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As he stepped back into the corridor, the hum of Sanctuary meeting him once more, Sico allowed himself one final thought before duty reclaimed him fully that is for today, he had been reminded of why he did this that is to get a moments like this.
The next morning came quietly.
Too quietly, some part of Sico thought as he stood by the narrow window of his office in Freemasons HQ, watching the early light creep across Sanctuary's battered rooftops. The generators hummed low and steady beneath the floor, a familiar that sound comforting, almost. Outside, patrols changed shifts with muted voices and the clink of gear, the Republic easing itself awake.
His birthday already felt like something that had happened weeks ago instead of hours.
There was still the faintest smell of sugar and baked flour lingering in the back of his mind, still echoes of laughter that hadn't quite faded. He suspected they would linger longer than he'd admit aloud. Moments like that had a way of rooting themselves deep, especially when they were so rare.
Sico adjusted his jacket, straightened the papers on his desk without really looking at them, and finally turned away from the window as a familiar, lazy knock sounded against the door.
It wasn't crisp.
It wasn't formal.
It was almost aggressively casual.
"That's Hancock," Sico muttered to himself.
"C'mon in," he called.
The door swung open without waiting for permission.
Hancock strolled into the office like he owned the place with boots scuffed, coat draped open, that ever-present grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He smelled faintly of cigarettes and something sharper underneath, and he looked entirely too awake for someone who claimed to despise mornings.
"Well, happy un-birthday, Mr. President," Hancock said cheerfully. "Or post-birthday. Whatever. You look less homicidal than usual, so I assume the cake worked."
Sico snorted. "You missed most of it."
"Yeah," Hancock replied, dropping into the chair opposite the desk and kicking his feet up without asking. "Tragic. Heard I missed a near civil war and a dessert-based assassination attempt."
Sico leaned back against the desk instead of sitting. "That was not an assassination attempt."
"Tell that to Albert's jacket."
They shared a brief grin, the easy familiarity settling in. Hancock had always been like this as he was irreverent, blunt, impossible to fully shock. It was why Sico tolerated him, and why he trusted him more than most.
Hancock tilted his head, studying Sico for a moment longer than usual.
"Gotta say," he added, tone softer now, "it's good to see you loosen up. People forget you're human under all that 'saving the Commonwealth' nonsense."
Sico shrugged lightly. "I forget too, sometimes."
"Yeah," Hancock said. "That's what I wanted to talk about."
He swung his feet down and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. The joking edge dulled just a fraction that not gone, but tempered by something more deliberate.
"Fahrenheit sent me," Hancock said. "Well. She didn't send me. She suggested. Strongly. With a lot of hand gestures."
That got Sico's attention.
"Oh?" he said. "That's rarely casual."
Hancock chuckled. "You have no idea."
Sico finally took his seat behind the desk, fingers lacing together. "Alright. What's on her mind?"
Hancock leaned back again, gaze drifting briefly to the Freemasons banner on the wall before returning to Sico.
"She wants to know," he said carefully, "if the Freemasons are willing to help Goodneighbor… improve."
Sico didn't respond immediately.
Not because he was surprised as he'd expected something like this eventually, but because he wanted to hear the rest before committing to a direction.
"Improve how?" he asked instead.
Hancock grinned. "Knew you'd say that."
He ticked points off on his fingers.
"Defense, for starters. We're scrappy, sure, but scrappy only gets you so far. Raiders have been poking around more often. Word's spreading that Goodneighbor's important now that not just a hole-in-the-wall for chem dealers and drifters, but a place with ties to the Freemasons."
Sico nodded slowly. That tracked.
"Second," Hancock continued, "food. We scrape by. Always have. But if we're going to be more than just barely surviving, we need a real farm. Sustainable. Something that doesn't rely on caravans not getting shot to hell."
Sico's expression didn't change, but his mind was already moving. Land. Water access. Security radius. Labor.
"And third," Hancock said, voice shifting again, a touch more serious, "stability."
Sico met his eyes. "Meaning?"
Hancock exhaled through his nose, the grin fading just a bit.
"Meaning I want Goodneighbor to still be Goodneighbor ten years from now," he said. "And not fall apart because the ghoul mayor decided to play revolutionary instead of running his city."
