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Sico lingered a moment longer, watching as the men and women filtered out in small groups, tired but smiling. They carried themselves differently now—not just workers, but people who'd seen their labor spit fire into the night sky and hold its ground. Hope clung to them in ways no speech could conjure.
The night stretched on after Mel's order to shut things down. The workers filed off in twos and threes, their laughter soft but carrying on the cold wind. The factory yard grew still again, the only sounds left were the slow click of cooling steel and the faint hum of the generator that kept the floodlamps alive. Sico stood alone for a while longer, staring up at the sky where the barrels had pointed only minutes ago.
The stars blinked down through the haze of the Commonwealth, distant, untouchable. He wondered if the Brotherhood stared at those same stars from the deck of their Prydwen, if Maxson himself lay awake up there planning every detail of how to grind them down.
When he finally left, it was with the steady tread of a man who had weighed the night and filed it away in the steel ledger of his memory.
Morning came cool and sharp. The sun broke through the smog in pale streaks, washing Sanctuary and its outskirts in a tired light. By the time Sico crossed into the heart of Freemasons HQ, the settlement was already awake—children chasing each other past the market stalls, farmers loading crates of produce, patrols moving with their usual clipped pace. The HQ itself loomed like the mind of it all, rebuilt from the bones of old pre-war municipal buildings, its brick patched with steel and wood, banners of the Freemasons Republic fluttering above the doors.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of ink and paper, mixed with the musk of leather-bound ledgers. The hum of conversation floated from offices and hallways, the kind of low bureaucratic buzz that always seemed to surround places of administration.
Sico made his way down the corridor lined with hand-painted signs. His boots struck the worn floorboards, drawing glances from clerks who knew better than to interrupt him. He stopped outside a door marked neatly in Magnolia's precise script:
Treasurer – Magnolia
He pushed the door open without ceremony.
Magnolia sat at her desk, the morning light spilling over her papers and casting her in a soft glow. She wasn't dressed for the stage here—no shimmering gowns, no dramatic makeup—just a simple blouse rolled at the sleeves, her curls tied back. Her pen scratched furiously across the page, a half-drained mug of coffee at her elbow. She looked up at the creak of the door, and her stern focus softened when she saw him.
"Well, well. General Sico himself," she said with a wry smile, though her voice carried the tired rasp of someone who'd been working since dawn. "What brings you into my little corner of hell?"
Sico stepped in, closing the door behind him. His eyes swept over the room—ledgers stacked high, maps pinned to the wall, a jar of caps half-filled beside her elbow like some idle trophy of her work. He came to stand across from her desk, his shadow stretching across the papers.
"Wanted an update," he said. "The purified water trade. How's it going? How many caps are we bringing in?"
Magnolia set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms with a soft groan. "Straight to business. You never do warm up with small talk, do you?"
Sico just waited, his silence the only answer. Magnolia chuckled under her breath, then reached for a ledger and flipped it open with long, nimble fingers.
"It's good," she said, her tone shifting into the professional rhythm she carried whenever numbers were involved. "Better than good, actually. The purified water is our most stable trade so far. Raiders can't drink bullets, caravans can't carry luxury items if they're dead of thirst, and even the Brotherhood needs to hydrate, arrogant bastards that they are. Everyone wants clean water. Everyone pays for it."
She tapped a column of figures with her finger. "Caps are flowing steady. Enough to keep the Republic's coffers healthy. Between that and the taxes from our people, we've got more income than I expected this early. I won't lie to you—makes me a happy treasurer."
Sico gave a short nod. "Stable income means stable ground. That's good."
Magnolia tilted her head, watching him closely. "But you didn't just come to pat me on the back. You want to know what's next, don't you?"
He didn't deny it. His gaze held hers, unreadable.
Magnolia smiled knowingly, the kind of smile that came with sharp thoughts hidden behind it. She leaned forward on her elbows. "I've been thinking. Water's good, but it's only one stream of income. We need more if we want to keep up with what you're building—the factories, the weapons, the armies. That all costs, Sico. And the Brotherhood won't wait for us to balance the books before they attack."
She let that hang in the air before continuing. "So I'm considering expanding. Corps."
Sico's brow creased faintly. "Our crops."
Magnolia nodded, eyes glinting. "Exactly. We've been growing steady thanks to the greenhouses and farms under Jenny. Corn, mutfruit, tatos—the basics. Enough to feed our people and store some besides. If we can trade the surplus outside, we turn food into caps. And caps into more steel, more ammo, more everything we need to fight. It's not glamorous, but it's practical."
