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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.
The morning broke over Sanctuary with a low, bruised sky — the kind that threatened rain but held it back just long enough to make the air taste heavy, metallic. A faint wind carried the smell of oil and fresh-cut steel from the north side of the settlement, where a small crowd had gathered around a construction site that gleamed even through the gray.
Three new silhouettes now jutted proudly against the horizon — angular, hulking machines of defense that hummed faintly with power. The anti-air batteries stood like sentinels, each mounted on reinforced platforms of reclaimed concrete and steel, their barrels angled toward the heavens as if daring the sky itself to challenge them.
Sico stood at the base of one, his gloved hand resting on the cool metal as he surveyed the work. Beside him, Preston leaned on his laser musket, eyes following the slow rotation of the gun's targeting mechanism. Sarah stood on the other side, her arms crossed, her expression a careful balance between professional appraisal and quiet satisfaction. And a few feet away, crouched by a panel of exposed wiring, was Mel — wiping a smudge of grease off his face with the back of his sleeve, his grin wide and unapologetic.
"All three are live, boss," Mel said, patting the metal casing of the control box as if it were a loyal dog. "Ran the diagnostics twice. Sensors calibrated, servo gears aligned, capacitors stable. She'll sing the moment anything with a Brotherhood signature crosses that sky."
He stepped back, glancing at the three guns in sequence — one positioned on the hill overlooking the bridge, one near the western fields, and the last near the water purifier towers by the river. Each one strategically placed to form a deadly triangle of overlapping coverage.
"Won't be a vertibird in a hundred klicks that makes it through that grid alive," Mel added with pride, and though his tone was light, the weight of his words wasn't.
Sico nodded once, slow and deliberate. His eyes scanned the horizon, imagining what it would look like if — when — the Brotherhood came. Vertibirds cresting through the clouds, the faint whine of their engines turning into the roar of incoming fire. And then these machines, these ugly, beautiful pieces of survival, roaring back with light and fury. The thought didn't comfort him, but it steadied him.
"Good work," he said finally, turning his gaze to Mel. "You and your team did well."
Mel shrugged, though pride flickered plainly across his face. "Would've been faster if half our circuit stock wasn't fried junk, but we made do. Stripped some relays from the old Beacon Hill station, scavenged fuses off the crashed recon drone out by Lexington. Hell, even borrowed a few parts from Sturges' old power tools. Don't tell him that, though."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "You scavenged half the Commonwealth and still got them online in time. Not bad, Mel. Remind me never to doubt you again."
Mel chuckled, straightening up as he wiped his hands clean. "You can doubt me all you want, General. Just don't bet against me."
Preston's eyes were still fixed on the guns, their silhouettes sharp against the clouded morning. "These things… they're something, huh? Hard to believe we built this from scrap and determination."
Sarah followed his gaze, her tone softer now. "It's more than just metal. It's a message. To the Brotherhood, to anyone watching. We're not hiding anymore."
Sico said nothing at first. The wind shifted, carrying with it the distant sound of hammering from the workshop yard, the chatter of settlers already starting their morning routines. He turned his eyes toward the east, where the faint shimmer of the old Prydwen's flight path would be on clearer days. Somewhere up there, Maxson and his soldiers were planning their next move. He could feel it in his bones — the inevitability of confrontation.
He looked back to the team. "Mel," he said quietly, "run one more systems check before we close this up. Make sure the power grid's stable. I don't want one of these guns freezing up the first time we need it."
Mel gave a quick nod. "Already on it, boss. I tied each gun's control circuit to an isolated generator hub — no risk of overloading Sanctuary's main grid. We can fire all three at once if we have to."
Sarah turned toward Sico, her brow knitting slightly. "You really think Maxson will strike soon?"
Sico didn't answer immediately. He walked a few steps toward the edge of the hill, boots crunching lightly over the gravel, and watched the settlement below — the rooftops patched with fresh steel plates, the streets lined with barricades and sandbag walls. People were moving with purpose again. Builders. Farmers. Soldiers. And in every motion, there was a rhythm — not panic, but preparation.
"He's not the kind of man to let a slight go unanswered," Sico said at last, his voice even but heavy. "We embarrassed him when we took those mutants. We showed him that the Brotherhood doesn't control everything. That's not something a man like Maxson forgives."
Preston shifted his grip on his musket, glancing toward the horizon. "So we hold fast. We make sure when they come, they find more than they bargained for."
Sarah gave a faint nod. "They'll come with power armor and vertibirds. But they've never fought people like ours — people who know what it means to lose everything, and still build it back."
Sico turned to face them both, his expression calm but resolute. "And that's exactly why we'll win."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The sound of the wind filled the silence, fluttering the flags strung along the rooftops — the blue and gold of the Republic, stitched by settlers who had once been wanderers, raiders, even exiles. Now they were something more. Something united.
