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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.
The convoy rolled to a stop just outside the fortified front of the Boston Airport—once a hub of pre-War flight, now a cold citadel for the Brotherhood's Eastern Command.
Sunlight sprung shards through the scorched iron framework overhead. Dust motes hung in the air like tiny ambassadors, caught in the shafts of radiance. Then came footsteps—measured, heavy, echoing against concrete and steel.
A Brotherhood Knight strode forward, power armor reflecting the afternoon light. His T-60 pauldrons loomed large, embossed with the familiar winged sword emblem. He raised a metal glove to signal the convoy to hold.
"State your business," he said, voice clipped but not unkind.
Sico stepped forward, removing his helmet. His face was calm. Intent. Almost respectful.
"We're from the Freemasons Republic."
The Knight's visor tracked from Sico to the convoy, from the soldiers to the Growlers, to the humvees and supply trucks.
"Requesting audience with Elder Maxson."
Silence stretched again. The Knight considered, then gave a curt nod and turned sharply on metal heels.
"Wait here. Don't move anything."
The folding doors of the airport's main gate creaked open with hydraulics that sounded like distant thunder. Light from inside spilled out, washing over the courtyard in warm brightness. At first, only one figure emerged—lean, towering, his form framed in black power armor. Then he stepped into the light and leaned forward to scrutinize Sico's convoy. The Knight followed, speaking low into his comm.
Moments crawled.
Then the Knight returned, locking eyes with Sico.
"Paladin Danse will escort you."
Paladin Danse walked briskly across the courtyard—strong, disciplined, radiating confidence. The weight of his armor didn't slow him; it was part of who he was. He stopped a few feet from Sico and inclined his head. His voice was quiet but carried authority.
"You're bringing a hundred soldiers? Growler units? You don't come unannounced."
Sico met his gaze. "We came to propose a truce."
Danse's helmet retracted, revealing somber, steel-gray eyes. "Word travels fast. The Brotherhood didn't expect diplomacy."
Sico offered a slight nod. "But we did."
Danse scanned the soldiers behind Sico. "Your men trained and armed well. That speaks to intent."
Sico gestured toward the convoy. "We're serious about peace, Paladin. We didn't send token envoys or unarmed messengers. We came prepared, but only for defense."
Danse studied him in silence, his jaw tight. Then he stepped aside onto the covered walkway.
"Follow me."
Sico motioned to his line—Preston and Sarah took point behind him. Piper, clad in her own formal dark coat, followed a step behind, recorder at the ready.
They walked beneath hanging banners—power swords, phoenixes, republic flags—doors sliding aside to reveal the cavernous hangar beyond.
Inside, the hum of machinery mixed with the distant rasp of power armor servos. A dozen Brotherhood Knights and Scribes lined the walls. Overhead ran cables and ducts, ending in massive hangar doors where a filthy Vertibird sat grounded, rotors still.
Paladin Danse led the convoy forward until they stopped a respectful distance from the parked vertibird. He turned to the group.
"Take your men in there," he nodded toward a bench-lined anteroom. "And prepare to meet Elder Maxson."
He paused—stern eyes on Sico. "I'll stay behind for escort. That's as close as I get."
In the reception area, Preston and Sarah began the men. The Rangers checked rifles, Growler pilots adjusted vests, medical aides unloaded first aid kits. Outside, the air shifted—birds fell silent, the distant roar of the convoy faded to nothing.
Inside, Sico and Piper took seats on the polished bench. A Brotherhood Knight handed him a pip‑boy charger; he clipped it on, fingers moving almost instinctively. Piper nestled between two soldiers, setting holotapes aside but keeping her recorder in her hand.
Minutes felt endless. Finally, armor-clad feet echoed again.
Two figures entered: Paladin Danse, and behind him, a tall silhouette in armor draped with a black cloak—the unmistakable form of Elder Arthur Maxson.
His face, when it emerged from beneath his hood, was haunting. Half-shadowed. Eyes not angry, but measured. He moved deliberately toward Sico, who rose from his seat and stepped forward.
