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Sico stood on the balcony of HQ, looking out over the valley. The wind caught his coat, carrying the sound faintly across the hills.
The next morning dawned clear and golden — one of those rare, gentle days that made the Commonwealth look almost kind again. Dew shimmered along the rooftops of Sanctuary like a thin layer of glass, and the first light stretched long across the main avenue, catching the metal banners and distant watchtowers until they gleamed like something out of an old-world painting.
But beneath that soft light, something else was stirring — not noise, not chaos, but the quiet hum of purpose. Radios crackled to life in homes, market stalls, and field outposts. The same familiar voice that had filled the air yesterday was speaking again, cheerful and steady.
"This is Freemasons Radio," Piper said, her tone rich with that mix of honesty and grit that only she could pull off. "Coming to you live from Sanctuary Hills — voice of the Freemasons Republic. We've got updates from Starlight, word from the east caravans, and yes, for those who missed it — Magnolia will be performing again at the Founding Day Festival."
People smiled as they listened. In Concord, a group of settlers gathered around an old terminal with the speakers patched into it. In Graygarden, the Ms. Nannys hummed softly to the broadcast while tending to crops. Even at the far edges near Finch Farm, where the wind always seemed to carry the smell of smoke and iron, the signal came through — faint but clear.
For the first time in living memory, everyone was hearing the same words.
And Piper's words weren't just information — they were invitation. Each broadcast called for unity, for awareness, for connection. Within days, traders began carrying small hand-crank radios in their packs. Settlements built little loudspeaker stations on rooftops so everyone could hear. The Republic had its pulse now, and it beat loud and proud.
But while Freemasons Radio brought warmth and hope to the people, another kind of voice was rising elsewhere — quieter at first, but equally vital.
It began with a coded signal broadcast from an underground communications center in Cambridge — short, rhythmic beeps followed by a clear, commanding voice.
"This is Radio of Freedom. To all field units, outpost leaders, and patrol coordinators — stand by for transmission update."
The voice belonged to Preston Garvey.
He stood before a rugged microphone in a fortified room lined with maps, radios, and blinking terminals. The new "Radio of Freedom" was his and Sarah's brainchild — a military communications network designed to unify the Republic's defense grid.
It wasn't meant to compete with Piper's station. It was meant to complement it — to make sure the Republic's lifeblood had both a heart and a shield.
Sarah stood beside him, her uniform crisp, her eyes alert as she checked the frequency dials. The faint green glow of the terminals flickered against her face. "We're synced across six regions now," she said. "Sanctuary, Lexington, Diamond City, Minuteme Plaza, Freedom Stronghold, Starlight Drive In, Oberland, Graygarden, Finch, and County Crossing. That's almost every major hub."
Preston nodded slowly. "Good. But it's not enough yet. We need to reach the smaller ones — the farms, the watch posts, the trade camps. If we're going to call this a republic, everyone has to be part of the same net."
Sarah glanced at him, half-smiling. "You mean, you want every farmer with a plow to have a transmitter?"
"Not just a transmitter," he said, his voice steady. "A voice. A way to ask for help when it matters. If raiders hit a caravan, if ferals move near a settlement — they shouldn't have to wait days for word to reach HQ. They should be able to send one signal, one call, and know we're coming."
That had been the dream of the Minutemen, long before the Republic — the idea that no one would stand alone. Now, thanks to the infrastructure Sico and the Directorate had built, it could finally happen.
Sarah stepped back to one of the tables where several portable radio kits were laid out — small, sturdy boxes with antennas and pre-set channels. Each one had been hand-assembled in the engineering bays in Sanctuary. "We've got twenty ready for deployment," she said. "More coming from the Science Division next week."
Preston picked one up carefully, running his hand over the metal casing. It was cold, solid, dependable — the kind of tool that could mean the difference between life and death.
He keyed the switch and heard a soft burst of static. "This is Garvey," he said. "Field test, unit one. Reading?"
"Loud and clear," came Sarah's voice from across the room, transmitted through her own receiver.
He smiled faintly. "Good. Then let's send them out."
Within hours, convoys began to roll out from the military depot near Sanctuary — two trucks loaded with supply crates, each carrying half a dozen of the new radio units. Soldiers in Freemasons fatigues rode alongside engineers and technicians, bound for every corner of the Republic.
