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By the end of the week, a patrol squadron of Brotherhood knights was seen sweeping through Quincy. Another diverted west toward the old Uxbridge ruins. Vertibirds passed overhead more frequently now, black silhouettes against the sky.
Sanctuary woke to a pale light dripping across broken rooftops and reeking chimneys. Soft birdcalls fluttered through the chill, though the air still carried the tang of frost and charred metal. But beneath that, in the hush before morning fully broke, something else stirred—quiet anticipation.
Sico moved through the corridors of Freemasons HQ with purpose. He'd sent invites three days ago: Mel, Hancock, Robert, Albert, Cait, Piper, Nick Valentine, Sarah, Preston, Curie, Magnolia, Sturges, MacCready, and Isabel Cruz—all were to attend a full council meeting tonight. Some had expected routine updates on water production or Growler training. Few guessed what was really coming.
The meeting room was in what used to be the schoolhouse's auditorium. Rows of bleachers had been converted into desks. Vault‑style lighting draped overhead. A large tactical table sat dead center, holding not only a detailed terrain map but also small markers—Growler units, Brotherhood patrols, Institute strongpoints, teleportation nodes.
By the time Sico entered, most of them were seated. Mel was reviewing sketches; Albert had charts of water production; Magnolia clutched ledgers; Curie stood at the corner with her lab notes; Hancock lounged in a chair, legs stretched; Nick Valentine leaned forward, adjusted his hat; Cait and Isabel chatted softly; Piper scribbled on her clipboard; Robert fiddled with his rifle's safety; Sturges tinkered with an upright tool rack; MacCready standing in the corner.
Sarah and Preston sat closest to Sico.
He paused at the head of the table, clearing his throat softly.
They all turned.
He felt the weight of seventy two pairs of eyes—some curious, some skeptical, many loyal.
"Thank you all for being here," he began quietly. "I know you think you know what this is about. But tonight… we're not talking growth. Not just stability. We're talking change."
His gaze was broad, sweeping their faces.
"This plan comes from Sarah, Preston, and me. We've been watching the Institute from below their labs. We've been feeding whispers to the Brotherhood, turning their gaze outward—toward phantom synths and infiltrators. While they chase ghosts, we're going to strike the heart."
He looked at Sarah. She nodded.
He turned to Preston. He nodded too.
He returned to the table.
"We're calling on Nora to open their teleportation network from the inside. Our teams will be beamed into the Institute main base—MIT below. Fast, surgical, precise. We disable the surveillance programs, shut down AI cores, lock down labs. We capture Shaun, or at least the Council. And we take over their engine rooms."
Isabel leaned forward, pink eyes wide. "You're aiming to take control of their base… from inside?"
Sico nodded.
Mel set his pen down. "How do you propose you'll get in without setting off alarms?"
"That's where Nora comes in," Sarah explained. "She's mapped the jump nodes and command relays. We'll have timed access windows—maybe thirty seconds of blind spot before the Institute can reroute defenses."
Curie raised a hand. "Doctor Malcolm said Institute failsafes are extremely robust—AI overrides, synth shooter units, security fields. We'll need to move fast."
Magnolia set aside her ledger. "If things go south, we can't risk losing the vault. Or our treasury. What's our extraction plan?"
Preston spoke. "We won't risk everything if it turns violent. The plan is to conduct surgical strikes—capture the command towers, disable central AI, secure key personnel. If we lose control, we pull back. But by then we will have disabled the teleport network. Institute shuts down, or we lock them out."
Piper cleared her throat. "What about the Brotherhood? How long will they be chasing phantoms?"
Sarah said, "Long enough. We've planted intel suggesting a resurgence of invisible synth commands across Cambridge, Lexington, Quincy. We've planned routes for vertibird patrols and ground sweeps for two full weeks."
Piper scribbled furiously.
Hancock leaned forward. "So while they're chasing ghosts, we'll run right down the throat of the beast."
Nick Valentine nodded. "Nora's intel will be key. I'll coordinate with her personally. If she's compromised… we abort."
Isabel asked, "Once we're in, what about the personnel—synths, scientists, engineers? You spoke of 'conversion'? Meaning what?"
Sico looked at her. "We don't wipe them out. We offer them terms. Autonomy, rights, roles in the Freemasons Republic. Their talents and knowledge will be integrated—if they comply. If they refuse, they become prisoners."
