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Because war had come to the Commonwealth. Not with silence. Not with mystery. But with truth, fury… and fire.
Then all settlements and outposts across Minutemen territory went on high alert.
The war had just begun, but the Commonwealth wasn't waiting to be caught off guard.
From the windswept coastal shores near Nordhagen Beach to the far reaches of Outpost Zimonja, radios buzzed with new orders and warning signals. The Minutemen network, a patchwork of caravans, radios, flare relays, and scouts, flared to life like a nervous system jolted awake. Sirens wailed in some areas, bells clanged in others, and across dozens of settlements, people dropped what they were doing and rushed to ready their defenses.
In some places, settlers were already moving with practiced efficiency—sandbags hauled into position, turrets calibrated, barricades reinforced with scrap metal and old construction plates. Everywhere, settlers and volunteers began forming up into militias. Old-timers who remembered Quincy passed rifles to green hands who had never even fired one. Cooks traded ladles for pistols. Farmers stashed their tools and opened up the hidden caches they'd long buried beneath floorboards and behind false walls.
They had lived under threat for too long to be surprised now.
This time, they were fighting back.
At Sanctuary Hills, Sico stood at the heart of it all.
He wasn't the kind of leader to bark from behind closed doors. He was out there—boots in the dirt, voice over the radio, face lit by the flickering terminals in the war room. His presence was calm, unshakable. And his orders were swift.
"Preston," he said, pacing toward the operations board covered in maps and movement markers. "I want increased patrols across every inch of our territory. No gaps. No weak points."
Preston Garvey nodded, already scribbling down new movement orders and relaying messages through the radio. "You want full armor support?"
Sico didn't hesitate. "If they need it, they use it. Pull the Sentinels if we have to."
There was a moment of pause as Preston absorbed the weight of that statement. The Sentinel tanks—sleek, towering machines of Minutemen engineering, reverse-engineered from pre-War tech that Sico build with his own schematics—were the crown jewels of their arsenal. With only twelve in the entire Minutemen force, each one was more than a vehicle—it was a symbol of strength.
"We've got twelve," Sico continued. "Two stay at the Castle. Two stay at Minutemen Plaza. The other eight—here, in Sanctuary. Move four out. Rotate their patrols. Keep them visible. Let everyone know we're not hiding."
Preston raised an eyebrow. "That's going to drain resources fast."
"Then we move faster," Sico replied. "Speed beats fear."
Then he turned to another holoboard—this one showing recent synth sightings, encoded transmission intercepts, and a list of suspected infiltration sites.
"Also… power armor teams. Keep a squad on standby here in Sanctuary at all times. But I want two teams out there patrolling the perimeter. If they see anything that twitches the wrong way, they call it in and shut it down."
The orders rolled out like thunder.
Minutes later, across Sanctuary, the whir of servo-motors filled the air as Minutemen in modified T-51 power armor began prepping for deployment. They moved like living tanks—each one fitted with custom paint schemes, Minutemen sigils, and unique callsigns emblazoned across their chestplates.
Children watched from porches as the patrols stomped off down cracked roads, and mothers held their babies tight—but this wasn't a scene of despair.
This was a show of strength.
Meanwhile, Sico stepped down from the command platform, heading straight toward the armory bunker on the east side of Sanctuary.
Waiting for him there was MacCready, leaning against the wall with a cigarette and his usual half-smirk.
"Got the call," MacCready said. "You want synths gone. We'll make them gone."
Sico didn't waste words. "You lead the Commandos. I want targeted strikes on any location we know—or suspect—has synth activity. I don't want their infrastructure damaged. I want it decimated."
MacCready dropped the cigarette and crushed it underfoot. "That's what we do best."
The Minutemen Commandos weren't like the standard defense forces stationed at settlements. These were handpicked, black-ops-style soldiers—fast, quiet, lethal. Veterans from old merc crews, former Brotherhood renegades, ex-Gunners with a conscience. Men and women who knew how to ghost into a camp and leave nothing standing.
"Gear up," Sico said. "Priority one: Greenetech Genetics. We've picked up chatter—Institute teams are moving resources through there."
MacCready nodded. "Already got a squad ready. We move at dusk."
Sico's eyes locked with his. "No mistakes."