Mel straightened from his console, giving a satisfied grunt as the final green lights blinked across the board. "All systems good. Safety relays engaged. We're ready, boss."
Sico nodded once more. "Good. Keep a small team on rotation for maintenance. I want these guns treated like lifelines, because that's exactly what they are."
Mel grinned, saluting half-heartedly with his wrench. "You got it."
As they started to disperse, Sarah lingered near Sico, her eyes still on the guns. "You've changed a lot since we first met," she said quietly. "Back then, I think part of you still hoped we could avoid this — that maybe the Brotherhood would see reason."
Sico's eyes followed hers, tracing the long, curved barrels pointed skyward. "I still hope," he said softly. "But hope doesn't build defenses. Action does."
Sarah nodded, and for a brief moment, there was something unspoken between them — a shared understanding of the cost of leadership. Of what it meant to prepare people for a storm you couldn't yet see, but knew was coming.
Preston's voice broke through the quiet. "If we're lucky, maybe the sight of these beauties will make the Brotherhood think twice."
Sico's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "The Brotherhood doesn't think twice, Preston. They act. So we'll be ready the first time."
By midday, Sanctuary's north wall was alive with motion again. Sturges' team worked to wire the AA guns into the alert network, linking them to the command console inside the old museum hall that now served as the Republic's command center. Runners carried messages back and forth, and the smell of solder and ozone clung to the air.
Mel's voice echoed across the yard as he barked instructions to his engineers. "No, no, not that line — that's the fail-safe loop! You fry that and we're down to manual control!" He muttered a curse under his breath and waved over one of his apprentices. "Get me the spare fission cell connector. The one with the blue tag, not the cracked one."
From the balcony above, Sico watched it all unfold, arms folded across his chest. It wasn't just the guns. Every corner of Sanctuary was transforming — guard towers reinforced with scavenged plating, trenches dug along the outer roads, the old turrets recalibrated with new targeting sensors. What had once been a haven was slowly becoming a fortress.
And yet, even amidst the clang of tools and the hum of generators, life persisted. Children played near the fountain square. Traders haggled by the marketplace. Families shared meals on porches patched with mismatched wood and steel. Sanctuary wasn't just preparing for war — it was living, thriving.
Sarah joined him after a while, wiping the dust from her gloves. "We're building a line Maxson won't easily cross," she said, following his gaze. "But lines have a way of moving when the shooting starts."
Sico's expression remained unreadable. "Then we make sure ours doesn't."
Her eyes softened. "You can't protect everyone, you know."
"I can try," he said simply.
The sound of approaching boots interrupted them. Mel appeared, his grin wide as ever but his eyes alert. "Boss, all systems tied in. I even rigged a remote control in the command center — Preston and I tested it. Works like a charm. You give the order, and the sky burns."
Sico nodded approvingly. "Good work. You've earned your rest."
Mel laughed. "Rest? Not yet. I've got to check the stabilizers again once the rain hits tonight. Want to see how the sensors hold up to weather."
"Don't push yourself too hard," Sarah warned, though there was affection behind her tone.
Mel winked. "Hey, someone's gotta make sure the sky doesn't fall."
He jogged off again, calling for his team, and Sico watched him go with quiet pride. There was something about the man's spirit — reckless, maybe, but unbreakable. A reminder of what the Republic was built on: people who refused to quit.
As the afternoon waned into evening, Sico walked along the perimeter once more. The AA guns loomed silently against the fading sky, their barrels catching the last glint of sunlight. He rested his hand on one, feeling the hum of its power through the metal.
The last warmth of daylight slipped over Sanctuary's rooftops, fading to gold, then copper, then gray. The air had cooled, the scent of rain still hanging there but never quite breaking — as if even the weather hesitated to interrupt the rhythm of the Republic's preparation. The low hum of the newly installed anti-air guns filled the quiet moments between hammer strikes and murmured orders, a metallic reassurance that the settlement was no longer the vulnerable refuge it once was.
Sico lingered by the northern platform, his hand still resting against the cold steel of the nearest AA barrel. The gun's core vibrated faintly, the deep mechanical pulse traveling through his palm like a heartbeat. It wasn't alive — not truly — but it felt alive. It was something they'd built together. A defiance forged in bolts and circuitry.
He heard footsteps crunch on the gravel behind him — two sets, measured and familiar. He didn't turn right away; he already knew who it was.
Preston's voice came first, low and steady. "They're impressive, I'll give you that. But… now that we've got them up and running — what's next, Sico?"
