If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
Sico gave a faint smile. But his eyes were already elsewhere — far beyond the metal walls of the station. Out there, in the woods where Lita and Hodge now moved silently through enemy lines. In the farmhouses where Sarah and Magnolia would stand before skeptical eyes. In every corner where someone with a pitchfork or an old pistol now weighed the future in their hands.
The morning sun had only just crested over the horizon, casting long golden rays across the battered treetops and ruined highways, when Lita signaled a halt with a clenched fist.
Her Commando team crouched low behind a twisted outcropping of ancient metal—an old pre-war cargo hauler overturned and half-consumed by brush. The smell of damp earth and rust filled the air, mingled with the faint smoke of distant cooking fires.
Ahead, nestled in the wooded depression near the old West Everett Estates, lay the heart of the Free Men's burgeoning movement — a sprawling makeshift camp that seemed to have erupted from the wilderness like a fungus after a storm. There were no walls, not yet, but tents and pre-war structures had been reinforced with scavenged materials. A half-collapsed church had been turned into a command hall, and the remains of an elementary school now housed a rudimentary medical center.
Lita raised her scope, adjusting the magnification with a precise click.
"Movement," she murmured.
Beside her, Hodge's squad had taken up position on the ridge opposite, hidden beneath a mess of tangled vines and broken fencing. Through a silent radio channel, Lita transmitted what they were seeing.
The place was active. That much was clear.
Dozens of people moved through the camp — some in armor, others in the patchwork clothing of wastelanders. But what caught both commanders' attention wasn't the veterans. It was the newcomers. Families. Young adults. Scavvers and traders with little more than sacks and hopes. They were arriving in clusters, some led in by scouts, others wandering up the paths with anxious eyes and hopeful hearts.
"This isn't a war camp," Hodge whispered through the line. "It's a pilgrimage."
Lita nodded, lips pressed into a hard line. She could see it too. The body language of the arrivals: uncertain, desperate. People who weren't looking to fight — they were looking for something to believe in. Safety, maybe. Purpose. And from the way they were welcomed, with food and firm handshakes, it was clear the Free Men were prepared to provide both.
"Looks like recruitment's on fire," Hodge added grimly.
Lita flipped open her encrypted comm line and keyed into a secure Minutemen frequency. The signal crackled once, then cleared.
"This is Lita. Priority update for General Garvey," she said, voice hushed but steady. "We've reached the Free Men compound. Heavy civilian traffic inbound. Not raiders — settlers. Looks like ideological conversion more than coercion. Camp's structured, disciplined. Organized intake."
She paused, watching as a line of newcomers were led toward a small elevated platform near the church. A figure stood there, tall, hooded, surrounded by a dozen armed guards in standard formation. A speech was beginning, though Lita couldn't make out the words from this distance.
"Possible visual on Cassia. Repeat — we may have found the speaker."
Across the ridge, Hodge confirmed. "Robe. Standing center. Crowd forming. Not using a mic, but they're all listening."
Back at the Freemasons Headquarters, Preston Garvey received the message in his operations room, eyes narrowing as he read the live transcription printed onto his Pip-Boy's screen. He tapped a response with precision.
:: Observe. Record. Do not engage. I want everything she says. ::
Then, without missing a beat, he strode from the room to relay the news to Sico.
Cassia stood on the platform like a priestess before her congregation.
She had shed her Brotherhood insignia long ago — if she had ever truly worn them — and now wore a robe of dark gray, simple but elegant, adorned only with a sash of crimson that crossed her chest like a wound. Her hair was streaked with silver, tied back tightly. Her face bore the sharp, confident expression of someone who believed — absolutely — in the words she was about to speak.
Her voice carried through the stillness of the camp, clear and deliberate.
"You came here," she began, "because you felt the sting of betrayal. Because a flag now flies over the Commonwealth that was not yours. Because men in uniforms knock at your doors and say, 'We own this now.' Because you remember when your protection was your own — your walls, your guns, your neighbors. Not some edict passed down from a stranger on a hill."
A murmur of assent ran through the crowd.
Lita, still watching from the tree line, angled her directional mic toward the camp, silently recording.
"I was once like them," Cassia continued, gesturing toward the guards behind her. "A scribe of the Brotherhood. A believer. I thought order would save us. That discipline would tame the wastes. But I saw what order without consent becomes. It becomes tyranny. It becomes the Institute. It becomes a President who claims to build a Republic — but forgets who gave him the right to lead."
Her voice hardened.
"Sico says he speaks for you. But did you vote for him? Did you choose this Republic? Or were you told it was the only future left?"
Now the crowd was nodding, some openly, others with hesitant agreement. Settlers with calloused hands, survivors with wary eyes — they leaned in, drawn by something dangerous: hope wrapped in rebellion.
"I say no more," Cassia said, voice rising. "We are not subjects. We are Free Men. And this land will be ruled not by presidents or paladins — but by the will of its people."
Applause erupted, ragged but growing.
From their ridge, Lita and Hodge exchanged a glance.
