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Because Elder Maxson was right. When Liberty Prime walked again, when the might of the Brotherhood surged through the Wastes — this chamber, this democracy, this fragile dream — would crumble beneath the iron boots of the only power destined to rule the ashes.
The tension in the congressional chamber settled into a tight coil, wound and silent.
Sico stepped back from the dais, giving Danse the floor. All eyes followed the Paladin as he moved forward again, a composed tower of steel and formality. The Brotherhood insignia on his armor caught the lantern light above — a stark reminder of who stood before them.
Danse placed both gauntleted hands on the wooden stand, posture crisp but unthreatening. He let the silence breathe before he spoke — an old soldier's technique, forcing the room to focus.
"As I explained to President Sico yesterday," Danse began, his voice low and steady, "the Brotherhood of Steel acknowledges the stability brought to this region by your Republic. We understand that the Freemasons are not merely another militia or tribal faction — you are a government, with constitutional authority, a functioning Congress, and, most importantly, the backing of the people."
A few of the delegates nodded. Others remained impassive.
Danse continued, "The Eastern Chapter of the Brotherhood seeks a mutual understanding. We are not offering alliance lightly — nor are we asking for one. We propose a non-aggression pact, intelligence sharing in regard to Institute remnants, and, if mutually beneficial, technological collaboration under strict oversight."
That word — "technology" — stirred a ripple through the chamber.
It was no secret that the Brotherhood guarded technology with fanatic devotion, while the Freemasons had begun cautiously democratizing knowledge: Pip-Boys repaired and handed down like heirlooms, Mr. Handy units used in public works, terminal archives opened to the people. The ideological divide was not just historical — it was philosophical.
Delegate Molina from Somerville Place stood. A wiry man with dark, weather-creased skin and sharp eyes, he wasted no time with pleasantries.
"Paladin Danse," he said, voice carrying clearly through the hall, "I served with the Minutemen. Marched with Preston Garvey during the Siege of Quincy. The Brotherhood called us disorganized. Called our civilians liabilities. And when we started building something lasting, you stayed away. Until now."
Murmurs followed. Someone clapped quietly before being hushed.
Molina didn't stop. "You say you seek peace. But your people see us as an obstacle to control — not as equals. So tell us straight: why now? Why not after the Institute fell? Why wait until we had borders, farms, roads, and schools before extending a hand?"
Danse didn't flinch. "Because, Delegate Molina, we did not fully understand the scope of what you were building. At the time of the Institute's destruction, our intelligence indicated a scattered coalition. But you've proven otherwise. In the past three months, we've observed regional consolidation, standardization of law, and, perhaps most critically, organized civic development. That is why."
"You only came when we became something you couldn't ignore," Delegate Chen from Oberland chimed in. Her tone was calm but edged with suspicion. "You came because we're no longer just a militia — we're a rival."
"That's not how we see it," Danse replied evenly. "We came because this region cannot afford another war. The Commonwealth is on the edge of rebuilding. The Brotherhood recognizes the potential for cooperation — not subjugation."
"Big words," someone muttered.
"Intentions don't erase history," said Delegate Parsons from Finch Farm, standing now. His brother had died defending the northern power station during a skirmish with rogue Brotherhood knights years prior. "The Brotherhood bombed civilian tech caches. Called them security threats. Executed scavengers for using old-world terminals. How do we know you won't call us threats next time a Pip-Boy shows up in the wrong hands?"
Danse took a breath, jaw tight. The helmet under his arm felt heavier than before.
"The Brotherhood I represent today," he said slowly, "is not without mistakes. I will not deny our past actions. But I will state this: we adapt. We learn. And sometimes that means admitting when the battlefield is no longer the solution."
Parsons sat, frowning but silent.
Across the room, Carla leaned in toward Sarah and whispered, "He's good. He's not selling lies. He's selling a story."
Sico remained quiet, observing every reaction. He hadn't called for silence, not yet. He wanted the delegates to probe, to peel back the layers.
