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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.
The wind had grown cooler as twilight settled across the tangled trees and rusted skeletons of the old neighborhood surrounding West Everett Estates. The sky above was streaked in purples and fading gold, and the smoke of cookfires and burning wood coiled lazily upward, catching the last light of day.
Sico stood just beyond the perimeter of the Free Men's compound, eyes fixed on the silhouette of the half-collapsed church. Behind him, the last of the Freemasons' Power Armor sentinels watched the terrain with unwavering focus, their massive frames casting long shadows across the cracked concrete.
Sarah stepped up beside him, brushing strands of windblown hair from her face.
"She's not going to make the call tonight," she said, not a question but a statement.
"No," Sico replied. "But she heard us. That matters."
He waited a moment longer, silent, before turning to her.
"I want you to take the main convoy back to Sanctuary. Full retreat, but clean and slow. No panic. Let them see we came to talk, not intimidate."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You want to stay here?"
"Not exactly." He turned and gestured to the soldiers near the Humvees. "We're going to set up a forward watch. A small team. Male personnel only. Quiet, minimal profile. Just enough to show we're not walking away. But not enough to provoke."
She crossed her arms. "You're putting a lot of trust in her."
"No," Sico said. "I'm putting trust in the people watching her. Some of them are scared, hungry, tired. They heard what I said. They'll remember it. And if she decides to call our bluff—" he looked eastward, toward the Commonwealth hills barely visible in the dusk, "—then we'll be ready to respond without escalating."
Sarah hesitated. Then nodded.
"I'll take half the trucks and head back. We'll rotate recon over this position every eight hours."
"Good," he said. "And tell Magnolia she's on tomorrow. We'll need her voice more than ever."
Sarah didn't argue. She turned, giving a brief, sharp gesture to the comms officer. A moment later, the order began moving down the chain of command. Engines rumbled to life. The convoy began to reorganize.
The Free Men's watchers on the ridge were observing the scene, but made no move. No raised weapons. No messengers. Just silence.
Ten minutes later, the 3 main trucks, two of the Humvees, and 2 Sentinels Tank were pulling away, tires crunching over broken asphalt, headlights dimmed to preserve the subtlety of their withdrawal. The sound faded, replaced once more by the hum of wind and the occasional chirp of insects in the dark.
Sico stood in the middle of the empty street now, surrounded only by thirty men: lean, hardened soldiers in black utility gear. No insignia on their sleeves. No visible rank. They were dressed like settlers, armed like rangers.
"Camp setup," he said quietly.
Without fanfare, they began to move. Two scouts went ahead to check the wooded slope north of the camp, where an old cul-de-sac of rotting homes stood half-buried in vines and mud. Others gathered scavenged materials—scrap sheets, tarp, ropes—from the trucks, beginning the construction of a low-profile temporary site. A portable radio dish was set up beneath the awning of a collapsed garage, pointed toward the south.
No fires. No lights. No noise.
Sico himself took to the edge of the ridge, crouching near the brush as he studied the camp below. Even now, there was movement. A few more people arriving from the forest trails, escorted by Free Men in red sashes. In one corner, a cooking pit glowed faintly. In another, two men were repairing a section of improvised fencing.
It wasn't a war camp. Not yet. But it could become one in days.
He heard a step behind him.
One of his officers — a young, lean man with the beginnings of a beard and the kind of steady eyes that survived only because they learned fast — approached.
"Sir. Perimeter set. Camp is secure. Six-hour rotations, full coverage."
"Good," Sico said, rising.
The officer paused. "You think she'll come back out?"
Sico looked at him. "Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But I didn't come here to wait for her. I came to remind everyone else down there what kind of future we're offering."
The man nodded and returned to the camp without another word.
Sico remained by the brush a little longer, watching the lights below flicker and shift.
He knew what this place was. Knew how it could become something unstoppable — not because of Cassia, but because of the people behind her. The ones who thought the world was giving them a second chance, not knowing what would happen when the bullets came again.
He thought of Tenpines Bluff. Of Graygarden. Of Quincy.
He remembered what it looked like when revolution wasn't romantic anymore.
And then, quietly, he pulled out a small holotape recorder from his coat, slid it into his Pip-Boy, and began to speak.
"This is President Sico, leader of the Freemasons Republic. Time is 20:32. Field log, Ridge Camp One, West Everett Estates. Subject: Cassia."
