold. "Alright," he said finally. "Here's what we'll do."
Danse blinked, uncertain. "What?"
Sico turned toward the window, watching the faint movements of workers and settlers outside. "You're going to follow your order, at least on the surface."
Danse frowned. "I don't understand."
Sico turned back to face him, his expression steady now. "You're going to plant your charge at the transmitter, just like Maxson told you. But before you do, I'll clear the square. I'll have Sarah and Preston evacuate all civilians under the pretense of a safety drill. I'll place disguised soldiers around the area, dressed as settlers. They'll monitor everything, make sure no one gets hurt. When the device detonates, it'll take out nothing but air and dust."
Danse's brow furrowed, realization dawning slowly. "You're going to fake it."
Sico nodded once. "Exactly. Maxson gets his 'demonstration,' you keep your cover, and no one dies. He'll think he's proven his point, and we'll use that illusion to buy time."
Danse was silent for a moment, processing it. Then he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You'd risk that? You'd risk your people's safety to help me keep my cover?"
Sico's gaze softened, though there was steel beneath it. "I'm not doing it for you, Danse. I'm doing it for the truth. You came to me because you couldn't carry that order alone. That means there's still something in you the Brotherhood couldn't corrupt. I'm not going to let Maxson snuff that out."
Danse looked away, jaw tightening, emotion catching in his throat. "You don't understand what this means, Sico. If he finds out—"
"He won't," Sico interrupted firmly. "We'll make sure of it."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You said yesterday that doubt keeps us honest. That's true. But action, that's what defines who we are. You're not a pawn, Danse. Not anymore."
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them was thick with the weight of unspoken things—trust, fear, conviction.
Finally, Danse nodded, slow and deliberate. "Alright. I'll do it. But I need to be the one to set the charge. He'll expect to see the detonation pattern on his end. The signal burst will confirm I completed the task."
Sico nodded. "Then we'll make sure the explosion is convincing. Preston can rig a staged detonation sequence—smoke, dust, minor fire, but no casualties. Sarah can coordinate the guard rotation."
Danse gave a quiet, shaky breath that might have been half relief, half disbelief. "You're turning this into a counter-op."
Sico allowed himself a faint, humorless smile. "That's what leaders do when tyrants play god."
The silence that followed was heavier, but it wasn't hopeless. It was filled with a strange kind of resolve—the calm that came before something inevitable.
Sico finally said, "I'll contact Sarah and Preston right now. We'll clear the area within the hour. You go to the transmitter, make it look like you're just doing maintenance. Don't draw attention. When you're ready, we'll signal the civilians to evacuate. Then you plant your device."
Danse nodded slowly. "And after it's done?"
Sico stood there for a long while, staring out the window as the early morning light stretched over the rooftops of Sanctuary. The faint clang of hammers and hum of power tools drifted through the air, distant and steady with the sound of a town building itself out of ruin. It was peaceful in that fragile way only the Commonwealth could be with the peace that existed not because danger was gone, but because people had decided to live anyway.
Danse watched him quietly from his seat, his gauntleted hands folded together, the metal faintly scraping against itself. He could see the weight in Sico's stance that show not hesitation, not doubt, but the slow, grinding calculation of a man who had already begun planning the next ten steps ahead.
When Sico finally turned, his expression had changed. The fire of anger had cooled into something sharper, more deliberate with the look of a commander preparing for a long game.
"You asked me what comes after," he said quietly. "You asked what happens once this false detonation is done, once you've played your part for Maxson. Well…" He leaned forward, resting both palms on the desk, voice lowering with quiet certainty. "Then you return to the Prydwen."
Danse blinked, surprised. "Return?"
"Yes," Sico said. "You'll report to Maxson as if the mission was completed exactly as ordered. Tell him the transmitter is gone, the settlement crippled, the civilians scattered. He'll believe it, especially once he sees no signal coming from our main channel for a day or two. He'll take it as proof that you succeeded."
Danse frowned. "And then what? I go back to being one of his soldiers? Pretend nothing happened?"
Sico's gaze didn't waver. "No. You go back for something far more important."
He stepped around the desk, stopping beside Danse. His tone was quieter now, but every word carried the weight of strategy. "Inside the Brotherhood, there are still people who don't buy into Maxson's crusade as people who joined because they wanted to protect humanity, not rule over it. You know them better than anyone. The engineers, the scribes, the field soldiers who've seen too much blood in the name of purity. You know their hearts, Danse."
Danse straightened slightly. "You're saying… you want me to recruit them."
"I'm saying I want you to find the ones who still remember what the Brotherhood used to stand for," Sico replied. "Those who've seen through the dogma and are tired of living under fear. You'll talk to them quietly, carefully. Let them know there's another way. A place where they can serve humanity without destroying it."
