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The two men continued to walk through Sanctuary, side by side but separated by more than a step. Behind them, life went on from children laughing, settlers working, animals grazing and a living, breathing testament to resilience, hope, and choice. And somewhere in the quiet tension of the morning, amidst the warmth of sunlight and the faint scent of smoke and soil.
Sico led Danse back through Sanctuary with the afternoon folding into evening around them. The light softened—gold leaching into orange, then into the steely purple band that came just before night—and the settlement shifted its tempo. Daytime bustle thinned into evening chores: last buckets hauled to the water tower, shutters closed on newly repaired windows, the scent of stew drifting from communal kettles. Children were being called home. Lanterns were carried out and lit. The whole place settled into a quieter kind of vigilance.
They walked in a silence that wasn't uncomfortable. Danse's boots fell in an even, practiced rhythm; Sico's steps were looser, more human, sometimes catching the attention of someone they passed. A few people bowed their heads in the way you do for a leader, but most kept working. That was the point—Sanctuary didn't just revere titles. It revered labor and the faces behind it.
The motel—Traveler's Rest—looked the same up close as it had from the alley: paint flaking, neon long cold, the little bell over the door gone. Sico paused by the entrance and turned to Danse. The Paladin looked smaller here, unarmored and out of formation, every inch of his soldier's body still primed for orders even when he'd long since set them aside for these slow, human moments.
"Listen," Sico said softly. "You walked with me today. You watched. I don't pretend that's enough for anything, but it's a start. You asked for time to think. Take more than an hour. Take more than a day. Think the way you were trained to think—strategically, long term." He tipped his head at the buildings around them. "The choice you make here will ripple. Not just for Sanctuary, but for how people across the Commonwealth will see what the Brotherhood is. It matters."
Danse's lips pressed together. He dipped his head once, not saying yes, not saying no. The thing that had been gripping him—duty, habit, fear of consequence—hadn't evaporated. It had simply been confronted with possibility. He'd seen a school where children were learning to read, a woman coaxing life from fragile soil in a hydroponic trough, a blacksmith hammering out a hinge from a scrap of pre-war metal. He'd seen people build. He'd seen people laugh, bleed, and stand together. The images lodged somewhere in him that training had never accounted for.
Sico opened the door to Danse's room and stepped inside. The air smelled of stale linen and dust. It was small—bed, dresser, a stained chair—and there was a tired humanity in that smallness that Sico found almost comforting. He set his palm on the doorframe and looked at Danse.
"You don't have to answer now," he said. "I don't want to pressure you into choosing something you'll regret. You said you needed to think. I'm giving you the space to do that. But I'm asking you to think thoroughly. This is bigger than either of us."
Danse's eyes tracked the motion of Sico's hand on the doorframe, then up to the hill beyond the motel where, from this angle, he could see the faint glint of the newly raised ridge wall. The conversation they'd had—Sico's offer, the carefree hands of settlers who had lifted beams and protected children—kept replaying in his head like a scratched record. He had been trained to silence that kind of dissonance. He had been taught that hesitation was weakness. Yet the hesitation was there, and it tasted like truth.
He met Sico's eyes. "If I leave," Danse said finally, halting but clear, "what becomes of those I leave behind in the Brotherhood? Men who depend on me, who trust that I won't abandon them in the thick of it?"
Sico's face was a map of empathy. "You don't abandon anyone by choosing life over orders that will hurt people," he said. "If you choose to stay with the Brotherhood and try to change it from within, that is honorable. But if what they demand is systematic violence for the sake of power, then you have to ask yourself which loyalty truly deserves the name. The Commonwealth will remember the decisions men make now. It's not about betrayal. It's about what you're willing to build with the rest of your life."
Danse's jaw worked. The training that had formed him—its rituals, cadence, and doctrine—had shaped his sense of the world; to consider stepping away felt like stepping off a cliff. Yet. Yet the sight of a little girl learning to write her name on a scrapboard and hugging the teacher afterward was lodged in his chest. He hadn't expected to have that feeling steady him in the way it did. He found himself thinking not of orders but of faces.
Sico stepped closer, lowering his voice so even the dust motes seemed to listen. "Think about what you want on your conscience at the end of your days. Do you want to be the man who followed orders that killed innocents because it was easier to obey? Or do you want to be the man who stood and did something harder—something riskier—but right? The choice is yours. Not Maxson's. Not mine. Yours."
