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The laughter that followed was pure, unforced, and real with the kind that rolled through the ranks like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. For that brief moment, the yard wasn't filled with soldiers or Commanders or Presidents. It was filled with people that weary, scarred, but alive and still capable of joy in a world that had tried to strip it away.
The training yard was still vibrating with laughter and adrenaline when the dust finally began to settle. The morning sun had climbed higher now, turning the world into a warm wash of gold and shadow. Sico brushed some dirt off his forearm, rolling his shoulder once with a low exhale. His muscles were still warm from the fight, the familiar hum of energy lingering under his skin.
Robert was rubbing the spot on his ribs where Sico had struck him last, grumbling under his breath. MacCready leaned on the fence again, panting dramatically and pretending to die. Preston was still sitting in the dirt, arms resting over his knees, laughing at himself.
"You good, General?" Sarah asked dryly.
Preston looked up at her. "I've had worse."
"And better?" she countered.
Preston pointed at Sico. "He cheats."
Sico raised a brow. "How? By breathing?"
"That's exactly it," Preston said, standing slowly. "You breathe like you've got spare lungs hidden somewhere."
The yard erupted again, soldiers chuckling as they picked up their gear, still replaying the spectacle in their heads. The Commandos exchanged looks of respect with the regulars. Even the workers up on scaffolding had stopped hammering for a minute to watch the final moments.
But beneath all the noise, something else was rising.
Not just excitement.
Not just admiration.
Morale.
Raw, genuine, infectious morale.
Sico watched as the soldiers nudged each other, laughing, comparing bruises, slapping shoulders, and exchanging stories that would likely get embellished tenfold by evening. Moments like this—moments without bloodshed, without fear, without grief was rare in the Commonwealth.
And painfully precious.
He turned toward Robert, MacCready, and Preston, gathering them with a quiet gesture.
"Walk with me," Sico said.
They nodded, falling into step beside him as the yard gradually returned to order behind them. Sarah went back to barking orders, forcing the soldiers back into drills, though she did so with a smile tugging at her lips.
Sico led the trio toward the edge of the yard, stopping near the shade of an awning where a few supply crates sat stacked neatly. The breeze carried the scent of metal and dust, but it also carried that faint, unmistakable spark of hope.
Robert leaned against a crate, arms folded. "You've got that look," he said.
"What look?" Sico asked.
Preston smirked. "The I've got an idea look. Usually means more work for us."
MacCready groaned dramatically. "Please tell me it doesn't involve more bruises."
Sico chuckled, shaking his head. "Not for you. For everyone else."
The three men exchanged glances.
Sico took a breath, letting his voice settle into something firm but open. "I've been thinking… the Republic's army is big now. Bigger than anything we imagined when this all started. But size doesn't mean strength. Discipline doesn't always mean heart. And morale—well, you saw what a simple sparring match did."
He gestured back toward the still-buzzing yard.
"That wasn't just entertainment," he continued. "That was unity. Friendly rivalry. Pride. Fire."
Robert nodded slowly. "And you want to keep that fire burning."
"Yes," Sico said. "And I want to channel it."
MacCready tilted his head. "What exactly are you planning?"
Sico let the idea settle in the air for a moment before saying it aloud. "A competition."
Preston blinked. "A what?"
"A sparring competition," Sico said, voice steady and earnest. "Open to anyone in the army. Infantry, scouts, guards, patrol units—hell, even mechanics and medics if they want to try. No armor, no weapons. Pure skill, stamina, discipline, and heart."
MacCready whistled. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," Sico replied. "I want to see what our soldiers can do when they're pushed in a controlled, honorable fight. And I want them motivated to improve. To challenge themselves. To grow."
Robert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It would raise morale, sure. And build respect between ranks."
"It'd do more than that," Preston added. "It'd show the younger soldiers they have something to reach for. Something to fight for that isn't just… survival."
Sico nodded. "Exactly."
He paused before delivering the core of his plan.
"And the top three winners…". He looked directly at Robert and MacCready. "…will earn the chance to join the Commandos."
Robert blinked, straightening a little. "You want to recruit Commandos through competition?"
"No," Sico clarified. "I want you two to judge the competition. Observe the top three. Decide whether they've got what it takes."
MacCready's brows shot up. "Damn. That's a big responsibility."
"It is," Sico said. "But you're the perfect men to handle it. You know what the Commandos need. You know what standards must be kept. And you know how to spot strength that isn't obvious."
