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And Liberty Prime, the Brotherhood's ultimate weapon, might just become the Minutemen's greatest hope. The battle for the Commonwealth was far from over. In fact, it was only just beginning.
The walls of Greenetech seemed to hum under the strain of what was coming. Inside the Command Center — a once-abandoned server room now buzzing with new life — Sico stood hunched over a large, cracked map table, his gloved hand moving pins and markers with methodical precision.
The radio crackled near his ear, voices bleeding through, sharp with urgency.
"Section Two under heavy fire! Requesting immediate backup!"
Sico pressed the mic to his mouth without hesitation. His voice, steady and low, cut through the noise.
"Copy that, Section Two. Reinforcements inbound. Hold your ground."
He turned sharply toward Robert, who stood nearby in patched-up combat armor, arms crossed, listening.
"Send Carter's squad through the east stairwell. They'll flank the Institute assault team," Sico ordered.
Robert nodded and moved quickly to relay the command, boots thudding across the concrete floor.
Sico didn't stop — he couldn't afford to. His mind raced a mile a minute, weighing every scrap of information, every possibility.
He toggled another channel on the radio.
"Sarah," he barked.
"Here," came her voice, calm but tight with focus.
"Status?"
"We're holding the south wing. Lost some sandbags but the turrets are operational. Institute tried teleporting into the maintenance corridors — we shut them down."
Sico allowed himself the briefest flicker of relief.
"Good work. Stay alert. Expect another wave in ten minutes."
"Acknowledged. Sarah out."
He clicked to the next channel, tapping into the Castle.
"Ronnie, report."
Static for a second, then the old soldier's gravelly voice came through.
"We're ready on the Castle's end. Got two convoy teams standing by if you need support. Ammunition's tight, but we'll make do."
Sico grunted approval.
"Hold them ready. Might need help if this turns ugly."
"Damn right. Ronnie out."
Sico exhaled, glancing around the Command Center.
The Minutemen inside worked like a living machine — comms officers manned battered terminals linked to scavenged Institute equipment, runners passed orders back and forth, and wounded were hauled in and out, patched up by grim-faced medics.
Maps, notes, and radio logs cluttered every surface. The air smelled of sweat, oil, blood, and gunpowder. It was messy, desperate, and imperfect.
But it was real.
Sico stepped back to the table, sliding another marker west — representing a newly spotted Institute team trying to creep along the ruins near Commonwealth Avenue.
"Get eyes on this squad," he said aloud. "If they're recon, we cut them off before they report back."
MacCready, standing at the door with a rifle slung over his shoulder, gave a lazy salute and smirked.
"On it, boss. They won't know what hit 'em."
Sico watched him leave, then rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble there. Fatigue gnawed at him — every bone in his body wanted to rest — but he shoved it aside.
They didn't have time for exhaustion.
Not now.
He turned as Sarah entered, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead, sweat streaking the dirt on her face.
"They're shifting tactics," she reported. "We caught a few using cloaking tech — like what Coursers have."
Sico swore under his breath.
"They're serious this time. They want Greenetech back — or razed to the ground."
Sarah nodded grimly.
"What's the play?" she asked.
Sico didn't hesitate.
"We hold. No retreat. No surrender." His eyes burned with the weight of it. "If Greenetech falls, the whole Commonwealth falls with it. We show them that today."
He leaned over the map again, tracing lines with his fingers.
"We set traps along the north access tunnels. Plasma mines, tripwires, the works. Robert and Carter's teams will handle the flanking attacks. Sarah — I need you at the south barricade. If they breach that gate, it's over."
Sarah gave a curt nod, no fear in her eyes.
"And you?" she asked.
Sico straightened, slinging his laser rifle onto his back.
"I'll be wherever the line is thinnest."
He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Sarah gave a rough laugh, shook her head, and slapped his shoulder.
"Try not to get yourself killed, boss."
"No promises," Sico muttered.
He toggled back to the main radio frequency and keyed the mic, voice steady even though the tension in the room pressed against his chest like a hand trying to squeeze the air from him.
