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That night, as the stars spread wide over Sanctuary and the new wall stood sentinel in the distance, the people of the Freemasons Republic gathered to eat, talk, and dream. The firelight painted their faces gold, and for the first time in a long, long while, there was peace — not the fleeting kind that comes after battle, but the enduring kind born from creation.
The next morning came gentle but clear, washing away the lingering warmth of the celebration the night before. Sanctuary's southern ridge had gone still for the first time in weeks which is not silent, but quiet in that contented, lived-in way that follows great work done well. The scent of turned earth still hung in the air, mixed with the faint smoke from dying cookfires. A soft mist drifted over the fields, curling like ghosts of breath above the rows of freshly planted crops.
Sico stood by the edge of the ridge wall, cup of coffee warming his hands, eyes scanning the new horizon. The farm below was still asleep, the first faint signs of movement just beginning: a lantern flickering on near the barn, a pair of settlers hauling buckets toward the irrigation line, and Jenny's unmistakable silhouette checking the water pump before the sun had even crested the hill.
He smiled faintly. That was Jenny who was tireless and grounded. The Republic needed more people like her.
The air felt cool on his face, but inside him was that familiar thrum of restlessness. The farm was done, the wall was done, but there was no such thing as "done" in this new world. Not for long. As long as the Commonwealth remained half in chaos, half in rebirth, there would always be something to build, something to plan, something to secure.
His gaze drifted along the length of the new wall. The southern ridge ran wide, its battlements clean and freshly welded, the Republic banner fluttering high in the steady breeze. From here, it almost looked like the walls of an ancient fortress reborn from the wasteland — solid, unyielding. But as proud as it stood, Sico knew that defense wasn't just about walls. It was about eyes. Watchfulness.
He heard the clang of tools before he saw the man himself. Sturges was already up, hunched over a spread of blueprints on a portable workbench near one of the generator nodes. A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside a wrench, and the man was muttering to himself about "load-bearing stress ratios" and "grid tolerance" as he scribbled quick notes with a stub of pencil.
Sico made his way over, boots crunching on the gravel. "Morning, Sturges."
Sturges looked up, squinting under the brim of his dusty cap. "Well, look who's up before the rooster again. Morning, boss. How's it feel, huh? Seeing this place all shiny and finished for once?"
Sico took a sip of his coffee. "It feels… good. For now."
"Ha," Sturges chuckled, shaking his head. "There it is. I knew you couldn't let yourself enjoy a breather for more'n five minutes. You've already got somethin' else in that head of yours, don't ya?"
Sico smiled slightly, setting his cup down on the table beside the blueprints. "You know me too well."
"Unfortunately," Sturges said, smirking. "Alright, lay it on me. What's next? 'Cause I can tell you right now, my crew's sore as hell, but they'll do whatever you tell 'em if I ask."
Sico leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning the new ridge wall again. "We've secured the perimeter, but I want more than a wall. I want watchtowers — just like we have along Sanctuary's main line. High, reinforced, fitted with the same sensor link you built last year. Every hundred meters along this ridge, at least four for now. Later we can add more as the population expands."
Sturges blinked. "Watchtowers, huh? You're talkin' full defensive overhaul. That's a tall order, boss. Literally."
Sico nodded. "It has to be done. The wall's strong, but a wall can't see. We need height, vantage. If anyone approaches from the southern wilds, I want them spotted before they even think about setting foot near our border."
Sturges scratched his beard, thinking. "Alright, alright. That tracks. I can re-use the design we had for the northern line. Steel frame base, reinforced with concrete footings. Maybe a bit taller this time since the ridge dips lower in spots. We'll need wood scaffolds for the platforms, and the sensor mounts'll need a line direct to Mel's relay hub so we can get feed back to HQ."
"Do it," Sico said simply. "And Sturges, this time I want the towers equipped for long-term manning. Built-in shelter space, ammo lockers, heating units. We're not just posting guards; we're establishing permanent posts."
Sturges let out a low whistle. "You really are turnin' this place into a fortress, huh?"
Sico's expression softened, though his eyes stayed focused on the horizon. "Not a fortress. A home that won't fall."
The words hung between them for a moment — quiet, but weighted.
Sturges nodded finally. "Alright then. You got it. I'll start drawin' up the tower layout today, get the crew movin' once materials free up. Might have to borrow a few welders from Jenny's team once they're done settin' irrigation."