She paused, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "But I won't move on it until I've talked to Jenny. She's the one who knows the fields, the supplies, the limits. I need to know we have enough to feed our own before we start filling someone else's belly. Last thing I want is to see our people go hungry because I got greedy for caps."
Her words hung steady, her voice carrying that mix of pragmatism and conscience that had earned her this post.
Sico studied her in silence for a long moment, the way he always did when weighing truth. His eyes lingered not on the numbers, but on her—the way her hands stayed steady on the ledger, the flicker of fire in her eyes when she spoke of duty.
"You're right," he said at last. "We don't trade what we can't afford. Talk to Jenny. Make sure the supply's strong. If she says it's steady, then we move."
Magnolia leaned back again, a faint smile curving her lips. "You always cut through it so clean. No wonder the people follow you. Though I have to say…" She glanced down at her papers, then back at him. "Sometimes I envy it. For me, every decision feels tangled up in numbers and risks. For you, it's just a blade cutting straight through."
Sico didn't answer. He never needed to. The weight of his presence always did enough.
Magnolia sighed and picked up her pen again, twirling it between her fingers. "Alright. I'll call Jenny in later today. We'll go over the supplies, see what we can afford to sell. In the meantime, you can rest easy—your Republic's coffers are in good hands."
"Not mine," Sico corrected quietly. "Ours."
Magnolia's smile softened at that, and for a moment, the tiredness slipped from her face. "Ours, then."
The day had worn itself thin by the time the afternoon light slanted across the wide windows of Magnolia's office. The brick walls glowed a muted orange, shadows creeping long across the floorboards. Outside, the muffled sounds of Sanctuary's bustle carried on—children laughing, carts rattling down the main road, a blacksmith's hammer ringing out in steady rhythm. Inside, though, the room had the quiet hum of anticipation.
Sico sat in the chair opposite Magnolia's desk, his posture as steady and immovable as the banners hanging in the hall outside. He wasn't a man who fidgeted; he could sit in silence as though carved out of stone, every breath measured, every glance deliberate. If he'd been waiting here for minutes or hours, it was impossible to tell—he looked the same either way.
Magnolia, meanwhile, was working through her ledgers again, quill scratching against paper, the ink-stained lines of numbers and figures forming another of her endless trails of arithmetic. She had learned long ago that caps didn't simply appear—they had to be coaxed, collected, tracked, made to serve. She took pride in that, though she wouldn't admit it aloud. Numbers, after all, were her stage these days, even if the songs she once sang still echoed in the back of her mind.
A knock sounded at the door. Magnolia's head lifted. Sico's eyes slid toward it, though he didn't move otherwise.
"Come in," Magnolia called, her voice light but edged with the natural authority she'd grown into.
The door swung open, and Jenny stepped inside. Her boots had dust on them, the kind that clung after hours walking fields and greenhouses, but her stride carried none of the weariness. Jenny had the sturdy presence of someone who worked with the earth itself—hands calloused, shoulders sun-browned, hair pulled back tight to keep out of her way. She smelled faintly of tilled soil and fresh corn, a sharp contrast to Magnolia's ink-and-paper world.
When Jenny's gaze landed on Sico already seated there, she blinked, caught off guard but only for a moment. "Didn't realize this was a council," she said with a half-smile, brushing dust from her trousers.
Sico gave a single nod of acknowledgment. Magnolia gestured to the empty chair beside him. "Come, sit. We were waiting on you."
Jenny stepped forward and settled into the chair, her posture relaxed, though her eyes sharpened when Magnolia folded her hands over the ledger and leaned forward.
"I asked you here," Magnolia began, "because I've been considering something. We've done well with purified water—it's become the backbone of our trade, reliable and steady. But as treasurer, I'm always thinking about what comes next, how to expand. And that led me to our crops."
Jenny tilted her head, listening carefully.
Magnolia's voice smoothed into the rhythm of someone who had thought this through many times already. "We have fields and greenhouses producing steadily across the Republic. Corn, mutfruit, tatos—the basics. The people are fed, but from what I see, we might have enough surplus to begin trading with the wider Commonwealth. If we do, the income could strengthen our coffers even further. But I won't make that move unless I know for certain our own people won't go hungry. That's why I asked you here. You know the soil better than anyone. Tell me, Jenny—can we afford it?"
Jenny leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing with the kind of thought that didn't come from books but from mornings in the fields, dirt under the fingernails. She took a breath before answering, voice steady, practical.
"From what I've seen, yes. We can afford it."
She let that settle before explaining further. "Right now, our food comes from three major settlements—Sanctuary, The Castle, and the Minutemen Plaza. Each one has its own network of greenhouses, farms, irrigation we've set up over the last year. And beyond that, we've got smaller outposts scattered across the Republic territory. They might not produce much on their own, but when you add them all together, it makes a difference. Every crop counts."
