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The next move would not be political, because it would be a war between 3 largest faction of the Commonwealth.
The early morning mist still hung over Sanctuary when Sico stepped out of his tent, the half-dried parchment of the Articles tucked neatly under his arm. The settlement was beginning to stir—the low murmur of boots crunching over gravel, the hiss of soldering tools from the engineering shed, and the unmistakable rhythmic pounding of hammers from the workshop where Sarah was already overseeing armor fittings for a new unit. A quiet determination lingered in the air, heavy but resolute, like the moments before a great storm—or a great birth.
Sico pulled his coat tight against the chill and made his way toward the central radio tower, where a familiar figure was already scribbling notes in the margin of a notebook nearly twice her size. Piper Wright looked up as he approached, her trademark newsboy cap tilted slightly forward, a pencil perched between her teeth and ink stains smudging the edge of her fingers.
"You look like a man who's about to declare war," she said around the pencil, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "Or maybe something even scarier… like founding a government."
Sico cracked a tired smile. "Close. We're calling the Commonwealth to the table. It's time they heard what we've been building. What we're offering."
Piper tucked the pencil behind her ear and stood up straight. "You're sure about this? Once it's out there, you don't get to walk it back."
"I'm sure," he said without hesitation. "The Institute thinks they can lurk in the shadows forever. The Brotherhood wants to conquer and preserve only what suits them. But we've got something they don't: the will to hand power to the people. We're not playing their game anymore. We're writing new rules."
He handed her the folded parchment. Piper took it reverently, as though holding a piece of living history.
"Broadcast goes out today," he added. "Use Radio Freedom. We'll make sure every working speaker from here to Quincy hears us."
Piper nodded, but there was a weight behind her eyes. "You really think this'll unite people? I mean… after everything? There are settlers out there who don't trust anyone with a title. Let alone someone calling themselves 'President.'"
"I don't want their trust," Sico said quietly. "Not yet. I want their ears. If they listen, we have a chance."
Two Hours Later — Radio Freedom Broadcast Tower, Sanctuary
The tower was alive with technicians and radio specialists, a team led by Jun Long and Sturges, who had rigged every usable transmitter in the region to carry the signal. Massive generators hummed with power as dials were calibrated, antennas adjusted, and frequencies aligned. The sun had burned away the last of the morning haze, casting long golden beams across Sanctuary's rebuilt homes and the small flags fluttering on rooftops.
Piper sat in front of the main microphone, the parchment laid out in front of her, adjusted slightly to avoid any creases in her reading flow. Her voice was legendary across the Commonwealth—a voice that survivors recognized, even if they never saw her face. A voice that had carried news of deathclaws and raiders, of Institute kidnappings and synth disappearances, but also of hope, heroism, and resistance.
This, however, would be her most important message yet.
She waited for Sturges to give her the nod.
"You're live in three… two… one…"
The red light blinked on.
Piper leaned forward, took a breath, and began.
"Good morning, Commonwealth.
This is Piper Wright, broadcasting live from Sanctuary Hills—once rubble, now reborn. I'm speaking to you not as a reporter, not as a Minuteman, but as one of you. A survivor. A fighter. A citizen.
And today, I have something new to bring you. Not a warning. Not a call to arms. But a chance.
For too long, we've lived under the rule of fear. Of war. Of silence. The Institute watches from the shadows. The Brotherhood marches from the skies. But while they hoard knowledge and firepower, there is a third path now being paved by people like you and me.
The Minutemen—yes, the same ones you've heard stories about—are not just defending farms or fending off Super Mutants anymore. Under General Sico's leadership, they're building something greater. Something new. A government. A future.
Today, we share with you the foundation of that future: the Articles of Restoration."
She took a pause, just long enough for the signal to carry into the wasteland's farthest reaches. Then she began to read.