Their orders were simple: deliver a unit to every settlement or outpost that flew the Freemasons flag. Teach the locals how to operate it. Set up a signal tower if needed. Every settlement, no matter how small, would have the power to speak directly to HQ.
It wasn't glamorous work, but it was the kind that built the spine of a nation.
By midday, the first reports came back. At Tenpines Bluff, a small team under Sergeant Calloway had established the first regional Radio of Freedom outpost. The settlers there had gathered around the new transmitter, awestruck as they heard Sarah's voice for the first time.
"This is Radio of Freedom," she had said. "Your signal is live, Tenpines. You're part of the network now. Welcome home."
The cheer that followed, faint and distant through the speaker, made even Preston's hardened crew pause for a moment.
At Finch Farm, the setup had gone differently. The winds near the forge were harsh, and the radio mast had nearly toppled twice before the crew managed to anchor it with scavenged iron beams. But when the first test call came through, the Finches' young son had grinned ear to ear. "We can talk to Sanctuary? For real?"
The field tech, laughing, nodded. "For real, kid. You ever see trouble, you call us, and we'll come running."
By nightfall, seven outposts were live. By the next day, fifteen.
And every time a new one came online, Sarah marked it on the wall map in red ink — small dots spreading outward from Sanctuary like veins carrying lifeblood through the body of the Republic.
Sico visited the command center on the third evening, the same calm, grounded energy he always carried filling the space. The large room was alive with noise — operators coordinating signal tests, messengers bringing in reports, the steady chatter of distant voices through radio static.
Preston looked up as Sico entered. "Sir," he said with a salute.
"At ease," Sico replied, moving closer. His eyes scanned the map on the wall, dotted with red marks and connected by faint pencil lines. "Looks like you're building something remarkable here."
Preston nodded. "We're getting there. The more settlements join the network, the faster we can respond to emergencies. Raiders, mutants, even supply shortages. Anyone who needs help can call in."
Sarah added, "It's changing the way people think, too. They're starting to feel… safer. Like they're part of something bigger than their own fences."
Sico studied the glowing radios across the room, each tuned to a different field frequency. You could hear fragments of voices — a patrol captain reporting in from Graygarden, a settler confirming food deliveries in Oberland, a scout team requesting route clearance along the north pass.
"Good," he said finally. "That's exactly how it should be. Piper's building their hope. You're building their trust. Together, that's what keeps a republic alive."
Sarah crossed her arms, smiling faintly. "We're not nearly as poetic as she is on the airwaves, but we get the job done."
"That's why I trust you both," Sico said.
For a long moment, they just stood there — three people who had seen the Commonwealth at its worst and were now, slowly, shaping it into something better.
Preston broke the silence. "You should hear how folks talk about her station," he said, nodding toward the direction of Sanctuary proper. "Freemasons Radio is turning into the voice of the people. It's like a heartbeat — constant, steady. When she signs off at night, the settlements get quiet, like they're waiting for the next word."
Sico nodded. "And when danger strikes, yours will be the voice they hear next."
"That's the idea," Sarah said. "Hope and readiness. Heart and shield."
Outside, the world was changing. Along caravan roads, you could hear the faint crackle of radios tied to carts, tuned to either Piper's broadcasts or the coded frequencies of the Radio of Freedom. Settlers began coordinating deliveries across towns. Patrol teams sent weather warnings ahead of storms. Traders shared information on raider movements and ambush spots.
The Commonwealth was learning to talk to itself again.
And in that growing web of voices, something incredible began to happen — cooperation.
One afternoon, a call came through from Abernathy Farm. Raiders had hit their eastern fence, and the settlers were pinned down. Within minutes, the Radio of Freedom command center relayed the distress call to the nearest outpost — Tenpines Bluff — and Garvey's unit mobilized instantly.
By the time the raiders tried to breach the farm again, a squad of Freemasons soldiers was already there, holding the line. The settlers said afterward that it felt like the old Minutemen stories come to life — the kind where no call for help went unanswered.
Word spread fast. The radio wasn't just a tool — it was a promise.
Piper even covered it the next day. Her voice on Freemasons Radio carried the story across the Republic. "Abernathy Farm stands strong tonight," she said, "because they had a way to call for help — and because the Republic answered. That's what this new world means, folks. Not power. Not pride. Connection."
Preston had been listening from HQ, and when he heard that, even he smiled. Piper always had a way of putting into words what he felt but never said.