Danse's breath caught in his throat. He looked down for a moment, struggling to find words. "You're talking about open defection. That's… suicide if Maxson finds out."
"I know," Sico said simply. "But that's why it has to be done smartly. Slowly. Quietly. Not all at once."
He walked back toward the map table and tapped the glowing outline of the Commonwealth. "The Brotherhood is powerful, but it's fractured. Its strength lies in discipline and in obedience. The moment cracks appear, the whole structure weakens. If enough of its people start to doubt Maxson, if enough of them realize there's an alternative… his grip will falter."
Danse sat back in silence, his thoughts spinning. He'd lived and fought under the Brotherhood's banner for years, seen good men and women die believing they were saving humanity. And now, the idea of turning them away from that cause felt… impossible. But at the same time, the part of him that had been suffocating under Maxson's rule felt the faint stir of something else that is relief. Hope.
He finally said, quietly, "There are a few who might listen. A few who've questioned the Elder's recent orders. But it's not enough to fracture the Brotherhood."
Sico nodded slowly. "Not yet."
Danse's brow furrowed. "Then what makes you think they'll listen at all?"
Sico's eyes hardened, his voice steady as iron. "Because sooner or later, Maxson will cross a line even they can't ignore. You've seen how he operates, each order more ruthless than the last. He's burning the very foundation that made the Brotherhood worth saving. When the time comes, those who still have their humanity will need a place to turn. You'll make sure they know where to find us."
Danse looked down at the floor, silent. Then he said, almost reluctantly, "You're asking me to betray everything I've ever known."
Sico shook his head. "No, Danse. I'm asking you to save it."
For a moment, neither man spoke. The faint hum of the holomap filled the silence, a soft reminder of the world outside still turning, still rebuilding. Then Sico added, his tone lowering into something more personal, almost gentle.
"There's someone on the Prydwen you'll need to contact. Someone who's already working with us from the inside."
Danse frowned slightly. "Who?"
Sico's eyes met his. "Doctor Madison Li."
Danse blinked, startled. "Madison Li? She's with the Brotherhood's science division."
Sico nodded. "She is, and she's been helping us for months."
Danse stared at him, disbelief etched across his features. "You mean… she's been your mole this whole time?"
Sico gave a small, humorless smile. "Let's just say she never truly bought into Maxson's philosophy. She joined them to continue her work, to make sure their technological power didn't fall into the wrong hands. When Liberty Prime was being rebuilt, she made sure certain… control parameters were installed."
Danse's eyes widened slightly. "You're saying you can control Liberty Prime?"
Sico's expression was measured. "Let's say we can prevent it from being used against innocent people or against us. Madison made sure of that."
He stepped closer, his tone firm now. "When you return to the Prydwen, you'll make contact with her discreetly. She knows our codes. You tell her that Phase Two is beginning. She'll understand what it means. Then you two work together — quietly, efficiently — to find others who are disillusioned with the Brotherhood's vision. Engineers, scribes, maybe even knights. You'll talk to them about what the Brotherhood used to be, what it could be again."
Danse's brow furrowed. "And when they're ready?"
Sico exhaled slowly. "When they're ready, you get them out. Bring them to us. To Sanctuary, or to one of our outposts. But Madison stays behind. She's too valuable inside. As long as she's on that ship, we have eyes and ears where Maxson thinks he's untouchable."
Danse nodded slowly, piecing the plan together. "So this isn't just about me. You're planting seeds."
"That's right," Sico said. "One by one. We don't need to overthrow the Brotherhood in a day. We just need to give its people a choice, the same choice I gave you."
Danse stared at the floor, deep in thought. When he finally looked up again, there was a new steadiness in his eyes, though it was weighed down by the enormity of what lay ahead. "You realize what this means, don't you? If I do this… if I go back and start pulling people out, it's only a matter of time before Maxson notices. When he does…"
Sico nodded, finishing his thought. "When he does, the war will begin."
The words hung heavy in the air, simple and absolute.
Outside, the morning had brightened, the sun pushing through the mist, casting soft gold across the window. It seemed almost cruel, the peace of the moment against the knowledge of what was coming.
Danse leaned back in his chair, his voice quiet. "You're planning for it already."
Sico nodded once. "We have to. The Brotherhood won't tolerate defection. They'll call us heretics, traitors, whatever suits their narrative. And when they find out that we're sheltering their own, they'll come for us."
He walked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the streets of Sanctuary below. Settlers were laughing near the well, children running past a merchant stall. "And when that happens," he said quietly, "we'll be ready. Not because we want war, but because we refuse to be ruled by those who've forgotten what humanity means."
Danse followed his gaze, the sight of the peaceful town twisting something inside him. "You'll lose people," he said softly. "Good people."
Sico didn't look away from the window. "I know. But so will they. And maybe, that loss will make them question why they were fighting in the first place."