"This is Greenetech Command to Sanctuary. Come in. Over."
The reply came after a long moment — the crackling of static breaking before a familiar voice slid through, worn but warm.
"This is Sanctuary. Piper on the line. We read you, Sico. Go ahead."
He could hear the clatter of activity behind her — the ever-present noise of a community on high alert, people moving crates, readying weapons, preparing for the worst.
"Piper, we're holding, but it's getting bloody. I need a line to Preston. Urgently."
"Copy that. Patchin' you through."
A beat, then another voice filled the Command Center — steadier, calmer, but tinged with urgency.
"Preston here. What's the situation, General?"
Sico didn't waste a second.
"We're under coordinated Institute assault. They're serious this time. Cloaked units, teleport strikes, full squads. We're holding them — barely — but we need reinforcements to seal it."
He leaned harder against the table, voice growing rougher, the weight of leadership heavy in every word.
"I need two hundred soldiers from Sanctuary. Fast. Full gear — rifles, grenades, heavy weapons if you have them. I also need ammo, Stimpaks, power cores — whatever you can spare."
Preston was silent for a breath, thinking, calculating, then answered with a firm resolve that made Sico's chest tighten with pride.
"We'll make it happen. It'll take a few hours to mobilize that many, but we'll move double-time. You'll have your soldiers, Sico."
"Good," Sico said, exhaling, a bit of the crushing pressure easing. "We hold Greenetech or we lose the Commonwealth. No second chances."
Preston's voice, steady as bedrock, came through again.
"Understood. We won't let you fall."
Sico nodded, even though Preston couldn't see him.
"Thanks, Preston. Sanctuary out."
He released the mic with a soft click, the sound loud in the tense air of the Command Center.
Robert came jogging back in, helmet clipped to his belt, rifle across his back.
"Carter's squad is in position," he reported, a little breathless. "Already hearing shooting — they've engaged the flanking Institute force."
Sico offered a grim smile.
"Good. Let's make sure they know they walked into a damn buzzsaw."
He checked the tactical map one more time, adjusting pins and drawing fresh lines with a thick piece of charcoal.
North access tunnels — mined and trapped.
East stairwell — Carter's squad moving to intercept.
South barricade — Sarah ready and waiting.
The thinnest point was the west wall — a series of collapsed floors and broken ventilation shafts that were too hard to fortify fully. He could see it clearly, an ugly scar on the map.
That's where they'd hit hardest.
That's where he needed to be.
Sico slung his laser rifle tight across his chest and grabbed an extra belt of grenades, clipping them to his armor. Around him, the Command Center pulsed with frantic energy — radios squawking, medics moving with quiet urgency, soldiers steeling themselves for what was coming.
He caught Robert's eye as he passed.
"Command is yours. Keep it alive."
Robert gave a short, sharp nod — no wasted words.
Sico jogged out into the hallways of Greenetech, boots pounding against the cracked concrete. Every corner he turned smelled of battle — blood and oil and ozone from discharged energy weapons. He passed squads of Minutemen hustling into position, some giving him quick salutes or nods of grim respect.
He made for the west wall — the thinnest line — and even before he got there, he could hear it:
The pop of laser fire, the bark of assault rifles, the distant boom of grenades.
He reached a crumbling balcony that overlooked a half-demolished loading dock. Minutemen huddled behind improvised barricades — overturned desks, snapped-off doors, chunks of concrete — firing down into the swirling chaos below.
The Institute forces surged like a white wave — synths and humans in pristine white armor, moving with brutal, mechanical precision. Some flickered in and out of visibility — cloaked units darting through the gaps, sowing panic.
Sico didn't hesitate.
He vaulted over the barricade, dropped hard into the fray, and opened fire.
His first shot punched clean through a synth's cranial casing — the machine staggering and crashing to the floor in a spray of sparks.
He moved forward, crouching low behind a shattered generator, lining up another shot — another synth down. The Minutemen, heartened by his presence, fought harder, rallying to his side.