"She's not just convincing," Hodge whispered. "She's winning."
Back at Headquarters, Sico listened to the recorded transmission in silence.
The room was dim, lit only by a flickering holotable and the soft blue glow of terminals. Sarah stood across from him, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Preston stood to his side, jaw clenched.
Cassia's voice played out, stripped of its context but still burning with conviction.
When it ended, no one spoke for a moment.
"She's not some angry raider," Sarah said at last. "She's building a political movement. If we treat this like a bandit problem, we'll just radicalize the entire fringe."
Preston nodded. "She's got a narrative — and it's spreading. People are coming to her because they feel like we're becoming the thing we fought against. We need to counter that story. Fast."
Sico exhaled through his nose and looked down at the holotable. A glowing map of the Commonwealth blinked with data points — Cassia's camp, the civil corps operations, supply routes, patrol paths. The Republic was growing, yes. But so was the resistance.
"We don't crush this," Sico said finally. "Not yet. We challenge it."
He turned to Sarah.
"I want Magnolia to hear this speech. Word for word. She's been on stages longer than most of us have held rifles. She knows how to flip a crowd."
Sarah gave a tight nod. "She's already drafting a reply. Wants to go on the air tomorrow."
"Good," Sico said.
The silence in the operations room lingered like a fog, heavy and electric.
Sico's fingers drummed once on the edge of the holotable. Then he looked up, the blue light of the map casting sharp shadows across his face.
"I'm going out there."
Preston's brow furrowed. "Out where?"
"To Cassia," Sico said, voice firm. "To the Free Men camp. If this is becoming a civil fracture, we don't just respond with speeches. We respond with presence. Real presence. I'm going to speak with her directly."
Sarah's arms slowly lowered from her chest. "You're serious."
"As a bullet to the brain," Sico said. "She's not a raider in a hideout. She's a leader with a growing army of true believers. If I don't go now, this movement becomes a fire we can't contain — and if it spreads, the Brotherhood and the Institute will smell weakness. They'll feed it."
Preston stepped forward, lips pressed into a line. "We can't let you go alone."
"I'm not planning to."
Sico turned from the table, walking toward the open door with the kind of momentum that made everyone around him start moving. "Preston — I want fifty men prepped and ready in full combat gear. Five of them in Power Armor. We'll roll out in six trucks, three Humvees, and two Sentinels tank. Heavy enough to make a statement, not enough to start a war."
Preston nodded slowly, catching the direction. "You want to show strength… but not aggression."
"Exactly," Sico replied. "No guns raised unless fired upon. We're not kicking in a hornet's nest. We're walking into it with smoke and gloves."
He turned to Sarah. "You're coming with me."
She blinked. "You sure? You'll need a diplomat, not just backup."
"You're both," he said, eyes locked with hers. "And if I walk in alone, they'll see a tyrant. But if I walk in with the woman who helped found this Republic, the one who stood on the walls at Quincy and rallied civilians into medics and engineers — they'll see something else."
Sarah's face softened, just a fraction. "Then I'm with you."
By midday, the Freemasons courtyard had turned into a staging ground.
The convoy took shape beneath the brutalist shadow of the headquarters building — six trucks, their backs reinforced with metal plates and spare tires, engines already rumbling; three Humvees outfitted with makeshift side armor and high-mounted Machine Gun; five gleaming suits of Power Armor, each painted in the Republic's navy-and-white scheme and marked with a seven-pointed star on the chest, and 2 Sentinels tank that ready to escort the convoy.
Soldiers moved with crisp urgency, loading crates of supplies, extra water, and radio repeaters. The Power Armor troops ran synchronized checks, servo-limbs hissing with pressure as their frames locked and loaded. One of them had a minigun slung over his back. Another carried a plasma caster, humming softly.
Sico walked down the line in his duster, flanked by Sarah and Preston. Every soldier he passed saluted. He returned none with a wave, but with a simple nod, his face unreadable.
"You sure about this route?" Preston asked, pointing to the old map on the map. "Northwest across the old train line, then cut west past Medford?"
"It's less likely to get us ambushed," Sico replied. "And more importantly, it'll bring us in from the ridgeline. Not straight through the road like a raider gang. We arrive calm, we arrive smart."
"You think she'll talk?" Sarah asked.
Sico took a breath, pausing as the lead truck's engine coughed to life. "I think she wants a stage. I'm going to give her one — but I'm going to stand on it with her."
Hours later,
The convoy approached the outer edges of the Free Men encampment under a late afternoon sky bruised with red clouds. Dust plumed behind the trucks as they rumbled along the cracked asphalt, weaving past abandoned pre-war vehicles and rusting highway signs overtaken by creeping vines.
West Everett Estates came into view in the valley below — and just like Lita had reported, it looked less like a gang den and more like a refugee city under construction.
Scattered buildings were being rebuilt. Watchtowers formed from scaffolding and car doors now loomed over entrance paths. A fence of welded junk metal had begun to rise around the western flank. The place was growing — not with chaos, but direction.