Robert exchanged a glance with MacCready, something like respect flickering between them.
"And if the top three fail the Commandos' criteria," Sico continued, "they don't walk away empty-handed."
Preston tilted his head. "What do they get instead?"
"A promotion," Sico said simply. "Captain or sergeant, depending on their performance and where we need them."
MacCready let out a low whistle. "So either they become elite operators… or they climb the ranks."
"Exactly."
Robert nodded slowly. "That could reshape the entire army. Give everyone something clear to strive for."
"And something fair," Preston added. "Not favoritism. Not politics. Just skill, effort, and courage."
Sico let a small smile pull at the corner of his lips. "There will be caps, too. And other prizes. People should feel rewarded for putting themselves on the line."
MacCready laughed. "Oh, caps? Damn, now half the army's gonna sign up."
Preston gave a small, approving chuckle. "It'll be good for them. Strengthen them. And you know what else? It'll give them stories. Stories they'll tell their kids someday. Stories that make the Republic feel real."
Robert looked at Sico with a rare softness in his eyes. "You're building more than an army, sir. You're building a culture."
"That's the hope," Sico replied quietly.
For a moment, they all just stood there as the four men who had seen war, loss, fire, and ruin. Four men who had carved something new from the bones of the old world. And for once, the air wasn't heavy. It wasn't burdened. It felt… alive.
Finally, Robert stepped forward, extending his hand.
"You got my support," he said. "We'll run the competition. We'll judge fairly. And if someone earns the right to join the Commandos, I'll take them under my wing."
MacCready slapped a hand over Robert's shoulder. "And I'll put 'em through hell until they either quit or get better."
Preston snorted. "That's encouraging."
"It works," MacCready said with a shrug.
Then Preston looked at Sico, his expression sober but warm. "I'm in too. I'll help however you need. I know these soldiers. I know their hearts. And I know they'll fight their best if you give them the chance."
Sico nodded, gratitude filling his voice. "Thank you. All of you."
Robert crossed his arms again. "So when do you want to announce it?"
Sico looked out over the training yard again with the soldiers practicing drills, the Commandos advising them, the engineers laughing as they returned to their work, the bright stir of energy that still lingered like a spark ready to ignite.
"Today," he said. "Before sundown. Gather everyone in the main square."
MacCready raised a brow. "That soon?"
"Why wait?" Sico replied. "The energy is here. The timing is right. And the Republic could use a little more hope."
Preston nodded slowly. "Then let's give it to them."
For a moment, no one spoke. The wind rustled through the yard, carrying the sounds of practice swings, shouted cadence, laughter, and life.
Robert finally broke the silence with a smirk. "Just promise me one thing, sir."
"What's that?" Sico asked.
"Next time you want to do some sparring again… don't use all of us as target practice."
MacCready groaned. "Seriously. My ribs hate you."
Preston stretched his shoulder. "I'll be feeling this tomorrow."
Sico grinned. "Then train harder."
The three men groaned in unison while Sico just laughed with a full, deep, genuine laugh that rolled across the yard and made a few soldiers turn and smile.
The laughter still echoed faintly across the training yard—little bursts of it rising and falling as soldiers slowly returned to their drills, massaging bruises and trading exaggerated stories about who hit who hardest. The sun was beginning its slow roll across the sky, that soft middle-of-the-day warmth coating the cracked concrete and metal catwalks above.
Sico let the last of his amusement ease into a long breath. His body still thrummed from the sparring, the warmth of exertion still pulsing through his muscles, but what lingered strongest was the spark he had felt—something bright and healthy, something the Commonwealth didn't gift freely: pride.
Not the blind kind that led men to war.
The kind that made them stand taller.
He glanced at Preston, Robert, and MacCready as the three men who'd followed him through gunfire, politics, rebuilding, and some days even madness. They were still recovering from their impromptu beating, but each one stood a little straighter, a little fiercer, because the fight hadn't broken them; it had reminded them they were alive.
"Alright," Sico said as he dusted his hands and turned to them, "I want you three to announce it."
Preston blinked. "Announce… what, right now?"
MacCready straightened, suddenly alert. "You want us to tell the soldiers before you tell the officers?"
Robert chuckled. "He wants the fire to spread from the ground up."
Sico nodded, pleased. "Exactly. Soldiers talk. Faster than any formal channel. Faster than any broadcast system. By sundown the entire Republic will know. And if they know… the officers will fall in line."
MacCready winced through a sore shoulder. "Damn. That's smart. Manipulative… but smart."