Later that evening, he and Sarah stood on the balcony outside the communications center, the glow of the setting sun painting the landscape bronze. Down below, mechanics were unloading more equipment for the next wave of transmitters.
"You think we can really reach everyone?" Sarah asked quietly.
Preston looked out toward the horizon, where the radio masts rose like silver spires in the distance. "Maybe not everyone," he admitted. "But every one we reach makes the next one easier. That's how it starts."
And indeed, it was starting.
Weeks passed, and the sound of voices on both networks — Freemasons Radio and Radio of Freedom — became part of daily life. Farmers worked to the rhythm of Piper's morning broadcasts. Soldiers patrolled to the steady hum of coded updates.
Sometimes, their transmissions overlapped — Piper signing off a story about a rebuilt library just as Sarah's voice came in, crisp and clear: "All patrols, status green. Carry on, Republic."
It was harmony — not perfect, but real.
One night, after reviewing progress reports, Sico stood again on the balcony of HQ. From where he stood, he could see the twin signals lighting up the horizon — the faint red beacon from Freemasons Radio to the north, and the pulsing green light of Radio of Freedom's relay tower to the east.
Two different lights. One Republic.
He smiled faintly to himself, hands resting on the railing. Below, the city of Sanctuary hummed with quiet life — people talking, laughing, the soft hum of radios in every window.
Piper's last words of the evening echoed faintly from a nearby loudspeaker, her voice gentle and certain:
"Wherever you are tonight — out in the fields, on the roads, in the towers — remember this. The Republic stands with you. And if you ever call for help, someone will hear you."
And miles away, through another frequency, Sarah's voice answered almost like an unseen reply:
"This is Radio of Freedom. To all field stations — the line is open. We're listening."
The morning light had a strange kind of peace to it — the sort that came only after months of fighting to make something whole. Sanctuary Hills lay calm beneath a pale golden sky, the mist still curling off the river. The hum of life could be heard everywhere — from the rhythmic hammering in the workshops to the soft chatter of merchants setting up their stalls near the plaza.
Sico stood on the balcony outside the command building, his arms folded, gaze sweeping across the city. Below, the flags of the Freemasons Republic fluttered lazily in the breeze, their blue and gold bright even in the early haze.
For once, there was no alarm blaring from the radio. No desperate calls from a settlement begging for help. No sign of raiders on the horizon. Just the steady, reassuring murmur of the Republic's heartbeat — the two radios working in perfect unison.
He could hear both if he listened carefully.
From the west, Piper's voice carried faintly through the loudspeakers in the town square — warm, lively, comforting:
"—and we're getting word that the crops in Abernathy and Graygarden are up fifteen percent this month! Keep it up, everyone — looks like those irrigation systems from the Science Division are paying off. This is Piper Wright, signing off for the morning news — stay safe out there, and stay proud, Commonwealth."
From the east, a different tone came through the military channel — calm, clipped, efficient. Preston's voice, echoing from a patrol post nearby:
"Radio of Freedom, sector green. All settlements accounted for. No hostiles detected. Report in hourly, over."
The two frequencies overlapped for a moment — heart and shield, side by side.
Sico smiled to himself. For months, the dream had been to create a republic that wasn't just about soldiers or politics — one where people felt connected again. Piper had given them that voice. Preston and Sarah had given them the structure. Together, they'd done something extraordinary: they'd made the Commonwealth talk again.
He turned as footsteps approached behind him. Sarah walked up, a notepad in hand, her face half-hidden behind her glasses. The morning light glinted off the metal frames.
"You're up early," she said softly, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Didn't really sleep," Sico admitted. "Hard to, when the world finally starts doing what you always hoped it would."
Sarah chuckled. "If you're not careful, you'll start sounding like Piper."
"She's rubbing off on me," he said, still smiling. "But she deserves the credit. Between her and Garvey, the Republic's starting to look… solid. Not just in power, but in heart."
Sarah nodded, scrolling through her notepad. "The data supports that. Civil morale up twenty-three percent across all connected settlements. Trade routes are stabilizing. Even Diamond City's been relaying our news bulletins — voluntarily."
That last part made Sico raise an eyebrow. "Diamond City? Voluntarily?"
"Yeah," Sarah said, still looking a bit amused. "Seems they're enjoying hearing about something other than their own problems. Freemasons Radio's reaching further than we expected — even some Brotherhood sympathizers are tuning in. And Radio of Freedom… well, that one's making the biggest difference."