"Do it," Sico said again, his tone steady. Then he added, "After the towers, I want to focus on the expansion inside the ridge."
Sturges looked up, curious. "Expansion? You talkin' more homes?"
Sico turned toward the interior stretch of land just beyond the farm from the space between the wall and Sanctuary's southern gate. "Yes. There's still open ground here. Enough for housing, maybe a small market district. We've been building for defense and survival for too long, Sturges. It's time we start building for living."
The builder's brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed into a grin. "Well, I'll be damned. You're finally talkin' like a mayor instead of a general."
Sico chuckled under his breath. "I suppose that's progress."
"Yeah, it is," Sturges said, pulling a notebook from his pocket and flipping to a blank page. "Alright, hit me with it. What are you picturin'?"
Sico pointed toward the stretch of land running along the inner side of the wall. "A line of new houses with small, simple, but solid. A place for the new settlers who keep arriving. Close enough to the fields so they can work, close enough to the walls so they feel safe. After that, we'll build a proper market square — covered stalls, a central platform for trade, maybe even a small tavern space."
Sturges raised an eyebrow, grinning. "A tavern, huh? Didn't think I'd live to see the day our glorious President talked about bars."
"I'm being practical," Sico replied, though his mouth twitched in amusement. "Trade's coming whether we plan for it or not. Graygarden, Tenpines, Oberland as they've all been sending merchants lately. Better we set up a proper space now before people start haggling in the streets."
Sturges scribbled a few quick notes, muttering to himself as he wrote. "Alright, alright. Housing first, then market, maybe a workshop strip to support the new folks. We can repurpose some of the leftover materials from the ridge construction for the foundations. I'll need to get more timber, though."
"Talk to Preston," Sico said. "He's been running convoys with the Minutemen near Sunshine Tidings. There's forestland there. We can arrange trade for lumber."
Sturges nodded. "Got it."
The morning sun crept higher, catching the edges of the metal wall in a bright gleam. A faint wind swept over the ridge, carrying with it the earthy scent of the new fields below. For a moment, both men stood there, just looking — not at what was finished, but at what was possible.
"You ever stop and think about it?" Sturges said after a while, voice low. "All this? I mean, two years ago this was just scrap and dirt. Now we're standin' on walls, talkin' about markets and houses. It's… somethin' else, ain't it?"
Sico took a slow breath, letting the wind fill the silence between them. "Every time I see it, I think of what could've been lost forever. And what we're taking back."
Sturges grinned. "That's why we follow you, boss. You don't just build walls, you build reasons to keep goin'."
Sico turned to him, smirking. "Flattery doesn't get you out of work, Sturges."
"Aw, hell," Sturges said with a laugh, tucking his pencil behind his ear. "Didn't think it would."
They both laughed quietly, the sound mingling with the hum of morning wind and the faint clatter of tools as the first work crews began their routines.
Before they parted, Sico rested a hand on the railing again, glancing out toward the horizon — the line where the Commonwealth stretched far and wild beyond their newly secured border. "Start with two towers today," he said, tone thoughtful but firm. "East and west flanks. Once those are stable, move on to the housing. I'll have Preston assign guards to oversee the work until the structures are ready for permanent watchmen."
"Consider it done," Sturges said. "I'll round up the boys and get 'em movin'. You'll have your towers before the next week's out."
Sico nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Let's make it happen."
The day unfolded into a hum of motion once more.
By midmorning, the ridge was alive again with hammers ringing, welders sparking, and the low rumble of generators powering up fresh equipment. Sturges was in his element, barking instructions with good-natured authority while teams measured the base sites for the towers.
"Keep that footing even! I don't want no leanin' towers of Sanctuary, you hear?"
"Reinforce that frame, double bolts on the joint! If that platform wobbles, I'll personally make ya sleep on it till it don't!"
Laughter followed his words, and for all the sweat and strain, the mood was bright. There was pride here, the pride of people who had learned to make their own future with their hands.
The sun had climbed halfway up the pale sky by the time Sico left the ridge. The clang of hammers and hiss of welders echoed behind him. He paused for a moment at the foot of the ramp leading down from the southern wall, glancing back at the construction crews scattered across the ridge. Sparks flared bright against the steel as Sturges and his men began the early skeleton of the first watchtower.