He paused, listening to the wind again.
"She believes in her cause. I don't doubt that. She believes we've moved too fast. Maybe she's right. But she's also building something she can't fully control. I saw the faces down there — families, kids, veterans. Some of them are just here to survive. If this goes bad, they'll pay first."
Another pause. The voice in his Pip-Boy sounded more tired than he expected.
"I offered her a seat at the table. If she refuses, we may have to decide how much damage we're willing to take to protect what we've built. I pray we don't have to make that choice."
He stopped recording, clicked it off, and slid it back into the coat.
Distantly, somewhere beyond the camp, an owl cried.
And behind him, the sound of his soldiers quietly building a presence — not hostile, not yet, but undeniable — continued beneath the rising stars.
Two Days Later
By the third morning, the camp was fully operational.
The twenty men rotated shifts with discipline. Rations were managed tightly, with foragers checking nearby ruins for supplies while patrols moved through the woods in pairs, logging every Free Men movement without being seen.
The men had grown accustomed to the silence. The waiting. There was a rhythm to it — the cold mornings, the quiet days, the hushed reports. No sign of aggression from the Free Men. No contact from Cassia.
Until midday, when it changed.
It wasn't an envoy. It wasn't even an official visit.
A single figure appeared on the trail — unarmed, hands empty, walking with slow confidence. A woman in plain clothes, short hair, boots still muddy from travel.
She stopped just short of the camp perimeter and called out.
"I have a message from Cassia."
Sico emerged from the command tent, one gloved hand resting lightly on his belt.
The guards did not raise weapons. But they didn't lower them either.
"Go on," he said.
The woman nodded.
"She wants a second meeting. Tomorrow. At noon. Same place. She says she's ready to talk… about Congress."
Sico didn't respond right away. He studied the woman's face, looking for deception. But there was none. Just weariness. And maybe, faintly, hope.
He nodded once.
"Tell her I'll be there."
The woman turned and left without another word.
The next day
The sun filtered down through the broken canopy above, its light golden and dappled, catching on the faded paint and rusted nails of the half-collapsed church that once marked the heart of West Everett Estates. There was something haunting about the structure — its wooden bones splintered but upright, its sagging bell tower leaning against the sky like a tired sentinel. Inside, shafts of light pierced the dusty air through holes in the roof, illuminating motes that drifted like slow snowflakes in the silence.
Sico stood before the entrance, his boots quiet against the soft earth. He wore no armor today, just his long dark coat and the sidearm holstered low at his waist. Behind him, at the edge of the Free Men compound, two of his guards lingered out of sight but within earshot — by unspoken rule, this meeting was meant to be private, but not foolish.
The sentry at the gate, a young man with a scarred lip and a faded red sash, had said only, "She's waiting inside," before stepping back.
So now, here he was. Again. The same ground where, four days ago, he had faced Cassia for the first time. The same ruined church. But this time, the air carried something new. Not tension. Not exactly. More like… the weight of pending clarity.
He stepped through the doorway.
The wooden floor groaned beneath his feet. Dust curled up from the boards with each step. The light from the broken windows cut sharp angles across the pews, many of them overturned or rotted through. A makeshift table had been erected near the altar — nothing more than planks of salvaged wood balanced on cinder blocks. A pair of folding chairs stood beside it.
Cassia was already seated.
She wore the same leather coat as before, but her hair was tied back now, revealing the creases of exhaustion along her brow. There was a flask on the table in front of her, untouched. A map pinned down with a combat knife lay beside it.
She looked up as Sico approached, her eyes unreadable, then gestured with a small tilt of her head.
"Have a seat," she said.
Sico did. The chair groaned under his weight, but held.
There was a long pause.
Cassia glanced out the window behind him, watching the compound beyond — the flicker of tents in the breeze, the soft movement of people going about their day. Then she exhaled slowly, almost like she'd been holding her breath for hours.
"I figured we'd start with the unimportant stuff," she said, voice dry but not cold.
Sico arched a brow, lips quirking slightly. "Always the best way to lower defenses."
She gave a small nod of agreement. "Right. So…" Her fingers drummed once against the tabletop. "We fixed the water purifier. For now. Got a few parts from the Corvega plant down south. Might last a couple more months if it doesn't crap out again."
Sico nodded slowly. "Good. Water's life."