Sarah's tone followed, quieter but edged with that same mixture of caution and expectation. "Yeah. We've built the teeth, but a weapon's no good if the hands behind it aren't ready to use it. The people are asking what comes next — the garrison, the recruits, the patrols. They're looking to us."
Sico exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried both fatigue and focus. He turned toward them, the dying light catching the faint sheen on his jacket. Preston stood tall beside him, his musket slung across his shoulder, the lines of command etched clearly into his posture. Sarah was close behind, her arms crossed, a strand of hair fallen loose from her braid.
"What comes next," Sico began, his voice steady but not cold, "is the same thing I told you both yesterday. We train. Every soldier. Every new recruit. Every hand capable of holding a weapon or fixing one."
He looked toward the square below, where a few off-duty guards were sitting around the fire pit, eating, laughing faintly — too quietly, perhaps, but still living. "Sanctuary's ready to defend itself, but defense isn't enough anymore. The Brotherhood will test us sooner or later. When they do, I don't want just a handful of trained fighters. I want an army that moves like it's one heartbeat."
Preston nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "We've got enough volunteers to fill three squads already. A lot of settlers from Red Rocket and Concord signed up yesterday. I can start drills tomorrow at dawn — focus on formation, ranged combat, and field repairs."
Sarah shifted her stance. "I'll handle the tactical coordination. Make sure every squad leader knows how to communicate under fire. We can't afford confusion when the shooting starts."
Sico gave a small nod, his gaze steady between them. "Good. Do that. Let me handle the rest — the political side, the coordination with our allies, and…" He paused for a moment, eyes flicking toward the distant ridge, where the faint glint of the Prydwen's patrol lights might once have been visible. "And the Brotherhood."
Sarah frowned slightly. "You're planning something."
"I'm preparing something," Sico corrected, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If Maxson wants to test our resolve, I want him to see what he's up against before he even draws a map."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable — it was contemplative. The kind of silence shared between people who trusted each other, even when the future loomed uncertain.
Then Sico turned his head slightly, raising his voice toward the workshop down the slope. "Mel!"
A muffled clang answered first, then a string of curses that made Sarah chuckle under her breath. A moment later, Mel came striding up, his sleeves rolled high, his face streaked with soot and sweat. He was carrying a set of blueprints half-crumpled in one hand and a wrench in the other.
"What's up, boss?" he asked, catching his breath. "Don't tell me you found something wrong with the guns already. I'll jump off the roof."
Sico chuckled faintly, shaking his head. "Not the guns. They're perfect. I've got something else for you."
That got Mel's attention. He straightened up, tucking the wrench into his belt and raising an eyebrow. "Something else? You're not about to ask me to build another damn wall, are you? Because Sturges is already threatening to start charging rent for all the wiring I've stolen from him."
"No," Sico said, his voice turning serious. "I need you to boost production on something bigger — something mobile. I want the truck-mounted AA prototypes you were testing last month ready to roll."
Mel blinked, then whistled low. "You mean the Mobile Skyhammer rigs? Damn, I thought you scrapped that idea when we ran out of shock-dampers."
"Not scrapped," Sico replied. "Just postponed. We need them now. Three — no, four at least — mobile anti-air platforms. I want them running within the next few weeks."
Preston's brow furrowed slightly. "Mobile AA? You're thinking about patrolling outside the Republic's borders?"
"Exactly," Sico said. "We can't just sit here waiting for vertibirds to find us. We'll take the fight to the skies before they even think of crossing into our territory. A few convoys running visible patrols with those guns mounted on trucks — it'll send the Brotherhood a clear message: our skies aren't theirs anymore."
Mel let out a low whistle, half in awe, half in disbelief. "You're serious."
"Completely," Sico said. "Get your team started tonight if you can. Strip parts from the spare construction rigs, the old APC hulls from the scrapyard, whatever you need. We'll divert resources from the secondary grid if we have to."
Mel rubbed at his chin, thinking aloud. "Yeah, I can do it… but I'll need more superconductors, and probably a couple of fresh fission cells if we want sustained firing range. The last batch overheated after a single discharge."
"I'll talk to Nora," Sarah said immediately. "The Institute storage cells she recovered last month might still have usable cores. We'll get you what you need."
Mel grinned, already pulling a pencil from behind his ear to jot something on his blueprint. "You got it, boss. We'll make those birds think twice before they even look this way."
Sico's voice lowered, firm but calm. "That's the point, Mel. I don't want a war over the horizon if I can scare it out of the sky first."
Mel laughed, shaking his head. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day where the Brotherhood of Steel were the ones checking their radar for us. I like it."
Preston smirked faintly, the first trace of amusement breaking through his usual stoicism. "Let's make sure it stays that way."