And they did.
Delegate Yusuf from Greentop, a stoic farmer who rarely spoke unless prompted, finally stood.
"Defined borders," he said quietly. "You say that like it's nothing. But we know what that really means. You're trying to draw the map. And you want to make sure we won't be on the wrong side of your patrol routes."
Danse nodded once. "We are offering a mutual recognition of territorial lines to avoid further accidental encounters. The last thing either of us needs is a Vertibird detachment crossing into patrol zones and sparking a firefight."
Yusuf scratched his chin but sat without further comment.
Delegate Geneva Ellison, one of the few scholars turned lawmaker, stood next. She was among the authors of the Freemasons Constitution, and her words carried weight.
"Paladin Danse," she said, tone neutral but sharp, "your speech is well-prepared. Respectful. But what troubles me is not what you're saying, but what you haven't."
Danse blinked. "Clarify, please."
"You've named the Institute. You've acknowledged our government. But you haven't once mentioned the ideological difference between your Brotherhood and the Freemasons Republic. We share technology. You hoard it. We trust civilians to govern. You operate under military command. These are not small disagreements — they are foundational. So how do you reconcile those contradictions?"
Danse was silent a beat longer this time.
Then, quietly, he said, "We don't reconcile them. We respect them."
That surprised her.
"We are not asking you to become like us," he continued. "We are not asking for shared governance, or military alignment. We are asking to avoid a war neither of us wants. We are offering a defined separation of ideals — and a recognition that the Wasteland is large enough for more than one vision of order."
The chamber went still. Even Sarah leaned forward slightly, watching Danse with a new light in her eyes.
Sico stepped forward at last, retaking the dais.
He let the silence breathe before speaking.
"The hour grows late," he said. "You've heard the proposal. You've asked your questions. In the spirit of this Congress, and the constitution we've all sworn to uphold, we will now recess for deliberation."
He turned to Danse.
"You may remain in Sanctuary for the next forty-eight hours. You will be informed of the vote once it is cast."
Danse nodded. "Understood."
Sico gaveled the meeting to a close.
As the delegates began rising and murmuring to one another in low clusters, Danse stepped down from the podium and made his way toward the exit. Sico followed him with his eyes until the Paladin disappeared down the corridor.
When only his inner circle remained — Sarah, Carla, Preston, Ronnie Shaw, and a few close security officers — Sico spoke again.
"Well?"
Sarah folded her arms. "He handled them better than I expected. Played it clean. Honest, even."
Carla nodded. "But he didn't deny the past. Didn't sugarcoat it. That'll count for something."
Ronnie Shaw's voice was gruff. "Still don't trust 'em. Brotherhood's always got another card in their deck. But he's smart — came unarmed, gave us choice, not demands."
Preston stepped forward, the soft beat of his boots echoing in the emptying hall. "He's not wrong. The Wasteland is big enough. But that doesn't mean they'll keep playing nice once Liberty Prime's back online."
Sico looked toward the ceiling, hands resting on the edge of the dais. "They want peace now because they're not ready for war."
Sarah's eyes narrowed. "And when they are?"
Sico looked at each of them in turn.
"Then we make sure we're ready too."
The delegates had begun to scatter, drifting out of the great congressional chamber in hushed discussion and private circles of debate. The candles in the wall sconces flickered softly against the stone, casting long shadows across the floor as the lanterns overhead dimmed to their twilight mode. Despite the recess, the energy in the room hadn't truly settled — it had only coiled tighter.
Sico remained at the dais, unmoving, eyes still fixed on the grand wooden doors that Danse had exited through moments earlier. He felt the weight of the moment settle not just on his shoulders but deep in his bones, as though the stone under his boots could sense what loomed on the horizon.
He turned slowly back to the others — Sarah, Preston, Carla, Ronnie, and a few members of the Presidential Guard who lingered respectfully along the walls. The chamber had emptied enough now. He knew the time had come to say what he truly felt — not as President, but as Sico, the man who had walked through fire for the Republic and seen what ambition wrapped in armor could do.