Sico leaned back, studying him.
"You're talking about long-term leadership," he said.
"Bingo," Hancock replied. "Fahrenheit's been running things while I'm busy with Freemasons duties, and she's good. Damn good. But she's not supposed to be a temporary fix."
"So you want to formalize it," Sico said. "Mayor Hancock, officially. With a second-in-command empowered to act in your stead."
Hancock smiled slowly. "See? This is why I like you. You skip the bullshit."
There it was.
Not just aid.
Not just defense.
Political structure.
Sico tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, eyes unfocused as he considered the implications.
Goodneighbor wasn't like Diamond City. It never had been. Its strength came from its chaos, its stubborn refusal to fit into neat systems. But chaos only worked until it didn't. The Commonwealth was changing that slowly, unevenly, but undeniably.
"You're asking the Freemasons to help legitimize Goodneighbor," Sico said. "To help it evolve without losing itself."
"Exactly," Hancock said. "We don't want to become Diamond City 2.0. But we also don't want to be one bad year away from collapse."
Sico was quiet for a long moment.
Hancock didn't rush him.
Finally, Sico spoke.
"Let's talk defenses first."
Hancock's grin returned, sharp and satisfied. "Knew you'd start there."
Sico stood and moved to the map table along the wall, gesturing for Hancock to join him. A detailed layout of the Commonwealth was spread across its surface, marked with routes, territories, and Freemasons-controlled zones.
"Goodneighbor's biggest weakness," Sico said, tapping the area with two fingers, "is predictability. One main approach, limited sightlines, and structures too close together."
"Hey," Hancock protested mildly, "that cramped charm is part of the appeal."
"It's also a fire hazard," Sico replied dryly.
Hancock laughed. "Fair."
"We can help," Sico continued, "but not by turning it into a fortress. That would break what makes it work. Instead with early warning systems. Patrol coordination with nearby Freemasons units. Reinforced chokepoints that don't look reinforced."
"Subtle," Hancock mused. "I like it."
"Of course you do," Sico said. "As for farms—"
He shifted his hand outward, indicating land south of Goodneighbor.
"There's viable soil here," he said. "Not perfect, but workable. We can assign agricultural advisors. Set up hydroponics if space becomes an issue."
Hancock raised an eyebrow. "You'd really do that?"
"Yes," Sico said simply. "Food stability is political stability. You know that."
"Damn," Hancock muttered. "You really are president."
Sico ignored that.
"And the mayor issue," he continued. "That's the most delicate."
Hancock folded his arms. "Lay it on me."
"If the Freemasons publicly back you as long-term mayor," Sico said, "it sends a message. Protection, yes—but also expectation. Accountability."
Hancock nodded slowly. "I figured."
"You'll need a charter," Sico went on. "Clear lines of authority. A recognized second-in-command with Fahrenheit, if she's willing on who can act with legitimacy when you're unavailable."
"She'll be willing," Hancock said without hesitation. "She practically runs the place already."
Sico allowed himself a faint smile. "I've noticed."
There was a pause then, heavier than the others.
Hancock studied the map, then looked back at Sico.
"And you?" he asked. "What do you get out of this?"
Sico didn't answer right away.
When he did, his voice was quieter.
"A stronger Commonwealth," he said. "Fewer places that fall apart when pressure hits. Fewer people slipping through cracks."
Hancock tilted his head. "That's the official answer."
Sico met his gaze. "And the real one?"
Hancock waited.
"Goodneighbor matters," Sico said finally. "Not because it's clean or orderly, but because it proves people can choose something better without being forced into it."
Hancock smiled then, genuine and unguarded.
"Careful," he said. "You're starting to sound idealistic."
"Don't tell anyone," Sico replied. "I have a reputation."
They shared a quiet laugh.
After a moment, Hancock straightened, clapping his hands together once.
"Alright," he said. "I'll tell Fahrenheit we're moving forward. She's going to pretend she's not thrilled and then reorganize half the city overnight."
"Good," Sico said. "Have her coordinate with Sarah on defense planning. And Magnolia on supply logistics."
Hancock blinked. "You already thought this through."
Sico shrugged. "I didn't stop being president because it was my birthday."
