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The four of them stood in silence again, but it was no longer the brittle silence of unease. It was heavier, yes — but heavier with resolve. With shared understanding. With the quiet knowledge that war with the Brotherhood was no longer a question of if, but when.
The next morning dawned gray and unsettled, as if the sky itself carried the weight of the unease spreading across the Commonwealth.
News of the Brotherhood's sudden visit to the Freemasons Republic traveled fast — faster than anyone could have expected. By midday, it was on the lips of every trader along the caravan routes, whispered in the corners of settlements, murmured in hushed tones over mugs of weak coffee and bowls of brahmin stew.
The people of the Commonwealth had grown used to tension. They had lived through raider wars, Super Mutant attacks, and, more recently, the brutal conflict between the Brotherhood and the Institute. But this was different. This was heavier. The thought of yet another war — this time between the Freemasons Republic and the Brotherhood of Steel — landed like a stone in the gut of every farmer, scavenger, and settler who had only just begun to rebuild.
At Bunker Hill, caravans arrived carrying more than just goods — they carried rumors. One trader swore he had seen Brotherhood vertibirds flying low over the Charles, heading toward Freemason-held territory. Another claimed he overheard Paladins in full armor talking about "cleansing the Republic." None of it was confirmed, but it didn't need to be. The people were already afraid.
At Sanctuary, the atmosphere was tense. The settlement had become the unofficial heart of the Republic, the place where both soldiers and civilians converged, where plans were made and futures were debated. Now, with the news spreading, people gathered in clusters — near the workbenches, along the bridge, around the fire pits that burned low with salvaged wood.
Jenny stood at the edge of one such crowd, her arms folded across her chest, listening as settlers argued.
"They'll come for us, you watch," one man said, his voice thick with fear. His clothes were patched and worn, but his eyes burned with the memory of battles past. "The Brotherhood doesn't share. You think they're gonna let the Freemasons keep power like this? No chance."
A woman across from him shook her head sharply. "Freemasons have already done more for us than the Brotherhood ever did. They're not just hoarding tech or shooting at anything different. They're building something real. We can't just roll over because Maxson growls."
"But you remember the war between Institute and Brotherhood, don't you?" the man shot back. "How many of us died because those two couldn't leave each other alone? Now we'll be stuck in the middle again."
Jenny pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to step in. She wanted to remind them that the Republic wasn't the Institute — that Sico and Sarah and the others weren't tyrants playing gods from the shadows. But she also knew fear didn't bend so easily to reason.
Instead, she slipped away, heading toward the main hall where she knew Sico would be.
Inside the hall, the mood was no lighter. Officers, engineers, and settlers pressed in close, their voices overlapping in a hum of speculation and anxiety. Maps had been rolled out across long tables, markers placed where Brotherhood patrols had last been spotted. Reports trickled in by the hour — vertibirds sighted near Lexington, armored patrols seen on the edge of Cambridge, even whispers of recruits gathering at the airport once more.
Sico stood at the head of the room, his presence quiet but commanding. His arms were folded as he listened to the flood of reports, Sarah standing just beside him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes darted sharply to each speaker, weighing every word.
Robert leaned against the wall nearby, jaw tight, while MacCready paced the floor like a caged animal, his boots scuffing against the concrete.
"It's only a matter of time before Maxson moves," one of the officers said, a middle-aged man with grease-stained hands and a scar running down his cheek. "He doesn't do visits without purpose. If he sent men here, it's because he's already weighing how to strike."
Another woman — a former Minuteman turned Freemason captain — shook her head. "Or it's intimidation. A show of force. He wants us second-guessing, panicking. That's Maxson's way. Fear before fire."
The debate rippled, voices rising and falling, until Sarah finally lifted her hand. The room stilled almost instantly.
"We can't afford to speculate ourselves into a panic," she said firmly. Her voice carried the weight of command — the voice of someone who had once led the Brotherhood itself. "The Brotherhood thrives on fear. If we let it fester, they've already won. What we need is clarity, and preparation. Nothing less."
All eyes turned to Sico then. He hadn't spoken yet, but the weight of expectation pressed on him as heavily as the air in the room.
