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Outside, Sico walked back toward the main square, the stars faint above the clouds. The air smelled of dust and promise, and though the weight of the lie pressed heavy on his shoulders, the purpose behind it burned steady in his chest.
The morning after the explosion broke with a pale light that painted the sky in layers of soft gray and faint amber. Sanctuary's streets were already stirring by the time Sico stepped outside the Freemasons' headquarters — traders hauling carts toward the market square, guards changing shifts at the western gate, settlers setting up work tables and tents where once only ruins had stood. The Republic was alive again, as it always was after the storm, its heartbeat steady and stubborn beneath the scars.
But even in that rhythm, Sico could feel it with the weight of last night's decision. The lie was already working its way through the city like slow-moving smoke. The "raider attack." The "swift justice." He heard fragments of it in passing conversations as he made his way down the cobbled path that led to the outskirts, toward the field where the radio tower had once reached into the sky like a beacon of hope.
Now, it was just a skeleton.
The wreckage was still fresh: twisted steel beams jutting from the earth like broken ribs, blackened concrete around the base, scorched grass fanning outward in a jagged circle. The acrid scent of burned circuitry and melted copper still clung to the air. But amid the ruin, there was life — movement, sound, effort.
Sturges and his team were already there.
The engineer's voice carried across the worksite, that familiar southern drawl as he barked instructions over the clatter of tools and the groan of metal being hauled upright.
"Watch that support! I said ease it down, not drop it! You break that coupler, and we're back to square one!"
A chorus of "Yes, boss!" followed, and Sico couldn't help but smile faintly at the scene. Sturges stood on a makeshift scaffold, hands on his hips, surveying the operation with the confidence of a man who had rebuilt half the Commonwealth with nothing but scrap and willpower. His jumpsuit was streaked with soot, his goggles perched on his forehead, hair a mess of grease and wind.
When he spotted Sico approaching, he gave a half-salute with his wrench. "Well, well, morning, Commander. You come to check on my mess, or you here to swing a hammer?"
Sico smiled. "Depends. You planning on paying me union wages?"
Sturges laughed, wiping his hands on a rag before climbing down the ladder. "You? Union wages? You'd bankrupt us before lunch."
They met near the base of the tower remains, where a large steel beam was being welded into place. Sparks flew in brilliant orange arcs as two of Sturges' mechanics worked side by side, helmets down, their silhouettes framed against the rising sun.
Sico took a slow look around at the organized chaos, the rhythm of rebuilding. Crates of replacement parts lined the perimeter: salvaged relay coils, old pre-war circuits, reels of copper wire, and fresh steel plating sourced from the Freemason Foundry.
"How bad's the damage?" he asked.
Sturges scratched the back of his neck, his expression halfway between pride and frustration. "Well, lemme put it this way, you ever try fixin' a radio that's been hit by a lightning storm, dunked in the river, and stomped on by a deathclaw? That's kinda what we're lookin' at here."
Sico smirked faintly. "That bad, huh?"
"Pretty close," Sturges said, glancing toward the main relay housing — or what was left of it. "The blast tore through the primary circuit couplers and fried every amplifier within fifty feet. Antenna mount's gone. Signal rotator too. I'm rebuildin' the framework from scratch, but we'll have to re-run the wiring for the whole grid if we want to get it back to full strength."
Sico crouched near the debris, fingers brushing a piece of blackened metal. It was warm from the morning sun, the soot flaking beneath his touch. "How long?"
Sturges blew out a breath. "If everything goes right? Three days, maybe four. If the supply convoy from the scavenger delayed, make it a week. But don't you worry, I'll have her singin' again soon enough. Just need a little patience and a lotta elbow grease."
Sico stood, looking toward the horizon where the skeletal remains of the tower reached up like a wounded hand. "She'll sing again," he murmured. "She has to."
Sturges studied him for a moment, then lowered his voice. "Heard what Sarah's tellin' folks. 'Raiders hit the tower from the river bend.' Sounds tidy."
"It has to be," Sico said.
Sturges nodded slowly. He was a builder, not a politician, but he understood the value of structure — and not just the kind made from steel and bolts. "You do what you gotta do, Commander. Ain't my place to judge. Just… you sure about all this? 'Cause if there's one thing I know about lies, it's that they don't hold up well in bad weather."