Albert spoke up. "Which brings me to post‑Operation Logistics. We'll need secure facilities—labs that can contain Institute tech safely, quarantine areas, re‑education centers."
Sturges rubbed his beard. "Mechanist Lair's ideal. Dead‑end tunnels, reinforced walls, robot interface chamber—it's become a tech hub already."
Isabel smiled slightly. "Which you're helping to run now."
Sturges chuckled. "Exactly."
Robert spoke, hands folded on the table. "Our Growler pilots—Sarah, you said the same crews will do boarding. They're the most reliable?"
Sarah met his gaze. "They'll be trained for Zucco infiltration operations—fast rope, hover insert, silent grenades. They're the same folks who tested night ops models. They know what's dangerous."
Cait, quiet until now, looked up from her tablet. "I'll relay to Minutemen outposts. Once we have control of Institute artifacts, I'll coordinate salvage teams."
Curie nodded. "And I'll oversee disassembly of pre‑war biotech. We can reprogram Securitrons using Institute AI, repurpose synth design for humanitarian projects."
Piper spoke: "Public communications. We must frame it as liberation—'Institute freed from tyranny by Freemasons Republic and Brotherhood.' Our messaging needs to include that we gave them choice, not conquest. That's how we win the hearts afterward."
Mel added softly: "Growlers will roll in as escort. We'll show up after the operation—in public view—to escort scientists out. That sends a signal."
Sarah cleared her throat. "Which is when we betray the Brotherhood."
The room was still for a long moment, then stilled.
Sico stood slowly, looking from face to face.
"This is the plan." Voice steady, resonant. "I understand the risks. I understand the betrayal. But if we do this with precision, honor, and restraint—if we show those scientists that there's a better path—they could help build the greatest experiment the Commonwealth has ever known: not a brutal hierarchy, but a shared republic. With people—human and synth—on equal footing."
He paused.
"Are you with me?"
Mel's eyes flicked with pride. "We're with you, boss."
Hancock cracked a half‑smile. "Guess this old drifter's sticking around."
Robert nodded. "Whatever you need."
Albert gave a quiet thumbs‑up. "We'll handle logistics."
Piper rubbed her palms. "Already drafting the first radio script."
Nick Valentine doffed his hat. "I'll keep the intel tight."
Sarah gave a slow, fierce nod. "Ready."
Preston folded his arms firmly. "Let's finish what we started."
Curie gave a soft smile. "For science. And healing."
Magnolia set her jaw. "Let's keep the treasury safe—and the public believing."
Sturges gave a rusted wrench a tap. "Let's build the future."
MacCready, Cait, and Isabel nodded in unison, resolute.
Sico's gaze swept across the room one last time, watching as each face—old allies, new thinkers, warriors, idealists, dreamers—settled into something like resolve. He felt the weight of it in his chest. Not dread. Not excitement. But the cold, steady burn of conviction. The moment held for just a breath longer before he finally spoke again, voice low but firm.
"Good," he said, nodding. "We're aligned."
He turned back toward the center of the map, his hand resting gently atop the corner near the MIT ruins. But his eyes moved, deliberately, to another section—where Brotherhood patrol routes marked wide, sweeping arcs through the southern Commonwealth.
"But listen closely. The plan doesn't launch tomorrow. Not next week. Right now, we're not striking anything."
That caught a few off guard—Piper lifted her brow; Sturges paused mid-adjustment of a coil wrench; MacCready leaned forward a little more.
Sico continued, carefully, deliberately.
"For now, our job is to keep the Brotherhood busy. Make them believe the Institute's shadow is everywhere—haunting towns, hijacking caravans, planting synths in their ranks. We let them chase ghosts across the Commonwealth. And in the meantime…"
He gave a slow breath and looked back up.
"…we gather our strength. Quietly. Thoroughly. Until every piece is ready. Until we know—without a doubt—that we can take the Institute and hold it."
Magnolia looked over the edge of her ledger. "You mean a delay. How long?"
"However long it takes to do this right," Sico replied. "We'll use that time to tighten coordination, train our boarding teams, test the teleportation windows. Most importantly…"
He straightened.
"…when we're ready, I will call Congress."
The silence in the room stretched again, different this time. More solemn. More ceremonial. The Freemasons Republic Congress hadn't convened for war since the Battle of the Forge two years prior. Most in the room had been present then, too. And they remembered how that meeting changed everything.