Sico gave him a look. "This is motivating people, not manipulating them."
MacCready shrugged. "Both work."
Preston clapped his hands together, rolling out tension from his wrists. "Alright. You want the announcement loud?"
"Loud," Sico said, "and clear. Make it fun. Build the energy. Let the soldiers taste the idea before anyone else does."
Robert nodded. "We'll get everyone's attention."
"I know," Sico said simply. "That's why I trust you with this."
The three men exchanged glances—quick but meaningful. There was something electric between them now, something shared: the beginnings of a new tradition.
Sico jerked his chin toward the yard. "Go. Gather them."
Preston gave a small salute; Robert dipped his head; MacCready slapped his palms together like he was preparing for a show.
And then they moved.
The three men split slightly, with Preston heading toward the center of the yard, Robert toward the left side where the riflemen practiced formation drills, MacCready toward the engineering team who were tinkering with a set of power armor frames.
Sico watched them go, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Then he turned away.
He had another task, one just as important.
He stepped out of the training yard, boots crunching over the concrete until the clamor behind him faded into the distance. The corridors of the compound were busy but calm as workers passing with crates of supplies, medics heading toward the clinic, technicians running maintenance checks on terminals.
Everyone had a job.
Everyone moved with purpose.
And today, that purpose was tinged with excitement, subtle but unmistakable, like the ripple that passes through a crowd when a rumor begins to bloom.
Sico walked with steady steps through the main barracks entrance, nodding to the guards stationed there. They stood straighter as he passed with respectful, and one of them murmured "Good afternoon, Mr. President."
He returned the greeting with a quiet nod.
Sarah's quarters weren't far from the command wing—a choice she made months ago, back when she chose to live among soldiers instead of the luxuries her rank afforded. It made her accessible. It made her respected. It made her feared when necessary.
He found her in her office, bent over a map of the northern Commonwealth, pencil tucked behind her ear, sleeves rolled up as she scribbled notes.
She didn't even look up when he stepped in.
"If you're here to tell me the idiots are at it again, I already heard them laughing from two corridors away," she said.
Sico chuckled. "Actually, no. I'm here to tell you something important."
She lifted her gaze.
Her eyes sharpened instantly.
"What happened?"
"A decision," Sico said simply. "One made with Preston, Robert, and MacCready. And I need your help with it."
Sarah leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Alright, I'm listening."
Sico took a breath—not because he needed to steady himself, but because he wanted the weight of the moment to settle properly.
"We're starting a sparring competition," he said. "Open to all ranks. Anyone can sign up—infantry, scouts, medics, engineers. Anyone who wants to test themselves."
Sarah stared at him for a second, expression unreadable.
"And the purpose?" she finally asked.
"Morale," Sico said. "Unity. Pride. A chance for soldiers to show what they're made of without bleeding for it. The yard was full of energy—you felt it even from here."
Sarah didn't deny it.
"And," Sico continued, "the top three winners will be evaluated by Robert and MacCready for potential entry into the Commandos."
Sarah sat forward slowly, elbows resting on her desk, hands clasped.
"That," she said, "is going to send shockwaves through the barracks."
"I know."
"And if they don't qualify?"
"They'll receive promotions. Captain or sergeant."
Sarah exhaled—a long, low breath. Not disapproval. Not fear.
A kind of respect.
"You're building something," she said. "Something big."
"That's the goal."
"And you want my job to be…?"
"To prepare everything." Sico approached her desk, placing both hands lightly on its edge. "Tomorrow morning, sign-ups begin. By noon, I want the roster finalized. By afternoon…"
"Competition begins," she finished.
He nodded. "Exactly."
Sarah rubbed her thumb along her jawline thoughtfully, then pushed her chair back and stood. She crossed the room slowly, stopping near the window where the afternoon light broke through the blinds, patterning her armor in jagged stripes of gold and shadow.
She turned back to him.
"I'll need seating," she said. "A lot of it. Citizens will want to watch. Soldiers too."
"Yes," Sico agreed. "Make room for everyone."
"I'll need medics on standby."
"Naturally."
"I'll need a perimeter guard to prevent stupid drunk bets from turning into fights."
Sico smirked. "So… extra guard units."
Sarah shot him a look. "Yes. And we'll need a loudspeaker system—if we're doing this in the training yard, we need to make sure everyone can hear."
"I'll have engineering set it up."
Sarah exhaled again, but this time her tone softened, becoming something warmer, touched by quiet admiration.