He let the silence linger a moment longer, making sure he had every eye, every ear. Then, finally, he spoke.
"They came here to test us," he said, his tone calm but edged with steel. "To see if we'd flinch. To see if the Republic would bend under the shadow of their vertibirds. They wanted to remind us of their power. But I say this — if they think we'll bow, they've forgotten who we are."
A murmur ran through the room, low but steady, like the rumble of distant thunder.
Sico continued, his eyes sweeping across the gathered faces. "We're not the Institute. We don't hide underground. We don't play gods with people's lives. We're not the Minutemen either, spread too thin to hold a line. We are the Freemasons Republic. We are soldiers, builders, farmers, engineers. We fight not for ideology, not for dogma, but for people. For each other. That is what makes us strong — and that is what Maxson will never understand."
Robert finally pushed off the wall, his voice rough but determined. "Damn right. Let them bring their steel and their dogma. We've got something they'll never have — a reason worth bleeding for."
The words struck something in the room. Faces hardened, backs straightened. Fear didn't vanish — it never did — but it shifted, reshaped into resolve.
Sarah gave the faintest nod, her eyes flicking toward Sico. "Then we prepare. We don't wait for Maxson to decide when war comes. We make sure that if he tries, he'll regret it."
MacCready cracked a thin grin, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Guess it's time to start checking the sights and oiling the rifles. Wouldn't want the Brotherhood to think we weren't ready to say hello."
A ripple of grim chuckles broke out, the tension easing slightly.
The chuckles in the hall faded slowly, like the last sparks drifting from a dying fire. For a long moment afterward, the silence that lingered wasn't heavy with fear anymore, but something steadier, quieter — resolve, tempered like steel in flame.
Sico's eyes moved across the gathered faces, holding each for a fraction longer than the last. Settlers with dirt still under their fingernails from morning work in the fields, soldiers in patched armor, engineers with grease smudges across their cheeks — every one of them bore that look now, the look of people who had chosen not to bow. He let himself feel it for a breath, the rare solidity of unity, before he spoke again.
"Alright," he said at last, his voice low, roughened from sleepless nights but clear enough to cut through the stillness. "We can't just sit here sharpening our blades and waiting for Maxson to make his move. He already has his eyes on us. The super mutant captures made sure of that. He'll see us as a threat, as something to crush before we can grow stronger. We won't give him that chance."
Sarah's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of the mutants, though she gave no comment. Robert leaned forward, arms folded, and MacCready stopped pacing just long enough to glance up, sharp eyes narrowing in anticipation of what came next.
Sico turned his gaze to Sarah. "I want you to continue training the soldiers — the veterans and the new recruits alike with Preston. Drill them harder than before. No wasted shots, no sloppy discipline. I want them ready for when the Brotherhood comes knocking."
Sarah straightened her posture almost unconsciously, the way a commander did when receiving orders that aligned with her own instincts. For a heartbeat, she looked like the Elder she once was, the leader who had stood in the Citadel's halls and believed the Brotherhood could be something more. She gave a short nod.
"They'll be ready," she said, her voice certain. "Preston and I will see to it. If Maxson thinks he can intimidate us into submission, he'll find a wall of soldiers instead."
The conviction in her words sent a ripple of agreement through the room.
Sico's eyes shifted next to Robert, then MacCready. The pair stood in sharp contrast — Robert's square, grounded frame and MacCready's wiry restlessness — but they had become two sides of the same blade.
"You two," Sico said, his voice firm. "Keep building the Commandos. Expand them, strengthen them. We'll need more than just raw numbers when this war comes. We'll need fighters who can strike hard, move fast, vanish before the Brotherhood knows what hit them. You've both proved you can lead men into the jaws of hell and walk out again. Keep sharpening that edge."
Robert's mouth twisted into a tight grin, one that carried more promise than humor. "Aye," he said simply. "I'll find the recruits. Train 'em up till they can shoot straight in their sleep."