Sico pressed on.
"When I call Congress, I will bring this entire plan before them—openly. With the data, the risks, the projections. And the day after…"
He tapped the map again.
"…we strike the Institute."
Cait tilted her head. "And until then?"
"Until then, we maintain the illusion," he said. "The Brotherhood must believe the war is ongoing. That synths are slipping through every crack. That they are winning a war we're too understaffed to manage."
Sarah nodded slowly, already calculating routes. "We can spread Growler patrols along the southern border. Make it look like our units are also engaged in synth-hunting."
"Exactly," Sico said. "Growler units will operate decoy missions. Set up search-and-seize checkpoints. Stage false discoveries—half-disassembled synths, busted signal transmitters, even wounded settlers with 'memories' of being replaced."
Mel gave a low whistle. "You're playing them like a damn violin."
"It's not just deceit," Sico said. "It's camouflage. If the Brotherhood ever suspects we're aiming for the Institute before they are… they'll hit us first."
Nick Valentine grunted softly. "Paranoia's practically their religion."
Sico gave a dry smile, but there was no joy in it. "Which is why we're also going to give them something more… real."
He looked to Piper, then to Sarah, then finally Preston.
"We're going to broker an alliance."
Preston frowned. "With Maxson?"
"With the Brotherhood," Sico said. "At least in appearance."
Sarah's fingers tightened subtly on the edge of the table. "Risky."
"Very," Sico admitted. "But it's the only way to fully sell this façade. If we sign a non-aggression pact, maybe even offer limited cooperation on anti-synth operations, they'll be too busy chest-thumping to realize we're buying time."
Piper scribbled something down but didn't look up. "They'll want guarantees. Some form of tribute. Proof we're on their side."
"Then we give them what they expect," Sico said. "Reports. Debriefings. A few tech handovers. Nothing critical. And not often. Just enough to keep the illusion alive."
Nick gave a thoughtful nod. "You'll have to be careful who delivers the data. Anyone too curious might notice how shallow it is."
"That's where you and Isabel come in," Sico said. "You'll curate the data. Prepare the right files. Delete the wrong ones. You'll make the Brotherhood think we're giving them blood when it's only smoke."
Isabel didn't smile, but her tone was almost amused. "So I'm a forger now?"
Sico returned a wry glance. "You've done worse."
She shrugged. "True."
Sico looked to Preston and Sarah again. "We'll handle the talks directly. Maxson may not welcome us warmly, but he'll listen if we offer collaboration. Piper will come with us. She knows how to read a room—and how to spin a story when we're back."
Piper clicked her pen closed, eyes sharp. "And if they say no?"
"Then we retreat," Sico said. "Quietly. Politely. Let them keep their distance. We don't provoke them—we just make sure they don't provoke us first."
Sarah crossed her arms, watching him. "And if they suspect we're playing them?"
Sico didn't blink. "Then we pull back harder. Lay low. Wait them out. We don't force a confrontation. Not until we're ready."
Cait leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. "Sounds like we're threading a needle through a burning haystack."
"Maybe," Sico said. "But if we succeed… we won't just take the Institute. We'll shape what comes after."
He turned slowly, looking at each person again.
"I don't want a future where the Freemasons Republic becomes another empire. Another army of tyranny pretending to 'liberate' people. That's not what we've built. That's not why we bled."
He tapped his chest lightly. "We built this for people. All people. That includes synths. Scientists. Those who want to change, who want a better life."
Curie nodded softly. "Then let us make the waiting count. I can begin synthetic integration trials—test protocols for psychological re-entry for Institute staff, if we succeed."
Albert added, "And I'll get the power grid running for contingency control. If we get Institute power cores, we'll need our own systems stable first."
Magnolia was already flipping through financial forecasts. "If we're calling Congress… I'll need full budgetary projections within the month."
Mel pushed away his sketches. "And I'll start prepping Growler coy designs. They'll need new chassis—stealth kits, thermal dampeners. Decoys don't work if they're too obvious."
Sturges cracked his knuckles. "Mechanist Factory's got the frame supply. Isabel and I'll start next week."
Nick stood up, adjusting his collar. "Then I'll get Nora a message tonight. We'll need her voice in the next chapter."
Robert, who had stayed quiet until then, spoke at last.
"And what if Maxson calls our bluff?"
Sico didn't hesitate.