"And you're announcing all of this tonight?"
"No," Sico said with a small grin. "Preston, Robert, and MacCready are doing that."
This time, Sarah genuinely laughed with a small, surprised sound.
"Oh, that's going to be good," she said. "Soldiers listen to them more than any loudspeaker."
"That's the point."
Sarah approached him, standing tall and strong, her presence commanding but never oppressive.
"I'll get everything ready," she said. "Tomorrow afternoon, the Republic will watch its first official competition."
Sico nodded. "Thank you."
Sarah placed a gauntleted hand on his shoulder with firm, steady, almost proud.
"You're changing this place," she murmured. "Brick by brick. Match by match. Fight by fight."
He smiled softly.
"That's the hope."
Back in the training yard, the atmosphere had shifted.
The soldiers had gathered naturally as some curious, some confused, many still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from the earlier sparring. Word traveled fast. Something big was happening.
Preston stood on an overturned crate in the center, one hand cupped around his mouth.
"Everyone! Eyes front!"
Robert stood behind him, arms crossed, towering like a statue. MacCready stood to his right, wearing the mischievous grin of a man who was about to enjoy himself far too much.
Then Sarah's voice traveled from the entrance as she returned with a clipboard: "Listen up! General Garvey is making an announcement!"
The yard quieted.
A few stragglers jogged over, boots kicking up dust.
Preston cleared his throat.
"You all saw what happened earlier."
The soldiers erupted in laughter and whoops. Someone shouted, "Sico kicked your asses!"
MacCready pointed at the guilty voice. "That man will run laps later."
The soldiers laughed again.
Preston raised both hands for quiet.
"All that energy you felt? All that excitement? All that morale?" He let the silence stretch just enough. "We're going to use it."
The soldiers leaned in.
"Starting tomorrow morning," Preston said, "the Republic will hold its first official Sparring Competition!"
A wave of noise exploded with cheers, disbelief, clapping, whistles, and at least one soldier shouting, "Hell yeah!"
Robert stepped forward beside Preston, adding his deep, commanding voice.
"Any rank can enter. Any unit. Any specialty. Infantry, patrol, medics, engineers, you name it. If you think you can fight, then prove it."
MacCready held up three fingers. "And the top three fighters… get a chance to join the Commandos."
That set the yard on fire.
People shouted. A few cursed in surprise. Some straight-up yelled battle cries like idiots—but happy idiots.
MacCready continued loudly: "Robert and I will judge them. Personally."
"And if they fail?" someone shouted.
Robert's voice boomed over the crowd: "They will receive promotions. Real promotions. Captain or sergeant. Depending on where they're needed."
A ripple of awe moved across the yard.
Actual promotions.
Actual opportunity.
Actual reward for skill.
Preston raised his hands again. "This competition is about unity. Strength. Pride in the Republic. And tomorrow afternoon, everyone is welcome to watch."
That got even more noise.
MacCready added, "There will also be caps and prizes for the winners."
The yard nearly exploded.
Robert smirked. "Sign-ups are tomorrow morning. Be there early."
Preston gave one final shout: "Train hard. Fight fair. And show the Republic what you're made of!"
The soldiers erupted again—cheers echoing off walls, boots stomping, fists pumping, weapons raised in the air like an unofficial salute.
The energy was dizzying, wild, electric.
The Republic hadn't felt this alive in a long, long time.
By the time Sico walked back into the training yard, the announcement had already sunk deep into the bones of the place.
Soldiers were buzzing like fire ants. Talking loudly, bragging, sizing each other up.
He saw two young privates already shadowboxing. A group of engineers stretching their arms. A medic wrapping his knuckles experimentally, muttering, "I used to wrestle in high school—I think I can do this."
Sico couldn't help but laugh under his breath.
This…
This was exactly what he wanted.
Preston spotted him first. "Announcement complete, sir."
"Reaction?" Sico asked.
Robert huffed. "Half the yard wants to sign up."
MacCready grinned. "The other half wants to bet on the first half."
Sico placed his hands on his hips, surveying the animated chaos before him.
"Perfect."
Sarah stepped beside him, clipboard under her arm. "Everything will be ready by tomorrow afternoon. Seating, medics, guard perimeter, loudspeakers, everything."
"Good," Sico said softly.