MacCready gave a thin smile. "You brought me back from the Capital Wasteland for a reason, boss. This is it."
Then he turned, heading into the shadows of the armory to gear up. Sniper rifle slung over one shoulder. Pulse grenades strapped to his vest. A knife on his thigh, and a dozen more in places only he knew.
Back outside, the tempo had changed.
Sanctuary was now a fortress.
Checkpoint lights blinked red instead of amber. Sandbag bunkers lined the main road. Automated turrets hummed as they swept the sky and the streets. Scavenged vertibird parts had been welded into watchtowers. And at the center of it all—under the cracked remnants of an American flag—the war table glowed in the early night.
Piper stood by one of the tents near the broadcast tower, scribbling furiously into her notebook as her voice recorder ran.
She caught sight of Sico emerging again and waved him over. "Word's already coming back in from the settlements," she said, offering a worn holotape.
He popped it into the receiver at the terminal nearby, and voices filled the air.
"This is Finch Farm. We're with you, General."
"Oberland says aye. No Institute sonsabitches taking our land."
"Murkwater's on lockdown. We'll hold, no matter what."
"Greentop to Sanctuary—got a militia formed, two turrets online, and the kids are safe."
One by one, they came in. From every corner of the map. From every frightened town that had once begged for help—now ready to fight.
Piper leaned against the table and exhaled. "They're not scared anymore."
Sico nodded. "That's because they finally know who the enemy is."
She looked at him, brow furrowed slightly. "You think we'll survive this?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked out over Sanctuary—now glowing with a cold orange light from the spotlights and torch barrels, its perimeter humming with the sound of machinery and determination.
Then he looked back at her.
"No," he said quietly. "We're not here to survive this."
She stared at him.
"We're here to win it."
And with that, he turned back toward the war room—where new reports were coming in by the minute, where markers were being moved across the map, where the future of the Commonwealth was being written in fire and steel.
Back in the heart of Sanctuary Hills, the air carried a tension you could almost taste. Patrols had been deployed, defenses fortified, and the command center was a constant hum of voices, radio static, and shifting strategies. The Commonwealth was on the edge of something massive—and everyone knew it.
But just as the calm before the storm settled across the settlement, the radio room cracked to life again.
A voice came through, panicked, broken up by bursts of gunfire in the background.
"This is Patrol Echo-2! We're under fire! Repeat—we're under fire! Institute forces—synths—ambush at the treeline west of Abernathy!"
The room froze.
Preston turned his head sharply toward the radio officer. "Lock that signal. Track every detail. Get me a visual if we can."
Sico didn't speak right away. He simply turned, eyes narrowing as he walked toward the map wall, his mind already racing ahead of the report.
This was it. The first shot. The war wasn't just a declaration anymore.
It was real.
"Preston," he said, his voice steel. "Get reinforcements to Echo-2. Now. I want two squads in power armor and a Sentinel to roll in from the south ridge. Priority escort. Bring those soldiers home."
"On it," Preston replied, already shouting into the relay.
The entire war room kicked into high gear. Men and women scrambled to their posts, new commands poured into terminals, and the automated relay beacons lit up across the network—flashing red.
Sirens wailed across Sanctuary once more.
The war had begun.
But just before the scene could spiral fully into chaos, we pull back… shifting far below the surface of the Commonwealth, to the stark, metallic halls of the Institute.
Deep in the inner sanctum, beneath layers of concrete, steel, and cold calculation, Father—Shaun—stood at the head of a long conference table.
The room was quiet except for the soft whir of machines and the occasional shuffling of a clipboard or terminal log. Around him sat the senior Directorate: Allie Fillmore of Advanced Systems, Dr. Clayton Holdren from Bioscience, Dr. Madison Li of Robotics, Justin Ayo of Synth Retention, and a few other top officials.
And beside them, sitting with a notepad seemingly as one of the team—but secretly something far more dangerous—was Nora.
Mother to the man who stood before them all.
Spy for the man now leading the Minutemen.
Nora's presence had always been unusual. Shaun insisted she be present during high-level meetings ever since her integration into the Institute's civilian division. To most, she was a symbolic gesture—a connection to humanity, to the surface world. Someone Father trusted.