"I'm calling for an addendum to tonight's agenda," Sico said, his voice steady but quiet, the kind of tone that cut through the air more effectively than a shout. "We're not moving to debate or voting just yet."
Carla blinked. "Something wrong?"
Sico stepped down from the dais and stood among his circle, no longer above them, but beside them. His expression was unreadable at first, the way it got when he was weighing truths too heavy to speak plainly.
"I don't like it," he said finally.
The silence that followed was sharp, expectant.
Sarah was the first to respond. "The Brotherhood proposal?"
Sico nodded. "Yeah. I don't like it. It's not just that I don't trust them — we all know their history, and Danse didn't hide it either. But something deeper's scratching at me. Something about this timing."
Ronnie raised a brow. "You think they're lying?"
"No," Sico admitted, "I think Danse believes what he said. I think he means it. That's what makes this harder. But I also think this isn't his idea. Not entirely."
Preston stepped forward. "Then whose?"
Sico turned toward the mural of the Commonwealth that hung behind the chamber, the soft brush strokes of a sunrise over green fields. It was the ideal they all fought for — not the world that was, but the world that could be. And it reminded him of what was truly at stake.
"I think the Brotherhood's leadership — Maxson, maybe others — they're playing this differently. Think about it. They never offered peace before. They didn't care when we were struggling to hold settlements together. But now that we've got structure? When we're about to hold the first continental summit with the northern settlements and the frontier groups?"
He turned back to face them.
"Now they want peace? Now they want focus? And not just peace — they want our attention, deliberately turned toward the Institute. They're saying 'look over there,' and hoping we stop watching them."
Carla's expression tightened. "You think this is a distraction?"
"I think it's a setup for vulnerability," Sico said. "If we sign a non-aggression pact and start openly coordinating intelligence about the Institute, we risk shifting the weight of our defense posture away from the Brotherhood entirely. We demobilize certain perimeter patrols. We ease surveillance on Brotherhood activities. We start to treat them like they're not a potential threat anymore."
Preston folded his arms, his face grim. "And that's when they stab us in the back."
Sarah looked thoughtful, tapping her knuckles against her chin. "So you're saying they want us hyper-focused on Institute cells while they prepare for something bigger — maybe even a future push?"
"I'm saying we don't know what they're preparing for," Sico replied. "But if I were them — if I wanted to consolidate power in the region without drawing open fire — this is exactly how I'd do it. Get your biggest rival to relax, accept a line in the sand, and focus elsewhere. And then, when the time's right, push the line."
The silence that followed was heavy, contemplative.
Ronnie was the one who broke it.
"You want to tell Congress that?"
Sico nodded slowly. "Yeah. I do."
—
The chamber was reassembled within the hour. A soft bell had been rung across the complex to call the delegates back in. They filed in slower than before, some still clutching mugs of tea or ration bars, most murmuring theories and opinions born of the earlier exchange.
When Sico returned to the dais, the air had shifted. The tension hadn't lessened. If anything, it had grown heavier, more dense — as though the room now knew it was approaching a fault line.
He waited until the doors were closed and the last delegate had taken their seat.
Then he spoke.
"Before we move to open debate and voting procedures regarding the Brotherhood proposal, I need to share a concern. One that I believe must weigh on your consciences before you cast a vote."
Every head turned.
Sarah, Preston, Carla, and Ronnie stood along the side walls, giving Sico the floor. No interruptions. Just eyes.
"I've listened to Paladin Danse," Sico began, "and I've read the Brotherhood's offer in detail. On the surface, it's the most reasonable document we've ever seen from them. A proposal of non-aggression, intelligence sharing, limited tech coordination. A peace offering."
He paused.
"But I need you to understand something — deeply. Because if we make a decision here tonight, it cannot be undone lightly."