"Yeah. And we got a medic now — one of ours, sort of. Used to be with the Minutemen. She came down with some stragglers last week. Said she'd stay if we don't try to 'convert' her." Cassia snorted. "Whatever the hell that means."
"Probably means she wants to help, not fight."
"Maybe. We'll see."
Another silence.
This one was heavier.
Then Cassia reached for the flask but didn't drink. She just turned it in her hand.
"When I was a kid," she said, eyes on the metal, "my parents used to take me out past the western ridges. There was a spot — not far from Lexington — where the trees opened up, and you could see for miles. My mom called it the Edge of the World. Said it was where the sky started."
Sico didn't interrupt. He waited.
"I went back there last week," Cassia continued. "Still there. Same trees. Same rocks. But the view's different now. Just smoke. Ruins. You look out across it and you don't see a world — you see what's left of one."
She looked up at him, eyes hard now.
"That's what I'm trying to protect. Not the compound. Not some stupid power play. The people who think there's still something worth living for out there. Even if it's just the memory of it."
Sico leaned forward slightly, folding his hands.
"I believe you."
That surprised her. Just slightly. He saw it in the way her mouth twitched, almost to a smile.
"I'm not doing this because I trust you," she said. "Or because I think your Congress is going to magically fix everything. I've seen what central governments become. Hell, I fought some of them. Enclave. Unity. I know the signs."
"So why are you here?"
Cassia hesitated. Then she set the flask down gently and looked him straight in the eye.
"Because I've also seen what happens when we don't try. When we let warlords and chem barons and fanatics fill the void. I'm not naive, Sico. You're going to consolidate power. You're going to pass laws, raise armies, tax people, make enemies. And you'll make mistakes."
She leaned forward now, mirroring his posture.
"But if I don't give my people a seat at that table, if I don't make a place for them in whatever the hell you're building, then I'm leaving them with nothing but fear. And I won't do that. Not again."
There it was.
Clear. Measured. Unflinching.
Sico didn't move for a moment. He let it settle between them like dust.
"And?" he asked quietly.
Cassia nodded.
"I'll send a delegate. Someone trusted. I'll participate in the next session of Congress — not just as an observer, but as a voice. I want a vote. I want input on legislation that affects frontier settlements. And I want a framework for local self-governance. That's non-negotiable."
Sico nodded slowly. "That's the idea. Local councils with regional reps. You'll have to follow federal law — but you'll have a say in what that law looks like."
"Good," she said.
Then her voice lowered. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and he could tell this was the part that kept her up at night.
"But I need something else first."
He tilted his head.
"My people need to know they're not walking into a trap," she said. "No labels. No history dragged into court. No Freemasons intel dossier branding us as rebels or separatists. You want us in your Congress? Then you wipe the slate. Right here. Right now."
Sico sat back, eyes never leaving hers.
"Amnesty."
"Call it what you want," she said. "But if you want them to walk with me into this future you keep talking about, they need to feel safe. And not just the fighters. The kids. The widows. The ones who built this place from scrap while your Republic was still holding meetings in a basement."
Another long silence. But not hostile.
Just heavy.
Sico nodded. "Done."
Just like that.
Cassia blinked.
"You're serious?"
"I didn't come here to posture," he said. "You want to build? Then we build. Your people won't be targeted. They won't be labeled or tracked or prosecuted. Not for what's happened so far. And we'll put it in writing — a formal decree. Signed by the Congress when we reconvene."
She leaned back, letting out a slow breath.
"That'll help."
Sico offered the faintest smile. "So will your voice, once you're inside."
They sat in silence again — but this time it was easier. Lighter.
From outside the church came the sound of laughter. Children, faint and distant, playing near one of the water tanks. The kind of sound the Wasteland didn't offer freely. The kind of sound that meant something fragile had taken root.
Cassia stood first.
"I'll have my envoy ready in two days," she said. "You'll get their name and credentials tomorrow."
Sico rose with her.
"I'll send transport. Safest route to Sanctuary."
"Appreciated."
He didn't offer his hand. She didn't either. Not yet. There was too much history between them, and too much left to build.
But she did give a nod — a quiet one, almost imperceptible.
And he returned it.
They walked out of the church together, stepping into the warm afternoon air, sunlight flickering through the leaves.
________________________________________________
• 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:-