Sico turned to face her fully, his tone more thoughtful. "The military one?"
"Exactly. Settlements outside our borders — places we haven't even integrated — they're starting to use it too. Some of the independent farmers east of Lexington are setting up relay beacons just to connect. They say it makes them feel safer. Like they're part of something bigger, even if they're not officially under our banner."
Sico leaned on the railing, staring out over the horizon. "That's how it starts. You give them connection, you give them hope. Sooner or later, they'll want to be part of it fully. Not because we ask them — because they choose to."
Sarah's eyes softened. "You sound proud."
"I am," he said quietly. "But it's not pride in me. It's pride in them. In all of us."
There was silence for a moment — only the sound of wind through the rebuilt streets and the faint hum of the generators down below.
Finally, Sarah said, "You should tell them that. Maybe not just Piper or Garvey — the people, too. A speech, maybe. Founding Day's coming up again."
Sico's lips curved faintly. "Yeah. Maybe I will."
He stood there a while longer, watching the Republic come alive — traders heading toward the gates, patrols setting off down the roads, children running between the market stalls. Sanctuary looked less like a settlement now, more like the capital of a nation reborn.
But miles away — high above the Commonwealth's eastern skies — another kind of silence filled the air.
The Prydwen hovered like an iron storm cloud over the landscape, its engines a low, ceaseless growl. Inside its steel corridors, the light was colder, sharper, and the air carried the faint tang of oil and discipline.
At the heart of the command deck, a meeting was underway.
Elder Arthur Maxson stood near the observation window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out toward the horizon. From this height, even the Republic's banners looked like specks against the earth. But the radio chatter that reached their frequencies was unmistakable — the same two voices that had been spreading across the Commonwealth for weeks.
Maxson's jaw tightened. "There," he said finally. "You hear that?"
Across the room, Lancer Captain Kells adjusted the audio control on the terminal. The soft, faint echo of Piper's voice came through — distorted by distance, but clear enough.
"This is Freemasons Radio — hope, unity, and the Republic standing strong."
Kells frowned. "Their signal strength is increasing. We've confirmed at least twelve new relays established in the last month. They're expanding eastward. The range now reaches as far as Quincy."
Paladin Brandis, standing beside a tactical map, gave a low grunt. "That's Brotherhood airspace. Or at least, it used to be."
"And not just civilians are listening," Kells added. "We've intercepted encrypted transmissions on a separate channel — the one they call Radio of Freedom. That one's military. Coordinated, encrypted, and efficient. Reports indicate they've cut emergency response times across their territory by nearly seventy percent."
At that, Maxson turned from the window, his eyes cold and focused. "Meaning they can mobilize faster than we can."
Kells nodded grimly. "In some regions, yes."
A heavy silence followed.
Paladin Danse, who had been standing near the far wall, finally stepped forward. His expression was calm but firm. "With respect, Elder, the Freemasons Republic has maintained a stable relationship with the Brotherhood so far. They've kept their borders. They've avoided direct confrontation."
Maxson's gaze sharpened. "For now."
Danse didn't flinch. "Their focus is on rebuilding the Commonwealth — not war. The people follow them because they believe in that vision. That's not inherently a threat."
Brandis crossed his arms. "You're too soft on them, Danse. Maybe you spent too long living among them. You've seen what they're capable of — that power they're building isn't just humanitarian. It's tactical. You think those two radio networks are just for comfort? They're laying a communication net — one that could mobilize thousands of armed settlers in minutes."
Danse met his gaze evenly. "You think like a soldier. I'm thinking like someone who's seen what happens when people stop fighting for something greater than themselves. The Freemasons have given the Commonwealth something we failed to — unity."
"Unity under their flag," Brandis countered sharply. "A flag that doesn't include us."
Kells cleared his throat, pulling up a holographic display of signal strength patterns. "The data speaks for itself. The 'Radio of Freedom' channel now covers almost forty percent of the Commonwealth. And every new outpost brings them more loyalty. Settlers trust those broadcasts more than they trust us."
Maxson moved closer to the display, studying it with quiet intensity. The light from the hologram flickered across his face — the reflection of a man calculating possibilities, weighing risks.
He spoke low, almost to himself. "Two networks. One for the people, one for the soldiers. Hope and strength. Propaganda and mobilization."
Then, more clearly: "A republic that can fight and feed itself doesn't need protection. And when a people no longer need protection, they start questioning who really has power."