Danse looked at his hands—large, capable, scarred. The habit was to clench a fist and follow a command. Now the logic was different: hands could repair as well as destroy.
Sico surprised him by unfolding something from his coat pocket and handing it over—small, unspectacular: a roll of twine, a thin strip of oilcloth, a scrap of salvaged metal filed into a shape like a key. "If you decide to stay," Sico said, "there will be tasks here that need someone with military experience—organizing defenses, training patrols without turning us into a war machine, keeping us safe without losing our humanity. If you choose Sanctuary, you can help make sure we're strong and still humane. That would matter."
Danse turned the scrap over in his palm. It was symbolic and small. It felt like a test: the humility of crafting useful things with your hands rather than issuing orders with your mouth.
He breathed in, the motel's stale air prickling at his lungs. "You offer a place that answers to no one," Danse said, "a place that runs on voluntary loyalty and rhetoric of hope. It's dangerous to trust hope without iron behind it."
Sico nodded. "It is. That's why we build both. Wall and schoolhouse. Fields and watchtowers. We don't do one without the other. Sanctuary is not naive. We just refuse to let fear be our primary tool. Join us if you choose, or if you don't, at least let what you saw today stay with you. Let it be a seed in whatever path you take."
The Paladin's silence stretched. The sky outside the window had turned navy in earnest and star pricked through like holes in a blanket. Somewhere down in the settlement, someone laughed—a bright bell of sound—and Danse's face softened, a micro-expression that would have been missed by anyone else. Sico watched him, then clapped the man's shoulder in a quick, unceremonious motion. "Think it over," he repeated. "Carefully. The way you were trained. The stakes are—" he tapped the air, all-encompassing, "—huge. It will decide, in small ways and large, the Commonwealth's future."
Danse flinched slightly at that—both at the enormity and the possibility that the gravity of his choice wasn't just personal. The idea that his decision could tilt the arc of many lives made his chest feel tight.
Sico straightened. "I won't stake a man's future on a day's choice. Come see us tomorrow. Stay as long as you like. Talk to people. Watch Piper if you want—she'll be on the radio in the morning. Talk with Curie about medical logistics. Walk the ridge at dawn. Ask the kids what they want to be when they grow up. Sometimes truth isn't a doctrinal lecture. It comes as small, stubborn facts." He glanced at Danse—gentle, direct. "And one more thing: if you accept, you'll not only be helping Sanctuary—you'll offer your people an alternative. Not a promise of paradise, but a promise of choice. That matters."
Danse's mouth opened and closed. He wanted to speak, to voice a question that would anchor him: What would happen to him if he left? But Sico had already answered in a dozen ways. He had offered shelter without recrimination, a community without subordination, and a role that respected military skill without glorifying violence.
Finally Danse exhaled. "I will consider it," he said. It felt insufficient and honest at once. "I will not promise you more than my attention."
"That's all I ask," Sico said. "Your attention. Your honesty."
They spoke for a few more minutes—Danse asking practicalities, Sico answering with the easy competence of a man who had learned to shepherd not only projects but people. Then Sico stepped back to the doorway. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," he said. "If you want to talk again—tomorrow, or the day after—find me. My office is always open. You don't have to give me an answer tonight. But think it through thoroughly. Remember: the impact here isn't just your name on a roster. It's on the lives of people who've never had a life like this."
Danse watched him go. The door closed softly and the night swallowed the sound.
Alone in the motel room, the Paladin moved like someone who had both been given something and had to defend against it. He walked to the window and looked out over Sanctuary. The ridge wall gleamed, rows of lanterns dotted it—small beacons against the dark. Men and women moved beneath those lights, patched and whole, living in the spaces they had made. On the far side of the river, a couple of silhouettes lingered near the greenhouse, exchanging a handful of seeds. A child's laughter—thin and bright—echoed and then faded.
Danse went to the bed and sat, the world feeling heavy as a boot. Memories came unbidden: days of training under harsh lights, the roar of power armor like a second heart, Elder Maxson's voice: absolute, uncompromising. He remembered the Brotherhood's rhetoric—salvation through strength, stewardship through order. He remembered the sense of purpose that had made every sacrifice palatable, even noble.
Then, images from the day pried at the old narrative: a teacher coaxing a shy boy to sound out a letter, a settler handing a spare coat to a stranger, Curie, dirt smudged on her cheek, laughing at a joke. Those images didn't fit neatly into doctrine. They were stubborn, small, and human. They made his training look blunt and brittle. They made the order he'd trusted feel suddenly like a script that couldn't account for a single child's smile.