MacCready rolled his shoulders, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes betrayed the seriousness behind it. "Guess I'll get to play recruiter again. Can't wait to hear the sales pitch this time: 'Join the Commandos, risk your neck, maybe get shot at by a power-armored zealot.' Real inspiring stuff."
Robert shot him a look, but MacCready lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, don't worry. I'll make it work. I always do."
Sico didn't smile, but his gaze lingered on them a moment longer. He trusted them — more than he would admit aloud — but he also knew the weight he had just placed on their shoulders. The Brotherhood wasn't like raiders or Gunners. They were disciplined, relentless, armed with technology that could cut through settlements like paper. To stand against them would take more than resolve. It would take preparation.
Finally, Sico spoke again, his voice low but carrying, as though he wanted not only those in the hall but the walls themselves to remember. "The rest of you — continue your duties. Keep the Republic moving forward. But be vigilant. Eyes open, rifles ready. The Brotherhood may try to lull us with silence before the storm. Don't be caught off guard. Every man and woman here is a line between them and the people we swore to protect. Don't forget that."
The words sank deep, the kind that people carried back to their workbenches, their patrols, their bunkhouses. A murmur of assent rose and fell again, and then slowly the crowd dispersed, each person peeling away with the weight of duty on their shoulders.
Later, when the hall had emptied and the noise faded into the distance, Sarah lingered by the map table, tracing one finger along the marked routes where vertibirds had been spotted. The lantern light caught the tight lines of her expression.
"You know Maxson won't let this go," she said softly, not looking up. "Capturing those mutants was a red flag to him. He'll see it as an insult — a challenge to his authority."
Sico stood across from her, arms still folded, his face a mask of calm. "Good," he said. "Let him see it that way. Better he underestimates us as rebels than understand us for what we are becoming."
Sarah finally lifted her eyes to him, studying him with something caught between caution and respect. "You sound almost like my father when he was younger," she murmured. "Before the Council beat the idealism out of him."
Sico said nothing at that, only dipped his head slightly. He was no idealist. He had seen too much to cling to visions of a perfect future. But he believed in the Republic, in the people who had built it from dust and ashes. That was enough.
Outside, Robert and MacCready walked side by side into the cool night. The lamps along the bridge burned low, their flames shivering against the breeze.
Robert was the first to break the silence. "You ever think about what it'll look like?"
MacCready gave him a sideways glance. "What what'll look like?"
"The fight. Against the Brotherhood. Power armor coming down on us, sky full of vertibirds. You ever picture it?"
MacCready let out a dry laugh, though it was thin, stretched. "I try not to. But yeah. Every damn night. Thing is, I stopped picturing it as us running. Now I picture it as us standing. Makes the nightmares a little easier to swallow."
Robert grunted, the closest thing he had to agreement. "Then let's make sure that's how it goes. Standing, not running."
By the next morning, the Republic moved with renewed purpose. Sarah and Preston drilled recruits in the training yard, the crack of gunfire echoing across Sanctuary's fields. Preston barked commands with the steady authority of a man who had once carried the Minutemen's banner alone, while Sarah corrected stances, adjusted grips, and reminded the greenest among them that missing a shot in practice could mean death in battle.
Children carried buckets of spent casings, watching with wide eyes as their parents took aim. Engineers repaired armor plates and calibrated rifles, sweat mixing with the grit on their foreheads. Farmers tended their fields, but even as they did, rifles leaned against nearby posts — tools of survival standing ready beside tools of life.
Robert and MacCready, meanwhile, ranged further afield. They slipped out of Sanctuary with squads at their heels, searching for recruits in the ruins of Cambridge, along the edges of Goodneighbor, even out by the swamps where the Gunners once held ground. Some they found eager — wanderers with nothing left but a rifle and a grudge against the Brotherhood. Others they convinced with words, promises, and the weight of the Republic's growing strength.
The Commandos grew, slowly but steadily, forged from the willing and the desperate alike. Each one was handed a weapon, a patch, and a warning: You're not fighting for glory. You're fighting for each other.
The Prydwen's command room always carried a certain hum — not mechanical, but human. Boots on steel decking. The soft hiss of doors. The low murmur of scribes at their stations. It was a chamber of power, of decision, where words could mean war or peace, and every man and woman inside knew it.