Kells nodded grimly. "Public sentiment is shifting, sir. Even Brotherhood-friendly settlements are beginning to echo their rhetoric — talking about independence, self-reliance, mutual aid. It's spreading faster than we can counter it."
Brandis slammed a fist against the table. "Then we counter it. We jam their frequencies, cut their lines, destroy their relays."
Danse's eyes narrowed. "And turn half the Commonwealth against us overnight? You'd prove every story they tell about us — that we're tyrants hoarding power instead of protecting people."
Brandis stepped closer. "You think they're saints? Don't be naive. They're consolidating influence, building an army, and now they've got the hearts of the people on their side. That's more dangerous than any weapon."
Maxson raised a hand, silencing them both.
He turned his gaze back to the holographic map — where tiny glowing dots spread across the Commonwealth like embers, each one a Freemasons outpost linked to their network.
His voice was calm, but there was iron beneath it. "Brandis isn't wrong. Influence is power. And the Republic's influence is growing faster than we anticipated. But we can't act rashly. Not yet."
He walked slowly to the command table, each step measured. "If we strike at them now, we risk uniting the Commonwealth against us. But if we do nothing, we allow them to grow unchecked until their reach surpasses ours entirely."
Kells glanced up. "Then what's our course, sir?"
Maxson's eyes hardened. "Observation first. Infiltration if necessary. I want to know everything about how those two networks operate — who runs them, who maintains the infrastructure, where the main transmitters are located. If we can understand their structure, we can control it. Or destroy it, if it comes to that."
Danse frowned slightly. "Sir, you're suggesting espionage."
Maxson met his gaze. "I'm suggesting preparation. The Freemasons Republic may wear the mask of peace, but make no mistake — they're creating a system that rivals ours. And systems that rival the Brotherhood rarely stay peaceful for long."
Silence fell again — the heavy kind that settled over soldiers who understood the weight of what was being said.
After a long moment, Maxson continued. "Danse, you'll lead the observation team. You've been among them before — you know their structure, their habits. You'll report directly to me. Discreetly."
Danse hesitated. "If they find out—"
"They won't," Maxson said flatly. "And if they do, we'll be ready."
He turned back toward the window, the Commonwealth sprawling beneath him like a patchwork of promise and defiance. "The Freemasons Republic has fire in its heart. But fire, if left unchecked, consumes everything around it."
Kells looked toward him. "And if it's already spreading?"
Maxson's voice was cold steel. "Then we smother it before it burns us all."
Below the skies, far from the Prydwen's shadow, Sico walked through Sanctuary's main street that same evening, unaware of the meeting that had just taken place above.
The streets glowed with the warm light of lanterns, the hum of voices filling the air. Piper's evening broadcast played softly from an open window — laughter, music, words of unity.
Sico paused, looking around at the people — the settlers, the traders, the soldiers mingling freely, the children laughing under the banners of the Republic.
The night had settled thick and heavy around the Prydwen, wrapping the great airship in a cloak of steel and cloud. The lights inside glowed faintly through the windows — small, warm shapes against the endless dark. But within those corridors, there was no peace. Only the steady rhythm of boots, the whir of terminals, and the low, constant hum of the ship's engines vibrating through every wall.
Paladin Danse stood before his locker, the metallic clang of the hinges echoing sharply as he swung it open. Inside hung his armor — the T-60 frame, gleaming in the cold fluorescent light. The Brotherhood emblem on the chest plate was polished to near perfection, a mirror of discipline and duty. Yet tonight, it felt heavier than usual.
He stared at it for a long moment.
On the bench beside him lay a bundle of worn civilian clothes — dull brown fatigues, the kind used by traders and settlers traveling through the Commonwealth. A few tools, a weathered backpack, and a holstered laser pistol wrapped in cloth. Nothing that screamed "soldier." Nothing that said Brotherhood.
He exhaled slowly, the sound almost like a sigh. "Observation mission," Maxson had called it. "Intelligence gathering."
But Danse knew what it really meant. Infiltration.
He reached up and rested a hand on the armor, the cool metal pressing against his palm. Once, this had been his life — the weight, the purpose, the unshakable certainty of it. But things had changed since the day Sico and the Freemasons Republic rose from the ashes of the old world. The Brotherhood still saw itself as the savior of civilization, but the Republic… they were something else. They weren't fighting for dominance — they were rebuilding what was lost.