She clasped her hands together on the table, her voice gaining quiet conviction. "We don't just grow enough to survive. We've been producing enough to have surplus. That's why, every now and then, I've sold off extra harvests to passing caravans. It's not much, just enough to cover maintenance costs, keep tools sharp, buy seeds, repair greenhouses. I told Sico about it before—just a way to keep the cycle going. But the point is, we've never had to cut into our people's share. They're fed first. Always."
Sico, silent until now, inclined his head slightly toward her. That small gesture carried weight, like a stamp of approval. Jenny noticed, but her focus stayed on Magnolia.
"So yes," Jenny concluded, "we can afford to sell crops outside the Republic. As long as I keep a close eye on the numbers and the harvests, there will always be enough for our own."
Magnolia listened intently, her fingers tapping lightly against the cover of her ledger. When Jenny finished, she gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"Good," Magnolia said softly, almost to herself. Then, louder, with the precision of a deal being struck: "In that case, I want to take over the sales channel."
Jenny blinked, surprised. "The sales channel?"
"Yes." Magnolia leaned forward, her eyes bright with calculation. "You've done well managing the surplus so far, no doubt. But that's not your burden to carry anymore. It belongs here—at this desk. As treasurer, it's my responsibility to manage the flow of caps in and out. If crops are to become one of our exports, then they need to be accounted for properly, with ledgers, contracts, and steady buyers we can rely on. That's not just trade—that's diplomacy. And it falls under my division."
Jenny frowned slightly, but not in resistance—more in consideration. "And what about the farms themselves? The greenhouses? You know how it is, Magnolia. Harvests aren't numbers on a page. Some years we're flush, others a drought knocks us down to half. Can you handle that kind of unpredictability?"
Magnolia smiled faintly, though there was no softness in it. "That's why I need you. You'll keep doing what you do best—tending the fields, managing the workers, ensuring the harvests. But when it comes time to sell, you'll let me handle it. I'll find the buyers, set the prices, arrange the deals. And in return, I promise you this: your division will never go without. The caps I bring in will go back into your farms, your tools, your seeds. You'll have what you need to keep producing. Think of it as a partnership. You grow, I sell."
Jenny studied her for a long moment, weighing the offer. The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the faint scratching of a quill from some clerk down the hall.
Finally, Jenny nodded slowly. "Alright. I can live with that. As long as my people never go hungry, and as long as the farms are cared for, you can sell as much as you like. But Magnolia—if ever I see you risking our food for caps, I'll shut it down myself."
Magnolia's eyes glinted, not with offense but with respect. "Fair. That's the kind of check I expect from you."
Sico, who had listened through it all without interruption, finally spoke. His voice was low but cut through the air like steel through cloth. "Good. Then it's settled. Jenny grows, Magnolia sells. Both divisions get what they need, and the Republic gets stronger."
The quiet settled again after Sico's last words, but it wasn't an idle quiet. It was the kind of pause that came when a decision had been made, when something had shifted in the air. The partnership Magnolia and Jenny had just struck was more than just an arrangement between two divisions; it was the beginning of a new layer of the Republic's foundation. Trade meant growth, and growth meant power.
But Sico wasn't done. His eyes, steady and unblinking, turned from Magnolia back to Jenny.
"How about the Freedom Stronghold?" he asked. His voice was calm, but there was a thread of steel in it, the kind that expected a clear answer.
Jenny exhaled through her nose, her shoulders easing into a more thoughtful posture. The Freedom Stronghold—the name still carried a kind of rawness to it, a settlement carved out only recently in the southern edges of their territory. She had been there often enough, boots in the soil, hands in the earth alongside the farmers trying to coax life from land that had been little more than scrub and ruin not so long ago.
"They're still new," Jenny said finally, her voice steady, measured. "The crops there… they need time to mature. We've got corn coming up, mutfruit trees just starting to take, and some tatos, but it's not enough yet. They can feed themselves, just about, if the harvest holds. But surplus?" She shook her head, her braid brushing her shoulder. "Not yet. If they keep on pace, though, then after one more full harvest, they should have enough to give something back. For now, all they can do is keep their own people fed, keep the soil worked, and make sure the roots take hold."
Sico gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. He'd expected as much, but it mattered to hear it said aloud. The Freedom Stronghold was symbolic as much as it was practical—an outpost named for what the Republic promised: freedom, self-sufficiency, strength outside the chains of the old world. It couldn't falter, not if the Republic's message was to remain unbroken.