They pushed forward together — a bloody inch at a time.
Sico hurled a plasma grenade into a cluster of cloaked Institute troops, the explosion painting the ruined loading dock green with searing light. Screams — mechanical and human — tore through the air.
Still they came.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a synth charging with a power fist crackling electricity — too close.
Sico sidestepped at the last second, letting the weapon slam into empty air, then drove his knife up under the thing's jaw, ripping circuitry and servo-motors apart in one brutal motion.
He yanked the knife free, breathing hard, sweat soaking into the fabric under his armor.
The battle blurred into a storm of fire and death — moments stitched together by instinct and fury. He moved like a phantom through the debris, picking targets, shouting orders, dragging wounded back behind cover.
Above, somewhere in the darkness of the ruined upper floors, he heard Sarah's voice on the comms.
"South wing holding. Minor breach, contained. How's the west?"
Sico grunted into his radio, ducking as a laser blast sizzled past his ear.
"Busy," he said dryly. "Send a fireteam if you can spare it."
"On the way. Sarah out."
He wiped blood — his or someone else's, he wasn't sure — from his forehead and pressed forward again, rifle blazing.
Another ten minutes, another twenty.
He lost track of time.
At some point, he realized the Institute's assault was slowing. Their waves, once relentless, now faltered — synths moving erratically, command units pulling back.
And then, like a tide receding, they began to retreat.
Sico stood panting in the middle of the shattered loading dock, laser rifle lowered but still ready, watching as the Institute forces melted away into the ruins, teleporting out in scattered, chaotic jumps of white light.
A cheer went up from the Minutemen around him — ragged, raw, exhausted — but victorious.
Sico didn't join in. He just closed his eyes for a moment, letting the noise wash over him, letting himself feel it — not celebration, not really.
Survival.
He opened his eyes again and keyed his mic.
"Greenetech to all units," he rasped, voice thick. "Institute retreating. Secure perimeters. Gather the wounded. Count the dead."
A moment of silence followed, then a chorus of affirmations from the squads scattered through the building.
Sico slumped against a broken wall, sliding down until he sat amid rubble and spent cartridges. His hands were shaking now — adrenaline burning out, fatigue crashing in like a hammer.
He looked up at the broken ceiling, where a thin slice of gray sky peeked through.
They had held.
Greenetech still stood.
For today, at least, they had won.
But Sico knew it wasn't over — not by a long shot.
The Institute would be back.
And next time, they'd be even more desperate.
He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt, slung his rifle again, and limped back toward the Command Center, every step heavy but determined.
As he walked, Minutemen saluted him, nodded, clapped him on the back. Some were bloody, others wide-eyed, others hard-faced — but all alive.
He entered the Command Center to find Robert there, bruised but grinning, Sarah leaning wearily against a console, and MacCready sprawled in a battered chair with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
The map table was a mess — pins knocked over, blood smeared across the surface — but it didn't matter.
The only thing that mattered was that they were still standing.
Robert straightened up as Sico entered.
"We counted it up," he said quietly. "Lost about forty men. Dozens wounded. But we held."
Sarah gave a tired smile.
"Preston's convoy should be here by nightfall," she added. "Sanctuary's sending everything we need. Fresh troops, supplies, medical gear."
Sico nodded slowly, heart heavy but proud.
"Good."
The mood in the Command Center was heavy but victorious — the air thick with the stink of blood, sweat, and burnt wiring. Sico let the tired, ragged sense of triumph settle over him for just a moment, giving the battered team around him a nod of approval. They had done what few could: they had stared the Institute in the eye and survived.
But before he could even think about resting, something new tore into the room.
A pulse of sharp blue light erupted by the war table, casting stark, shifting shadows across the cracked walls. Weapons came up instantly — rifles, sidearms, anything that still had a round chambered — but Sico's voice cut across the room before anyone could fire.
"Hold your fire!"
Out of the swirling blue, a figure materialized — a woman, dressed in a tattered Institute uniform, her dark hair tied back, eyes alert and fierce.
Nora.