And deep down, some part of Danse wondered if maybe, just maybe, they were doing what the Brotherhood had forgotten how to do: protecting humanity instead of controlling it.
He forced the thought away and started preparing.
Piece by piece, he began removing the plates from his armor, setting them down carefully beside the bench. The sound of each one striking the metal surface echoed like a clock ticking away seconds he couldn't get back. Beneath the armor, his undersuit clung to his frame, soaked with the faint scent of oil and ozone.
From behind him, a voice spoke quietly.
"You really going through with this, Paladin?"
Danse didn't turn. He knew that voice — deep, rough, steady as old stone. Paladin Brandis stepped into the dim light, his expression unreadable. His own armor was half-secured, as if he'd just come off duty.
"I have my orders," Danse said simply, tightening the strap on his pack.
Brandis crossed his arms. "Orders or not, you don't have to like them."
Danse finally looked up. "You think I do?"
Brandis shrugged, his jaw tightening. "You spent more time among them than anyone else. You've seen their leaders, their soldiers. You broke bread with them, fought beside them. I just hope that doesn't cloud your judgment."
Danse met his gaze evenly. "It won't."
There was a pause — heavy, uncertain.
Then Brandis said, "You still believe in them, don't you?"
Danse's hands froze mid-motion. "I believe in what they're trying to do," he said after a long silence. "They've united the Commonwealth without tyranny, without fear. People trust them because they've earned it. That doesn't make them enemies."
Brandis snorted softly. "You sound like you're already one of them."
Danse turned back toward his locker, his voice quieter. "Maybe I just sound like someone who's tired of watching people tear each other apart."
Brandis didn't respond. The silence stretched between them until the low intercom hum broke it.
"Paladin Danse," a female voice echoed from the speakers. "Report to flight deck bay three. Mission team awaiting deployment."
Danse exhaled once more and shut the locker door, leaving his armor behind. The metallic clang echoed down the hall — final, deliberate.
When he turned to leave, Brandis caught his shoulder.
"Be careful down there," he said, his tone low but sincere. "Whatever side you think they're on, remember who you are."
Danse met his gaze, nodded once. "I know who I am. That's why I'm doing this."
Then he walked away.
The flight deck was alive with motion — the deep thrum of vertibird engines filling the cavernous space, the smell of fuel and steel thick in the air. Mechanics shouted over the roar as they secured cargo nets and ran final checks. The air was cold, sharp, vibrating with purpose.
At the far end stood Lancer-Captain Kells, clipboard in hand, his posture as rigid as the steel beams above him. He didn't look up as Danse approached, but his voice carried clear.
"Departure in five minutes. You'll be flying low to avoid detection — the Republic's radar systems are expanding, and we can't risk alerting them."
Danse nodded. "Insertion point?"
"North of Lexington. There's a relay station there — one of their newer ones. From there, you make your way west into Republic territory. Sanctuary's your final objective."
Danse's jaw tightened slightly. "Sanctuary."
"Exactly," Kells said, finally meeting his gaze. "Your mission is to observe and record. Identify their command structure, security routines, communication relays, and defense systems. You're not to engage unless necessary. Understood?"
"Understood."
Kells studied him for a moment, then added, "And Danse — if you're compromised, you were never here."
Danse gave a dry, humorless smile. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
"Good." Kells turned away. "Godspeed, Paladin."
The vertibird's engines roared louder as Danse climbed aboard. The metal floor rattled under his boots. He strapped himself into the side seat, checked the weapon concealed beneath his coat — a Brotherhood-issue laser pistol, stripped of insignia — and looked out over the vast expanse below as the hangar doors began to open.
The world outside was dark — a sea of broken cities and glowing embers where the Commonwealth slept. Somewhere out there lay the Republic, and within it, the man he once called ally: Sico.
As the vertibird lifted off, Danse felt the vibration run through his chest. The Prydwen grew smaller behind them, its lights fading into the night like distant stars swallowed by the horizon.
The pilot's voice came through his headset. "ETA, twenty minutes. Smooth skies tonight, Paladin."
Danse didn't respond. He just watched the earth slide past below — the cracked highways, the forests reclaiming what had once been suburbs, the faint glow of settlements burning lanterns against the dark.
The Commonwealth had changed. He could see it even from up here — the organized roads, the patrol lights that marked Freemason outposts, the faint shimmer of civilization clawing its way back from ruin.
________________________________________________
• 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:-