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Outside, the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon. Sanctuary was bathed in twilight. Quiet, but ready. Always ready.
Then Sico went to the corridor that leading from the strategy room to the Army Command Hub was lit in warm tones, but the mood was far from calm. Sico's boots thudded softly against the floor as he walked with purpose, his mind racing with Nora's warning. The Institute was trying to light the fuse of a war that could consume everything they'd built. And now, with that knowledge, every second mattered.
He turned the final corner and stepped into the Army Command Hub.
The place was alive with tension. The air crackled with energy—not from fear, but from readiness. Men and women moved briskly between command terminals, communication stations, and weapons racks. Tactical maps flickered on large screens, while radio chatter filled the background. Orders were being given, confirmations barked back. The Minutemen were on high alert.
At the far end of the room, Sico spotted them—Preston Garvey, in his familiar duster, barking orders with a firm voice, clipboard in one hand, the other gesturing toward the southern perimeter on the map. Beside him stood Sarah, her armor gleaming faintly under the overhead lights, dark hair tied back, eyes sharp as ever. She was coordinating with a squad leader, pointing toward patrol routes and nodding at frequency codes. Both of them were completely in their element—calm under pressure, focused, unflinching.
Sico made his way toward them, and they noticed him before he spoke. Preston gave a nod of acknowledgment, while Sarah turned fully, reading his expression before he even opened his mouth.
"General," Preston said. "We've rerouted the Lexington and Concord patrols. Engineers are fortifying checkpoints near the highway. If the Brotherhood decides to make a move, they'll meet resistance."
Sarah nodded. "I've also authorized full defensive posture for the southern border. We've got three Sentinel tanks running, with two more due online tonight.m. You want to escalate it further?"
Sico raised a hand, stopping her. "Before you go further—there's something you need to hear. Both of you."
They both straightened, sensing the gravity in his tone. Sico glanced around, then pulled them a few steps aside, lowering his voice just enough to stay out of the nearby ears' reach.
"I just spoke with Nora," he began. "She came here through the teleporter—unannounced, urgent. Straight from a Directorate meeting at the Institute."
That caught their full attention. Preston's brow furrowed. Sarah folded her arms, listening intently.
"She says the Institute is planning something. Not just observation or passive intel-gathering. They're orchestrating a full-blown manipulation campaign—to push us and the Brotherhood into war."
Preston's lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak yet.
Sico pressed on. "They're staging false flags. Synths dressed as Brotherhood troops. Attacks made to look like Brotherhood strikes. Same with us—Minutemen convoys getting hit, made to appear like retaliation. The goal is simple: ignite a war between us and the Brotherhood. Then they step in when we're weakened."
Sarah let out a slow breath, her jaw tightening. "That's why they've been so quiet lately. We thought they were regrouping."
"They weren't," Sico said. "They've been setting the trap. Waiting for pride and paranoia to do the rest."
Preston's expression darkened. "That son of a—" He caught himself, jaw flexing. "We've been watching the Brotherhood's movements. They've been shifting patrols and tightening defenses. We thought it was preparation for an attack. But if the Institute is behind the provocations…"
"That's exactly what I came to say," Sico interrupted. "Whatever happens in the coming days—no matter who gets hit, no matter who it looks like did it—don't blame the Brotherhood right away. Don't retaliate. Not until we've verified it ourselves."
Sarah gave a small nod. "You're asking us to stay calm while our people might be bleeding."
"I'm asking you to be smarter than them," Sico replied. "To see the game for what it is. If we lash out, we play right into their hands. We need to expect the unexpected. Expect sabotage. Expect deception. But above all, expect the Institute to lie with a straight face."
Preston exhaled through his nose. "We can't afford to look weak either. If the Brotherhood gets provoked and believes we're the ones behind it, they won't wait for confirmation. Maxson will attack."
"I know," Sico said. "That's why we're playing both defense and misdirection. Nora's feeding them false intelligence—about our movements, scanner locations, everything. It'll buy us time. But in the meantime, I want every unit briefed. Every commander told. Not just what's happening, but why. If even one patrol fires back at the wrong enemy, we'll lose the chance to stop this."