The night over Sanctuary had thickened by the time Sico left the motel. The air carried a chill, brushing cold fingers along his neck as he adjusted the collar of his coat and set off down the path toward the Army Headquarters. Behind him, the faint hum of generators rolled softly across the settlement—steady, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of a living town. Lamps glowed warm through windows, flickering against the cobblestones and fences. Somewhere, a radio whispered faintly from Piper's place—her voice reading news, her tone calm, resilient, the kind of sound people could fall asleep to and feel safe.
Sico's boots made low, deliberate sounds against the packed earth. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder—not out of paranoia, but habit. The conversation with Danse lingered like a weight across his shoulders, equal parts hope and unease. Danse had listened. That mattered. But listening didn't mean choosing. Not yet.
When Sico reached the central square, he paused for a moment. The flag swayed above the HQ tower—a dark blue field with the Freemasons insignia stitched in faded gold. The wind tugged at it gently, as if reminding the symbol that peace was a fragile thing, easily torn, easily lost.
He entered the headquarters through the western doors, where two guards—both former Minutemen—snapped to attention. "Evening, sir," one said. "General Preston's in the strategy room with Commander Sarah."
Sico nodded. "Thank you. You can stand down."
Inside, the air changed—cooler, infused with the faint tang of metal, oil, and the low hum of machinery. The map table in the center flickered with soft blue light, projecting a moving outline of the Commonwealth. Small markers—red, green, and white—showed troop movements, patrol routes, and supply chains.
Preston Garvey stood near the table, arms folded, the brim of his hat tilted low over his eyes. Sarah Lyons leaned over the map, a half-drained cup of coffee beside her, her armor chestplate unfastened and resting on a nearby chair. Both looked up as Sico entered.
"You look like you've had a long walk," Sarah said, straightening.
Sico exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "You could say that," he replied. "We need to talk. About Danse."
Preston's brows lifted. "Paladin Danse?"
"The same," Sico said, stepping closer to the map table. "He's here. In Sanctuary. And he's been here for some time—under disguise."
Sarah stiffened, instantly alert. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," Sico answered. "But before you start calling for an arrest team, listen to me. He came as part of an infiltration mission from the Brotherhood. But the man I spoke with today… he's not the same as the one they sent."
Preston leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "You talked to him? Face-to-face?"
"Yes," Sico said. "We walked the settlement together. I showed him everything—our schools, our farms, our defenses, our people. I didn't accuse him, didn't threaten him. I gave him something the Brotherhood never gives: a choice."
Sarah exchanged a look with Preston. "You think he'll take it?" she asked.
Sico hesitated, pulling out the small notepad he carried in his coat. He set it down on the table—a few rough sketches of routes, notes, and a line scrawled at the bottom: 'If he doubts, he's halfway free.'
"I think he's questioning everything," Sico said. "And that's the first step. The Brotherhood trained him to obey—to see loyalty as survival. But today, he saw something different. People living without chains. Hope that doesn't come from fear. He saw a vision of strength that doesn't rely on domination."
Preston studied Sico's expression, then the notes. "You believe he's capable of turning?"
"I do," Sico said firmly. "But not through coercion. Not through interrogation. He needs time to think—to see that we don't operate the way Maxson does."
Sarah stepped around the table, arms crossed. "You're taking a big risk letting him walk free," she said quietly. "If he's still loyal to Maxson, he could report everything—our defenses, our numbers, even our structure."
"I know," Sico said. "But if I locked him up tonight, we'd lose any chance of showing him that we're different. Sanctuary isn't a cage. It's a mirror. It shows people what they could be if they let go of fear. Danse needs to see that. He's a soldier—one built from structure, not freedom. You can't break that by force. You can only let him see the cracks and choose to step through them."
Sarah paced slowly, the light catching her blonde hair as she moved. "You're betting on his conscience," she said finally. "That's a dangerous gamble in this world."
Sico's gaze softened, though his tone carried weight. "Everything worth building here started as a gamble, Sarah. The Freemasons Republic and Sanctuary itself. We took risks on people who'd once shot at us. And look at them now—farmers, engineers, builders. Danse deserves that chance."
Preston nodded, quiet for a long moment, before speaking. "So what's your read on him? Do you think he's still feeding intel to the Brotherhood?"