The training yard still throbbed with excited noise, the kind that vibrated faintly in the bones even as Sico stepped back from the crowd. Soldiers were still shouting across the concrete, calling out challenges, arguing about techniques, or trying to predict who would enter the competition. A few even began playful shoving matches that Sarah's nearby guards quickly defused with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.
But the fire was there.
Burning hot.
Burning bright.
Exactly as Sico intended.
He watched the scene one last time, satisfied, then exhaled slowly and turned away.
He had another task to do, but equally important. Because the soldiers inside the compound weren't the only ones who needed to feel this surge of life. This competition wasn't meant only for warriors in uniform. It was meant for the Commonwealth itself. For settlers. For farmers. For mechanics. For anyone living under the banner of the Freemasons Republic who needed a spark of pride, something to look forward to, something to remind them that war wasn't the only thing shaping their future.
And for that message to reach them, he needed Piper Wright.
Sico began walking toward the outer corridor of the training complex, boots echoing in steady, purposeful rhythm. Behind him, Sarah barked an order to her officers, Preston started planning the sign-up process with a group of corporals, and Robert and MacCready debated which fighters would surprise them the most tomorrow.
But Sico didn't look back.
He passed through the wide concrete archway that separated the training grounds from the rest of the compound, moving into the sunlight of the main square. Citizens were already gathering as some curious about the noise from the training yard, others carrying boxes, tools, and food trays as everyday life resumed around the excitement.
Several people stopped when they saw Sico walking by.
Some nodded.
Some smiled.
Some simply stepped aside with murmured "Mr. President" or "Afternoon, sir."
Sico acknowledged each with a small nod or brief smile, but he didn't slow his pace. He continued down the path toward the eastern wing of Sanctuary HQ, where the Freemasons Radio building stood near the edge of the compound with a squat but sturdy structure of steel plates, reinforced beams, and wide windows that glowed warmly with activity inside.
But what caught his eye first wasn't the building.
It was the tower.
The transmitter tower that rose high beside it as once damaged, bent, and fried from Brotherhood interference, now stood tall again. Straight. Gleaming. The metal had a fresh shine to it that hadn't yet absorbed dust from the wasteland wind. New cabling ran up its sides, neatly secured. Fresh rotary dishes rotated with smooth, mechanical precision. Beacon lights blinked steady red pulses against the sky.
It looked like a new limb attached to the Republic's growing body.
Sico slowed as he walked past it, admiring the workmanship.
Sturges and his team really outdid themselves.
They'd rebuilt the entire system faster than any engineer in the wasteland had a right to. But that was the thing about Sturges, he never just fixed things. He always made them better.
He imagined the man now, probably asleep somewhere after pulling leading building the watch towers as he refused to rest from. Once the transmitter project was fully stabilized, Sico would allow him to return to overseeing the expansion. Sturges was irreplaceable when it came to major construction.
He touched the metal support beam of the tower lightly as he passed it, feeling the faint hum of electrical life within.
Then he moved on.
The door to the Freemasons Radio slid open with a soft hiss as he pushed it, and immediately he was met with the warm, layered atmosphere unique to a bustling radio hub With the low hum of broadcasting equipment, the faint buzz of vacuum tubes, the clicking of typewriters, the chatter of producers and technicians coordinating schedules.
But above all that was Piper's voice.
She was mid-broadcast, standing behind a silver microphone, headphones over her ears, hands animated as she paced slightly while speaking.
"…and for those of you tuning in late, yes as you heard correctly. Reports confirm that the Minutemen presence near Lexington has shifted patrol routes this morning. No confirmed threats, but you farmers out there, keep your turrets powered and stay alert…"
Her pep, her rhythm, her fire that filled the room, alive and familiar.
Ellie Perkins spotted Sico first and lifted a hand slightly in greeting. She was reviewing a stack of paper scripts, multitasking like she'd done her whole life. The moment Sico returned the nod, Ellie quietly slipped to the side to give him space.
At the same time, Piper glanced up briefly from inside the booth — and that short glance was enough. Her eyes widened in recognition, and a grin flashed across her face before she quickly leaned back into the mic.
"…and we'll get back to that story in our evening wrap-up," Piper said smoothly, professional even in surprise. "Stay tuned — we've got a special announcement coming up soon."
She hit a switch.
The radio instantly shifted to a music break — a mellow guitar riff from an old-world track restored by the engineering team.
Piper pulled off her headphones and stepped out of the booth.
"Sico," she said brightly, hands on her hips. "If you're here, something's happening."
"Something good," he said, smiling faintly. "And I need your help with it."