"Elder Maxson," Sico said, voice unwavering. "Thank you for meeting me."
Maxson stopped a respectful pace from Sico. "Freemasons Republic approaches with significant force. That alone demands caution."
Sico kept his tone even. "We came prepared to defend ourselves. Not to provoke."
Maxson's gaze cut along the convoy behind Sico, then lingered on Piper's recorder before swinging back.
"Why are you here?"
Sico took a breath, shoulders squared.
"We propose an alliance."
Maxson studied him for a heartbeat. Then raised an eyebrow.
"Friendship?" he asked, dryly. "Strange words between armies."
Sarah stepped forward from the bench.
"We want to formalize non-aggression. Mutual cooperation on this synth threat. We want your support—or at least your neutrality."
Maxson's expression hardened. "The Brotherhood considers all synths a threat."
Sico's eyes held Maxson's, and though the Brotherhood leader's stare was unrelenting—like looking into the muzzle of a loaded rifle—Sico didn't blink. He let the silence breathe between them, because silence, he'd learned, was sometimes the truest way to weigh conviction. He could feel Sarah's presence just behind him, steady like iron. Piper's was quieter, but her recorder made a soft click as she prepared for whatever would be said next.
Then Sico spoke, his voice steady—not as a man seeking permission, but as an equal standing at the edge of a new era.
"We're not asking for sympathy," he said, slow and clear. "Or favors. This isn't politics. It's war."
Maxson's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
Sico continued, "We have intel. From someone inside the Institute."
That got Maxson's attention. The Brotherhood Elder didn't flinch, but his brow ticked up—just barely. A flicker of curiosity, then steel again.
Sico didn't let the moment slip. "We've been working with someone—deep inside. A scientist. Or at least, he was. He contacted us weeks ago. We've verified everything he's told us. It's real. Names. Missions. Agents. Movement corridors. Lab locations. We even have logs. Dates. Shipment manifests. You name it."
Maxson said nothing, but the space around them seemed to constrict, like the very air was listening.
Sarah stepped up again, offering a folded holotape case, clasped in gloved hands. "Encrypted twice, Brotherhood-standard, then Freemason code. You can have it all. We're not hiding it."
Paladin Danse accepted it from her and passed it without a word to one of the Scribes who had approached silently from the shadows near the hangar entrance. The man took it like it might explode, tucking it into a thickly armored case.
Sico turned back to Maxson. "We want to destroy the Institute. Not just survive them. Not just push them back. Erase them."
"Together," Sarah added, her voice like flint.
Piper clicked her recorder again, her eyes never leaving Maxson. She wasn't a soldier, not in the way Sarah and Preston were, but she'd seen wars from the front row—and this, she knew, was the moment when history tilted.
Maxson stepped forward, cloak whispering behind him like a second shadow. "You're asking for trust."
"No," Sico said. "We're offering cooperation. Mutual action. You don't have to trust us. Not yet. But if you want to see the Commonwealth free of synthetic infiltration, of Institute manipulation… then this is your chance."
Maxson looked him over. He was younger than his reputation made him seem. His face was hard, but not cruel. Calculated. There was a fire behind his eyes, but one that had long since been tempered into a furnace rather than a wildfire.
"You're sure this source is real?" he asked.
"We vetted him," Sico said. "He risked everything. Family. Life. Even his own memory. He reached out to us through an old Minutemen relay station north of the Glowing Sea. Said he couldn't live with what the Institute was doing. With what he was doing."
Maxson crossed his arms, boots creaking against the polished steel floor. He looked over Sico's shoulder at the men and women assembled behind him—the Growler troops, standing in formation even now. Preston, his wide-brimmed hat removed out of respect, was speaking quietly to Sarah. Medical aides stood nearby, quietly cleaning their hands with alcohol wipes. Every movement told a story. These people were not opportunists.
They were builders.
"You've done your homework," Maxson said, after a long pause. "And you brought force, but didn't flaunt it."