He turned back to Danse, voice steady. "That's why your mission is so important. Every person you bring out weakens Maxson's grip. Every defection makes his war harder to justify. The more people who walk away, the less the Brotherhood becomes an army and the more it becomes a shadow of what it used to be."
Danse looked down, then finally stood, the weight of purpose settling across his broad shoulders. "When do I leave?"
"After the detonation of course, just like you plan" Sico said. "Once the fake detonation is complete and the dust settles. You'll go dark until you reach the Prydwen. When you do, act like nothing's changed. Maxson can never know you came here."
Danse nodded slowly. "Understood."
Sico extended his hand. "Whatever happens, remember this: you're not betraying your brothers and sisters up there. You're saving them from a man who's forgotten why they fight."
Danse hesitated, then gripped his hand firmly. "You're asking me to walk into the lion's den."
Sico allowed himself a faint, grim smile. "And tame the lion from within."
Sico exhaled through his nose and nodded once, the decision settling in his chest like iron. "Then let's do it," he said quietly, not as an order but as a declaration.
Without wasting another second, he reached for the field radio on his desk. The worn dials glowed dimly as he turned the knob and keyed the transmitter. His voice came through sharp, calm, and authoritative.
"Sarah, Preston, report in. Priority channel."
There was a short burst of static, then Sarah's voice answered, clipped but alert. "Sarah here, sir."
Preston followed a beat later, his tone steady as always. "Garvey here. What's going on, Sico?"
Sico took a breath, steadying himself. "Both of you, listen carefully. We're initiating a controlled detonation near the main transmitter tower within the next hour. It's part of an operation I can't fully explain right now, but it's vital. I need the entire area around the tower cleared from civilians, traders, workers, everyone. Run it as a safety drill. Keep it clean, keep it quiet."
There was a pause. Static filled the air. Then Sarah spoke again, confusion sharp in her tone. "A detonation? What the hell for, sir?"
Preston's voice followed, tight with concern. "You mean you're going to blow the transmitter? That tower's the backbone of our entire communications grid!"
Sico didn't raise his voice, but the weight of his tone cut through their questions. "No one is to question this right now. You two are the only ones who need to know the truth. This isn't what it seems. A Brotherhood operation is in play, Maxson himself has ordered an attack on Sanctuary."
The silence that followed was heavy, shocked. Even through the static, Sico could hear Sarah's sharp intake of breath.
"…What?" she whispered, disbelief breaking through the soldier's composure.
Preston sounded like he couldn't decide between anger and confusion. "You're telling me Maxson ordered an attack on civilians? On us?"
"Yes," Sico said, flat and cold. "He sent Danse, who I told you before to do it. But Danse came to me first, he warned us. He's with me now. We're going to fake the attack to protect him and keep Maxson from knowing we've seen through his plan."
Sarah's voice rose, trembling slightly with restrained fury. "He's ordering strikes on settlements now? On innocent people?!"
Her words cracked, and Sico could tell it wasn't just anger — it was something more personal. He remembered how she'd once served as an Elder before Maxson, how she'd defended the Brotherhood's ideals before walking away when the war turned into doctrine. Hearing what Maxson had become must have hit her deep.
Preston was the one to break the silence. "Alright. What do you need us to do?"
Sico's tone shifted — not soft, but grounding. "Evacuate the civilians first. Tell them there's been a power surge warning from the tower's core. We can't risk panic, just move them out quietly, calmly. Once the area's clear, I want you both to position disguised units around the perimeter. Civilians in appearance only, I want no one suspicious. They're to act shocked when it happens, like they didn't see it coming. We need the illusion to sell."
Sarah finally spoke again, her voice quieter now, tinged with disbelief but laced with determination. "Understood, sir. I'll see to the evacuation myself."
"Good," Sico said. "And Sarah… keep your head clear. I know this hits hard."
There was a pause, then she said softly, "Yeah. It does. But if Maxson's turned into this… I guess I already made the right choice leaving him behind."
The radio clicked as she signed off.
Preston's voice followed, steady and loyal. "We'll handle it, Sico. You can count on us."
Sico released the transmit button and set the radio down gently. He stood there for a moment, eyes on the floor, the hum of the device echoing faintly in the background. He hated this — lying to his own people, even for their safety. But this was the kind of war where the truth could only survive in silence.
Outside, the light had sharpened into late morning brightness. He could already hear the activity ramping up near the southern ridge — the chatter of construction halting, the creak of wagons being moved, the faint ring of Sarah's voice barking orders down the line. The entire settlement was shifting, rearranging itself under the shadow of an invisible threat.
By early afternoon, the air around the transmitter tower was alive with quiet tension.