Sico looked out over the ruins, the sunlight cutting across the debris like a blade. "We're building something fragile, Sturges. If a lie keeps the foundation steady until the storm passes, then so be it."
The engineer didn't argue. He just grunted softly, turning back toward his team. "Alright then. Let's make sure the next storm doesn't blow her down again."
He clapped his hands, calling out orders once more, his voice booming across the site. "Mason, get that beam aligned! Carla, you run those wires clean or I'll make you do it again! And someone find me that damn torque wrench before I start usin' a pipe!"
Sico lingered nearby, walking slowly through the field of half-rebuilt scaffolds and coiled cables. He stopped when he reached the outer rim of the wreckage — where the remnants of the old transmitter housing lay open like the ribcage of a dead animal. He crouched, picking up a melted piece of copper wire between his fingers. The surface glinted faintly in the light.
He pocketed the piece of copper absently, feeling its rough edges bite into his palm. Behind him, the clang of hammers and hiss of welding torches rose again, a kind of music in its own right — the song of people refusing to give up.
Sarah arrived a short while later, her presence as sharp as ever. She came down the dirt path flanked by two militia guards, her coat fluttering slightly in the morning wind. Her eyes scanned the operation, her expression all business.
"Morning, Commander," she said as she approached. "I came to see how Sturges is progressing."
Sico nodded. "Faster than expected. He says three days if nothing delays the supply run."
"Good," Sarah said, crossing her arms. "Because people are already talking. The settlers down in Concord sent a messenger asking if the 'raiders' will strike again. Magnolia's doing her best to calm everyone, but we need that signal back up soon. The radio keeps the Republic connected. Without it, we're blind."
"I know," Sico said. "We'll have it back."
The morning wind had shifted by the time Sarah finished speaking — it carried the faint tang of smoke from the forges near the southern wall, mingling with the metallic scent of fresh welding. The sound of rebuilding filled the air, the rhythmic percussion of hammer on steel echoing off the surrounding cliffs. For a moment, Sico stood beside her in silence, both watching as a group of workers struggled to lift one of the replacement beams into place, their boots kicking up dust as they heaved and strained.
He could feel the quiet worry under the surface of the morning bustle. The Republic was efficient, but it was still young — still learning how to breathe, how to balance its ideals with its survival. Incidents like this tower explosion tested that balance. The settlers would talk, rumors would breed, and faith — that fragile currency — would tremble if not handled carefully.
Sico turned toward Sarah, his tone measured but gentle. "Keep the settlers calm. I want you and Magnolia to hold things steady. No panic, no talk of what really happened. Make them feel like we're in control."
Sarah nodded briskly, but the faint crease on her brow didn't fade. "They're on edge, Commander. Even with the 'raider' story, they're restless. You know how it goes — fear spreads faster than truth."
He exhaled slowly, the morning air turning visible in the chill. "I know. But you're the one they listen to, Sarah. You've led them through worse. Just keep them focused — give them work, give them hope. Tell them this is just another bump in the road, nothing more. If you need me to step in personally, if it starts slipping, call for me immediately. I'll handle it."
Sarah's eyes met his for a long second, searching. She saw the tiredness behind his words — not physical fatigue, but the kind that came from carrying too much for too long. Her expression softened just slightly. "Alright," she said. "If it gets bad, I'll let you know. Magnolia's already planning a small gathering at the main square this afternoon. Music, some food distribution. We'll use it to settle the nerves."
"Good," Sico said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "She always knew how to calm a crowd."
"She does," Sarah agreed, a hint of warmth in her tone. "Half the city would march into a storm if she asked them to — as long as she sang first."
Sico chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Then let her sing. Let them forget for a few hours."
Sarah gave a sharp nod, her soldier's posture returning. "Alright, I'll see to it. You'll stay here?"
He looked back toward the tower site, where Sturges was now climbing a newly erected scaffold, barking orders as if he were conducting a symphony of chaos. "For now. I want to make sure the relay base is set correctly before they start running the new copper lines. If we rush it, we'll just end up fixing it twice."
Sarah adjusted the strap of her holster, the faint glint of her sidearm catching the light. "Alright then. I'll take the men and head for the main square. Magnolia's expecting me."
She turned to go but paused for a moment, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel. "You ever sleep, Commander?"
He smiled faintly at that, the kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "When there's time."
Sarah gave him a knowing look. "That's what you always say."