Sico shook his head. "No. At least, not yet. He's conflicted—more than I expected. I could see it in how he looked at the settlement, the people, even the walls. He's torn between duty and conscience. I told him the choice he makes will shape the future of the Commonwealth. That hit him hard. You could see it."
Sarah's eyes sharpened. "If he chooses wrong, it could mean war."
Sico nodded gravely. "Yes. But if he chooses right, it could mean peace. A real one."
For a moment, silence filled the room, punctuated only by the soft hum of the map table. Then Preston stepped closer, resting both hands on the table's edge.
"You've always had a way with words, Sico," he said. "But let's not forget who we're dealing with. The Brotherhood's been tightening their patrols again near the southern borders. They're scouting our trade routes—testing our responses. If Danse's presence here ties back to that, we could be looking at an early strike."
"I know," Sico said. "But I don't think that's what this is. If Maxson wanted recon, he'd have sent a squad, not a single Paladin on foot. Danse came because he's torn. And if I'm right, he's the Brotherhood's conscience trying to find its way home."
Sarah sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "That's a poetic way to put it. But it doesn't erase the risk. If he decides to stay loyal to Maxson, he knows too much."
"I'll handle that," Sico said evenly. "He trusts me enough to talk. That's our advantage. I'll keep him close, give him space to think—but if he makes the wrong choice, I'll deal with it."
The steel in his voice silenced the room for a moment. Sico wasn't bluffing. They all knew it.
Preston looked between them and finally spoke. "So what do you need from us?"
Sico leaned on the table, fingers tapping absently against the smooth metal. "I want you to keep this quiet. No official mention of his presence. No reports filed. No one outside this room needs to know Danse is here. Not yet."
Sarah frowned. "That's a tall order."
"I know," Sico said. "But it's necessary. If word gets out, some hothead will decide to 'take initiative,' and we'll lose him—or worse, spark a Brotherhood retaliation before we're ready. For now, we treat him as a civilian guest. Keep watch, but discreetly."
Preston nodded slowly. "Understood."
"And Sarah," Sico added, "I want you to increase surveillance on the western approach—quietly. If any Brotherhood scouts come sniffing around, I want to know before they see us. If Danse's presence here was unauthorized, they might send someone to find him."
Sarah nodded, her commander's instincts kicking in. "I'll handle it. I'll tell the recon team to use passive monitoring only—no radio chatter."
"Good," Sico said. "And Preston—keep the militia calm. No rumors. If anyone asks, Danse is a wanderer passing through, nothing more."
Preston smirked faintly. "You've got a lot of faith in people's ability to keep secrets in a settlement this size."
"Then we'll give them something else to talk about," Sico said simply. "Tomorrow, I'll announce new agricultural initiatives. That'll distract the rumor mill."
Sarah shook her head with a quiet laugh. "You always know how to play the room, Sico."
He smiled faintly. "I try."
Then, as his expression sobered again, he glanced back to the glowing map. The red markers along the southern border pulsed faintly—an ominous heartbeat. "If Danse chooses us, he'll bring more than just experience," Sico said quietly. "He'll bring credibility. Proof that even inside the Brotherhood, some hearts still want something better. And if he doesn't…"
Preston finished the thought softly. "Then we prepare for the worst."
"Exactly," Sico murmured.
The room fell quiet again. Outside, the night had deepened fully. Through the window, the lights of Sanctuary shimmered—warm, flickering, human. Sico stared at them for a long time.
He thought of Danse sitting alone in that motel room, turning over everything he'd seen and heard. He thought of the soldier's haunted eyes, of the soft tremor in his voice when he spoke of duty and doubt. Somewhere, inside that heavy armor of habit, was a good man—one that might yet help shape a better future.
Sarah's voice cut through the quiet. "What will you do next?"
Sico turned toward her, the faintest shadow of a smile ghosting across his face. "I'll let the man think," he said. "But tomorrow, I'll see him again. And if there's even a spark of doubt in him, I'll make sure it becomes something brighter."
Then Sico leaned back against the table, his eyes still on the glowing map as if the soft blue light could somehow make sense of the tangled paths before him. The silence in the strategy room thickened, stretching between the hum of the holo-projector and the distant rhythm of footsteps in the corridor outside. He finally broke it, his tone calm but carrying the kind of quiet gravity that made both Preston and Sarah instinctively pay attention.
"There's something else I told him," Sico said, his voice low, deliberate. "If he wants to join us—if he truly wants to turn his back on the Brotherhood—he doesn't have to come alone."