At the center, beneath the looming Brotherhood emblem on the wall, Elder Arthur Maxson stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The lanterns overhead carved sharp lines across his jaw, catching the steel in his eyes. He hadn't spoken yet. He didn't need to. His silence filled the space like a storm cloud.
Arrayed around him were the Brotherhood's finest minds and sharpest blades. Lancer Captain Kells stood ramrod straight, his uniform immaculate, his face carrying that permanent look of disdain, as though every breath he drew was an effort not to scold. Proctor Ingram leaned heavily on her support frame, arms crossed, watching the room with a sharp, practical eye. Madison Li stood slightly apart, her hands folded in front of her, gaze cool and unreadable, a scientist caught in the eye of a military hurricane.
Proctor Quinlan adjusted the thick lenses on his nose, already clutching a datapad as though the report might be wrung from numbers alone. Knight Captain Cade leaned against the bulkhead near the medical station, arms folded, his face patient but drawn tight. Senior Scribe Neriah stood at the edge of the group, dark hair tied back, eyes already fixed on Danse and Brandis, as though she wanted every detail of their account burned into her notes.
And there, before the Elder, stood the two Paladins. Danse — broad-shouldered, posture as straight as the steel that bound the Prydwen — and Brandis, older, his armor worn at the edges, his expression harder to read. They had walked into the lion's den together, but they knew that the burden of their words would weigh differently on each of them.
Maxson finally spoke. His voice carried no need for volume; the authority in it was command enough.
"Report."
Danse was the first to step forward, his voice steady, his diction as clipped and precise as always. "Elder, as ordered, Paladin Brandis and I traveled to the settlement known as the Freemasons Republic. We arrived yesterday evening. Contact was made with their leadership, including their commander, Sico, and several of his senior officers. Among them were Sarah Lyons, formerly Elder Lyons of the Capital Wasteland."
The air in the room shifted at that name. A ripple of tension cut through it like a blade through cloth. Proctor Quinlan's brow furrowed, his datapad twitching in his hands. Cade straightened slightly. Even Maxson's jaw tightened, though he said nothing.
Danse continued without pause. "We questioned them regarding the reports of super mutants captured by their forces. Their response was evasive at first, but they admitted openly to taking the mutants alive. They claimed it was for study, not for weaponization."
Brandis added his voice then, rougher, carrying the gravel of years in the field. "They didn't shy from us, Elder. Didn't look cowed, either. If anything, they stood taller when we pressed. Their commander said they act for the 'prosperity of the Republic,' that they answer to no Brotherhood authority."
Maxson's eyes narrowed, but he let them speak on.
"They're organized," Brandis went on. "More than I expected. Soldiers drilled in formation, engineers working openly on advanced equipment, civilians carrying themselves like they've found something worth bleeding for. Not the ragtag settlement I thought we'd find. More like… a state in the making."
The words hung heavy, and for a moment, silence reclaimed the room.
It was Kells who broke it, his voice like a whipcrack. "Arrogance. Nothing more. These so-called Freemasons believe themselves a nation, but they are squatters. Pretenders. Harboring technology they cannot control, hoarding weapons that should be in Brotherhood hands. And now they dare to capture abominations?" His gaze cut to Maxson. "This is not defiance, Elder. This is heresy."
Proctor Ingram snorted, adjusting her stance. "You'd call everything heresy if it doesn't shine like it came straight from the Founders. Maybe think for a second before you start crying treason."
Kells turned on her sharply. "Do you not see the danger? Super mutants are a plague. To study them, as they claim, is to invite corruption. It is forbidden by every tenet of our order."
Neriah's voice entered then, quiet but sharp. "If I may, Elder." She adjusted her notes, her tone clinical. "The opportunity to capture super mutants alive is rare. If they are indeed studying them, the data could be… invaluable. Mutagenic instability, behavioral anomalies, resistance to FEV treatments. I would not dismiss their claims outright."
Kells bristled. "And if they seek to harness the virus? To create weapons of war?"