Word for word, she delivered Sico's preamble and the first two articles, her voice unwavering:
"We, the Minutemen to the people of the Commonwealth, in pursuit of peace, unity, and justice, hereby establish the Articles of Restoration…"
All across the Commonwealth, speakers crackled to life. In Diamond City, residents gathered by the Power Noodle stand to listen in disbelief. In Goodneighbor, Fahrenheit leaned back in his chair, a joint smoldering in his fingers, brow furrowed with thought. In Nordhagen, farmers paused their plowing and wiped their brows. Even in raider territory, a few curious ears stopped to listen—if only for a moment.
The message was spreading. And the Commonwealth was listening.
"This isn't just words on paper," Piper concluded. "This is an invitation. To debate. To build. To participate. The Minutemen will be sending copies of this draft to every settlement we can reach. We ask only this: read it. Talk about it. Add your voice.
The war may still come. The threats haven't vanished. But now, for the first time in two centuries… we're offering something more than survival.
We're offering a future.
This is Radio Freedom. And we are the Commonwealth."
Sturges cut the transmission.
A beat passed.
Then the radio control room erupted in low, stunned murmurs. Outside, settlers were already huddling in conversation, the fire of ideas sparking to life in real time. Some looked skeptical. Others inspired. But most importantly—they were talking.
Sico stood at the edge of the tower's second floor, looking out over the town. He didn't smile. He didn't cheer. But something deep in his chest felt still. Anchored. As if, for the first time in years, he was no longer simply reacting to the world—but shaping it.
Sarah joined him moments later, her arms crossed, helmet under her arm.
"It's out there now," she said.
Sico nodded. "Now we see who comes to stand with us."
She glanced toward the eastern horizon, where the soft shimmer of the glowing sea marked the edge of known territory.
"And if they don't?"
"Then we keep going," he replied. "One settlement. One voice. One law at a time."
While on the Prydwen, Knight Captain Kells replayed the transmission again on the Prydwen's comms screen. Maxson listened in silence, arms folded behind his back.
When it ended, there was a long pause.
"They're moving faster than expected," Kells said.
Maxson gave a single nod. "Fools mistaking law for leadership. A civilian government in a world this broken? It's a dream. And dreams die fast."
He turned to a nearby scribe.
"Record this. A response broadcast. We'll remind the people who's protecting them. Not with promises. But with power."
Deep Underground on the underground, on the Institute Directorate Chamber, the mood was different here. Quieter. Colder.
"They're trying to build a republic," Ayo said, distaste thick in his voice.
"And they're not hiding it anymore," Allie added. "This 'Articles of Restoration'—it's political warfare."
"They want legitimacy," Holdren muttered.
Nora's expression was unreadable as she turned to Father. "What do we do?"
Father didn't answer immediately. He simply stared at the parchment now displayed on the main monitor.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"We watch. We let them spread their message. And when their ideals collapse under the weight of reality… we'll be there to offer something better."
As the sun dipped behind the cracked skyline of Boston, Sico sat once more in his tent, the glow of the brazier casting flickers of orange across the canvas walls. A new stack of parchment rested beside him—early letters from settlements already responding to the broadcast.
Some skeptical.
Some supportive.
One, from a farming family near Somerville Place, simply read: "We thought no one remembered us. We'll vote. Send us someone to talk to."
Sico leaned back in his chair, the reply from Somerville Place still clutched in his hand. The paper was rough, the ink uneven—probably written with a scavenged fountain pen on repurposed ledger paper—but the message it carried hit deeper than any laser musket ever could. "We thought no one remembered us." That line echoed in his thoughts, a quiet indictment of years lost to chaos, neglect, and isolation.
He reached for the radio transceiver on the small desk beside him and tuned it to the local command frequency.
"Sarah," he said into the mic, his voice low but resolute.
She answered almost immediately, her voice a calm steadiness he'd come to rely on. "Go ahead, General."
"I want a team dispatched to Somerville Place by morning. Two representatives—civilian faces, not soldiers. They're asking to talk, not to fight. Let's show them they were right to reach out."
