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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.
The next morning dawned gray and still over Sanctuary Hills.
The smoke from yesterday's firefight still lingered faintly in the western skies, and the hum of rebuilding was already echoing from the southern walls. Mechanics were servicing the scorched Sentinel tank, wiping synth fluids off the plating with grim determination. Power armor suits stood lined up like sentinels themselves—silent, imposing, ready to march again if called.
Sico hadn't slept much.
He had spent most of the night reviewing reports, checking casualty lists, and poring over the synth remains brought back from the battlefield. The signs were clear—this wasn't a one-off ambush. The Institute had made its move. But the Minutemen had hit back, hard.
Now it was time for the Commonwealth to know.
He made his way through the central courtyard, nodding to engineers and militia volunteers who stepped aside with salutes or tired smiles. Whispers followed him—not of fear, but pride. The General was on the move. That meant something.
As he approached the Radio Freedom tower, the familiar static-laced murmur of broadcasts met him, mixed with the distant clink of tools and voices calling out status checks. Piper was already there, perched on the stool near the transmitter, sipping coffee from a dented metal mug and flipping through her notes.
She looked up as he walked in, arching an eyebrow.
"You here to give the Commonwealth some morning inspiration?" she asked, setting the cup down.
Sico leaned against the wall for a moment, arms folded. He stared out the window at the rising sun bleeding through the clouds.
"They need to know," he said simply. "About Echo-2. About what happened. And that we won."
Piper nodded slowly. She picked up her microphone, adjusted the gain on the broadcast line, and waited for his cue. He stepped forward, eyes hard but voice steady as he began to speak.
"This is General Sico, broadcasting on Radio Freedom to every Minuteman settlement and every free soul across the Commonwealth."
The station buzzed to life.
"Yesterday, the Institute made its move. They ambushed a patrol west of Abernathy Farm—Patrol Echo-2. No warning. No declaration. Just an attack."
He paused. Let it sink in.
"But we were ready. We responded. Reinforcements rolled in from the south. Power armor. A Sentinel tank. Brave men and women stood their ground."
He looked at Piper, who gave a small nod, adjusting the gain slightly to balance the signal as the transmission echoed out across the airwaves.
"They wanted to break us. Instead, they learned what happens when you attack the people of the Commonwealth."
There was a thump in his voice now. Controlled fury. A fire behind the words.
"They lost that battle. We recovered our wounded. We retrieved the bodies of our enemies. We held the line. And we will continue to hold the line."
Outside, Minutemen walking by began to pause. Tools were set down. Conversations hushed.
"This is not just a fight between soldiers. This is a war for the right to live free. To live above the ground, under the sky, without fear of being taken, replaced, or silenced."
Sico stepped closer to the mic now, eyes fierce.
"To every settlement listening—know this: we start this war because they attack us first. But we will finish it. The Institute struck first. We struck back. And we won."
Piper glanced over at him, silently mouthing one word: "Damn."
Sico finished.
"Prepare yourselves. But don't be afraid. We're not alone. We are united. We are strong. And we are the Minutemen."
He stepped away from the mic. Piper flicked the line off, then leaned back, exhaling.
"Well," she said with a half-smile, "if that doesn't light a fire under their asses, I don't know what will."
Sico didn't answer right away. He was looking out the window again, where sunlight was breaking through the clouds over the hills.
"Get that message on repeat," he said. "People need to hear it. Not just once. All day."
"You got it, General."
She began setting the loop, and as the speakers across Sanctuary began playing the transmission again, cheers started rising from various corners. A few fists pumped in the air. Someone shouted, "We got the bastards!" from the armory deck. Laughter followed.
Victory.
Not just a military one—but a psychological one. And in a war like this, those might matter even more.
Sico stepped outside, the breeze tugging gently at his coat. Preston was approaching with a datapad, flanked by Sarah and Mel.
"We're getting responses already," Preston said. "Abernathy's doubling up patrols. Oberland says they've got volunteers reporting in. Even some old Gunners who say they want to fight."
Mel smiled faintly, though her eyes were tired. "We're running diagnostics on the recovered synths. Looks like Mark III models—latest variants. Fast. Durable. But they're sloppy when rushed."
"Anything useful in their chips?" Sico asked.
"Still decrypting," she replied. "But we'll get something."
Sarah nodded toward the northern horizon. "You were right about one thing, though. They struck first. That gives us the narrative."
Sico looked at them all. His core team. His friends. The people he trusted to hold the Commonwealth together when everything else fell apart.
"Let's make sure we don't waste it," he said. "They've drawn first blood. Now we make them regret it."
By midday, the Radio Freedom broadcast had become the talk of every farmstead, settlement, and trading outpost from Tenpines Bluff to Quincy. Couriers were racing across the wasteland with updated orders and rallying posters. A few enterprising settlers even painted "Victory at Echo-2" across rooftops and gates.
But while the Commonwealth was celebrating, Sico wasn't resting.
In the command room, he huddled over the map wall again with Preston, Sarah, Robert, and MacCready, drawing new red circles over suspected Institute entry points—abandoned vaults, sewer systems, old subway tunnels. They were everywhere and nowhere at once.