Sico nodded once, glancing at each of them in turn. "Good. I trust you all to handle your parts. Preston — focus on the recruits. Build discipline. Make them soldiers who can hold a line under pressure. Sarah — make sure communications stay tight across every outpost. I want no weak links. And Mel — you get those mobile guns built, tested, and manned."
Mel gave a mock salute. "Aye, Commander."
Sarah's expression softened, though her voice remained practical. "You're spreading yourself thin, Sico. You can't keep taking on everything yourself."
He gave a small, almost tired smile. "That's what leadership is, Sarah — carrying what others can't afford to. But I'm not alone. Not anymore."
For a moment, none of them spoke. The evening breeze stirred through the trees beyond the wall, carrying with it the faint crackle of distant lightning. Somewhere across the plains, maybe miles away, the Brotherhood's air patrols were circling, unaware of what awaited them the next time they crossed Freemason skies.
Then Preston broke the quiet, his voice steady again. "We'll handle the drills. By next week, I want every settler who's taken the oath to know their weapon like it's part of their arm."
Sarah added, "And I'll have the command network integrated with Mel's AA grid. If we get airborne contacts, the alert will go straight to every squad leader's comm."
Mel, already half-turned back toward the workshop, lifted a hand without looking back. "And I'll make those trucks scream like thunder. The Brotherhood'll think the Republic's got gods driving our roads."
Sico's lips curved faintly, a quiet pride flickering through his calm exterior. "Then let's make them believe it."
By nightfall, the workshop was alive again. Sparks flew from welders' torches, metal clanged against metal, and the smell of hot steel filled the air. Floodlights bathed the yard in a harsh white glow as Mel and his team worked tirelessly — cutting, shaping, assembling the frames of what would soon become the Republic's first mobile AA convoy.
Sico stood outside under the awning, arms folded as he watched. Sarah came to stand beside him, holding a steaming mug of coffee. She handed it to him without a word.
He accepted it, the warmth seeping into his gloved hands. "You should rest," he said, though his tone made it clear he didn't expect her to.
She smiled faintly. "You first."
They watched in silence for a while, the clatter and hum below weaving into a steady rhythm — the sound of progress, of resolve.
"Do you think it'll be enough?" she asked softly, not taking her eyes off the workers below.
Sico didn't answer right away. His gaze followed Mel, who was shouting something over the noise, pointing toward a crane lifting a heavy turret mount onto the back of a stripped-down cargo hauler. Sparks rained as the welders sealed it into place.
Finally, he said quietly, "It has to be."
Sarah nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "You're building more than weapons, you know. You're building belief. Every time they see something like this come to life, it reminds them that we can fight back. That the Brotherhood doesn't own the world anymore."
Sico took a slow sip of coffee, the bitter heat grounding him. "That's the idea. If Maxson wants to bring war to our doorstep, he should know we're not the same people who hid from the sky last year."
Sarah turned to look at him then, studying his face. "You've changed too."
"Maybe," he admitted. "Or maybe I just stopped pretending peace was still an option."
By the time midnight rolled around, the first truck was already taking shape — an armored, rust-red hauler with a mounted flak cannon swiveling slowly as Mel ran calibration tests. The machine roared like a beast, its servos whining under strain, but the look on Mel's face said it all. It was working.
Sico watched, arms crossed, his reflection faintly visible in the gun's metal surface.
Preston arrived a little later, his uniform dusty from training drills, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. "First rotation's set," he reported. "Two dozen recruits — half former Minutemen, half new settlers. They'll be ready for live-fire drills by morning."
Sico nodded approvingly. "Good work."
Preston looked toward the truck, whistling low. "Damn. That thing's a monster."
Mel, overhearing, shouted from the other side of the rig, "Monster? Nah — she's a guardian angel with claws!"
Sarah laughed softly beside Sico. Even Preston cracked a grin.
The laughter faded gently into the hum of machinery, leaving the air thick with the smell of burning oil and ozone. The first mobile AA gun stood like a sentinel under the floodlights — rough, loud, and imperfect, but alive in a way that everyone could feel. Mel's team was still tightening bolts, running power diagnostics, shouting over the roar of the engine as it turned over again. The floodlights threw long, dancing shadows across the yard, painting the walls of Sanctuary with the outline of industry and defiance.
Sarah lingered beside Sico, her arms folded, her sharp eyes tracing every inch of the machine. She wasn't admiring it — not entirely. There was pride there, yes, but also worry. The kind of worry only someone who'd seen too many battles could hide behind a composed face.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice quiet but direct.
"Do we have time to wait for more of these to be built?"
Sico turned his head slightly toward her. The question was expected, but still carried weight. Sarah rarely asked things she didn't already know the answer to — which meant this wasn't about logistics. It was about conviction.