Sarah tilted her head slightly. "What do you mean?"
Sico's eyes lifted from the table. "I told Danse that if there are others in the Brotherhood like him… men and women who've started to doubt what Maxson's turning that order into—he can bring them here. They'll have a place in the Freemasons Republic. Not as prisoners. Not as deserters. As citizens."
Preston exhaled slowly, leaning one hand on the table's edge. "You're inviting Brotherhood soldiers to join us?"
Sico nodded once. "The ones who've had enough of the hate, the fear, the blind obedience. The ones who see what's coming and don't want to be part of it."
Sarah's arms crossed, her brow furrowing with both curiosity and tension. "That's a bold offer. You're talking about pulling people right out from under Maxson's nose. If word spreads that we're harboring defectors, it won't just be a skirmish next time as they'll see it as treason. The Brotherhood doesn't forgive that."
Sico met her gaze steadily. "They already see us as enemies. There's no world where Maxson shakes my hand and says, 'Good work, neighbor.' They believe they're the last true order left on Earth, the guardians of purity. But what they're really guarding is the past—its arrogance, its fear, its obsession with control. If we're going to build a future that's free, we can't just fight their soldiers—we have to free their minds too. And some of them, like Danse, are ready for that. They just need a place to go."
Preston rubbed the back of his neck. "You're thinking long-term again, huh?" he said with a quiet chuckle. "That's what I like about you, but it's also what scares the hell outta me."
Sico allowed himself a small, weary smile. "Someone has to think beyond the next battle."
Sarah stepped closer, the light from the map table catching faintly on the plates of her half-worn armor. "Let's say Danse does bring others. What then? You'd have Brotherhood initiates and soldiers walking through Sanctuary's gates? People our citizens will still see as the enemy?"
"They'll come as people, not enemies," Sico said. "And yes, we'll have to be careful—screen them, debrief them, make sure they're genuine. But if even a handful of them truly believe in what we're building here, it could change everything. Not just for us, but for the entire Commonwealth."
Preston nodded slowly, beginning to see it. "Because if Brotherhood soldiers can defect… it means their foundation's cracking."
"Exactly," Sico said, tapping the table gently with one finger. "It means Maxson's control isn't absolute. It means that the world's changing faster than he can chain it down."
Sarah's lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of something in her expression—perhaps admiration, or maybe something deeper, a rare acknowledgment of the idealism she tried to hide behind hardened pragmatism. "You really believe that can happen?"
"I have to," Sico said simply. "Hope's the only weapon that never runs out of ammo."
A quiet settled again, softer this time, as if the idea had begun to take root in both their minds. Preston paced slowly around the table, his boots scuffing against the metal floor. "If he actually pulls it off," he said finally, "if Danse manages to bring even a few of them here, it could change the tide. The Brotherhood won't know what hit 'em."
"They'll call it betrayal," Sarah added. "But maybe that's what it takes to make them see their reflection."
Sico nodded. "Let them call it what they want. I'm done trying to live up to their definitions. If loyalty means following tyranny, then I'd rather be called a traitor."
Preston looked at him for a long moment, then grinned faintly. "You always did know how to turn rebellion into poetry."
Sico smirked. "It's not poetry. It's truth. And truth has a way of surviving even when the walls fall."
Sarah sighed, her gaze drifting back to the map, to the glowing red markers that symbolized enemy positions. "If we're doing this," she said finally, "we'll need a plan in place. Safe routes for any defectors, identification checks, quarantine zones in case the Brotherhood tries to slip spies in under the guise of deserters."
"I'll have you guys and the soldiers work on that," Sico said. "No one enters the Republic without going through clearance. But I want it to feel less like a prison screening and more like a welcome home. If we treat them like criminals, that's all they'll ever be."
"Understood," Sarah said, her military discipline reasserting itself. "We'll make it work."
Sico said softly. "The Brotherhood believes power is something you seize. I believe power's something you build—together."
Sarah gave a short, approving nod. "I'll draft the security protocols. Preston, you coordinate with the local patrols. If we start seeing increased movement from the Brotherhood around Concord or Lexington, I want early warning."
"Got it," Preston replied. "I'll also talk to the settlers—subtly. We'll make sure they're ready to welcome anyone who comes here for the right reasons."
Sico's gaze softened at that. "Good. The people have to see this as more than just strategy. It's a test of who we are. If we can't offer forgiveness to those who seek redemption, then what's the point of all this rebuilding?"