"Then we remind him that the Brotherhood doesn't want another war on two fronts. Not with the Republic. Not now. Not when he's still cleaning up from the last one."
Preston gave a faint nod. "He'll listen to that."
"And if he doesn't," Sarah added, "we already know where the Prydwen sleeps."
That earned a few thin, grim smiles around the table.
Sico stepped back slightly from the map, folding his arms behind him.
"This plan requires silence, patience, discipline. You talk to no one outside this room. Not your second-in-command. Not your partners. Not your kids. The illusion is everything."
He let the weight of that land.
"Once we are ready—once the scientists are in place, the labs secured, the Brotherhood distracted and the Institute vulnerable—I will call the Congress. And the next morning, we take everything."
Silence followed, but this time it wasn't heavy with fear. It was dense with promise.
Cait was the one who finally broke it, with a voice as gravelly as it was grounded. "Then let's get to work."
They dispersed slowly, not with haste, but with certainty. Isabel and Sturges lingered to exchange notes. Sarah and Preston were already discussing logistics. Piper tapped out a message for Nora on a holotape. Curie crossed the room to check protocols with Albert. Hancock gave Sico a half-wave and slipped out into the cold, coat flapping behind him.
The map table still glowed with its soft amber light, casting long, warm shadows across the worn hardwood floor of the council chamber. The last murmurs of conversation faded with the shuffle of boots and the sigh of the heavy steel door clicking shut. Sico stood still in the dimming war room, staring not at the points of interest or the mission arcs, but through them—into the spaces between. Into the future.
The plan was set. Now came the execution.
He turned, sharply but without alarm, toward the two figures still lingering near the far wall—Preston Garvey and Sarah Lyons. Both had instinctively paused, as if knowing Sico wasn't finished yet.
"Preston. Sarah." His voice was quieter now, less orator, more commander.
They turned in unison, all attention.
"We're moving today."
That got their full attention.
"Prepare a convoy," Sico said without pause. "Three Humvees for escort detail. Five supply trucks loaded with basic rations, medical, fuel, and emergency backups. Six Growler units—frontline models. No experimental prototypes. I want equipment that's been tested and field-proven."
Preston nodded, already mentally checking off boxes. "Standard defense perimeter on the Growlers?"
"Triple-check the coil arrays," Sico added. "And I want the EM dampeners calibrated for stealth mode. If the Brotherhood scans us from the Prydwen, they'll think we're just another patrol route."
Sarah's brow furrowed. "Destination?"
Sico didn't hesitate. "Boston Airport."
There was a beat of silence. Even seasoned fighters like Sarah felt a ripple of tension in their spine at the name. The Boston Airport—the Brotherhood's Commonwealth anchor, Prydwen's looming shadow above, vertibirds screaming in and out like angry wasps—was not a place one walked into lightly.
Sarah folded her arms, not in defiance, but with practiced consideration. "We're just going to roll up to their front gate with a hundred soldiers?"
"No," Sico said, his tone cold and methodical. "We're going to show them what diplomacy with the Freemasons Republic looks like."
He turned and strode to the old metal locker beneath the secondary comms terminal. The door creaked open as he pulled out a sealed gray container. Within were clean uniforms—undisturbed, pressed, and bearing the insignia of the Republic's neutral delegation branch: a white phoenix stitched into a dark blue field. Formal, but unmistakably military.
"Dress uniforms for the lead officers. Show of respect," he said, passing one to Preston, then Sarah. "And discipline."
"You really think Maxson will sit across a table with us?" Preston asked, studying the formal piece like it was a relic from a time long dead.
"He'll want to measure us first," Sico replied. "And I intend to let him."
He paused, then turned his head toward the stairwell.
"Piper!"
The echo of her boots came moments later, followed by the fast clip of her stride as she appeared in the doorway, already tucking a holotape recorder into her satchel. "I'm guessing this isn't a casual trip to the coast?"
"You're coming with us," Sico said. "Once the alliance is formalized, I want the world to hear it from you. Not just Boston, not just the Minutemen—or the Brotherhood, for that matter. Everyone. From Rivet City to New Reno."
Piper blinked, lips parting slightly in surprise. "You're serious. You want me to broadcast it?"
"As close to live as possible," he said. "You'll embed with the convoy. Write your pieces along the way. When we arrive, you'll be my communications officer—unofficially."