Then she turned and left, the two guards following her down the dusty path toward the city's heart. Sico watched her go until the figures disappeared behind the rising scaffold frames, the echoes of her footsteps fading into the hum of labor.
For a while, he stood there alone, watching the workers as they pieced the world back together one bolt, one beam, one breath at a time. The tower had been more than just metal — it was a voice, a connection, a symbol. Losing it, even temporarily, had left Sanctuary quieter than it should've been. And in that silence, he felt the ghosts of decisions past pressing against his conscience.
The truth, the lie, the weight of it — it all came with the same cost: faith. Faith in people to keep believing even when they didn't know the full story.
He sighed softly, dragging a gloved hand through his hair as he walked toward Sturges, who was bent over a drafting table propped against an overturned crate, scrawling blueprints over a dirty sheet of paper.
"Everything holding together?" Sico asked.
Sturges glanced up, his goggles still perched crookedly on his forehead. "Far as I can tell, yeah. We got the support beam re-centered, and the concrete footing's solid. But this new latticework's gonna take some time. The original tower wasn't exactly built for easy repair that making everything harder than it needed to be."
Sico stepped beside him, glancing down at the hand-drawn schematic — a rough but clever revision of the original design, simplified for the parts they actually had on hand. "You're redesigning it?"
"More like improv-in' it," Sturges said, rubbing the back of his neck. "If I wait for pre-war schematics or proper parts, we'll be here till next winter. This'll get her standin' again by the end of the week. Won't be as pretty, but she'll hum like a Brahmin in heat."
Sico smirked. "That's quite an image."
Sturges grinned. "Ain't it though?"
They both looked up as a crane creaked loudly above them, lifting a long section of metal framework into position. Workers shouted to coordinate, and the welders' torches hissed to life, sparks flying like fireflies against the dull morning gray.
Sico watched them for a moment — the focus, the determination. These people weren't soldiers, but they had the heart of one. They'd fought their own wars, not with rifles, but with their bare hands and grit.
"You've got good people here," Sico said quietly.
Sturges nodded, his voice lower now, carrying the weight of truth beneath the humor. "Yeah. Most of 'em used to be nothin'. Scavvers, drifters, couple of 'em used to run with raiders before Magnolia pulled 'em in. Guess everyone's lookin' for somethin' to build, huh?"
Sico gave a thoughtful hum. "Or something to believe in."
Sturges glanced at him, his expression momentarily serious. "Guess that's you, huh? The thing they believe in."
Sico's gaze followed the rising tower, the skeletal structure slowly taking shape again. "Not me. The Republic. The idea that we can build something that lasts longer than the ruins we came from."
For a few heartbeats, neither man spoke. The only sound was the hum of machinery and the soft crackle of welding arcs.
Finally, Sturges broke the silence with a small grunt. "Well, either way, Commander, you're doin' better than most. I've worked with a lotta so-called leaders since the bombs dropped, you're the only one who doesn't just talk about rebuildin'. You actually pick up a damn hammer."
Sico smiled faintly. "Maybe because I've seen what happens when no one does."
He looked around once more, taking in every detail of the reconstruction effort — the sweat on the workers' brows, the shouted jokes, the clinking of tools. There was beauty in it, even amidst the ashes.
As the hours rolled on, the morning deepened into noon. The sun climbed higher, breaking through the thin clouds, spilling gold across the metal frames. The heat began to settle over the site, but no one slowed. Sico joined in where he could — helping brace a support beam here, lifting crates of salvaged parts there. He wasn't above the work. In truth, he found a strange calm in it. Each bolt tightened, each cable laid, felt like reclaiming a piece of what had been lost.
At one point, he caught sight of Sarah again in the distance, near the edge of the square. Magnolia stood beside her, talking to a crowd of settlers who had gathered near the fountain. Even from here, he could hear the faint echo of Magnolia's voice — not singing yet, just speaking, reassuring, her tone soft but firm. The crowd had that uncertain stillness of people listening because they wanted to believe, and slowly, he saw it — shoulders easing, faces softening.
Sarah caught his gaze across the distance and gave a small nod — a silent confirmation. The people were holding steady.
Sico felt something in his chest loosen.
He turned back to Sturges, who was now kneeling beside a massive relay coil, connecting the new copper wiring. The air around it shimmered faintly with heat from the welding.
"How long before you test it?" Sico asked.