The structure was already taking shape: steel rods bolted into concrete bases, climbing upward like the bones of some great sentinel. The sound of welders biting into metal filled the air, punctuated by the call and response of workers coordinating measurements. It was loud, industrious, and alive, that meant Sanctuary wasn't resting on its achievements; it was growing again.
Sico allowed himself a faint smile before turning south, following the worn dirt path that sloped toward the fields below. The morning wind swept gently across the ridge, carrying with it the scent of soil, wet leaves, and the faint, earthy perfume of tilled farmland.
The farm had changed quickly, faster than even he expected. When he'd last stood here two days ago, the soil was raw and dark, the irrigation lines barely laid. Now the fields had taken on that subtle magic that happens when life begins to root itself into the land. Long stretches of dark, fertile rows stretched from fence to fence, glistening with dew. The first shoots of corn and razorgrain had begun to push their way through the soil, tiny green blades catching the morning sun like shards of glass.
Settlers were already at work. Dozens of them, scattered across the rows with farmerd and volunteers alike was all moving with quiet focus. Some were on their knees, planting seeds by hand; others tended the pumps or guided the irrigation water along the trenches. The rhythmic swish of water wheels turning and the low murmur of voices mixed with the hum of the wind.
And at the center of it all was Jenny.
She was impossible to miss as she was standing on the small wooden platform beside the main barn, a worn clipboard in one hand, gesturing toward one of the new irrigation pipes with her other. Her voice carried across the field with strong, quick, decisive voice.
"Make sure that valve's open all the way! We don't want pressure build-up again like yesterday. And you, yes, you, Tom keep those tatos spaced at least a hand apart. You crowd 'em, they rot faster!"
Her hair was tied back with a faded red bandanna, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and streaks of dirt ran down her forearms. She looked exactly like what Sanctuary had become that is rough, determined, and alive.
Sico leaned against the fence for a moment, watching. It was remarkable, really with the sight of people building life from nothing. For years, the Commonwealth had been defined by destruction, by what it had lost. But here, within these walls, the people of the Freemasons Republic were redefining it as it was turning ruin into renewal, hunger into harvest.
He stepped through the gate, boots sinking slightly into the soft dirt. The nearest settlers greeted him with nods and brief smiles, pausing only long enough to acknowledge his presence before returning to their work. Sico preferred it that way with no formalities, no bows. He wasn't here to command today. He was here to see, to understand.
Jenny noticed him soon enough. She shaded her eyes against the sun and grinned. "Well, if it ain't the man himself. I was wonderin' when you'd come check on us!"
Sico smiled as he walked over. "I figured I'd better see how my second farm's doing before you turn it into a small kingdom of your own."
Jenny laughed as the rich, hearty sound that carried over the fields. "Oh, don't tempt me, boss. Give me enough soil and water, and I might just do that."
"You'd probably make it work, too," he said. "How's the planting coming along?"
Jenny waved a hand across the fields. "Better than expected. The ground's good, real good. The soil here's richer than the plots north of town. We've already got the first crop of corn and tatos down, and razorgrain's going in next. Mutfruit trees will take a little longer, but the settlers are eager. You can feel it in the air."
Sico nodded, walking beside her as they moved down one of the dirt rows. "I can see that. It's different from the main Sanctuary farm. Bigger, but calmer somehow. More… planned."
"Yeah," Jenny said, brushing a bit of soil off her gloves. "The old farm up by the river's still our heart as it feeds most of the homes and the barracks. But this one…" She paused, looking across the rows toward the water pumps gleaming in the sunlight. "This one's about the future. Trade, sustainability. Enough to feed us and the outposts we're helping."
Sico turned to her, his expression thoughtful. "That's exactly what I was hoping for. The Republic won't survive just on strong walls because it needs to feed its people, its allies. Every settlement that joins us depends on that promise."
Jenny nodded firmly. "And we're gonna make good on it, don't worry. Between the two farms, we'll have enough surplus to start a proper supply chain. Graygarden's robots can handle extra distribution, and we has the Trucks that could move goods as far as Oberland or even Quincy."
Sico's eyes brightened slightly. "A Republic trade route…"
"Exactly," Jenny said. "The beginning of one, anyway."
They walked in silence for a moment, listening to the rustle of the breeze over the growing crops. A pair of settlers passed them, hauling buckets of water. One of them as a young man with sunburned cheeks, nodded respectfully as they went by.
Sico smiled faintly. "They look happy."