Sarah nodded firmly. "I'll get the word out. Quietly but clearly. Only trusted officers. We'll control the information flow."
Preston looked toward the massive tactical map. "What about the civilians? What about Sanctuary, the Castle, Plaza, Finch, and Oberland?"
"We start low-level evacuations," Sico said. "Not panic, not alarms. Just 'precautionary training exercises.' Move people into secure zones slowly. Use drills to get them used to it. I want us ready without tipping the Institute off that we know."
Sarah looked at him. "If they've planted synths in the Brotherhood… how sure are we they haven't tried the same with us?"
Sico's face tightened. "We run silent verifications. Scanner sweeps. Unpredictable check-ins. Not every synth is a willing agent, but the ones that are… I want them exposed before they act."
"Understood," she said.
Preston stepped closer. "And the Brotherhood?"
Sico sighed. "Danse is still our best shot at keeping a line of communication open. He's loyal, even if Maxson's not. If things go south, I'll reach out. But for now, we avoid direct contact. The Institute's watching us both."
He paused. "And if they do strike… if it turns into what we fear…"
Preston answered for him, voice resolute. "Then we fight. But not out of blind anger. We fight knowing the truth. We fight to end this, not feed it."
Sico looked at both of them, grateful for their clarity. "Good. Then we keep our heads down, our weapons ready, and our eyes sharp. We don't fire unless we have to. And if someone does try to light the match…"
He let the thought hang, heavy in the air.
Sarah nodded. "We make sure they're the ones who burn."
Then Sico left the command hub, nodding once more to Preston and Sarah before turning away. The gravity of what had just been said still weighed heavy in his chest, but there was no time to dwell on it. Action was what the moment demanded—measured, deliberate action. His boots echoed softly as he passed down another hallway, the lights slightly dimmer here, the hustle of command replaced by a quieter kind of intensity. He was heading to the Science Department, deep beneath the surface level of Minutemen HQ, where another kind of battle was being fought—one of data, signals, frequencies, and secrets.
The air grew cooler as he descended via the lift, the hum of machinery vibrating faintly through the metal walls. He passed a few lab techs and engineers along the way, nodding briefly, but not stopping. His destination was clear: Lab 3B. That's where Mel had been holed up for the last few days—barely sleeping, barely eating—refining the synth scanner signal to make it untraceable.
When the lift doors slid open, the corridor was darker, lit by soft, bluish overhead lights. Pipes ran along the walls, humming gently with energy. A large blast door at the end was partially open, and Sico could already hear the rhythmic tap of keystrokes and the low, glitchy warble of prototype tech at work. As he approached, the sound of a gruff, tired voice swearing under its breath became audible.
"Damn it—no, no, not that file. Not again."
Sico stepped into the lab and paused at the threshold.
The place looked like a hurricane had passed through. Cables snaked across the floor like tangled vines. Screens blinked with schematics, real-time code compiling, scanner waveform graphs shifting in unpredictable patterns. The centerpiece was a large, partially disassembled synth scanner rig—its internal components exposed like the guts of a robot undergoing surgery. Sitting in the middle of this chaos was Mel—late thirties, maybe early forties, lean, wiry, with short-cropped dark hair and thick goggles pushed up onto his forehead. His lab coat was wrinkled and stained with oil and solder, and he was hunched over a console with a half-empty coffee mug and three different open toolkits next to him.
"Busy enough for you?" Sico asked, voice cutting through the soft hum of the lab.
Mel turned quickly, eyes wide for a second before relaxing when he saw who it was. "General. You scared the hell outta me."
Sico smirked faintly. "Sorry to interrupt, but I figured if anyone's close to a breakthrough, it's you."
Mel scoffed, rubbing his temples. "I'm close to a breakdown, that's what I am. But yeah… we're making progress. Not there yet, but damn close."
Sico stepped closer, eyes scanning the screens and equipment. "Walk me through it."
Mel stood, stretching out his back with a groan, then gestured to a holoboard next to the main console. With a flick of his hand, a 3D projection sprang to life—pulsing waves, code fragments, and a circular model of the scanner's transmitter core.