"Couple days," Sturges replied without looking up. "We'll need to run diagnostics once the main antenna's mounted. Piper'll wanna be here for that, I bet she's already chewin' my ear about frequencies and calibration."
Sico chuckled. "That sounds like her."
"Yeah, she's somethin'," Sturges said with a grin. "Talks fast enough to make a robot short-circuit."
By late afternoon, the sky had begun to dim toward a hazy amber. The workers were tired, their movements slower now, but the progress was undeniable. The tower's new spine stood upright again even though it was incomplete, but proud. The scaffolding climbed high, metal ribs welded together in a framework that reached for the sky.
Sico stood at the base, wiping sweat from his brow as he took it in. For a moment, the ache in his shoulders, the dirt under his nails, the exhaustion — it all faded beneath the quiet satisfaction of progress.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't whole. But it was standing again.
As the last of the workers began to pack up their tools for the day, Sturges came up beside him, wiping his hands on a rag. "She's gettin' there, Commander. By tomorrow, we'll have the signal braces up, and then it's just runnin' the wiring and fixin' the control board. Not bad for a day's work."
Sico nodded, eyes still on the tower. "You've done good, Sturges. All of you."
Sturges grinned, clearly proud, though his face was streaked with sweat and soot. "Well, we aim to please. Though I wouldn't mind a cold beer and a clean pair o' socks about now."
Sico let out a soft laugh. "You've earned both."
The engineer chuckled and gave a lazy salute with his wrench before heading off to join his crew as they loaded up their tools.
When the site finally quieted, Sico remained for a while longer. The wind was cooler now, brushing softly through the scaffolds, making the loose pieces of hanging metal chime faintly. From the distant square, he could hear the faint echo of Magnolia's voice — this time, singing. Her voice floated through the dusk, soft and haunting, wrapping around the ruins and rebuilding alike.
The sky over Sanctuary had deepened into that rich, honeyed gold that came just before evening, the hour when the light seemed to soften everything it touched, even the ruins. The clang of hammers and the hiss of welding torches had faded behind Sico as he left the worksite, his boots crunching over the packed dirt path that wound toward the city's heart. The wind carried the faint scent of cooking food from brahmin stew, bread from the community ovens, something spiced and warm. Beneath it all was the sound of music it start low at first, like a whisper threading through the air from Magnolia's voice.
It wasn't a song for celebration, not yet. It was gentler than that slow, deliberate, like the kind of tune you'd hum while patching a wound. The words drifted through the narrow alleys, carried on the wind that passed over roofs patched with tin and old solar panels.
"We built our homes from broken bones,
And turned the dark to dawn again,
The fire burns, the walls still stand,
We keep on breathing, hand in hand…"
Sico's pace slowed as he reached the square.
The scene that greeted him was something he hadn't seen since before the war — not exactly peace, but something close. Lanterns had been strung between the old lampposts, their light soft and amber. Settlers filled the space — families sitting on benches or crates, children chasing each other near the fountain, traders leaning on their carts. The air was alive with a cautious kind of calm. They weren't laughing loudly or dancing yet, but they were together, and that alone mattered.
Sarah stood near the fountain, her arms crossed, posture steady and watchful. Her militia coat hung open, the Freemasons emblem catching the light each time she turned to speak with one of the settlers. Magnolia was just beside her, on the small stage they'd built from scavenged planks, one hand on the microphone, her voice wrapping around the square like silk.
As Sico stepped closer, Sarah noticed him first. Her expression flickered — relief, maybe, or just recognition — before she gave a small nod in greeting. He nodded back but didn't speak right away. Instead, he watched.
Magnolia finished her verse, her voice fading into the gentle hum of her guitar. The crowd clapped softly — not raucously, not like in the old days at the Third Rail, but with something more honest. Gratitude. She smiled faintly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
"Alright," she said into the microphone, her tone bright but grounded. "You all know me Magnolia, your humble noise-maker and Republic treasurer. And I know it's been a rough couple days. Rumors fly faster than radstags, and I've heard 'em all from raiders this, sabotage that, sky's falling, what have you. But you know what I see?"
She paused, looking over the crowd. "I see a city still standing. I see people who keep showing up, keep working, keep believing. You built this place with your hands — don't forget that. No one takes that from you."
The crowd murmured softly, some nodding, others clapping again. Sarah's lips quirked — a small, approving smile. Sico watched her expression, then turned back toward Magnolia as she continued.