"Shame," Hancock said. "You throw cake surprisingly well."
Sico smirked.
As Hancock stood to leave, he paused at the door.
"Hey," he said, glancing back. "For what it's worth… yesterday? That mattered. People saw you laugh."
Sico didn't look up. "That's dangerous information."
Hancock grinned. "I'll keep it secret."
The door closed softly behind Hancock, the latch clicking into place with a final, muted certainty.
Sico stayed where he was for a few seconds longer, eyes still on the map table, fingers resting against the worn edge of reclaimed wood. The room felt quieter without Hancock's presence that not empty, just… steadier. Less noise, fewer sharp edges. That was often how it went after decisions like this. The humor left first. The responsibility stayed behind.
He exhaled slowly and returned to his desk, already reaching for a fresh sheet of paper.
Goodneighbor.
The word carried weight now.
It wasn't just a place anymore that not just a chaotic pocket of survival and vice wrapped in neon lights and bad music. It was becoming a node. A hinge point. Something that, if handled carefully, could either strengthen the Republic's spine or fracture it under its own contradictions.
Sico knew better than to pretend otherwise.
By the time the afternoon light slanted through the windows at a steeper angle, turning the dust motes gold, he had already sent out the invitations.
Not formal summons.
Not orders.
Invitations.
Magnolia.
Sarah.
Jenny.
Sturges.
People who didn't need speeches. People who understood context without having to be spoon-fed conclusions. People who could argue with him and had, often and still walk out aligned when it mattered.
The first knock came just after midday.
Sarah arrived first, armor stripped down to something more practical, rifle slung over her shoulder out of habit even inside HQ. She gave Sico a nod that was half-salute, half-greeting.
"You sounded serious," she said as she stepped inside.
"I usually do," Sico replied, glancing up from his notes.
She huffed faintly and took a seat anyway.
Magnolia followed shortly after, precise as ever, dark coat immaculate, expression unreadable until her eyes flicked to the map table and lingered just a little longer than necessary.
"This about Hancock?" she asked, skipping pleasantries entirely.
Sico looked up, mildly impressed. "You're fast."
"I pay attention," Magnolia replied, seating herself with controlled ease.
Jenny arrived next, carrying a stack of field reports under one arm, braid pulled back tight like she'd been halfway through work when the message reached her.
"Alright," she said, eyes moving between faces. "This looks like a 'we're about to change something important' meeting."
Sturges was last, slightly out of breath, grease smudged along his knuckles and cheek like he'd come straight from a workshop.
"Sorry," he said. "Generator three's been making a noise I don't like. If it explodes later, that's future-me's problem."
Sico waited until the door closed behind him.
Then he stood.
"Thank you for coming," he said, voice calm, measured. "This won't take long, but it matters."
That got their full attention.
He gestured toward the map table, and they all shifted closer instinctively, forming a loose semicircle around it.
"This morning," Sico continued, "Hancock came to see me. On behalf of Goodneighbor."
Jenny raised an eyebrow. "That's new."
"It is," Sico agreed. "And overdue."
He laid it out plainly.
No dramatics.
No embellishment.
Defense concerns.
Food instability.
Long-term leadership structure.
Goodneighbor's desire to improve without losing its identity. Hancock's intention to remain mayor in the long term, with Fahrenheit formally empowered to govern in his absence while he fulfills Freemasons duties.
He watched their faces as he spoke.
Magnolia's was thoughtful, calculating.
Sarah's tightened slightly at the mention of defense.
Jenny's expression shifted toward focus, already anticipating logistics.
Sturges leaned forward, squinting at the map as if seeing possible structures overlaying the terrain.
When Sico finished, the room was quiet.
Not uncertain.
Just processing.
Magnolia spoke first.
"You're asking us to invest," she said. Not accusatory. Precise. "Resources. Time. Political capital."
"Yes," Sico replied. "In a way that strengthens the Republic without absorbing Goodneighbor into it."
She nodded slowly. "That's… ambitious."
Sarah crossed her arms. "It's also risky."
Sico met her gaze. "So is doing nothing."
That earned him a sharp, approving look.
Jenny tapped the edge of the map lightly. "You want my people involved?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Directly."