"The signal we've been using? It's clean, tight, and accurate. Too accurate. That's the problem." Mel tapped a section of the hologram. "The moment we activate it, anyone with the right sensors can triangulate our position. Brotherhood, Institute, hell, even a half-decent Gunners comms expert. And it's not just the main signal—it's the harmonics. The scanner leaves a trail, like a blood scent in the water."
Sico crossed his arms, frowning. "So what's the fix?"
"We're scrambling the signature at the source," Mel said. "Shifting the waveform constantly—microvariations, randomized pulses, almost like digital camouflage. The Brotherhood's tech? It'll see us as background noise. Same with the Institute's systems… if we get it right."
He hesitated.
"But?"
"But we have to balance stealth with accuracy. If we push the scramble too far, the scanner's resolution drops. We'll get false positives, miss real synths, maybe even ping friendlies."
Sico let out a breath. "Not an option. We can't afford that kind of risk, not with everything about to go sideways."
Mel nodded grimly. "That's why I've been working on a hybrid—switchable modes. One is passive, nearly invisible. The other's full-powered but risky. The trick is letting the user decide in real-time, depending on the situation."
He rubbed his jaw. "Got a prototype up and running earlier today. Wanna see it?"
Sico nodded. "Absolutely."
Mel grabbed a small, portable device from the table—a streamlined version of the original synth scanner. Sleeker, slightly heavier, with a narrow blue lens on the front.
"This is the Mark II," he said. "Power cell lasts twice as long. We've integrated a local AI that can learn from environment feedback. Meaning, the more you use it, the better it gets at hiding."
Sico took it in his hands, turning it over. It felt solid. Reliable. The kind of thing that could change the game if it worked.
"You tested it in the field yet?"
Mel hesitated. "Limited field sim, yes. Real field, no. I was waiting on a go-ahead."
"You've got it," Sico said, handing it back. "I want this tested by one of our scout units tonight. Preferably in Brotherhood airspace. If it stays dark on their scanners, we greenlight the rollout. If not…"
"I'll rip it apart and start again," Mel finished for him. "You got it, General."
Sico looked around the lab again, taking in the madness, the controlled chaos that Mel called a workspace.
"You've done good work here. More than good."
Mel gave a tired chuckle. "I just want to make sure when the shooting starts, we're not blindfolded and holding a butter knife."
"We won't be," Sico said. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
He hesitated, then lowered his voice.
"Mel… what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this lab. Not even to your assistants."
Mel's eyes narrowed, nodding. "I'm listening."
"The Institute's trying to start a war. False flag attacks. Synth infiltrators dressed as Brotherhood. Same tactic in reverse. They want us to tear each other apart so they can pick through the ashes."
Mel stared at him for a beat, then exhaled. "That's… insane. But it tracks. Synths are perfect for that kind of operation."
"That's why your work matters more than ever," Sico said. "We need to scan for infiltrators. But we also need the enemy to think we're blind—or at least confused."
Mel grinned, a glint of fire in his eyes despite the exhaustion. "Then we'll give 'em a show. I'll bake in a decoy signature module too. Make it look like we're running cold tech when we're actually watching everything."
Sico smiled slightly. "Now you're thinking like a general."
Mel raised a brow. "Don't promote me, man. I like my lab. I don't want to give speeches."
Sico laughed—a brief, genuine sound. "Deal."
He turned to go, but then paused.
"Mel. One more thing. Run internal scans. Quiet ones. Everyone. Even command staff."
Mel didn't need to ask why. "We'll start tonight. Randomized sweeps. No one will notice a pattern."
Sico nodded once, then walked out, leaving Mel already muttering to himself and scribbling something onto a nearby notepad.
The hallway outside was quiet again, but the silence didn't last long. His radio crackled to life, a voice coming through—Sarah.
"General. We just got a report from Oberland. One of our supply trucks got hit—convoy en route from Greyditch. Casualties confirmed. Survivors say they saw Brotherhood colors."
Sico stopped in his tracks.
"Was it them?" he asked sharply.
"We're checking," Sarah replied. "But I've got a gut feeling you're not gonna like what we find."
Sico's jaw tightened. He looked down the hall, then back the way he came. The fuse had been lit. And now, the game was on.
________________________________________________
• 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:-