"Now," Magnolia said, her voice softening again, "before we all go back to fretting about what might happen tomorrow, how about we remember what we've already survived, huh? Let's give the night a reason to smile."
She lifted her guitar again and began to strum a familiar tune — one that Sico remembered faintly from the early days at the Castle, before the Freemasons Republic had even been more than a dream. The lyrics told the story of rebuilding after ruin, of holding on when the world went quiet.
"When the dust came down and the sky turned red,
We built our home from what was dead.
The past don't haunt, it helps us fight,
We find our way through every night…"
The melody swept through the square like warmth spreading from a fire. Some of the settlers started humming along. Others just listened, eyes closed, shoulders relaxing for the first time in days. Even the guards on the perimeter seemed to ease, their rifles lowering slightly as the song worked its quiet magic.
Sico moved closer, his steps slow, deliberate. As he reached the fountain, Sarah turned to him, speaking quietly so as not to disturb the song.
"She's got them calm," she said, her voice almost surprised — though there was pride in it, too. "Wasn't easy at first. Some of them were shouting earlier — angry about the tower, saying we should've had more guards. But once Magnolia started singing, it changed. Like someone flipped a switch."
Sico's eyes stayed on the crowd. "People need something they can feel more than something they can be told."
Sarah nodded. "That's the truth. Words don't travel far here, but a song…" She gestured toward Magnolia with her chin. "A song reaches every damn corner."
The Commander folded his arms, his gaze distant but attentive. "You've done well, Sarah. Both of you. The settlers are holding together."
She exhaled slowly, the edge in her posture easing. "It'll hold for now. But you know how it goes — one problem ends, two more crawl out from the ruins. I'll keep patrols tighter, make sure the markets open on time tomorrow. Normalcy helps."
"Good," Sico said. "Keep them moving. Routine gives people something to hang on to."
A child's laughter broke through the air near the stage. A little girl, barefoot and no older than seven, was dancing clumsily to Magnolia's tune — arms out, spinning in a wide circle. The people around her started to clap along, the rhythm soft at first, then steady. A couple of the men near the food stalls started tapping their boots against the cobblestone.
The energy of the square began to shift — that cautious calm blooming into something brighter.
Sarah noticed it too. "Looks like it's working."
Sico gave a faint smile. "Yeah. It's working."
He took a slow step toward the edge of the fountain, watching as Magnolia transitioned into a lighter song — one that carried a bit of swing, the kind that made even tired feet want to move. The settlers were clapping in rhythm now, children laughing, the tension melting into motion.
He could almost forget, for a few fleeting minutes, that the Republic was still under threat. That the Brotherhood was mobilizing. That the "raider attack" story was a shield made of paper.
Right now, Sanctuary was alive — alive — and that mattered.
Magnolia caught sight of Sico then. Her eyes met his briefly over the microphone. She didn't break rhythm, didn't falter, but the small flicker of recognition was there. A soft smile curved her lips before she turned her gaze back to the crowd.
When the song ended, she lowered the guitar and nodded toward Sarah. "How about a few words from our favorite woman?" she said with a teasing grin.
The crowd clapped again, a few voices calling out Sarah's name. Sarah shot Sico a look that said, You put her up to this? He only raised his brows in mock innocence.
With a sigh, Sarah stepped up to the edge of the stage and took the microphone from Magnolia. She looked out over the crowd — hundreds of eyes on her, expectant, tired, hopeful.
"Alright," she began, her tone strong but warm. "You've all heard the rumors. You've all seen the smoke. And yeah, it's true that we got hit hard. But let me tell you something. Every damn time this city's been knocked down, you got back up. Every single one of you. Sanctuary isn't just walls and wires but it's us. And as long as we're breathing, no one that is from the raiders, the Brotherhood, or anyone can takes that from us."
The crowd murmured again, but this time it was agreement, a low wave of approval. A few people started clapping. Others shouted her name.
Sarah nodded once, firm. "So tonight, you rest easy. Eat. Laugh. Listen to Magnolia. Tomorrow, we rebuild — better than before."
She handed the microphone back to Magnolia, who flashed her a grin and lifted it high. "Now that's what I call spirit!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, louder this time, more genuine. Someone struck up a drum rhythm on an overturned barrel, and laughter rippled through the air.
Sico felt something uncoil in his chest which is not relief, exactly, but the easing of tension. The Republic was wounded, yes, but its heart was still beating strong.