"They are," Jenny said, watching them go. "You know what one of the kids told me last night? Said it feels like we're 'making the world start over again.'" She laughed softly. "Outta the mouths of babes, huh?"
Sico's gaze drifted across the fields once more. "That's not far from the truth."
Jenny glanced at him, noting the distant look in his eyes. "You ever stop and think, Sico, how far we've come? I mean, two years ago we were patchin' holes in roofs and fightin' off raiders just to keep a roof over our heads. Now look at us as we've got walls, farms, trade, power grids…"
He nodded slowly. "I think about it every morning."
She smiled faintly, sensing the weight behind his tone. "And every night, I bet."
A small chuckle escaped him. "You know me too well."
They reached the far edge of the field, where a narrow dirt path curved toward the irrigation tanks and the newly-built farmhouse. A group of workers were assembling wooden crates nearby with sturdy, square, and freshly painted with the Republic's crest: the Freemason compass surrounded by wheat stalks.
Jenny pointed toward them. "We've started making our own produce crates now. Figured if we're gonna be shipping food out to other settlements, might as well do it right. Preston said he'll handle distribution once the crops are ready."
Sico nodded approvingly. "Good thinking. Keep everything uniform. The Republic needs identity as much as it needs supplies."
"Already on it," she said with a grin. "Next thing I'm thinkin' is maybe a small windmill up by the hill. Could help with power when the generators are off."
"That's a solid idea," Sico said. "Talk to Mel about it."
They walked a bit further, toward the fence that marked the southern boundary of the new farm. Beyond it lay the open wilds — a stretch of unclaimed earth where the Commonwealth spread wide and silent. From here, the wall looked distant, shining faintly in the sunlight with its fresh welds and banners snapping in the wind.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic creak of irrigation pumps and the faraway clang of metal from the ridge construction.
Then Jenny broke the silence. "You know, Sico… I think Sanctuary's finally becoming what you wanted it to be."
He turned to her, brow slightly furrowed. "And what's that?"
"A home," she said simply. "Not just for us, but for everyone who comes through those gates. Look around — we've got farmers, builders, traders, soldiers, even kids playin' in the dirt again. People are living here."
Sico looked around — at the rows of crops, the laughter of settlers, the steady, confident rhythm of work. For the first time in weeks, he felt something unguarded bloom in his chest.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "You're right."
Jenny smiled, wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek. "And that's worth all the sweat in the world."
Sico turned to face her fully. "Jenny, you've done more than I asked, more than most could. You've turned this land into life. Once the next harvest comes in, I want you to oversee both farms. Coordinate supply and planting schedules. You'll have full authority under the Republic's agricultural board."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You serious?"
He nodded. "Completely."
For a moment, she looked at him like she wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. "Well, damn. I don't know what to say, boss."
"Say yes," he said simply.
Jenny grinned, shaking her head. "You don't make it easy to argue, do ya?"
"Not when I know I'm right."
She extended her hand, dirt and all. "Alright then. You got yourself a deal."
Sico clasped it firmly. "Good. You'll do great, Jenny."
The handshake lingered for a moment with a silent acknowledgment between two people who had built something lasting out of ashes.
Then, as if sensing the moment had grown too heavy, Jenny smirked. "Now, unless you're plannin' on standin' here all day starin' at dirt, grab a shovel. We've got another half-acre to finish before noon."
Sico chuckled. "You never stop working, do you?"
"Not when there's life to grow," she shot back.
And so he stayed. Not as a leader issuing orders, but as a man among his people — hands deep in the soil, helping plant the future he'd fought so hard to make possible. The dirt was cool beneath his fingers, rich and alive. He worked alongside the settlers, their laughter mingling with the chirp of crickets and the whisper of wind through young stalks.
By midday, the sun was high and the second field was complete. Rows upon rows of planted crops stretched in perfect, patient lines, the promise of harvest gleaming under the sky.
When Sico finally straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, Jenny handed him a flask of water. "You did good, boss. Maybe you missed your true calling."
He smiled faintly, taking a sip. "Maybe. But I think I'll leave the farming to you."
Jenny laughed softly. "Fair enough."
The afternoon light had mellowed to a gentle amber by the time Sico made his way down the sloping road toward the Freemasons Radio compound. The dirt clung faintly to his boots, and his hands still smelled of soil and iron from the morning's work. The air hummed with the rhythm of a living settlement as laughter from traders near the market square, the chatter of patrols switching shifts, the faint clatter of a Brahmin cart rolling over cobblestone.