Neriah's eyes flicked toward him, unimpressed. "Then they are fools. FEV does not bend to will. It consumes. But if they are merely studying…" Her gaze returned to Maxson. "…then they have achieved something even the Brotherhood has not."
The tension in the room coiled tighter. Maxson's face remained impassive, but his silence was weight enough.
Danse stepped forward again, his voice firmer, almost defiant in its steadiness. "Elder, with respect — I saw no indication that their research is for military use. Their people appeared… committed to survival. To stability. The super mutants were restrained, not exploited. Their focus was discipline, order, and defense." He hesitated only a moment. "In truth, it was reminiscent of the Brotherhood in its earliest days."
The room bristled. Kells looked ready to snap. Quinlan scribbled furiously on his pad. Cade raised his brows.
And Maxson — Maxson's eyes cut to Danse, sharp as a blade. "Careful, Paladin." His voice was low, but the warning in it was unmistakable.
Danse inclined his head, but he did not retract the words.
Brandis stepped in quickly, his tone measured. "Elder, whatever their intentions, they are not weak. If conflict comes, it will not be one-sided. They have numbers, training, and leadership. And they have Sarah Lyons." His gaze lingered meaningfully. "The name still carries weight. Among our own people. Among those who remember the Wasteland campaigns. She will use it."
For the first time, Madison Li spoke. Her voice was calm, precise, but her eyes flicked toward Maxson as though gauging every reaction. "Then the question becomes not whether they study super mutants or hoard technology, but whether the Brotherhood can afford another war. You've already stretched resources thin against the Institute, Elder. If the Freemasons are what these reports suggest — a state rising from the ruins — then they are not an obstacle to be crushed lightly."
Ingram gave a short, sharp laugh. "And here we go, the good doctor speaking sense for once. Maybe the rest of you missed it, but Brandis just said it plain: they're building something bigger than a settlement. You can stomp your boots and call it heresy all day, Kells, but that doesn't change the fact that they've got people willing to bleed for a flag. And that flag ain't ours."
Quinlan cleared his throat, stepping in with the eager energy of a man who believed his numbers would save him. "Elder, with your leave, I could divert our intelligence assets to further monitor this Republic. We may uncover the extent of their armaments, their supply lines, perhaps even dissent within their leadership. With proper data, we can dismantle them before they grow too bold."
Cade shook his head, pushing off the wall. "Dissent or not, sounds like they've got one thing we don't — unity. My medics hear it every day: people are tired of war. Tired of factions tearing the Commonwealth apart. If the Freemasons are giving folks hope, that'll spread faster than any vertibird patrol we send."
The words carried a rare weight, and silence fell again.
All eyes turned back to Maxson. He hadn't moved. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid, but his eyes burned with thought, with calculation. When he spoke at last, his words were slow, deliberate.
"Sarah Lyons…" His tone dripped with both memory and venom. "A name that should have been buried with her father. She abandoned the Brotherhood, abandoned her duty, and now she dares to build her own order in defiance of ours." His gaze swept across the room, pinning each of them in turn. "Do not mistake this for coincidence. Do not mistake this for some noble endeavor. It is treason, wrapped in banners and lies. And I will not permit it."
The command room seemed to draw tighter, as though the steel itself strained against the weight of his conviction.
Maxson's voice rose, cold and cutting. "The Brotherhood stands as humanity's last shield. We cannot, we will not, allow imitators to rise — especially not those who consort with abominations. If the Freemasons Republic believes it can challenge us, then we will remind them of the truth: there is only one Brotherhood of Steel. One shield. One sword."
He turned, his cape sweeping behind him as he strode toward the center table. "Kells. Increase aerial patrols near their territory. I want eyes on them at all times."
"Yes, Elder," Kells said, his voice like iron.
"Quinlan. Divert your intelligence. I want dossiers on every commander, every supply route, every weakness."
"It will be done," Quinlan said quickly, already typing.
"Ingram, Li — prepare contingency plans. If war comes, I want to know how many troops, how many suits, and how much fuel we'll need to crush them swiftly."
Ingram muttered under her breath, but she nodded. Li's face remained unreadable, though her eyes flicked briefly toward Danse.