Sturges let out a low whistle. "And I'm guessing I don't get to say no."
"You get to say how," Sico corrected.
That got a small grin out of him.
"Alright," Jenny said, shifting her weight. "Let's hear assignments."
Sico nodded once.
"Magnolia," he began, turning to her, "Goodneighbor's supply situation is fragile. They rely too heavily on caravans and favors. I want you to help stabilize that."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Define 'help.'"
"Logistics oversight," Sico said. "Advising, not controlling. Route optimization. Storage management. Emergency reserves. Quiet improvements that don't change how Goodneighbor sees itself, but make it harder to starve."
Magnolia considered that.
"I'll need access," she said. "And cooperation."
"You'll have Hancock's support," Sico replied. "And mine."
She inclined her head. "Then I'll do it."
No fanfare. No hesitation.
Sico turned to Sarah.
"Defense," he said. "Fahrenheit knows her city. You know tactics. I want you working together."
Sarah didn't smile, but there was a spark of interest there.
"Joint planning?" she asked.
"Yes," Sico said. "Early warning systems. Patrol coordination. Fortifications that don't scream 'occupation.'"
She nodded slowly. "I'll reach out to her. We'll start with threat assessments."
"Good," Sico said. "And Sarah—"
She looked up.
"Goodneighbor is not a Freemasons base," he said evenly. "We support. We don't dominate."
Her jaw tightened briefly, then relaxed. "Understood."
Sico turned to Jenny next.
"This is the big one," he said. "I want a farm."
Jenny's lips pressed together. "You don't do things halfway."
"No," Sico agreed. "I don't."
"There's viable soil south of Goodneighbor," he continued. "Not ideal, but workable. I want your people to assess it properly. Improve it if possible. Set up a sustainable operation."
Jenny nodded slowly, already thinking ahead.
"You want locals involved," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Sico replied. "Your team doesn't just build it. They teach. Farming techniques. Soil care. Crop rotation. Enough knowledge that the place survives even if we pull back."
She exhaled. "That'll take time."
"I know."
"And protection," she added.
"I'm getting to that," Sico said.
He paused, then added, "I want Preston to assign thirty soldiers. Rotational guard. Enough to keep your people safe without turning the place into a military camp."
Jenny studied him for a moment.
"You're serious about this," she said quietly.
"I am," Sico replied. "Food security changes everything."
She nodded once. "Alright. I'll assemble a team."
Finally, Sico turned to Sturges.
"Goodneighbor's defenses need physical improvement," he said. "Not just people."
Sturges grinned faintly. "Now you're speaking my language."
"Walls," Sico continued. "Watchtowers. Reinforcements that blend into existing structures. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screams 'Republic project.'"
Sturges scratched his chin. "That place is… unique."
"I know," Sico said. "That's why I want you."
Sturges nodded. "I can work with that. Maybe reinforce choke points, build elevated observation platforms. Modular stuff. Easy to repair."
"Do it," Sico said. "But coordinate with Sarah. No blind spots."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Sturges replied.
The room felt different now.
Purposeful.
Not tense but charged, like a circuit closing.
Magnolia folded her arms. "This will draw attention."
"Yes," Sico said. "But controlled attention."
Jenny tilted her head. "And if people accuse us of expanding influence?"
Sico met her gaze evenly. "We tell the truth. We're helping an ally stand on their own."
Sarah exhaled slowly. "Some people won't like that."
"They don't have to," Sico replied. "They just have to live with it."
There was a brief, shared silence.
Then Jenny smiled faintly.
"You know," she said, "for a guy who almost started a food fight yesterday, you're awfully serious today."
Sico huffed softly. "I had my moment."
"And now you're back to saving the Commonwealth," Sturges added.
Sico shrugged. "Someone has to."
Magnolia straightened, already reaching for her notebook.
"I'll contact Hancock," she said. "And Fahrenheit."
"I will too," Sarah added. "Separately."
Jenny gathered her reports. "I'll need supplies. Seeds. Tools."
"You'll have them," Sico said. "Coordinate with Magnolia."
Sturges cracked his knuckles. "Guess I better go look at some blueprints."
One by one, they prepared to leave.