It was that kind of hour when Sanctuary seemed to breathe.
He followed the path past the eastern row of houses, where children were chasing each other with sticks pretending to be laser rifles, their shouts echoing across the square. A pair of guards nodded to him as he passed, their uniforms crisp, rifles slung properly was a small but steady reminder of how disciplined the Republic had become. Every streetlamp, every repaired roof, every working radio antenna whispered a story of perseverance.
And just ahead, glinting in the warm light, stood the newly restored Freemasons Radio Tower.
The structure loomed tall above the skyline, all steel and lattice, gleaming where the new metal had replaced the corroded old bones. It had once been a half-collapsed ruin, its wires tangled, its signal weak and flickering with another relic of a world too broken to speak clearly anymore. But now, thanks to Sturges engineering crew and the tireless work of the communications division, it stood proud again. Coaxial cables ran neatly along the framework, solar panels gleamed on the roof, and the wind turbines at its base spun lazily, feeding power into the station's battery banks.
For Sico, the sight stirred something deep in his chest. This wasn't just a tower. It was a voice, their voice that stretching out across the Commonwealth, carrying news, hope, and truth to people who'd spent too long in silence.
He paused for a moment at the gate, resting his hand on the cool metal of the fence. A small brass plate had been fixed to the post beside him:
FREEMASONS RADIO – Voice of the Republic
"Truth is the first light of civilization."
He smiled faintly at the inscription. He remembered writing that line himself one late night when the idea of a proper broadcast station had been little more than a dream. It was a network with a symbol of connection that stretched from Sanctuary to the outposts at Graygarden and the checkpoints along the River.
Sico stepped through the gate, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path that led up to the building. The hum of the generator was steady and deep, the kind of sound that spoke of stability. A few technicians were outside, working on an auxiliary cable reel, their faces smeared with grease but smiling as they worked.
"Afternoon, Mr. President," one of them called out with a respectful nod.
"Afternoon," Sico replied with a small grin. "How's the signal holding?"
"Clear as a bell, sir. No interference since we upgraded the antenna array. Piper's been on air since morning."
"Good to hear."
He continued up the steps and pushed open the front door.
The interior of Freemasons Radio was warm, alive, and full of that peculiar kind of energy that only a newsroom could carry as the quiet rush of voices, the faint static hum of monitors, and the scratchy sound of old records stacked on the shelves. The scent of coffee lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the musk of ink and old paper. Posters lined the walls: propaganda drives, trade schedules, alerts about missing caravans. A large banner hung near the front desk, its lettering bold and proud:
"Broadcasting Unity, One Frequency at a Time."
Through the glass partition, Sico could see Piper.
She was seated behind the microphone, her headset slightly askew, eyes bright with that mix of focus and fire that only she possessed. Her voice that quick, warm, and certain was carried through the speakers mounted in the hallway.
"…and that's the latest from the southern ridge, folks! The wall's coming along faster than anyone expected, thanks to Sturges and his crew. And for those of you wondering about the new agricultural site, yes, it's official. President Sico himself visited the ridge this morning to oversee the progress, and Jenny's team has already planted the first round of crops. Razorgrain, corn, tatos that is the good stuff. That means more food, more trade, and a stronger Republic for all of us."
She paused, tapping her pencil against her notepad. "Oh, and a little word from yours truly, if you've been thinking about lending a hand at the farms, now's the time. The Republic runs on hard work and good hearts. And judging from the smell coming from the market today, we've got both in spades."
Her tone softened slightly. "So wherever you are from Sanctuary, Graygarden, Oberland, or even out in the Glowing Sea listening through a scavenged radio just remember, you're not alone out there anymore. We hear you. And we're building something worth fighting for."
The red ON AIR sign above the door glowed bright.
Sico stood quietly just outside the booth window, listening. He didn't interrupt. He just watched her with how she leaned into the mic, her gestures sharp, her expression alive. Piper had always been like that with a storm of energy, curiosity, and heart. In another time, she might have been a voice for revolution. Now, she was the heartbeat of a nation finding its voice again.
She clicked a switch and the soft strains of a pre-war jazz tune faded into the room. The ON AIR light flicked off.