She continued before he could answer, her tone tightening. "You and I both know this one was boosted to the limit. We pulled engineers off other projects. Even halted the armor refinishing line for two days to finish this one. We've got people sleeping on the workshop floor. The rest of production's at a standstill. Mel's running his crew to the bone."
Sico's gaze followed hers to the machine, where sparks flew again as a welder sealed a panel shut. The clang echoed into the night, a metallic heartbeat of progress and strain.
He said nothing for a long moment. The firelight flickered across his face, tracing the calm, deliberate lines of thought behind his eyes. Then, quietly but firmly, he replied:
"Don't worry, Sarah. We just need one — for now."
She turned toward him, one brow arching slightly. "One?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Just one. Not to fight with — to show with."
He shifted his weight, stepping closer to the railing that overlooked the yard. "The Brotherhood has eyes everywhere. Spies. Scouts. Hell, maybe even one of their patrols is already flying near Starlight or Revere. So let them see it. Let them see what we're building. Let them think we've got ten more just like it behind those walls."
Sarah exhaled slowly, her breath forming a faint cloud in the cool night air. "You want to bluff them."
"I want to remind them," Sico said, his tone edged but calm. "Remind them that the days of flying over our heads with impunity are over. They've seen us as another settlement, another faction pretending at power. This…" — he gestured toward the mobile AA gun below — "…this tells them we're something else. Something that can reach the skies they think they own."
Sarah studied him for a long moment, the flicker of floodlight reflecting in her eyes. "And you think one is enough to make them hesitate?"
Sico gave a small, knowing smile. "One's all you need if it makes the right kind of noise."
She wanted to argue, but the quiet confidence in his voice stopped her. It wasn't arrogance — it was strategy, the kind that came from someone who'd learned to measure time and advantage like currency.
He turned toward her again, his voice softening. "Besides… we still have time. The Brotherhood's not ready to fight another war. Not yet."
Sarah frowned faintly. "You're sure of that?"
"I am," he said, nodding once. "Maxson's many things — proud, ruthless, unyielding — but he's not foolish. He's still fighting the Institute. That war's bleeding them dry, more than they'll ever admit. Their supply lines are stretched, their ranks thinning, and their attention divided."
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as if seeing far beyond the settlement walls. "He knows what it would mean to open another front. Especially against us. The Institute may have been a ghost in the shadows, but we're flesh and blood — soldiers, outposts, artillery. We're tangible. We're everywhere now. He can't fight both without breaking something in his chain of command."
Sarah's expression eased slightly, though her hands were still clasped tight across her chest. "So you're betting on Maxson's restraint."
"I'm betting on his intelligence," Sico replied. "He'll posture, he'll threaten, he'll rattle his sabers — but he won't pull the trigger. Not while he's still knee-deep in the Institute's war. That gives us time — time to build, to train, to prepare. And when he finally does turn his eyes fully on us…"
He let the thought hang there, unfinished, but the weight of it settled like stone between them. Sarah knew what he meant. When the Brotherhood came — because eventually, they would — the Freemasons would be ready in a way the Commonwealth had never seen before.
A distant roll of thunder rumbled across the hills, faint but deep, echoing through the valley like the growl of a sleeping beast.
Sarah tilted her head slightly, watching the clouds move. "You really think they're that tied up with the Institute?"
Sico nodded. "From what our scouts report, the Brotherhood's been losing ground near Cambridge. The Institute's synths are hitting them harder now — coordinated strikes, better tactics. That's Shaun's influence, I'd bet. He's not sitting still down there. Not after what happened at the Institute council."
Sarah's lips pressed into a thin line. "And you trust him to keep that war alive?"
"I trust him to do what's necessary to protect his people," Sico said simply. "Right now, their survival depends on keeping Maxson busy. As long as that war burns, the Brotherhood won't come north."
Sarah looked back toward the mobile AA gun, the rhythmic glow of welding torches reflecting off its armored shell. "So this one's just… theater?"
Sico shook his head. "No. It's insurance. A message and a promise. If the Brotherhood ever does decide to come, they'll know exactly what kind of storm they're flying into."
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The clangs of metal below filled the quiet between them, punctuated by Mel's distant voice barking orders and the occasional burst of laughter from his exhausted crew.
Then Sarah sighed softly, the corners of her mouth twitching into something like a reluctant smile. "You always did know how to play the long game, didn't you?"
Sico chuckled under his breath. "Someone has to."
They stood there together, watching as the crew attached the Republic's emblem — a stylized compass and hammer — to the truck's armored side. The paint was still wet, glossy under the light. A symbol of direction, of unity, of creation.
Sarah's gaze lingered on it for a moment. "You ever think about how far this place has come?" she asked quietly. "A year ago, this was a half-collapsed suburb with rusted cars and broken houses. Now look at it — factories, barracks, a working command center. We've built something real."