But before anyone reached the door, Sico spoke again.
"Thank you," he said simply.
They paused.
Not because they needed the gratitude, but because they understood what it cost him to say it.
Magnolia nodded once.
Sarah gave a brief, sharp smile.
Jenny's expression softened.
Sturges lifted a hand in a half-wave.
When the door finally closed behind them, Sico remained standing in the center of the office.
The afternoon light stretched long across the floor now, shadows creeping toward the walls.
The next day began with motion.
Not the frantic, reactive kind that came with crises or alarms, but the steady, purposeful movement of people who knew where they were going and why. Sanctuary woke earlier than usual, the pale morning light barely cresting the ruined rooftops before boots were already on concrete and voices carried low and efficient through the air.
Sico stood on the upper balcony overlooking the main yard of Freemasons HQ, hands resting on the railing, coat buttoned against the chill that still lingered from the night. Steam rose from mugs of coffee and breath alike. The hum of generators blended with the scrape of crates being dragged into place, the clank of metal on metal as equipment was checked, rechecked, and secured.
Below him, the Republic was moving.
He didn't announce himself. He rarely did on mornings like this. He simply watched.
The convoy stretched across the yard in a loose but deliberate line: reinforced trucks with patched armor plating, a couple of older but reliable flatbeds, and a handful of Humvees and Growlers meant for scouting and quick response. Banners weren't flying. There was no spectacle. Just work.
Goodneighbor wasn't being conquered.
It was being supported.
Near the lead vehicle, Sarah stood with Hancock, the contrast between them almost absurd if it hadn't felt so right. Sarah was all clean lines and readiness, armor fitted snugly, rifle slung with practiced ease. Hancock, by contrast, leaned against the hood of a truck with one boot propped up, coat flapping open, hands moving animatedly as he talked.
Even from a distance, Sico could tell they were already deep into it.
Sarah gestured toward the convoy route map spread across the hood, finger tracing a line.
"This stretch here," she said, voice carrying faintly upward, "is where we're most exposed. Narrow road, poor sightlines. If someone wanted to test us, that's where they'd try."
Hancock squinted at the map, then nodded. "Yeah, that checks out. We've had trouble there before. Raiders, opportunists, idiots with more confidence than brains."
Sarah allowed a faint smile. "We'll have scouts ahead and behind. Nothing flashy. If something looks wrong, we don't push, we pause."
Hancock tilted his head, studying her. "You run a tight ship."
"I have to," she replied simply.
He chuckled. "Fahrenheit's going to like you. Or hate you. Hard to tell which comes first."
"Either's fine," Sarah said. "As long as the city's safer."
They shared a look that not friendly yet, but respectful. The kind that came from two people who understood that leadership wasn't about liking each other, but about trusting competence.
Sico watched them for a long moment.
This was exactly what he'd hoped for.
Not blind loyalty.
Not forced unity.
Coordination.
A little farther down the yard, Jenny stood in front of a tight cluster of people with men and women with sun-worn faces, sturdy builds, and hands that spoke of long hours in soil and scrap. They wore mismatched gear, practical clothes reinforced where it mattered, packs already loaded with tools rather than weapons.
Farmers.
Or soon to be.
Jenny's posture was firm, feet planted, arms crossed as she spoke. Her voice carried clearly, sharp but steady.
"Listen up," she said. "This isn't a quick job. You're not just building plots and planting seeds, you're laying groundwork for people who've never had the luxury of stability."
A few nods rippled through the group.
"You'll assess the soil first," she continued. "No assumptions. Test everything. If it needs improvement, we improve it. Composting, rotation planning, irrigation as you do it right, or you don't do it at all."
Someone raised a hand. "Locals?"
"Yes," Jenny said immediately. "They work with you. They learn. This isn't charity, and it's not colonial nonsense. You teach them how to run it without us."
She gestured over her shoulder toward a line of soldiers assembling nearby.
"You'll have an escort," she added. "Thirty soldiers, rotational guard. They're there to keep you alive, not to tell you how to plant corn."
One of the soldiers snorted quietly.
Jenny shot him a look. "I mean it."
The soldier straightened. "Yes, ma'am."
Jenny nodded once, satisfied, then softened just a fraction.