Magnolia, who had been listening closely, adjusted the ledger in front of her, tapping the quill against the paper as her thoughts sharpened into focus. "Then it will be another season before we can even think of counting the Stronghold into surplus production. Fine." She looked to Jenny again, the weight of numbers already forming behind her eyes. "But I need to ask you something specific. When you sold crops to the Commonwealth before—what prices did you manage to get?"
Jenny tilted her head slightly, studying Magnolia. "You want the numbers?"
"I need the numbers," Magnolia replied, her tone clipped but not unkind. "If I'm to start arranging convoys to settlements outside our borders, I need to know the price range. What's fair, what's expected, and what's the ceiling. I won't send our people out blind, and I won't let them undersell what we've worked so hard to grow."
Jenny leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking faintly beneath her weight. She rubbed a thumb across her palm, thinking back to those trades on dusty roadsides and half-ruined market squares. "It varied," she began. "Caravans aren't exactly steady customers. Sometimes they were desperate, sometimes they were flush. On a good day, I could get fifteen caps a bushel for corn. Mutfruit fetched better, usually twenty-five a crate if they were fresh. Tatos… well, no one's ever excited about tatos, but they move. Ten caps a sack, maybe twelve if the buyer was tired of dried cram and wanted something with juice in it."
Magnolia's quill moved quickly, capturing the figures in neat rows. Jenny went on.
"The thing is, those were caravan prices. You're talking about settlements, proper deals. That changes the game. Settlements want consistency, supply they can count on. They'll pay more if they know you'll keep coming back, because it means their people can rely on steady meals instead of scavenged luck. But they'll also try to lock you down with barter. Tools, weapons, maybe medicines, sometimes chems if they're trying to sweeten the deal. I've taken barter when it made sense, but caps keep the Republic turning. If you're serious about building this trade, you'll have to decide how much we're willing to take in barter versus coin."
Magnolia's eyes narrowed slightly, though not in doubt—more in the satisfaction of having the contours of the problem revealed. She loved numbers because they were honest, even when they hurt. With the numbers, you could see the shape of the future before it arrived.
Sico broke in, his voice low but steady. "Barter has its place. Weapons, medicine, tools—we can always use them. But the Republic is built on more than survival. Caps matter. They give us leverage. They let us choose, not just scrape by."
Jenny glanced at him, then nodded slowly. "Then that's your answer, Magnolia. Aim for caps, but don't turn down good barter if it keeps the balance. Especially medicines. No one has enough of those."
Magnolia dipped her quill again, making another column in her ledger. The room had grown still except for the soft scratch of ink, the occasional creak of Jenny's chair, and the faint shift of Sico's armor as he adjusted his posture.
Jenny leaned forward now, resting her forearms on the desk. "If you're planning convoys, you'll also need to think about security. Caravans move light because they have to. But if we're sending loaded carts of food out into the Commonwealth? That's a target. Raiders, gunners, even Brotherhood stragglers might take an interest. You'll need patrols. Escorts. That's not my field—but it's yours, Sico."
Sico's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't speak immediately, but when he did, it carried the weight of someone who had already thought about this long before the words were spoken. "Convoys will have escorts. Not just soldiers—scouts ahead, lookouts watching from distance. Raiders won't touch us if they know we're ready. And if they try…" He let the thought hang, unfinished but heavy with certainty.
Jenny gave a slight smirk at that, but it wasn't mocking—more an acknowledgment of the truth in his words.
Magnolia, satisfied with the figures she had written down, finally set the quill aside. She folded her hands together, leaning forward. "Then here's what I propose. Jenny, you'll continue to oversee the harvests, make sure our people are fed first and foremost. Once you've set aside the share for the Republic, you'll bring the surplus to me. I'll account for it, set the prices, and arrange the deals with outside settlements. Sico will ensure the convoys are guarded, and in return, the caps we bring back will be distributed where they're needed most. Not just in the treasurer's coffers, but in your fields and your patrols. Everyone benefits. Everyone strengthens."
The room went quiet again. Jenny studied her, weighing the offer like a stone in her hand. Finally, she gave a slow nod. "Alright. But like I said before, Magnolia—if our people go hungry, I shut it down. No negotiation."
Magnolia's lips curved into a faint smile. "And like I said, that's fair."
Sico let the silence breathe for another beat. The weight of Jenny's words, Magnolia's careful assurances, the ledger ink drying between them — all of it hung like the last note of a song that hadn't quite faded. Then, with the same deliberation that defined everything he did, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
The floorboards creaked softly under his boots. His shadow stretched long in the amber light spilling through the office windows, cutting across Magnolia's desk and brushing against the worn edges of Jenny's sleeve. For a moment he simply stood there, looking at both women — the treasurer with her neat lines of ink, the farmer with dirt still under her fingernails — and what he saw was more than just two division heads.