There was a brief pause. "Copy that. I'll send Julia and Marcus—they've both got settler backgrounds, they'll know how to talk to folks without sounding like we're handing down orders."
"Good," he said. "Make sure they've got supplies to share. Basic meds, food, and printed copies of the Articles. And tell them to listen more than they talk."
"Understood," Sarah replied. "I'll brief them tonight."
The transmission clicked off, leaving only the soft hum of the brazier's flame and the crackling of parchment as Sico set the letter down. He ran a hand over his face, the rough stubble on his chin scratching against his glove. He hadn't slept properly in days. The adrenaline of the broadcast had carried him through, but now it was settling—becoming something deeper, heavier. The work was just beginning.
A soft knock came at the tent's flap, followed by the voice of his young secretary, Carla—barely twenty, a former scavver from Lexington who'd found her place organizing reports and messages with a diligence few matched.
"General?" she said gently. "Got a fresh round of reports if you're ready."
"Come in," he said, standing to stretch as she entered.
Carla stepped inside, clutching a worn clipboard in one hand and a thick folder in the other. Her braid was loose today, stray hairs falling into her eyes as she adjusted her glasses.
She set the folder on the desk and started flipping through it, thumbing through pages filled with hand-written notes, old-world typewriter printouts, and hastily scribbled memos from scouts, emissaries, and settlement leaders.
"Early signs are promising," she said, tapping the top page. "We've heard from Finch Farm, Oberland Station, and the people out near Egret Tours Marina. Not just acknowledgments—they're pleased. Not excited exactly, but… hopeful. Cautiously so. They're saying things like, 'finally,' and, 'it's about damn time.' A lot of them have lost too much to believe right away, but they're paying attention."
Sico nodded, taking in each word with quiet intensity.
"And the overall tone?" he asked.
"Positive," she confirmed. "They like that we're not forcing anything. That we're giving them a chance to participate instead of issuing commands. The way Piper read the message—it didn't come across like propaganda. It felt honest."
He exhaled through his nose, a flicker of relief in his chest. "That was the goal. No threats, no ultimatums. Just a hand held out."
Carla glanced at another note. "Oh—and get this. Someone at the slog actually asked for printed ballots. They want to organize a town vote about whether to send a representative to Sanctuary. They said they've been self-managing since the ghouls took over, but this… this feels different."
A smile finally cracked through Sico's exhaustion. "That's incredible."
"There's more," she added, flipping the page. "County Crossing wants to establish a direct line with us. Like, a regular relay. They've got a ham radio guy who says he can patch into our system with a little help from Sturges. Thinks it'd make coordination easier in emergencies and 'political dialogue.' His words, not mine."
Sico chuckled softly, amazed at how quickly the message had begun to take root. The Commonwealth, after centuries of decay, was beginning to pulse again with something that resembled civic life.
"I'll talk to Sturges," he said. "Let's get that relay set up."
Carla nodded and handed him the rest of the folder before slipping back out of the tent. Outside, the sounds of Sanctuary had changed. No longer just the hammers and engines and drills—it was people talking. Debating. Questioning. The Articles were being read and discussed like scripture and scandal rolled into one. And that was exactly what he'd hoped for.
Sico poured himself a small cup of boiled water from a battered tin kettle. It wasn't coffee, but it was warm, and that was enough. He sat again, flipping through the pages Carla had left. Each report carried a different voice, a different texture of thought, but the undercurrent was consistent.
Hope.
Not blind or naïve—but practical, earned hope. The kind that came from seeing crops grow again in dead soil. From watching a child learn to read in a reclaimed schoolhouse. From knowing, finally, that there was someone out there willing to put up a fight not just for safety—but for dignity.
As he read, his thoughts drifted back to that first moment—standing beside Preston on the walls of Sanctuary, months ago, watching the first settlers arrive with nothing but battered suitcases and haunted eyes. They hadn't been ready to talk about government then. Hell, most of them weren't sure they'd survive the winter. But they had. And with each passing season, something greater had taken root.
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• 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:-