Sico's voice softened. "Yeah. We have."
"But the more we build," she added, glancing at him, "the more they'll notice. The more they'll fear us."
He nodded. "Good. Let them."
That made her smirk slightly. "You sound like Maxson when you say that."
Sico laughed quietly. "Difference is, I don't want to rule anyone — just protect them. That's what the Brotherhood never understood. Power isn't about domination. It's about responsibility."
Down below, Mel's crew had finally finished calibrating the turret. The gun swiveled on its base, its hydraulics groaning slightly before locking in place. Then, with a deep, mechanical thrum, the weapon's targeting sensors came online. A faint blue light flickered across its surface — the pulse of readiness.
Mel raised his wrench like a trophy. "She's alive!" he shouted, and his team answered with tired but triumphant cheers.
Sico felt something stir in his chest — not joy, exactly, but a deep, resonant pride.
Sarah watched the scene for a moment longer, then said softly, "You might be right, you know. One's enough."
Sico tilted his head. "For what?"
"To remind them that we're not afraid anymore," she said.
He didn't answer, but the faint nod he gave was enough.
The thunder rolled again in the distance, closer this time, and the wind picked up through the trees beyond the settlement walls. It carried with it the faint tang of metal and rain — the scent of a world rebuilding itself, one weld, one oath, one heartbeat at a time.
Later that night, when the yard had finally quieted and most of the workers had gone to rest, Sico found himself alone beside the finished Skyhammer. The floodlights had been dimmed, leaving only the faint blue glow of the turret's core lighting the scene.
He reached out, laying a hand on the armored hull. It was warm under his palm, the faint vibration of stored energy thrumming like a slow pulse.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and simply breathed — the hum of the machine, the distant murmur of guards along the wall, the whisper of wind through the half-dead trees. This was the sound of the Republic alive.
Sarah's voice came softly from behind him. "You're not getting any sleep tonight, are you?"
He smiled faintly, not turning. "Didn't plan to."
She stepped closer, her boots crunching lightly on the gravel. "You think too much."
"I have to," he said simply. "Someone's got to stay one step ahead."
She didn't argue. Instead, she leaned against the truck beside him, both of them staring out toward the north — where, somewhere beyond the horizon, the Brotherhood's warships still lingered in the sky.
"I hope you're right," she murmured.
"I am," Sico said, his tone quiet but absolute. "Maxson's not ready. Not yet. And by the time he is…" — he looked up toward the dark clouds, a faint glimmer of lightning splitting them apart — "…we'll be stronger than he ever imagined."
The next day, the morning broke gray and cold over the Commonwealth skies. Thick clouds hung low, bruised with the faint promise of rain, and the air above the ruins was restless with wind.
Far below, amid the skeletal remains of a pre-war highway, a lone Vertibird swept across the horizon — black and angular, its rotors chopping through the damp air. The emblem of the Brotherhood of Steel gleamed faintly on its flank, half hidden beneath streaks of soot and weathering.
Inside, the scout team huddled around their instruments, the low chatter of the comms mixing with the rhythmic thrum of the engines.
"Approaching grid Foxtrot-Seven," said the co-pilot, squinting at the screen. "Thermal's picking up some kind of large structure moving along the main road near Sanctuary perimeter. Looks like… armor plating, multiple engines, and—"
He leaned closer, his voice tightening. "—some kind of mounted turret."
The pilot frowned. "Turret? You sure? Republic's been sticking to ground tech — jeeps, light armor, maybe the occasional plasma mount. Nothing tracked or mobile with that kind of profile."
The co-pilot hesitated, eyes flicking between readouts. "This one's different. It's powered. Big power signature. If I didn't know better, I'd say they've built a mobile artillery platform."
A silence settled in the cabin, broken only by the low hum of the Vertibird's systems. The squad leader, Knight-Sergeant Vale, stood from his seat and braced against the fuselage, his power armor creaking slightly. "Get us closer," he ordered. "Low altitude, but not too low. I want eyes on that thing before the weather closes in."
The Vertibird descended, cutting through the shifting clouds until the landscape below came into sharp focus — the fractured roads, the patchwork of farmland and barricades, and there, in the distance, something unmistakably alive and mechanical rolling through the valley.
It was huge — a rough, angular beast of steel and noise, its treads grinding across the cracked asphalt like thunder. On its back, the turret swiveled slowly, tracking invisible targets across the horizon. Accompanying it were two Humvees bristling with armed soldiers, and five Growlers weaving through the convoy — motorcycles with side-mounted guns that gleamed in the pale morning light.
Vale's breath caught. "Holy hell… what is that thing?"