Piper exhaled deeply and leaned back in her chair, rolling her shoulders. "And that's a wrap for segment three." She turned, caught sight of the reflection in the booth window, and grinned. "Well, look who decided to drop by the voice box."
Sico chuckled, stepping inside as the door closed behind him. "Couldn't resist. You make it sound like the Republic runs smoother than it really does."
Piper smirked, pulling off her headset. "Hey, that's my job with making the chaos sound inspirational."
"I'd say you're doing it too well."
She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him playfully. "So, what's the verdict? How's my broadcast voice? Too much sass? Not enough 'official dignity' for the president's taste?"
Sico shook his head, smiling. "It's perfect. Real. People need that. They need to hear a human voice, not just orders and reports."
Piper's grin softened into something genuine. "That's the point, ain't it? Back in Diamond City, people used to huddle around static-filled radios hoping for good news. Half the time all they got was raider chatter or busted music loops. Now, when they turn that dial, they hear us with a real signal, steady and strong."
She glanced toward the console, her fingers tracing the edge of the microphone. "It's kinda crazy, you know? Sometimes I think about the folks out there, sitting in shacks or bunkers, hearing this voice and realizing they're not the only ones left trying to make something better."
Sico nodded slowly. "That's why this place matters more than almost anything we've built. Walls keep people safe. Farms feed them. But this—" he gestured to the microphone, the dials, the hum of the equipment "—this reminds them why they're doing it."
Piper looked at him for a long moment, something thoughtful glinting in her eyes. "You've changed a lot, Sico. Used to be the guy who'd rather swing a rifle than give a speech."
He chuckled quietly. "Still am, some days."
"Yeah, but now you're building a world instead of just surviving it."
There was a pause that was not uncomfortable, but full of unspoken things. Outside the booth window, a technician waved and mouthed that the next segment was ready. Piper nodded back, then looked at Sico.
"You wanna say a few words on air?" she asked. "People like hearing from you."
He hesitated. "I don't know, Piper. I didn't come here to—"
"Oh, come on. Just a short bit. You've been all over the Republic today from walls, farms, construction. Folks love updates from the man himself. It gives 'em hope."
Sico sighed lightly but smiled. "You always know how to guilt-trip me into things."
"It's one of my many talents."
She flipped the switch again, and the ON AIR light came alive in glowing red.
Piper leaned forward, her voice smooth and confident. "Alright, listeners, we've got a special guest joining us in the booth today with the man you all know, the one out there hammering the future into place himself, President Sico."
She winked at him. "Say hello, boss."
Sico leaned closer to the mic, his tone calm, warm. "Good afternoon, everyone. I just came from the southern ridge and the new farm site. The wall's standing strong, and the fields are already planted. I saw settlers laughing, working together, I realized something: we're not just surviving anymore. We're living."
He paused, letting his words settle. "Every day, this Republic grows not because of any one leader or title, but because of you from the builders, the farmers, the guards, the traders, the families who've chosen to believe in something bigger than fear. You're the reason the Freemasons Republic exists. And as long as we keep building together, there's no storm we can't outlast."
Piper smiled quietly as he spoke. Even off-mic, she could feel the shift in the air — the sincerity in his tone, the grounded strength that came not from authority, but from shared purpose.
When Sico finished, he glanced at her, as if to ask was that enough?
She grinned. "That was perfect."
The red light flicked off again. The music cue faded in with an old pre-war acoustic guitar track, and Piper turned to him. "See? You've got a good radio voice. Maybe I should start worryin' about my job."
"Don't worry," he said, smiling faintly. "You're irreplaceable."
Piper's grin softened into a smirk tinged with warmth. "Damn right."
The room fell into a companionable silence. The muffled tune filled the booth, and the hum of the transmitter pulsed softly behind the walls. For a moment, Sico simply stood there, taking it in with the sound of civilization, reborn through static and song.
He looked toward the window where the tower rose against the afternoon sky, the blades of the wind turbines turning steady in the breeze. "You know," he said quietly, "I think this tower's more powerful than any weapon we've ever built."
Piper followed his gaze, then nodded. "Words last longer than bullets."
Sico smiled faintly. "Yeah. They do."
Outside, the light began to fade toward the golden hue of evening again, and the radio waves rolled out across the Commonwealth that carrying his words, her laughter, and the heartbeat of a new nation to every ear that still dared to hope.
________________________________________________
• 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:-