"This matters," she said. "Food changes people. It gives them time to think about more than surviving tomorrow. Don't waste that."
There was no cheering. No bravado.
Just quiet understanding.
Sico felt something in his chest ease as he watched.
Near the far end of the yard, Sturges was in his element.
He stood atop the flatbed of a truck, clipboard in hand, barking instructions as materials were loaded and secured. Steel beams thay short, modular lengths designed to be assembled on-site were stacked carefully and lashed down. Crates marked with chalk symbols held bolts, brackets, and tools.
"Careful with that!" Sturges called. "Those are pre-cut. You bend them, I'm going to feel it in my soul."
One of his team members rolled their eyes but adjusted the load anyway.
Nearby, a partially assembled watchtower framework lay strapped to another vehicle, broken down into transportable sections.
"Once we get there," Sturges continued, hopping down from the truck, "we start with the choke points. No big walls at first. We reinforce what's already there. Build upward, not outward."
A young engineer nodded eagerly. "And the towers?"
"Observation first," Sturges replied. "Defense second. You can't protect what you can't see."
He paused, glancing toward Goodneighbor's direction, then added more quietly, "And we make it look like it belongs. Last thing we need is folks thinking the Freemasons are building castles on their doorstep."
Sico almost smiled.
Magnolia, meanwhile, wasn't in the yard at all.
She stood just inside HQ, near the logistics office, overseeing a different kind of deployment. Maps and ledgers were spread across a long table, her people clustered around as she spoke in low, precise tones.
"You'll integrate with their existing supply routes," she instructed. "Don't replace them. Supplement them."
One of her aides frowned. "And if their systems are inefficient?"
"They will be," Magnolia said calmly. "You fix them quietly."
She tapped a ledger. "Storage first. Loss prevention. Emergency reserves. We don't announce improvements as we let them notice when shortages stop happening."
The aide nodded. "And reporting?"
"Back to me," Magnolia replied. "And only me."
She straightened slightly, eyes flicking toward the window where the convoy was visible in the distance.
"I'll remain here," she added. "Someone needs to keep the broader picture balanced."
No one questioned it.
Magnolia staying behind wasn't a lack of commitment as it was strategy. She was the anchor, the one who could adjust flow and pressure without ever stepping into the spotlight.
Sico left the balcony then, descending the stairs and stepping into the yard. Conversations paused as people noticed him, not out of fear, but habit. He waved off salutes with a simple gesture, moving slowly through the organized chaos.
Sarah spotted him first.
"President," she said, straightening slightly.
"At ease," Sico replied. "How's it looking?"
"Solid," Sarah said. "Route's planned. Escorts briefed. Hancock's people know what to expect."
Hancock grinned. "You'd be proud. Or terrified. Hard to tell with you."
Sico smirked faintly. "Both, usually."
He turned, surveying the convoy once more.
"This isn't a show of force," he said quietly. "It's a statement of intent."
Hancock nodded. "Goodneighbor's good with that."
Jenny approached next, wiping her hands on her pants.
"My team's ready," she said. "So are Preston's soldiers."
Sico glanced toward the line of troops, recognizing several familiar faces. Men and women who'd stood ground when things were worse than this.
"Make sure Preston rotates them," he said. "No burnout."
"I already told him," Jenny replied. "Twice."
"Good," Sico said.
Sturges jogged over, helmet tucked under his arm.
"Materials are loaded," he reported. "We've got enough to get started, but I'll probably need follow-up shipments once we see the layout firsthand."
"You'll get them," Sico said.
Sturges hesitated, then added, "This is a good thing, you know."
Sico met his eyes. "I know."
Magnolia joined them at last, coat immaculate as ever.
"My teams will depart in staggered intervals," she said. "Supply oversight should be operational within days."
Sico inclined his head. "Thank you."
She studied him for a moment, then said quietly, "You've set something in motion."
"Yes," Sico replied. "I have."
"And if it goes wrong?" she asked.
He didn't dodge the question.
"Then I'll own it," he said simply.
Magnolia nodded once. "Fair."
The engines began to rumble as drivers took their seats. The sound rolled through the yard like a low thunder, steady and alive.
People climbed aboard.
Crates were secured.