From a distance, it looked like an ordinary day's work — laborers hauling scrap, technicians inspecting power lines, guards milling casually near the perimeter. But anyone looking closer would notice the precision. The "workers" were soldiers in disguise, their weapons hidden beneath coats or strapped under tool belts. Every movement was deliberate, rehearsed.
Sico watched the operation unfold from the ridge overlooking the main square. Sarah stood below, coordinating her squads, her face a mask of calm efficiency even though he could sense the storm underneath. Preston was near the tower itself, clipboard in hand, keeping up the illusion of a maintenance inspection while quietly guiding civilians out of the area.
At the far end of the square, a figure in a dark coat moved steadily toward the tower. Danse.
Even in disguise, the way he carried himself gave him away with the discipline of a soldier, the deliberate, efficient stride. He carried a small pack slung over his shoulder, the detonator clipped to his belt, hidden under the coat's fold.
Sico's eyes followed him the entire way.
Danse reached the base of the transmitter — a tall structure of steel and wire that rose like a skeleton against the pale sky. Two Freemason soldiers, pretending to weld at the tower's base, stepped aside as he approached. One of them subtly nodded.
Danse crouched by the tower's maintenance hatch and began his work. From a distance, it looked routine — checking the wiring, tightening bolts. But his hands were steady, his breath measured as he slid the small, round device into the hollow frame beneath the console panel.
The bomb was compact — Brotherhood engineering at its finest, efficient and merciless. Its core pulsed faintly with red light as he armed it, set the timer, and sealed the hatch again.
He stood slowly, giving one last glance toward the horizon — toward Sanctuary, toward the people he was about to deceive.
Then he turned and walked away.
Sico watched him leave, the faint shimmer of sweat catching the afternoon light on the side of Danse's face as he passed through the gate. The man didn't look back once.
When Danse was clear of the ridge, Sico keyed his wrist radio. "All units, clear the area. Detonation in thirty seconds."
"Copy that," Sarah's voice came through immediately. "Perimeter clear."
Preston followed. "Everyone's out. We're good to go."
Sico nodded once to himself, then turned toward the sky — blue, cloudless, calm. It always felt wrong, he thought, how peaceful the world looked before violence struck.
Down the road, Danse had stopped on the edge of the southern ridge. He could see the transmitter from here, rising tall and silver against the light. His hand hovered over the detonator, thumb resting on the activation switch.
He took a breath, closed his eyes, and pressed it.
A single, sharp flash burst across the tower's base. The explosion roared a second later, a deep, rolling thunder that rippled through the valley. The ground trembled underfoot as smoke and dust erupted upward in a great gray plume.
The noise hit Sanctuary like a shockwave. Windows rattled. A flock of birds took flight from the nearby trees. Even those who had been evacuated could hear it echoing in their bones.
For a moment, there was only silence then came the stunned, suspended quiet that follows destruction. Then came the cries as the shouted questions, the disbelief of civilians.
Sico stood firm, his jaw tight as he watched the plume rise over the ridge. Even knowing it was fake, even knowing every precaution had been taken, the sight twisted in his chest like guilt. The sound of panic below — it wasn't rehearsed anymore. It was real fear.
"Damn it," Sarah muttered beside him, lowering her rifle as dust swept over the square. "That felt too real."
Sico didn't answer immediately. He was already moving.
"Get medics down there," he ordered sharply. "Now. Anyone who caught the blast wave or debris, I want them stabilized immediately. Preston, coordinate the clean-up team. I want this area locked down and cleared before sundown."
Preston was already on his radio. "Copy that, Commander. We're on it."
The square was chaos now with shouts, movement, the hiss of steam from ruptured pipes. Even though they'd staged the detonation to be harmless, the force had knocked down light structures and scattered debris across the area.
Sico moved through it all, barking orders, helping pull a dazed guard to his feet. "Get him to the medic tent!" he called. "Go!"
The soldier, bleeding from a small cut on his forehead but otherwise intact, was led away. The air stank of ozone and burnt wiring.
Sarah jogged up beside him, her face streaked with soot. "All squads accounted for," she reported, breathing hard. "Two minor injuries from debris, one soldier with a broken arm. No fatalities."
Sico nodded, exhaling relief through clenched teeth. "Good. Keep the perimeter secured until further notice. No one goes near that tower until I say so."
She gave a short nod, then hesitated. "You really think this'll fool Maxson?"
Sico looked toward the still-rising smoke, his expression grim. "For now. Long enough for Danse to get back to the Prydwen. After that…"
He let the words trail off, eyes hard.
Sarah followed his gaze, then said softly, "He'll know eventually. Men like Maxson always find out."
"I know," Sico said. "And when he does… we'll be ready."
He turned then, scanning the wounded being carried toward the tents, the soldiers sweeping debris, the civilians being guided back from a safe distance, their faces pale with fear.
________________________________________________
• 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:-