Sarah stepped down from the stage and walked over to him again. "They'll sleep easier tonight," she said.
"They needed that," Sico replied. "You did well."
Sarah tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You look like you needed it too."
He didn't argue. "Maybe I did."
For a moment, they stood there together, just watching as the square filled with light and sound and warmth. Magnolia had started another song, this one lighter still, and people had begun to dance — awkwardly, clumsily, but joyfully. The lanterns swung above them, their glow reflected in the fountain's water.
The night sky above Sanctuary shimmered faintly with lantern light, but miles away at the beneath the cold, unyielding concrete of the Boston Airport which the air was different. Down here, the world was dim, mechanical, and humming with secrets.
The underground passage stretched long and narrow, lined with rusting metal beams and the faint echo of water dripping from a cracked pipe somewhere in the dark. The faint blue glow of emergency lights barely illuminated the path ahead, casting long shadows across the floor. Once, this place had been a maintenance sector of the Brotherhood's airport command, abandoned after the last reconstruction project. Now, it had become something else entirely: a hidden refuge for those within the Brotherhood who had begun to doubt their own cause.
Paladin Danse walked at the front, his power armor footsteps muted only slightly by the thick dust that blanketed the floor. His visor light cut a thin beam through the gloom. Behind him, Dr. Madison Li followed with a small pack slung across her shoulder, her lab coat smudged with grime and oil stains. Her eyes, sharp and thoughtful as ever, flicked between the shadows and the faint silhouettes of others moving behind them.
There were six of them tonight — six members of the Brotherhood who no longer looked at Elder Maxson's orders with pride, but with unease. They walked carefully, as though the walls themselves might be listening.
Danse stopped at an old steel door ahead with the kind with faded Brotherhood insignia still faintly visible under years of rust. He glanced over his shoulder once to ensure they weren't followed, then placed his armored hand against the access panel. With a groaning hiss, the door unlocked, sliding open to reveal a low-ceilinged room lit only by scavenged lanterns and the flicker of a terminal screen in the corner.
"Inside," he said, his voice low but firm.
The others filed in quickly. Once the door shut again, the underground chamber became a world of its own — sealed off from the roar of Vertibirds above, from the propaganda speeches echoing through the Brotherhood's loudspeakers, from the eyes of Elder Maxson himself.
Li exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "You're certain no one traced us here?"
Danse turned to face her, the servo-motors in his armor whining softly as he moved. "Positive. This access tunnel's been sealed off since before the last expansion. Only a few maintenance bots ever came this deep. I made sure they're gone."
Li nodded, though her expression remained tense. "You're taking bigger risks every week, Paladin."
He gave a small grunt that might've been a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "It's not risk — it's purpose."
She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing in that calculating way she had when she was thinking ahead of him. "Purpose doesn't mean much if Maxson finds out before you're ready."
Danse didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped toward the center of the room where a large, dusty table stood — an old command desk, its surface now covered in scattered notes, blueprints, and scavenged holotapes. A small lamp cast a yellow halo over it.
He placed his helmet down with a metallic thud and looked up at the small group gathered around him. There was Knight Ramirez, a young man with steady eyes and the unmistakable tension of someone who'd been forced to choose between loyalty and conscience. Beside him, Scribe Lyle, an older man who'd once worked under Li before she defected from the Institute. Two more stood behind them — both mechanics, both hardened soldiers who'd grown tired of following orders that demanded destruction instead of understanding.
"This is it," Danse began, his voice quieter than usual but carrying the weight of command. "This is where it starts."
Li leaned against the table, arms folded, her gaze steady. "Then say it plainly, Danse. They deserve to know what they're risking."
Danse looked at each of them in turn. "You've all seen what the Brotherhood's become. What Maxson's turned it into. We were meant to protect humanity, not rule it. But now — every order, every operation — it's about domination. About purging anyone or anything that doesn't fit their idea of purity."
Ramirez shifted uneasily. "We all took the oath, Paladin. Serve, obey, protect. But… it doesn't feel like that anymore. Feels like we're following a crusade instead of a mission."
Danse nodded slowly. "You're right. The Brotherhood used to stand for something better. Now, we destroy settlements, seize technology, burn lives for ideals none of us voted for. The Commonwealth doesn't need conquerors — it needs builders."