The co-pilot snapped a picture through the viewport, lenses auto-adjusting for clarity. "Getting visual data now. Sending to the Prydwen. If I had to guess — looks like an anti-air system, mobile platform. That cannon on top — could be a plasma rotary or heavy coilgun array."
"Plasma my ass," the pilot muttered, pulling up higher to avoid detection. "That's a flak gun, Knight. Big one. They built themselves a damn anti-air fortress on wheels."
Vale's visor flickered as the feed linked to his helmet HUD, analyzing the structure's outline, turret rotation, heat output. "They've got escorts, too. Light armor, patrol formation — disciplined spacing."
He keyed his mic. "Command, this is Recon Delta-3. We've got eyes on a new Republic unit — mobile AA platform, confirmed operational. Escorts include two Humvee-class vehicles and five Growler bikes with mounted machine guns. Marking coordinates now."
The radio hissed before a sharp voice replied, crackling through the static. "Copy that, Delta-3. Maintain visual range but do not engage. Repeat, do not engage. Upload all data to the Prydwen immediately."
Vale nodded, tension easing slightly as the data stream confirmed transfer. "Roger that, Command. Pulling back to altitude eight hundred. Keeping eyes on."
Below, the convoy continued along the road, the AA gun's turret pivoting lazily as if aware of the sky's attention. Even from this distance, the Republic's emblem — the compass and hammer — was visible, freshly painted and defiant against the gray metal hull.
Hours later, far above the Commonwealth, the Prydwen loomed like a steel god in the clouds — a cathedral of war suspended in the sky. The rain hadn't yet reached this high, but lightning flickered faintly beneath its belly, casting momentary flashes along the hull.
Inside, the hum of machinery was constant — deep, resonant, the pulse of a military giant that had never truly known rest.
In the command room, the light was dim, the atmosphere heavier than usual. Maps and tactical displays lined the walls, glowing faintly with red and blue markers — Brotherhood patrols, suspected Republic positions, Institute territories. The air smelled faintly of oil and recycled air, and somewhere nearby, a generator droned like a restless animal.
At the center of the room stood Elder Arthur Maxson, tall and rigid in his power armor, the black plating glinting beneath the holographic light. His cape hung motionless at his back, edges singed from a dozen battles. Around him gathered the Brotherhood's inner circle — Proctor Ingram, Paladin Danse, Knight-Captain Kells, Scribe Neriah, and a handful of senior officers, each with eyes fixed on the holographic display hovering between them.
Projected in the air was the image the scout had captured — the Republic's mobile AA gun, crawling across the wasteland like an armored predator.
No one spoke at first. The only sound was the faint hum of the projection and the steady rhythm of Maxson's breathing through his armor.
Finally, Ingram broke the silence. "Well… that's new."
Her mechanical arm whirred as she leaned closer to the hologram, narrowing her eyes. "Looks like they've repurposed some kind of heavy industrial chassis — maybe an old construction platform or mining hauler. But that turret… that's no scrap job. That's deliberate. Engineered."
Danse crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "If that's true, they've advanced faster than we thought. The Republic's been growing, yes — but developing energy weapons on this scale? That's a new threat level entirely."
Maxson's voice cut through the tension, low and deliberate. "How mobile is it?"
Kells gestured toward the lower readout. "Scout report indicates full mobility — capable of traversing uneven terrain. It's escorted by armed vehicles, suggesting it's field-ready, not just for display. They're testing it in open territory."
Maxson studied the image in silence for a moment longer. Then he stepped forward, the sound of his armor shifting echoing faintly. "When did they build this?"
"Unclear," Neriah replied. "Given the power core and structural integrity, at least several weeks of coordinated effort — possibly months. Our surveillance has noted increased many steel material and scrap junk were send to Sanctuary. We assumed they were expanding infrastructure."
"They were," Ingram muttered. "Just not the kind we wanted."
Danse's eyes narrowed. "Elder, permission to speak freely?"
Maxson nodded.
"Sir… I believe this isn't just a weapon. It's a declaration. They're telling us they can challenge the skies. Our skies."
Maxson turned toward him, his expression unreadable. "Go on."
Danse's voice hardened. "We built the Brotherhood's power on air dominance. Our Vertibirds, our command of the skies — it's what keeps the wasteland in line. Settlements obey because they know resistance means being burned from above. But this…" He gestured to the projection. "This changes everything. If they can shoot us down, even one of us, they'll shatter that illusion. Fear only works when it's one-sided."
The room fell silent again. The weight of his words hung in the air like smoke.
Maxson's jaw flexed slightly. His eyes — sharp, cold, and relentless — moved over the hologram again. "So," he said quietly, "the Republic believes it can stand against the Brotherhood."