Piper raised an eyebrow as she approached him. Her bandolier was slung loose today, more decorative than functional, and her jacket sleeves were rolled to her elbows. "Alright, shoot. What's the story?"
He didn't waste time.
"We're holding a sparring competition," Sico said. "Official. Open to all ranks in the Republic. Starts tomorrow."
Piper blinked. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious."
Her lips parted slowly into a grin. "Well… damn. That's new."
"We want the settlers to know," Sico continued. "To come watch. To feel included. To feel the energy that's building in this place."
Piper leaned back slightly, whistle low under her breath. "You want this to be a public event."
"Yes."
"You want every settler from Sanctuary to Tenpines Bluff to Bunker Hill talking about it."
"Yes."
"And you want me," Piper said with a smirk, "to light the fuse?"
Sico laughed quietly. "No one does it better."
Piper pretended to wipe a tear. "Flattery. Dangerous tactic."
But she was already walking past him, snapping her fingers at Ellie. "Get me a fresh sheet! We're going live with this."
Ellie shoved a blank page into her hands, along with a pencil. Piper immediately turned back to Sico, eyes bright with journalistic hunger.
"Alright, President Freemason," she said, pencil tapping against the page. "Give me the details. Who can enter? Any restrictions? What's the reward? And how fast can I shout it across the Commonwealth?"
Sico felt a little amused at how quickly she shifted into reporter mode.
"Any soldier can enter," he said. "Any rank, any specialty. Three top fighters get evaluated for Commandos."
Piper stopped writing.
Her eyebrows flew so high they nearly touched her hat.
"You're opening Commandos recruitment to the entire army?"
"Only for those who earn it."
Piper let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "That's going to explode out there. Settlers don't even know half the Commando training methods, much less what it takes to join."
"It's incentive," Sico said. "Real incentive. And if they don't make the cut, they still get promotions."
Piper wrote faster. "And the public?"
"Full access. They can come watch. Seating's being prepared."
She looked up again, her eyes softening just slightly — just enough for him to see gratitude hidden beneath her professionalism.
"People are going to love this, Sico. Really love it."
"That's the goal."
Piper finished her notes, then motioned toward the booth. "Give me thirty seconds to prep levels."
She darted inside, adjusting knobs, setting her microphone, organizing the sheet in front of her. Sico remained outside the glass, watching through the window as she gave Ellie a thumbs-up.
Then Piper flicked the switch.
The music faded out.
Her voice came alive — confident, electric, unmistakably Piper Wright:
"Good afternoon, Commonwealth. This is your girl Piper, coming to you live with news hotter than a deathclaw stepping on a landmine!"
Technicians suppressed small laughs.
Sico smiled.
"You all know Sanctuary has been growing, thriving, becoming something bigger. But today… oh, today we've got something brand new. Something fun. Something that'll bring us all together."
She leaned closer to the mic.
"Tomorrow afternoon, the Freemasons Republic will host its first official sparring competition!"
Static-free, clear, thrilling.
Sico could almost feel the Commonwealth freezing at radios across the settlements — people pausing in their fields, homes, workshops.
"It's open to all active soldiers," Piper continued. "Any rank, any unit, any background. And get this — the top three fighters will be personally evaluated by Robert Carter and MacCready of the Commandos for potential entry into the elite program."
She waited half a second, letting that sink in.
"Yeah, you heard me right. This is real. This is big. And for those who don't qualify? Promotions. Real ones."
Her tone lifted, bright and inviting.
"Settlers are welcome to come watch! Seating will be ready. Bring food, bring company, bring your loudest cheering voice — because this is going to be one hell of a show."
She grinned into the mic.
"Stay tuned for more updates throughout the day. This is Piper Wright, signing off for now — and trust me… you don't want to miss this."
She cut the feed.
The room erupted into quiet applause from technicians.
Piper stepped out of the booth, hands on her hips again.
"That," she said proudly, "is how you tell a whole Commonwealth to get excited."
Sico chuckled. "You never disappoint."
Piper shrugged lightly, though her smile stayed bright. "Tell Sarah I want a front-row seat tomorrow."
"She'll get you one," Sico promised.
Piper saluted jokingly. "Good. Now go before the entire building floods me with questions."
He nodded gratefully.
Then Sico turned, stepping out of the radio building.
The door close shut behind him.
Outside, the afternoon light caught the transmitter tower again with its new metal gleaming, its cables humming with renewed strength, its beacon pulsing steady and brave against the 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:-