He saw the Republic.
"Then it's settled," Sico said at last, his voice low but steady, carrying the quiet authority that seemed to move people even when he spoke barely above a murmur. He placed one hand flat on the desk, the other curling loosely at his side. "Your divisions will work together. Jenny grows, Magnolia sells. Security ensures it reaches where it needs to. This isn't about caps, or crops alone — it's about stability. The strength of the Freemasons Republic rests on both full bellies and a full purse."
His gaze shifted deliberately between them, pinning each in turn. "Together, you'll make sure we have both."
Jenny leaned back slightly, her lips pressing into the hint of a wry smile. Magnolia inclined her head, that faint glimmer of ambition in her eyes tempered — for now — by agreement.
Sico straightened, letting his hand fall away from the desk. "Good. Then this discussion is closed."
The words weren't harsh, but they were final.
The atmosphere in Magnolia's office softened once the decision had been sealed. There was no great cheer, no slamming of hands in celebration, but in its own way, the quiet was more powerful. In the Commonwealth, most agreements were made with a barrel to the head or a knife at someone's ribs. Here, they'd made one with words, trust, and an understanding that survival wasn't enough anymore — they were building something larger.
Magnolia let her fingers brush over the ledger, as though the numbers there might already begin to reshape themselves into future profits. Jenny leaned back in her chair, letting the tension roll off her shoulders in a slow exhale, the dust of the fields still clinging faintly to her clothes.
And Sico — Sico stood in the middle of it all like the steel rod of a great tent, silent, steady, holding the weight so others could move freely.
Outside the windows, Sanctuary carried on as though nothing monumental had just occurred: children's laughter spilling down the street, hammer strikes ringing from the smithy, the faint shouts of traders haggling in the distance. Life went on. But in here, a shift had happened that could change the very rhythm of that life in the months to come.
Jenny rose from her seat first, brushing the dust from her knees as she stood. She gave Magnolia a small nod, one worker to another — not an admission of defeat, but an acknowledgment that their paths were now bound together.
"You'll get your numbers," she said, her voice firm but not unfriendly. "I'll make sure the counts are steady, and the harvest reports reach you on time. Just don't expect miracles out of the soil."
Magnolia gave a faint smile, her fingers tapping the ledger. "I never expect miracles, Jenny. Just reliability."
Jenny gave a short huff, something halfway between amusement and dismissal, then turned toward the door. She paused with her hand on the latch, looking back at Sico. "I'll head to the fields before nightfall. Make sure the greenhouses know what's coming. They'll need to be ready for more than just feeding their own now."
Sico inclined his head. "Do it. But don't forget — the people come first."
Jenny nodded once, firmly, and slipped out, leaving the faint smell of earth and open air in her wake.
The door had barely shut when Magnolia leaned back in her chair, exhaling as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time. She let her fingers rest on the spine of her ledger, eyes tracing the neat rows of numbers, imagining them multiplying across pages yet unwritten.
"You know," she said, glancing up at Sico, "it's not just stability we're buying with this. It's influence. When settlements outside our borders see our convoys arriving, carts full of food while they scrape by on whatever Brahmin can carry, they'll realize we're more than just another warband with a flag. We'll be a power. One that feeds."
Sico didn't move, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "Power is only worth something if it lasts. Don't mistake trade for dominion."
Magnolia smirked faintly, her quill spinning idly between her fingers. "I don't. But I know opportunity when I see it. A Republic that can feed its own and still sell to outsiders? That's a Republic others will want to deal with — whether they like us or not."
There was no arrogance in her voice, just a cool certainty. For all her past life as a singer, Magnolia's real instrument now was arithmetic, and she played it with precision.
Sico stepped toward the door, pausing only long enough to glance back at Magnolia. "Remember this, Magnolia: you and Jenny are two sides of the same coin. If either side falters, the whole thing is worthless. Keep the balance. That's how the Republic survives."
Magnolia inclined her head, her smile thinning into something more serious. "Understood."
With that, Sico pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway, the evening light spilling over him. His boots struck the wooden floor with the same quiet rhythm as before.
The hall outside Magnolia's office stretched wide, banners of the Republic hanging proudly along its walls. People moved through it with the kind of ease that came from routine — couriers with messages tucked under their arms, soldiers exchanging brief nods, clerks carrying stacks of papers. They all glanced briefly at Sico as he passed, some with respect, some with awe, a few with wariness. He was a man who carried decisions on his shoulders like others carried rifles, and everyone knew it.
________________________________________________
• 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:-