Sico nodded. "You did the same when you landed at the Prydwen."
That got the smallest twitch of amusement from the Elder's lips. Barely visible, like the flick of a lighter in a storm.
Maxson took a breath, then gestured toward the rear of the hangar. "Walk with me."
Sico hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He signaled to Preston and Sarah to hold position, and to Piper to follow. Danse fell in beside them, towering and silent, his armor hissing softly with every step.
The four of them passed deeper into the hangar. The echo of footsteps bounced off thick walls. Brotherhood scribes glanced up from terminals and data pads. Servos hummed in the background, and the smell of old fuel, metal polish, and ozone hung heavy in the air.
Maxson finally spoke as they passed a grounded vertibird with its paneling removed, showing wires like ribs.
"You know the Institute will retaliate."
"We expect it," Sico said. "We're not naïve."
"They'll send spies," Maxson continued. "Saboteurs. Gen-3 units with blank slates. You won't see them coming."
Sico turned slightly. "That's why we want to do it with you. Not just next to you."
Maxson stopped walking. He turned to face them in front of a glowing map projection showing the Boston region—Brotherhood outposts flickering in red, minor skirmishes marked with yellow, and a flickering green icon marked "Sanctuary."
"You've grown fast," Maxson said, eyes never leaving the map. "Too fast."
"We didn't have a choice," Piper said, her voice more steel than silk. "We were under threat from every direction. Raiders. Gunners. Super mutants. Even your patrols at one point. Sanctuary held because we had to grow."
Maxson's eyes narrowed. "How many men?"
Sico answered without pause. "Over three thousand trained combatants. Ten thousand in reserve. Thirty thousand civilians."
Maxson gave a low whistle—barely audible, but still a sound of surprise. "You've built a nation."
"We're not playing pretend," Sarah said, her voice sharp now. "We hold Quincy. Somerville. All the way up to Malden and back down to Hyde Park. People believe in this. They chose it."
"That belief will be tested," Maxson said, finally turning back to face them. "You align with us, you put yourselves in the line of fire. If you think the Institute's been subtle so far—think again. They've only been watching. Waiting. Letting the surface weaken itself."
"They underestimated us before," Sico said. "They won't again."
Danse finally spoke, voice low but unwavering. "And what's your end goal, President? Say the Institute falls. Say we erase them from the map. What then?"
Sico looked from Danse to Maxson.
"Then we build a future that doesn't need war."
Maxson stood silently, eyes narrowed at the flickering green dot labeled "Sanctuary" on the glowing holomap. The projections reflected off the sheen of his armored chestplate, bouncing faint glimmers of red and green light across the steel-etched grooves of his face. His arms were crossed again—same stance as earlier, but now it felt different. Less guarded. More contemplative.
"You've built a nation," he'd said.
And now, Sico was going to test just how serious Maxson had been when he said it.
Sico's voice broke the thick silence, low and unshaken. "We don't want to rule the entire Commonwealth. That's not our ambition. That's not what we were built for. Our strength comes from unity, not domination."
Maxson looked at him sideways. There was suspicion in that gaze still, but a flicker of curiosity too—like a soldier staring down the barrel of a weapon that, somehow, hadn't gone off yet.
Sico continued, "When the Institute falls—and it will fall—we propose a permanent division of the Commonwealth. Two sovereign entities. The Freemasons Republic in the east and central zones—Sanctuary, Quincy, Cambridge, Somerville, and their satellite towns. The Brotherhood of Steel in the west and the airport sectors."
Maxson's silence deepened. Even the humming of the terminals nearby seemed to lower in deference. Behind him, Danse said nothing, but the motion of his T-60 armor stopping dead was like an exclamation point.
"And what of the rest?" Maxson finally asked, his voice more measured now. "The Wastes to the south, the outskirts to the north, the coasts?"
Sico didn't hesitate. "Any third faction that rises and attempts to threaten this balance… we'll dismantle it. Together. Whether it's another would-be government, a cult, a warlord, a synth enclave, or some bastardized remnant of pre-War madness trying to raise a flag—we strike them down."