Sico gripped the edge of the podium, his voice low but steady.
"There's something off about the timing. Something we can't ignore."
The room was utterly still.
"The Brotherhood is not a reactionary group. They're strategic. They're military. They move with purpose. They didn't come to us when we were still recovering. They waited until we had roads, schools, law enforcement, functioning agriculture, and regional alliances. They waited until we became too big to knock over — and then they came asking for peace."
Several delegates were murmuring now, some nodding, others tense.
Sico raised a hand gently. "Let me be clear: I am not saying Danse is lying. I believe he wants this peace. I believe he believes it's sincere. But that doesn't mean the people who sent him do."
He let that hang in the air.
"What I fear — what keeps me up at night — is this: we accept this alliance. We ease tensions. We shift our surveillance efforts toward Institute, because that's what the Brotherhood wants. We start running joint missions, sharing intelligence. Our scouts begin sweeping south and east, deep into former Institute territory."
His voice dropped.
"And we forget to watch west."
A hushed breath swept the chamber.
Sico took a step forward, no longer clinging to the podium, speaking now with the full force of his conviction.
"We forget to watch the Brotherhood. We forget that behind their armor is a doctrine that believes in control over freedom. In hoarding knowledge rather than sharing it. We forget that we're not aligned — we're opposite in vision. And while our focus is on rogue Synth cells and cleaning up the the Institute, the Brotherhood is rebuilding. Quietly. Strategically. Waiting for the right moment to strike."
He let the echo of those words settle like dust on the floor.
"I am not asking you to reject the proposal. But I am asking you to delay the vote. To probe deeper. To ask what we've not been told. And to ensure that, if we do choose cooperation — it is on our terms. With our eyes wide open."
A long silence followed.
Then Delegate Geneva Ellison stood again.
"Mr. President," she said carefully, "you're right to raise the alarm. But let me ask you this — what if the Brotherhood truly has changed? What if rejecting or delaying this peace pushes them into the path you fear?"
Sico met her gaze. "Then at least we'll face it knowing we didn't sleep through the warning signs. At least we'll have our forces on the right watchtowers."
A few delegates clapped. Others whispered.
Delegate Molina stood next. "I fought with Sico. He's not paranoid. He's seen more than most. If he says we're walking into a trap, we'd be fools not to check for the trigger."
More murmurs. Momentum shifting.
Sarah stepped forward from the side.
"This Republic is young, but not naïve," she said. "We've survived super mutants, raiders, the Institute, famine, and power vacuums. And we've done it because we listened to voices like his. Voices that speak hard truths."
Sico took a breath, chest tight with the weight of his own words. But he could see it now — the shift in posture among the delegates, the way some leaned forward thoughtfully, others looked to their neighbors, already beginning quiet discussions.
"Call the debate," he said quietly.
And so they did.
The next five hours were filled with voices — for and against, cautious and bold, military and civilian. Delegates cited history, strategy, morality, pragmatism. The full breadth of the Commonwealth came to bear in that chamber: its scars, its hopes, its ideals.
When the final speaker sat, and the last counterpoint was voiced, the chamber fell quiet once more.
Sico rose, and this time he didn't speak.
He simply nodded to the Secretary of the Congress.
"Proceed to vote."
—
The result came just before midnight.
The Brotherhood proposal was not rejected.
But it was tabled.
Delayed pending further investigation, the establishment of a joint oversight committee, and independent assessments of Brotherhood activity outside Danse's immediate chain of command.
Danse was informed the next morning. He accepted it without protest — only a slight nod, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Perhaps disappointment. Perhaps understanding.
But as he walked away from the Presidential suite and back toward the guest barracks, Preston turned to Sico and asked quietly, "You think he expected this?"
Sico's answer came without hesitation.
"No. But someone in the Brotherhood did."
And so, the Freemasons Republic remained alert but not hostile, not closed off to peace but ready for anything that's coming to them.
________________________________________________
• 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