She gave a low whistle. "And officially?"
"You're our message," Sico said, staring her dead in the eye. "Proof we don't fear transparency. That we carry truth with us into every room."
Piper didn't smile. But she gave a nod that was as close as she ever came to reverence. "I'll pack my bags."
The next several hours were an explosion of coordinated logistics—mechanics rolling Growler treads onto concrete staging pads, trucks being backed into loading docks, soldiers in polished, dark-green uniforms checking ammo belts and securing survival kits.
The Freemasons Republic moved like a hive now: organized, efficient, no wasted motion.
In Hangar Bay 3, just off the outer loop of the Mechanist Factory, Mel was finalizing the last system checks on the Growlers. He had four of them fanned out like bronze insects, side-by-side under the sun, while his fingers danced across a nearby console.
"You sure you don't want the new optics on 17-B?" He called over her shoulder as Sico approached.
"No enhancements," he replied without slowing. "They're meant to look dependable, not intimidating."
Mel snorted. "You're asking an army of war machines to smile politely."
"Just make sure they don't blink wrong."
"Noted," he said, without sarcasm.
Sturges emerged from beneath the rear axle of one of the Humvees, wiping grease off his hands. "Rigged the suspension tighter. If we have to bolt, she'll bounce less."
"Appreciated."
By noon, the formation was ready.
Three Humvees led the spear—each packed with Republic Rangers armed with energy rifles, their visors glinting under the sun. The Growlers flanked the supply trucks, two forward, two rear, two held in reserve aboard heavy haulers. Inside the supply trucks were not just rations and fuel, but compressed modular defense turrets and relay jammers—equipment that could be rapidly deployed if the meeting turned sideways.
A hundred soldiers in total. Uniformed. Disciplined. No flags raised, but insignias visible. A mobile state message. A sovereign presence on the move.
Sico stood at the head of the convoy as the final inspection passed. Sarah and Preston stood to his right, Piper slightly behind him, her satchel now heavy with note tablets, spare holotapes, and two long-range recorders. She wore a dark red scarf—more symbolic than necessary—her personal banner of truth.
Sico pulled his glove tight and looked up at the sky.
The Prydwen was a smudge on the distant skyline. Just barely visible. Just enough.
He turned to the convoy and raised his voice.
"We move as envoys. Not invaders. Be professional. Be measured. We are the voice of a new Republic. Act like it."
A ripple of affirmations echoed down the line. Engines growled to life.
He turned back to Piper. "I want your first broadcast ready before we hit Cambridge. Tease the possibility of a truce. Mention the convoy. Don't announce the destination."
"Understood," she said, slipping a recorder from her pocket. "Any redactions?"
He shook his head. "Let them guess. Let them talk."
Then, without ceremony, he climbed into the lead Humvee.
The gate swung open. The convoy rumbled forward.
The Republic was on the move.
They moved like a thunderhead across the Commonwealth. Dust rose in long trails behind them, kicking across the old cracked highways and through the skeletons of forgotten suburbs. Civilians paused along overpasses and rooftops as the convoy passed, whispers rising in their wake.
Piper leaned forward between the seats of the second Humvee, tapping her fingers against a holotape recorder.
"Think they're watching us already?" she asked.
Sarah didn't look up from her map. "If they aren't, they will be by the time we hit MIT ruins."
"Think Maxson will come himself?"
Sico, seated up front, answered. "He'll either come in person… or send a delegation meant to intimidate. Either way, he won't ignore us."
The radio crackled—Preston's voice from the third Humvee. "Checkpoint at Bunker Hill. Locals are waving. No sign of resistance."
"Copy," Sico replied. "Maintain route. No stops unless necessary."
Piper flipped on her transmitter. "This is Piper Wright, embedded correspondent with the Freemasons Republic. Today, we ride with a convoy unlike any I've ever seen. Uniforms. Machines. Power. But this isn't an invasion—it's something stranger. A peace offering, heading straight for the lions' den…"
She kept the feed going in low bursts, updating every mile, every checkpoint, every visible landmark.
By the time they passed the broken remains of the Cambridge Overpass, the Brotherhood was waiting.
Vertibirds circled high above the ruins of the old Red Rocket station. Power-armored soldiers stood in formation outside the main gates to the Boston Airport. The sight was both familiar and starkly different—orderly but suffocating, like a statue of a fist.
________________________________________________
• 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:-