The weight of his words lingered, quiet but powerful. Sarah stared at him for a moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "You know," she said, "sometimes I forget how much of a dreamer you are."
Sico chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "I've been called worse."
Preston smirked. "Yeah, like 'idealistic fool,' remember? That's what the Minutemen council called you when you said we could unite the northern settlements."
"And look how that turned out," Sico said, spreading his hands with a trace of humor. "We did it anyway."
"Yeah," Preston said, smiling. "We did."
The mood in the room lightened slightly, but beneath the quiet laughter there remained that shared, unspoken understanding as that what lay ahead would test every belief, every ideal, every fragile thread holding the Republic together.
Sico turned toward the window. Beyond the glass, Sanctuary shimmered under the moonlight. The walls glowed faintly from the electric lamps strung along the perimeter. You could hear the faint rhythm of life even this late at night—boots crunching on gravel, laughter from the mess hall, the clang of a blacksmith finishing his workday. The town had grown so much from the ruins it once was. It wasn't perfect. It was alive.
He watched for a long time before speaking again, his voice soft. "You know what Danse told me once?"
Sarah glanced over. "What?"
"That the Brotherhood taught him that weakness is a sin," Sico said quietly. "But standing in front of me earlier today, he looked tired—not the kind of tired that comes from battle, but the kind that comes from realizing everything you believed in might have been built on a lie. He asked me if I ever feel that way—if I ever doubt what I'm building here."
Preston frowned slightly. "What did you tell him?"
Sico's eyes didn't leave the window. "I told him the truth. That I doubt every single day. But doubt isn't the enemy. It's what keeps us honest. The moment you stop questioning yourself… that's when you become the very thing you're fighting."
Sarah let out a slow breath, her voice softening. "He needed to hear that."
"Yeah," Sico said. "And maybe… I needed to say it."
Preston smiled faintly. "You really think he'll bring others?"
"I think he'll try," Sico said. "And that's all that matters."
He turned back toward them, his expression steady now. "When I saw him earlier, I told him something else. I said, 'If you ever decide to leave the Brotherhood, don't come empty-handed. Bring with you the people who still have light left in their hearts—the ones who see that tyranny isn't strength. Bring them here, to us. We'll give them work, purpose, and freedom.'"
Sarah blinked, a small look of disbelief mixing with admiration. "You really said that?"
Sico nodded. "I did. And I meant every word."
Preston whistled under his breath. "You sure know how to plant a seed."
"It's not just a seed," Sico said. "It's a promise. To him, and to everyone like him. This place, Sanctuary it was never meant to be just a fortress. It's supposed to be a beacon. If we can turn even one enemy into an ally, that's worth more than a hundred battles won."
Sarah's eyes softened at that, though she tried not to show it too much. "You sound like your mother," she murmured.
Sico smiled faintly, almost wistfully. "Yeah. She used to tell me that building peace is harder than fighting wars—but it's the only thing that lasts."
For a moment, all three of them just stood there, bathed in the cool glow of the map table. The hum of the generators outside filled the silence.
Finally, Sico pushed away from the table and straightened. "Alright," he said quietly. "We've got work to do. Tomorrow, we begin reinforcing the new wall sections, then I'll go see Danse again. If he's going to take that step, it'll happen soon."
Sarah nodded, all business again. "I'll see to the surveillance protocols tonight."
Preston adjusted his hat. "And I'll start prepping the patrol schedules. We'll be ready."
Sico gave them both a firm nod. "Thank you—for trusting me with this."
Preston smiled. "You've earned it, boss."
Sarah gave a small, approving smirk. "Just don't get yourself killed trying to save a Brotherhood soldier."
Sico's eyes glinted with quiet humor. "No promises."
With that, he turned toward the door, the coat over his shoulders catching a faint shimmer of light. As he stepped out into the cold night air, the wind carried the distant sound of hammering, laughter, and the soft hum of a generator somewhere by the ridge. He looked out over the walls of Sanctuary—the fortress, the home, the hope—and for the first time that night, he let himself breathe.
The stars above were faint, hidden behind thin clouds, but he could still see them flickering—like distant embers refusing to go out. Somewhere out there, in the wasteland, Paladin Danse was sitting alone, thinking. Maybe staring out a window the same way. Maybe realizing that the war he'd been fighting wasn't against enemies, but against the part of himself that still wanted to believe in something better.
________________________________________________
• 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:-