Maxson's cloak shifted slightly as he turned. "And raiders?"
"We wipe them off the map," Sico said, eyes steady. "No exceptions. No truces. No false deals or bribes. Every group from the Forged to the Disciples to whatever's left of the Rust Devils. If they prey on the innocent, they die."
Sarah crossed her arms behind him. "And we don't wait for them to strike first. Not anymore. We bring the war to them."
Maxson's mouth tightened at the corner. He didn't speak yet—but he looked at Sico now not like an enemy, or even a diplomat, but like something far more rare: a peer.
Piper, still quiet behind her recorder, took a small breath. Her hand had been trembling. Now it was still. She felt it. The tide shifting. She always did.
Maxson let out a slow breath through his nose. It wasn't a sigh of fatigue—it was the exhale of a man whose calculus had just changed. The look in his eye now wasn't suspicion—it was calculation.
"You realize," Maxson said slowly, "that what you're proposing… is power. Raw. Unchecked. This isn't diplomacy. This is a partition. The kind of thing they used to do in the past. Two powers, drawing lines in the sand with blood as the ink."
Sico nodded once. "It's the only way to keep peace after the Institute is gone. Because something will fill the void they leave. Nature hates a vacuum."
Danse shifted slightly. "And what stops this from becoming another cold war?"
Maxson looked directly at Sico. "What stops you and I from pointing our weapons at each other once there's no one left to fight?"
The question wasn't rhetorical. It was deadly serious. The Brotherhood Elder wasn't testing him—he was demanding an answer. The kind that determined whether this fragile alliance lived or died right here on the cold hangar floor.
Sico didn't flinch.
He didn't try to soften it. Didn't try to wax poetic. No platitudes. No appeals to mutual prosperity or the greater good.
He simply said:
"Let the future decide."
Maxson didn't react at first.
Then a twitch in the jaw.
A flicker in the eye.
And then silence again.
Sico stepped closer, not aggressively, but with that same implacable energy he carried when walking down the main drag in Sanctuary, his boots hitting cracked pavement like a metronome for the future.
"We don't need to promise friendship. We don't need a treaty inked in fine script. What we need is to destroy the one enemy that threatens every human being left in the Commonwealth. Let's do that. First. Let's pull them out by the roots and burn them where they stand."
"And after that?" Maxson asked again, still testing. "What if that day comes and I'm looking across the Charles River and I see an army forming on your side of it?"
Sico gave a slight smile—not smug, not mocking. Just tired.
"Then we'll see what kind of men we really are."
Maxson's face didn't change, but Danse turned slightly toward him, as if to say well?
It took a full five seconds before Maxson nodded.
Just once.
The tiniest inclination of his head.
But it might as well have been the slamming of a gavel on the bones of the old world.
"Very well," Maxson said, voice deep and firm. "We go to war. Together."
A breath escaped Sarah's lips—not relief, not exactly. Just release. Piper exhaled too, her grip on the recorder finally relaxing.
Sico stepped back a pace and nodded to Danse. "I want our operatives linked. Joint task forces. Shared intelligence. No power struggles, no hoarding. We hit the Institute with everything we've got."
"You'll get it," Danse said.
Maxson raised a hand. "I'll draw up the coordination teams myself. Our scribes and your scientists can begin syncing data. Danse will represent the Brotherhood in all forward operations."
Sico turned to Sarah. "You'll be our lead. Coordinate with Danse. Pull Preston if you need reinforcements."
Maxson looked at Piper. "And you?"
Piper gave him a steady look. "I write what happens. I make sure no one forgets who started this, and why."
The Brotherhood Elder's eyes lingered on her for a second, then he nodded. "That recorder of yours better be accurate."
"You'll get the truth," Piper said. "Even when it burns."
Maxson turned on his heel and began walking back toward the holotable. "Then let's stop talking and start planning. We don't have months. We don't even have weeks. The Institute will feel this alliance before sunrise."
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• 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:-