"Cade, be ready for casualties. If the Freemasons resist, there will be blood."
Cade gave a small nod, though his jaw was set grim.
"Neriah," Maxson finished, his tone final, "continue your research on FEV. If they think they can toy with mutants, we will outpace them. The Brotherhood will lead, as it always has."
Neriah bowed her head slightly. "As you command, Elder."
Maxson's gaze swept across them one last time. "Make no mistake. The Freemasons Republic is not an ally. They are a rival. And rivals become enemies."
The room was silent, save for the low thrum of the Prydwen's engines.
The room still carried the weight of Maxson's last words — the silence heavy enough to press into bone — when he shifted his gaze. The steel of his eyes, already sharp, found new edges as he turned them on Proctor Ingram and Madison Li.
"Ingram. Li." His voice carried across the command room like the low growl of a storm. "I want to hear where we are with Liberty Prime. And spare me the same answer I've heard every fortnight for the last five months. You've promised 'two weeks' again and again, and yet that machine still stands cold and silent."
The atmosphere thickened. The scribes working nearby slowed their movements, ears straining without daring to show it. Liberty Prime — the Brotherhood's ultimate weapon, the symbol of its power and dominance — was a subject that could ignite Maxson's temper faster than anything else.
Ingram shifted her stance, one hand braced against the support frame that kept her upright. Her jaw tightened, but she spoke evenly, unflinching. "Elder, we're making progress, but you already know the issue isn't with Prime's hardware. His systems are intact. His weapons functional. The limiting factor is power. We can't run him on portable fusion cores — they drain in minutes under his load. He needs something bigger. Constant. Stable."
Maxson's glare moved past her to Madison Li. The scientist stood still, her arms folded lightly across her chest, her expression calm in that maddening way of hers, as if she had measured every possible outcome before opening her mouth.
Li inclined her head slightly. "She's right. Liberty Prime is operational in theory, but we cannot sustain him. Not without a proper power source."
Maxson's voice cut through her measured tone like a blade. "You've had months. You've had the resources of the Brotherhood at your disposal. And still you stand here telling me you have nothing? Explain yourself, Doctor."
Li's eyes flicked briefly toward Ingram, then back to Maxson. She spoke carefully, but her words carried the weight of frustration that had been building beneath her composed exterior.
"The truth, Elder, is that there is no conventional alternative. I've scoured the schematics, the archives, every theory we could build from the wreckage of the old world in the Commonwealth. Nothing will give Liberty Prime the sustained output he requires except one thing — the beryllium agitator. That's what the research points to. That's what would work."
The words hit like a stone dropped in a still pond. The ripples spread instantly. Quinlan stopped tapping at his datapad. Cade's head lifted from his folded arms. Even Kells' face, normally locked in disdain, sharpened with sudden attention.
Maxson's brow furrowed. "The beryllium agitator." He said the words slowly, as if tasting their bitterness. "The very component we were supposed to secure weeks ago."
Li's jaw tightened. "Supposed to secure, yes. But we didn't. The Minutemen beat us to it. Or rather, the Freemasons Republic. They have it now. And they're not using it to build weapons." Her voice held just a trace of irony. "They've wired it into their settlement. It powers their electricity — lights, machines, even their defense grid."
The command room shifted again, this time with the low murmur of outrage. Kells was the first to speak, his voice sharp enough to cut steel.
"Blasphemy. To use a marvel of atomic engineering for… for lighting farms and workshops? That agitator is a weapon of war! It belongs to the Brotherhood!"
Ingram shot him a withering look. "Careful, Kells. You talk about it like it's a toy you can wave around. That agitator doesn't care about your banners or your speeches. It does what it's built to do: deliver power. And right now? The Freemasons are using it smarter than we are."
Kells' face reddened, but before he could retort, Maxson's voice slammed across the room.
"Enough!"
The word rang against the steel walls, silencing every breath. Maxson took a step forward, his boots heavy on the deck, his cape whispering behind him. His face was carved in fury, but beneath it was something deeper — humiliation.