Li's voice softened slightly. "And you believe Sanctuary can be that."
Danse turned toward her. "It already is."
For a moment, silence filled the room — thick, heavy, but not hopeless. The faint hum of the old terminal was the only sound.
He continued, "Commander Sico and the Freemasons Republic have managed what the Brotherhood couldn't: unity. Civilians, scientists, soldiers — all working together without fear. I've seen their work through our inside contacts. They're not perfect, but they're building something real. Something that could last. And if we're smart, we can be part of that."
One of the mechanics, a young woman named Briggs frowned. "You're saying we just abandon the Brotherhood? Walk away and hope Maxson doesn't send a kill team after us?"
Danse met her eyes, unwavering. "Not abandon — transform. Slowly, quietly. We can't just run. Not yet. We have to change from within first."
Li pulled a small holotape from her pocket and slid it across the table. "That's why we're here. Recruitment. Expansion. You want to build a network, not a rebellion."
Danse gave a sharp nod. "Exactly. We start with those who already doubt the cause — the ones who hesitate when they're told to torch a settlement, the ones who question why we kill scientists instead of learning from them. There are more of them than you think. We bring them in, slowly, discreetly. One at a time."
Ramirez leaned forward. "And once we have enough?"
"Then we move," Danse said simply. "When the time's right, when we're strong enough, we extract everyone — all of us — and head to Sanctuary. We'll offer our training, our weapons, our knowledge. The Republic will take us in. I've already received indirect confirmation through Li's contact there."
All eyes turned to Madison Li.
She nodded. "That's true. I've kept communication channels open with the Republic's science council. They've heard about the schism forming here. If we can bring enough people, and prove our loyalty that the Freemasons Republic will welcome us."
Lyle exhaled heavily. "Then what's the next step?"
Danse reached into a small crate beside him and pulled out several sealed envelopes — Brotherhood documents, but re-coded with his own markings. He laid them out across the table, tapping each one as he spoke.
"These are the lists of patrol routes and internal personnel transfers. We'll use them to identify sympathetic soldiers — the ones stationed at outposts far from the main command. I'll handle the recruitment personally. Quietly. Each new recruit gets a task: data gathering, supply rerouting, communications interception. Nothing that'll raise suspicion."
Briggs frowned again. "You're building a cell network."
"Exactly," Danse said. "One that operates beneath Maxson's nose. If we're discovered, each cell can act independently. No collapse, no exposure."
Li unfolded a map, spreading it out beside the papers. It showed the eastern Commonwealth, dotted with handwritten notes and markers. "I've marked potential extraction points. If or when it's time to move, these are the safest corridors to reach Sanctuary territory. Most go through neutral zones or old subway systems."
Ramirez stared at the map, his jaw tight. "That's a long shot."
Danse's voice softened, but there was steel in it. "Everything worth saving in this world started as a long shot."
Li looked at him and really looked, for a moment. She saw the fire behind his calm, the same conviction that had once made him one of Maxson's most trusted Paladins. "You sound like him sometimes," she said quietly. "Like Sico."
Danse almost smiled. "He taught me that belief means nothing without action."
The room fell silent again, but this time it wasn't uncertainty, but it was reflection. Each of them, in their own way, was measuring what this choice meant. Betrayal of their Elder. Treason against the Brotherhood. Exile, perhaps death.
After a long moment, Briggs spoke, her voice steady. "Then I'm in."
Ramirez followed. "Me too."
One by one, the others nodded.
Li's lips curved into a small, rare smile. "Then we move forward."
Danse reached out, placing his hand flat on the table. The others followed — bare hands and gloved ones alike. It was a silent oath, born not of rank or order, but of purpose.
When they pulled back, the decision had been made.
Li turned toward the terminal and began uploading encrypted files. "I'll keep the communication relay hidden under the guise of power grid maintenance. No one will question it."
Danse put his helmet back on, the visor light flickering back to life. "Good. The next step is patience. We wait, we recruit, and when the time comes, we move."
Li paused before shutting the terminal off. "And Sanctuary?"
Danse's voice echoed softly through the helmet. "When we go, they'll be ready for us. And when we arrive — we'll finally be on the right side of history."
The lights dimmed slightly as the generator sputtered in the corner, but for the first time in a long while, the darkness didn't feel suffocating. It felt like a veil — something to hide beneath until the dawn came.
________________________________________________
• 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:-