"We need a target," MacCready muttered. "Something big. Hit 'em where it hurts."
"We just hit them," Sarah replied. "We can't rush the next move or we'll fall into a trap."
"She's right," Sico said. "But we also can't give them time to regroup. We find a facility—something crucial. Not their HQ, not yet. But a key outpost. Something that sends a message."
"Greenetech?" Preston suggested. "Still active. We've got synth signals bouncing around the upper floors. Could be a forward hub."
MacCready leaned in. "Give me two Commando squads. I'll take it down."
Sico considered it. Then gave a sharp nod.
"Prep for deployment. We go tomorrow."
That evening, Sanctuary held a small ceremony—not one of celebration, but remembrance. The missing soldier from Echo-2 was confirmed KIA. His armor was found half-buried near the trees. His body… stripped for parts by the synths. There was no way to know if he died instantly or after they took him.
Sico stood silently as Piper read the names of the wounded and the dead.
The Commonwealth had won, yes—but even victories came with loss.
He approached the family of the fallen, resting a hand on the mother's shoulder. She was weeping quietly. Her son had been seventeen.
"I promise you," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "he didn't die for nothing. I won't let it be for nothing."
The mother looked up, nodded once. She didn't say a word. But her eyes held something deeper than sorrow.
Pride.
Late into the night, Sico walked alone past the edge of the southern wall. The stars were out—cold, distant pinpricks of light. He pulled a folded page from his coat. Nora's handwriting.
The latest intel had come through.
He read it by flashlight: Internal disagreement in the Institute. Ayo acting rogue. Shaun trying to hold back escalation. Possible fractures in command. Surveillance orders increased. They want a psychological profile on you.
Sico laughed quietly.
Let them try.
He folded the page and slipped it back into his pocket.
This war would be long. It would be brutal. But it would be won not just with firepower—but with information, timing, unity, and will.
And on all those fronts—the Minutemen were ready.
Tomorrow, they'd strike back.
Tonight, they held the line.
And across the Commonwealth, the message kept playing:
"We start this war because they attack us first."
"They struck first. We struck back. And we won."
"We are the Minutemen."
The next day broke colder than expected. A mist hung low over Sanctuary Hills, rolling across the cracked pavement and dead grass like the breath of something ancient waking from sleep. The sun struggled behind a veil of silver clouds, casting a diffused light over the valley below.
It was the kind of morning you could feel in your bones.
And it was the kind of morning for war.
The motor pool on the eastern ridge of Sanctuary was alive with motion. Mechanics in grease-streaked fatigues barked orders, their sleeves rolled up to elbows as they worked fast to load gear and check armor plating. The staccato clang of metal against metal filled the air, a rhythm as constant as a heartbeat. Ammunition crates were being loaded into the back of trucks by militia volunteers, their breath fogging in the chill.
Sico stood at the center of it all, arms crossed as he surveyed the assembly.
Four squads of Commandos—each one hardened, well-drilled, and ready. The best the Minutemen had. Veterans from Quincy, sharp-shooters from Oberland, tunnel fighters from the glowing sea patrols. Many wore mismatched gear patched together from years of scavenging and salvaging, but it didn't matter—they wore the symbol of the Minutemen, and that was enough.
Behind them, a full Power Armor team clanked into formation, hydraulic servos hissing with each step. The sun finally broke through the mist long enough to glint off the dull bronze paint on their chest plates—each one bearing a stenciled Minutemen star. Some bore kill markers. One had a painted flaming sword. All of them looked like they meant business.
And behind them—two Sentinel tanks, rumbling and humming as their heavy treads crushed dried leaves and debris. They were monstrous behemoths of Minutemen ingenuity: rebuilt from pre-war shells and fitted with a mix of plasma cannons, railguns, and machine turrets. Just their presence inspired confidence.
Six Humvees and ten trucks were parked and idling nearby. Drivers stood by, maps folded under arms, awaiting the signal.
Robert stood next to Sico, helmet in hand, eyes narrowed at the horizon. His breath came out in slow plumes. MacCready was pacing, muttering to himself as he checked the sights on his rifle.
"They say Greenetech's still hot," MacCready muttered. "Synth signals bouncing like crazy. But nobody's seen anything up close. Not since that caravan went missing last week."
Robert didn't look away from the tanks. "We're walking into a hornet's nest."
Sico nodded once. "Then we burn the nest down."
A silence followed, but it wasn't heavy. It was focused.
Preston arrived moments later, handing Sico a folded paper. "Latest recon from the blimp scouts. Synth movement confirmed in the upper floors of Greenetech. Automated turrets on the western side. Entry through the front will be suicide."
"So we go through the side," Sico said, already stepping toward the mission board. "Deploy from rooftops if we have to. Blow a wall open. Whatever it takes."
Sarah joined them then, her eyes shadowed by a night spent reviewing logistics and convoy routes. "We've got thirty seconds of open drone feed before their jammers scramble the signal. But it was enough—we counted at least twenty hostiles, maybe more, spread across six floors. Some kind of central command center on the roof."