And they were noticed.
The first line of sentries on the ridge raised their rifles, then quickly ducked back behind makeshift barriers. Moments later, a loud horn sounded from deeper in the camp — not a warning, but a summons.
"We're being expected," Sarah murmured from the front Humvee.
Sico, seated beside her, nodded once. "No surprise there. She probably saw us coming a mile off."
They stopped just outside the camp perimeter.
Sico stepped down from the Humvee as the Power Armor guards flanked him, forming a clean perimeter. The remaining fifty soldiers held position behind the trucks, hands off triggers but alert. The Sentinels has their gun point to the gate.
From the camp, a group emerged — fifteen people in staggered formation, not in armor but armed. Rifles slung over backs, pistols holstered. They wore leather, scavenged body plating, and red sashes across their chests.
At their center was Cassia.
She walked slowly, deliberately, her crimson sash fluttering slightly in the breeze. The rest of her was wrapped in that same austere gray robe from the speech — clean, almost ceremonial. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with intelligence and calculation.
Sarah watched her closely, tension tight in her jaw.
Cassia stopped ten paces from the convoy line.
"You came in strength," she said, her voice just loud enough to carry. "But not in conquest. That's… surprising."
Sico stepped forward, letting the wind carry his coat behind him.
"I came because you're not a rumor anymore," he said. "You're a movement. One with people, guns, and a message. And I don't ignore those. I engage them."
Cassia's head tilted slightly. "What do you want, Mr. President?"
"To talk."
She looked behind him, at the soldiers, the trucks, the Power Armor glinting in the dying sun. "That's a lot of noise for a conversation."
"You speak in parables and crowds. I speak in actions," Sico said evenly. "You built a pulpit. I built a government. If you really believe yours is the will of the people — then stand across from me, not apart."
Cassia's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile. "And if I say no?"
"Then I'll leave," Sico said simply. "And this becomes a standoff. One that the Brotherhood and the Institute will gleefully exploit. You know that. You've worn a uniform. You've studied their playbook."
A pause.
Then Cassia stepped forward.
"Very well," she said. "But not here. Inside. Neutral ground."
Sico gave a slight nod. "Lead the way."
The half-collapsed church had been turned into a command hall, just as the scouts had reported. It was clean, in a rough way — benches and crates arranged into seating, a map board on the far wall marked with Free Men operations and patrol lines. The altar was gone, replaced by a table flanked with chairs.
Cassia gestured for them to sit.
Sico did. Sarah remained standing, behind and to his right, watching everything — the guards at the doors, the silent figures shifting near the shadows. But none moved against them. Not yet.
Cassia sat across from Sico, fingers steepled.
"Let's speak plainly," she said. "I don't recognize your Republic. I don't believe your elections were truly free. And I don't trust your taxes, your courts, or your armies."
"And yet," Sico said, "you've built a state of your own. You take in settlers, assign duties, even hold speeches. That's not rebellion. That's government — just without the responsibility."
Cassia's eyes narrowed. "No. It's community."
"Then why wear a sash like a commander? Why assign patrol routes? Why form a guard?" Sico leaned forward. "You know what this is, Cassia. You're a challenger to power. Just say it."
Cassia sat back, quiet.
Then she spoke, slower this time.
"You think I want your chair. I don't. But I also won't accept your authority without consent. And I won't sit idle while you impose it."
"I didn't ask for power," Sico said. "I took it because someone had to step up when the Commonwealth was falling apart. When settlements burned. When raiders hunted towns like sport. You want to talk about consent? Ask the people in Tenpines what it was like before we cleaned out their kidnappers."
Cassia's expression wavered, then returned to calm. "There's a line between order and domination."
"There's also a line between freedom and anarchy," Sarah said sharply, stepping forward. "And you're straddling it."
Cassia looked at her, meeting her stare.
"You were a hero once, Sarah. Now you stand behind a man who taxes the hungry and calls it progress."
"And you're giving sermons to settlers without telling them what happens when your food runs out, or when the Brotherhood comes knocking again," Sarah fired back. "You want revolution? Be ready to bury children. Because they'll come after you next — and they won't ask questions."
Silence fell.
Then Sico stood.
"I came here not to make enemies, but to remind you: I'm not the Institute. I'm not Maxson. And I'm not your tyrant. You want a voice? Take a seat at the Congress we built. Bring your grievances. Stand and speak where laws are made — not behind barricades."
Cassia didn't respond immediately.
But the fire in her eyes dimmed just slightly.
"Congress," she said. "With your allies, your laws, your soldiers."
"With your people too," Sico said. "If they come. If they show up."
Another long silence.
Then Cassia stood.
"I'll think about it."
It wasn't surrender. But it wasn't war either.
Sico nodded once. "You've got five days. After that, I move to secure the border settlements. We won't fight you — but we will protect our people."
And with that, he turned, Sarah behind him, the guards moving to escort them back to the convoy. Outside, the wind picked up. Smoke from distant cooking fires curled into the twilight sky.
________________________________________________
• 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:-