But she had her own mission.
And right now, her pen moved slowly beneath the table, recording every piece of information she could extract from the meeting. Every phrase, every code word, every plan—etched in her neat handwriting and tucked into the seam of her sleeve.
"We've confirmed it," Shaun was saying, his voice low but certain. "The Minutemen have declared war."
There was no outburst, no shock. Just a murmur of breath and an exchange of dark glances.
Shaun continued. "Our initial assumptions were correct. The intercepted transmission—Radio Freedom's broadcast—wasn't bluster. This was a premeditated move. Coordinated. Not just a loose militia anymore. They've militarized. Strategized."
Allie Fillmore leaned forward, tapping her terminal. "So what's our response? We can't just sit here waiting for them to strike."
Justin Ayo scoffed. "We've already struck. One of their patrols—Echo-2—was eliminated an hour ago."
Shaun raised an eyebrow. "I gave no authorization for that."
Ayo shrugged, unapologetic. "We don't have the luxury to wait for permission. We know where they are. We know who they are. If we delay, they'll fortify the entire surface."
Nora kept writing.
So. Unauthorized aggression. Ayo going rogue. That was something Sico would want to know.
Dr. Holdren leaned in. "What about infiltration? We've seeded synth units in multiple key settlements already. Shall we activate the next phase?"
Shaun's face hardened. "Not yet."
A pause. Everyone in the room looked surprised.
"Explain," said Ayo.
"If we escalate too quickly, we lose public control," Shaun said. "They still view us as a myth. A shadow. The more real we become, the more united they become. We can't give them a common enemy too soon."
"We're already that enemy!" Allie snapped.
"Exactly," Shaun replied. "Which is why we'll control the pace. No overt operations unless strategically critical. I want the next phase of synth infiltration halted until I say otherwise. Understood?"
There were murmurs of reluctant agreement.
Nora wrote faster.
She was careful not to react, to keep her expression neutral. But inside, her thoughts raced. If she could get this information back to Sico—if she could help him see not just their movements, but their cracks, their arguments—it could change everything.
Shaun turned back to the group. "We'll focus on intelligence gathering for now. Institute teams will monitor Minutemen movements, especially their command structure. I want a full psychological profile on this 'General'—Sico. Who he talks to, what he prioritizes, how he thinks."
Nora's pen stopped just for a second. Then continued.
Good luck with that, she thought.
You'll never outthink him.
Then Shaun addressed Nora directly.
"Mother… you've spent time among the surface dwellers again. How would you describe their… disposition now?"
The room turned to her. It was rare for her to speak in these meetings, and rarer still for Father to ask for her perspective.
Nora swallowed down the chill in her throat and spoke carefully.
"They're afraid," she said, half-truthfully. "But not like they used to be. This time, it's different."
Shaun nodded. "How so?"
"They're afraid of losing what they've rebuilt," she said slowly. "Not of the Institute's power. They know you're strong. But now… they think they have a chance to fight back."
Shaun's expression shifted—just slightly.
Not anger. Not pride.
Concern.
"They've got leadership now," she added. "Unity. That's more dangerous than any weapon."
Shaun said nothing for a moment. Then he dismissed the meeting with a wave of his hand.
"Monitor the surface. Increase surveillance. And let's prepare contingency strategies… just in case Mother's right."
As the others stood and filtered out, Nora stayed seated, pretending to organize her notes. Then, quietly, she slid the paper from her sleeve into a compartment beneath her terminal.
It would be recovered later.
And relayed back to the man preparing the Commonwealth for war.
Back in Sanctuary, that man stood at the forward defense wall, visor down, watching the patrols return from the Echo-2 battle.
Two were wounded. One was missing.
The Sentinel tank rolled up with scorch marks along its chassis. Synth parts—arms, torsos, twitching still—were being hauled from the flatbed of a makeshift transport. Power armor troopers stood silent, their blue-lit visors gleaming like eyes in the dark.
Preston stepped up beside him. "Held the line. But it's started."
Sico nodded once.
"We fight from here," he said. "Every inch."
And as the stars stretched across the dark sky above, the Minutemen prepared for the long night ahead. This wasn't just a war of weapons. It was a war of truth, will, and survival. And it had only just begun.
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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:-