"Think they're watching us back?" Robert asked.
Sarah gave a tired shrug. "Doesn't matter. By the time they realize what's happening, we'll already be at their door."
Sico turned back to the gathered soldiers. "Get to your positions."
Engines roared to life. Soldiers boarded the trucks, rifles slung, eyes sharp. Commandos double-checked their gear with ritual precision. Power Armor suits whined as their fusion cores kicked into full capacity. The Sentinel tanks growled low as their engines settled into a steady rumble.
Piper stood on the balcony above the motor pool, snapping a picture with her old-world camera. She didn't call out—she just gave Sico a thumbs-up.
He nodded back once.
And then, with a signal from his hand, the column began to move.
The journey south was tense, even though the roads were clear. The convoy followed the northern bypass, steering wide of known feral zones and raider camps. A few scavvers along the roadside watched in awe as the Minutemen force rolled past, mouths agape at the sight of tanks and trucks in formation.
It wasn't just a military column.
It was a message.
The Commonwealth hadn't seen force projection like this since before the bombs fell.
Every few miles, Sico's comm crackled with updates—Sarah coordinating from the Castle, Preston managing fallback squads, Piper sending word to settlers across the region. Rumors were already spreading like fire: Greenetech was next. The Minutemen were on the move.
By midday, they had reached their staging point—a ruined apartment block just north of the Greenetech tower. The convoy halted in silence, engines cut, and soldiers disembarked quickly.
Sico crouched behind a burned-out car, looking up at the looming, skeletal structure of Greenetech Genetics. The building jutted skyward like a broken finger, windows long since shattered, vines crawling up its rusted frame. But its core was lit—dim flickers of power visible through the upper levels.
There was life in there.
Or something like it.
MacCready slid up beside him, binoculars in hand. "Turrets on the fifth floor. No patrols visible. Either they're inside… or waiting."
Robert joined them with a map. "East stairwell is still intact. Leads up to the third floor. Could plant breachers there."
"Let's do it," Sico said. "MacCready, you lead Squad One and Two through the stairwell. Breach and clear. Robert, you and I go in with Sentinel One through the garage level. Power Armor goes with Squad Three—rooftop insertion. Squad Four stays on overwatch with Sentinel Two, covering our rear."
Orders flew fast. Movements synchronized. Explosives were rigged, charges set. A quiet tension settled—everyone knew what came next.
And then, with a thunderous roar, the breach went off.
The east wall of Greenetech exploded inward, flames and debris vomiting out onto the street. Within seconds, Minutemen Commandos were pouring in, rifles raised, sweeping rooms with brutal efficiency.
Gunfire erupted from above. A synth dropped through a shattered ceiling tile, glowing blue eyes blazing. MacCready shot it mid-air with a precise headshot.
Another synth popped out behind a desk—was cut down by a spray from a Commando's shotgun.
In the garage, Sico led the charge. Sentinel One rolled forward like a god of war, its twin cannons shredding the automated turrets with bone-rattling blasts. Synths tried to rally, only to be crushed beneath the tank's treads or mowed down by Minutemen fire.
Robert lobbed a plasma grenade down the hall, shouting, "Clear left!"
"Going right!" Sico shouted back.
They moved like a single organism—one forged in fire and loss, bound by duty and rage.
On the rooftop, the Power Armor team made contact with a command synth. It was bigger, stronger, smarter—its voice modulated and eerie.
"You don't understand what you're doing," it growled, before opening fire.
The lead armor trooper didn't answer. Just activated a jump-jet and tackled the synth straight through the rooftop access door.
The fight raged for nearly an hour. Floors were cleared, traps dismantled, hostiles eliminated. One by one, the synths fell.
When it was over, the Greenetech tower was silent.
Sico stood over the remains of the command synth, now a pile of scorched metal and flickering circuits. He was breathing hard, armor dented, but still standing.
"Status?" he asked over comms.
"All clear," MacCready replied. "Third and fourth floors secured. We've got wounded, but no KIA."
Robert chimed in, "Central server intact. Sarah's team is on the way to extract it."
Sico nodded, staring down at the synth. "Let's find out what they were doing here."
By sunset, the tower was secured. A full sweep was underway. Sarah arrived via Vertibird with a tech team, immediately beginning work on the server stacks. The data would take time to decrypt—but even now, it was a prize.
Outside, the troops gathered in a loose formation, watching as the Minutemen flag was raised over Greenetech Genetics.
Cheers broke out. Some laughed. Some wept quietly. Others just stood in silence, watching the flag flutter against the blood-red sky.
Victory.
Again.
Piper's voice came through the radio not long after. "Transmission's out. 'Greenetech is ours. The Institute bleeds.' That's the headline."
Sico looked up at the ruined skyline, smoke curling upward like ghosts into the twilight.
It wasn't over. Not by a long shot. But tonight—tonight they had struck back. Hard.
As the soldiers settled into guard shifts and medics worked to stabilize the wounded, Sico stood alone near the edge of the rooftop, watching the lights of the Commonwealth flicker in the distance.
________________________________________________
• 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:-