"That agitator was ours by right. Ours by mission. The Brotherhood alone was worthy to claim it, to wield it. And now it powers the homes of settlers who dare spit on our name?" His voice rose, sharp with conviction. "Do you not see what this means? They have stolen not just our prize, but our symbol. While Liberty Prime stands idle, their Republic thrives by the power that should have been his heart."
Quinlan, his voice thinner than before, tried to wedge himself into the silence. "Elder, if I may — with time, perhaps we can identify a secondary alternative. A hybrid reactor system, maybe, or—"
"Secondary alternatives will not do!" Maxson thundered. He slammed his fist onto the central table, the impact ringing out like a gunshot. "Liberty Prime is not a scavenged robot to be patched with scrap! He is the spear of the Brotherhood, the embodiment of our might. He demands the agitator. And now our enemies possess it."
His gaze snapped back to Li. "How long until you can deliver me another solution? One that keeps Prime active — not for minutes, not for hours, but permanently?"
Li's lips pressed into a thin line. She knew there was no way to soften the truth. "Elder… without the agitator, I cannot promise that. No fusion core, no reactor, no combination of salvage will sustain him indefinitely. The laws of physics do not bend to your will. Liberty Prime requires what the Freemasons now have."
The silence after that was worse than shouting. It was the kind of silence that drew every man and woman tighter in their skin, waiting for the storm to break.
Maxson straightened slowly, his hands gripping the edge of the table. His knuckles whitened, but when he spoke again, his voice was low — colder than before.
"Then this Republic has made its choice. They have taken from us. They have mocked us. They have raised a machine meant for war to light their streets, as though the Brotherhood were nothing but an afterthought." His eyes burned as he looked across the faces of his officers, his scribes, his proctors. "I will not stand for it."
Ingram shifted her weight, her voice rough but steady. "Elder… before you start talking about storming their walls, think. You go in guns blazing, and you don't just lose the agitator. You lose lives. Prime's parts could be damaged beyond repair before we even get near it. And let's not forget — they've got Sarah Lyons. You can bet your soldiers will hesitate when they hear that name shouted from a barricade."
For a heartbeat, Maxson's jaw clenched so tight it seemed the bones might crack. But he said nothing, not yet.
It was Brandis, still standing near Danse, who spoke next, his voice quieter but carrying across the tension like a crack of dry wood. "Elder, if you go after them for that agitator, you'll make it war. Not just with the Republic, but with the people who've started to see them as a beacon. You'll turn settlers into enemies overnight. I've been out there long enough to know — people are watching. They're choosing sides, whether we like it or not."
Maxson turned his gaze on him, eyes narrowing. "And what would you suggest, Paladin? That we kneel? That we let them build their mockery of a state on our doorstep, powered by what should rightfully be ours?"
Brandis held his ground. "No. But I suggest you think about the war you're asking for. Liberty Prime won't walk without that agitator. And if you send us to tear it from their hands, we'll bleed for it. Maybe more than you're willing to pay."
The air in the room felt like it might snap under the weight of unspoken words. Maxson's fury clashed against the pragmatism of his officers, the reality of his scientists, the ghosts of history that lingered with every mention of Sarah Lyons.
Finally, Maxson straightened to his full height, shoulders broad beneath the heavy cape, his voice carrying the iron of command.
"Liberty Prime is the Brotherhood's future. He will walk again. And if the Freemasons Republic stands in the way, then they will fall beneath his feet."
He let the words hang, then turned sharply toward Kells. "Ready the patrols. Watch their skies. The next time they make a move, I want to know before they take their first step."
Kells bowed his head. "Yes, Elder."
Maxson's gaze lingered one last time on Li and Ingram. "Find me a solution. Or find me the means to reclaim what was stolen. But I will not hear 'two weeks' again. Do I make myself clear?"
Ingram muttered under her breath, but she nodded. Li inclined her head slightly, her eyes unreadable. And with that, Maxson turned away, his boots ringing heavy against the steel deck, his cape trailing behind him like the shadow of war itself. The command room remained still long after he was gone, the thrum of the Prydwen's engines filling the silence he left behind.
________________________________________________
• 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:-