Ingram crossed her arms, the servo-motors in her prosthetic clicking faintly. "Looks that way. Though I'll admit — it's impressive. A mobile AA platform built from scrap and ingenuity. Whoever's behind their engineering division knows what they're doing."
Maxson didn't smile. He simply stood there, motionless, the faint hum of his armor amplifying the silence around him.
Then, slowly, he turned toward the projection again. "Zoom in on the emblem."
Neriah complied. The hologram expanded until the Republic's insignia filled the air — the compass and hammer, clean and bold against the steel.
Maxson stared at it for a long time. "They call themselves a republic," he said finally, his voice quiet, almost reflective. "But what they're building looks more like an army."
Kells stepped forward. "Elder, with respect — what do you want to do about it?"
Maxson didn't answer right away. Instead, he removed his gloves, letting them fall against the edge of the table, and placed his hands flat against the cold metal surface. "First," he said, "I want confirmation. We don't move on a rumor and a photograph. I want data — range, power, speed, rate of fire, weaknesses. Everything."
Danse nodded. "I'll assemble a recon squad immediately. Silent approach, night operation. We'll observe and withdraw before contact."
"No," Maxson said sharply, looking up. "Not yet. The Republic wants to be seen. If we send scouts too soon, they'll know we're rattled."
Ingram frowned. "So what, we just sit and watch?"
"Yes," Maxson said, his tone absolute. "For now. Let them think we're ignorant, or indifferent. The moment they believe they've scared us is the moment they win ground without firing a shot."
Kells tilted his head slightly. "And after that?"
Maxson's eyes hardened. "After that, we remind them who owns the sky."
There was something in the way he said it — not fury, not panic, but purpose. Cold, deliberate purpose.
He stepped closer to the hologram, the faint blue light tracing across the scars on his armor. "They've shown their hand. A bluff or not, it doesn't matter. They've crossed a threshold. If this Republic continues to arm itself with pre-war or advanced technology, it will no longer be a settlement alliance — it will be a rival power. And the Brotherhood of Steel does not tolerate rivals."
Danse's voice was quiet. "Elder, the men will want to know if this means open war."
Maxson's gaze flicked to him. "It means readiness."
He turned to Ingram. "Begin recalibration of all Vertibird flight paths. Limit patrols north of Concord. If that gun has the range I think it does, I don't want to give them easy targets."
"Understood," Ingram said. "We'll adjust trajectories to keep distance. But if they move that thing closer to our routes, we'll have to reroute entirely."
"So be it."
Kells folded his arms. "Then what's our next step?"
Maxson's eyes drifted briefly toward the hologram again, the image of the AA gun flickering as the display looped. "Information," he said. "We need to know everything about their infrastructure, their leadership, their logistics. The Republic's strongest asset isn't that gun — it's the man who ordered it built."
Danse nodded slightly. "Sico."
The name lingered like smoke. Even the hum of the machines seemed to quiet around it.
Maxson's gaze sharpened. "Yes. Sico. The High Commander or the President of the Freemasons Republic. I've read his dossier. Former Minutemen General, known to have tactical relations with both wastelander and surface dwellers. Charismatic, disciplined, dangerously pragmatic."
He paused, letting the words settle. "He's not a warlord. He's a builder — and that makes him worse."
Ingram's tone was dry. "Builders tend to leave stronger ruins."
Maxson glanced at her, almost amused, then looked back toward the window. "The Commonwealth breeds them — people who rise from ashes thinking they can control fire. But they all forget one thing."
Kells leaned forward. "And what's that, Elder?"
Maxson turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into a hard, cold smile.
"That the Brotherhood forged its empire inside the fire."
The meeting continued long into the night, the command room bathed in the faint blue light of the holograms. Reports came and went, maps updated, strategies whispered.
But even as the officers departed one by one, Maxson remained. Alone.
He stood before the window, watching the lightning ripple beneath the clouds, each flash reflecting in the steel curve of his armor.
Below, far beyond the storm, somewhere in the ruins of the old world, the Republic's new creation rolled through the wasteland — one machine, one message, one challenge.
Maxson's reflection stared back at him, eyes hard and cold.
"They want to show strength," he murmured, almost to himself. "Then we'll show them power."
He reached down, pressed a switch on his wrist console. The comms crackled to life.
"This is Elder Maxson," he said, his voice carrying the quiet authority of command. "Send word to the Paladin detachments in Cambridge and Revere. Double their recon radius. I want constant aerial surveillance — no blind spots. And notify Command Deck Sigma to begin weapons readiness drills."
There was a pause, then the static reply: "Yes, Elder."
Maxson stood there for a moment longer, watching the clouds roil. His reflection shifted slightly as lightning flashed again — for an instant, his face illuminated, worn yet unyielding.
________________________________________________
• 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:-