Final checks were made.
Sico stood at the edge of the convoy as Sarah climbed into the lead vehicle beside Hancock.
"You ready?" Hancock called.
"As I'll ever be," Sarah replied.
Hancock glanced back at Sico. "You know," he said, "for a birthday week, this is a hell of a gift."
Sico allowed himself a small smile. "Don't waste it."
Hancock tipped an imaginary hat. "Wouldn't dream of it."
With that, the convoy began to move.
Slowly at first, then with growing confidence, vehicles rolling out of the yard and onto the road beyond Sanctuary. Dust kicked up behind them, sunlight glinting off metal and glass.
Sico watched until the last truck disappeared from view.
Only then did he turn away.
There would be reports.
Adjustments.
Problems to solve.
There always were.
The road to Goodneighbor always felt longer than it looked on a map.
Even for a convoy this well-prepared, there was something about the approach with the way the land narrowed, the ruins crowding closer, the old world pressing in from both sides like it was trying to remember what it used to be that demanded attention. Engines rumbled low and steady, dust hanging in the air behind the vehicles like a fading trail of intent.
The convoy slowed as the familiar neon glow finally bled through the gray.
GOODNEIGHBOR.
The sign flickered like it always had, half-broken, stubbornly alive. The sound hit them next with music leaking into the street, laughter, shouting, the distant crack of gunfire that wasn't hostile so much as expressive. The city didn't sleep. It barely paused.
Hancock leaned forward in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, boots propped casually on the dash, eyes scanning the street ahead with the ease of someone who knew every crack in the pavement.
"Home sweet chaos," he muttered, lips tugging into a grin.
Sarah, hands steady on the wheel, didn't smile but her shoulders loosened just a fraction.
"Let's keep it that way," she said. "Controlled."
Hancock laughed. "You're going to fit right in."
As the convoy rolled into the main stretch, heads turned.
Goodneighbor noticed things like this.
People leaned out of doorways. Ghouls paused mid-conversation. A couple of mercs resting near the entrance straightened, hands drifting closer to their weapons before stopping when they recognized Hancock riding point.
Whispers followed the convoy like a wake.
That's Freemasons hardware.
Why are they here?
Is this a takeover?
Nah, Hancock's with them.
Still… that's a lot of trucks.
The vehicles slowed to a stop near the central plaza, engines idling. No horns. No announcements. Just presence.
And then the convoy split.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Like a body dividing into its organs, each unit peeled away with purpose, heading toward its own task.
Magnolia's logistics team moved first.
They didn't linger in the street. No gawking, no visible surveying. They carried themselves like people who belonged anywhere they stood, even in a place that thrived on making outsiders uncomfortable.
They headed straight for the Old State House, Goodneighbor's nerve center.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sound. Music thumped from somewhere deeper in the building. A couple of guards eyed the newcomers suspiciously, hands resting on their rifles.
One stepped forward. "State your business."
Magnolia's lead aide answered calmly. "We're here on behalf of the Freemasons Republic. We're requesting an audience with Fahrenheit."
The guard snorted. "You and everyone else."
Magnolia team leader stepped forward then, her presence cutting through the noise without raising her voice.
"We're not here to demand anything," she said evenly. "We're here to ask permission."
That gave them pause.
After a tense moment, one guard jerked his head toward the stairs. "Don't make trouble."
Magnolia team leader inclined her head. "We won't."
Fahrenheit was already waiting when they entered her office, boots up on her desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"Well," she drawled, gaze flicking over Magnolia and her team, "this ain't what I expected to see today."
The team leader didn't smile. She simply met Fahrenheit's gaze.
"We won't take much of your time," she said. "We're here regarding logistics."
Fahrenheit raised an eyebrow. "Figures."
The team leader continued, "Before we do anything, we want to speak with your logistics officer. With your permission."
That earned a laugh thay short, surprised.
"You Freemasons always this polite?" Fahrenheit asked.
"Only when it matters," the team leadwr replied.
Fahrenheit studied her for a long moment, then leaned back.
"Alright," she said. "I respect that. I'll call him in."
She tapped a switch on her desk. "Lou! Get your ass up here. We got visitors."
Magnolia's team remained silent, patient.
They weren't here to assert dominance.
They were here to integrate.
Across town, Sarah and Hancock entered the same building through a different door, moving with the confidence of people who expected resistance but didn't fear it.
Fahrenheit glanced up when they entered, eyes narrowing briefly before she scoffed.
"Hancock," she said. "You bringin' me presents now?"
"Only the kind that shoot back," Hancock replied easily. "Meet Sarah. Freemasons military command."
Sarah nodded. "Good to finally meet you."
Fahrenheit swung her boots off the desk and stood. "Let's skip the bullshit. You're here about defenses."
"Yes," Sarah said. "Joint planning."
Fahrenheit smirked. "Figures."
They gathered around a battered map spread across a table, Goodneighbor marked with scars and scribbles from years of survival.
"We're not here to tell you how to run your city," Sarah said. "You know your threats better than anyone. We're here to reinforce."
Fahrenheit leaned over the map, finger tapping a familiar alley. "This place gets hit once a month. Raiders test us here."
Sarah nodded. "We noticed. That's a choke point."
Hancock grinned. "See? Told ya she was sharp."
Sarah ignored him and continued. "We can add elevated observation. Discrete patrol coordination. Early warnings."
Fahrenheit crossed her arms. "And what do you want in return?"
Sarah didn't hesitate. "Transparency. Communication. And trust."
That made Fahrenheit laugh.
"You Freemasons are somethin' else," she said. "Alright. Let's talk."
Meanwhile, Sturges didn't wait for permission.
He waited for space.
As soon as his trucks rolled to a stop near Goodneighbor's perimeter, he was already hopping down, tools in hand, eyes scanning the walls with a mix of concern and excitement.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, "yeah, we can work with this."
His team fanned out, unloading materials with practiced efficiency.
One of the locals approached cautiously. "What're you buildin'?"
Sturges looked up, wiping sweat from his brow. "Improving."
"That sounds expensive," the local muttered.
"Not as expensive as rebuilding after a breach," Sturges replied cheerfully.
He pointed toward a weak section of wall. "See that? We reinforce there first. Then we add height that nothing dramatic, just enough to give defenders an edge."
The locals watched skeptically but didn't interfere.
As beams were bolted into place and supports added, the wall began to change not into something foreign, but into something sturdier. Familiar shapes reinforced, not replaced.
Sturges grinned. "See? Still looks like Goodneighbor."
South of the city, Jenny's team reached open ground.
The land stretched out in uneven patches that brown, cracked soil mixed with stubborn green. Ruins dotted the horizon, half-swallowed by time.
Jenny's team leader named Kate knelt, scooping a handful of dirt, rubbing it between her fingers.
"Not perfect," she said. "But it'll do."
One of the locals squinted. "You sure? Ain't nobody farmed here in years."
"That's why it's still alive," Jenny replied. "Let's test it."
They worked methodically on soil samples, moisture checks, sunlight assessment.
The verdict came quickly.
"It's viable," Kate said. "We build here."
The locals exchanged glances, disbelief slowly giving way to hope.
Soldiers took up positions around the perimeter, alert but unobtrusive. Rifles lowered. Eyes scanning the distance.
This wasn't an occupation.
It was protection.
Kate addressed the group. "Alright. We start clearing. Then we build."
Hands went to work.
Shovels hit dirt.
Wood was cut.
Foundations were laid.
Locals joined in, hesitant at first, then with growing confidence as Jenny and her team showed them on how to prepare the soil, how to plan rows, how to think not just about today, but next season.
By midday, sweat streaked faces and laughter broke through exhaustion.
One local wiped her brow. "Didn't think I'd see this again."
Kate smiled faintly. "Me neither."
By the time the sun dipped lower, Goodneighbor was different.
Not transformed.
But changed.
Magnolia's team sat in quiet discussion with Goodneighbor's logistics officer, mapping supply routes and storage plans.
Sarah and Fahrenheit stood shoulder to shoulder atop a vantage point, scanning the streets below with shared understanding. Sturges leaned against a reinforced wall, satisfied.
Jenny's team watched the first real furrows being cut into the earth, guarded by soldiers who looked more like sentinels than conquerors.
______________________________________________
• 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:-