She staggered a little as the teleportation ended, but caught herself, scanning the room quickly before locking eyes with Sico. Her expression was serious, urgent.
Sico moved toward her at once, boots crunching over shattered glass and debris.
"Nora?"
She gave a small nod, brushing soot from her sleeve.
"I need to talk to you," she said, voice low and cutting through the tension like a knife. "Alone."
Sico glanced at Robert, at Sarah, at MacCready — all staring, tense and confused — then gave a sharp nod.
"Clear the room. Now."
No one argued. They moved out swiftly, gathering weapons and radios, giving Nora glances filled with equal parts suspicion and hope. Only when the heavy steel door thudded shut behind them did Sico turn back to her, arms folded.
"All right," he said. "Talk."
Nora didn't waste time. She stepped closer, lowering her voice even further, until it was just the two of them and the background hum of distant generators.
"I've been working on something… something big," she said. "There's a chance to shift the balance of this war in our favor. And it starts with Madison Li."
Sico frowned slightly. The name stirred old memories — old records they'd salvaged from pre-war files, Institute chatter. A genius, brilliant enough to resurrect technology thought lost forever. And if memory served, the head of the Institute's Advanced Systems Division.
"What about her?" he asked carefully.
Nora's mouth tightened, her face grim but lit with a flicker of determination.
"She's defecting. Or… she's about to."
That got Sico's full attention. He straightened, the fatigue bleeding out of him.
"She's leaving the Institute?" he pressed.
Nora nodded sharply. "She wasn't fully loyal. She was trapped there, like a lot of the scientists — scared, isolated. But after I spoke to her… after I told her what's really happening topside, and what the Brotherhood is planning… she agreed to switch sides."
Sico narrowed his eyes, processing it.
"And what exactly is the Brotherhood planning?"
Nora exhaled slowly, as if the weight of her information was almost too much to bear.
"They want her to reactivate Liberty Prime."
Sico's blood ran cold.
Liberty Prime. A name out of nightmares — the massive pre-War robot built to annihilate enemies with devastating nuclear weaponry. If the Brotherhood could get it working again…
He shook his head, jaw clenched.
"How do you even know the Brotherhood's after her?" he demanded, his voice rough with disbelief.
Nora met his gaze evenly, no hesitation.
"Because I ran into Paladin Danse," she said. "During a mission for the Institute. We crossed paths outside Med-Tek Research — he was leading a Brotherhood recon squad. He didn't recognize me… not exactly. But we talked. And I overheard them — they're actively hunting Madison Li. They want her knowledge to bring Liberty Prime back online, make it the Brotherhood's ultimate weapon to control the Commonwealth."
Sico swore under his breath, pacing a few steps before turning back to her.
"So you convinced Li to defect. Fine. But what then? She's a high-profile asset — the Brotherhood's gonna come looking. So will the Institute."
Nora's eyes flashed.
"She's not defecting openly. We're sending her undercover."
Sico blinked.
"You're serious."
"She'll 'accept' the Brotherhood's offer," Nora explained, voice quick and low, the urgency palpable. "She'll go with them. Play the part. Pretend she's reactivating Liberty Prime for their cause. But instead, she'll sabotage it from within — and when the time's right, turn Liberty Prime against them."
Sico stared at her, stunned for a moment by the sheer audacity of it.
"You're planning to steal Liberty Prime… for us?"
"For the Minutemen," Nora said, the barest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Imagine it, Sico. Not Brotherhood steel raining down on settlements — but our shield, our sword. Liberty Prime, rebuilt and repurposed. A guardian, not a tyrant."
He let out a breath, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. It was insane. Risky beyond belief.
And yet… if it worked… it would change everything.
He lowered his hand, eyes steady on hers.
"What's the risk?"
Nora didn't flinch.
"High," she admitted. "If the Brotherhood figures out what she's doing, they'll execute her. No trial, no mercy. And if the Institute finds out she's working with us… well, you saw today what they'll do to stop us."
Sico nodded slowly, mind racing.
"And you trust her?" he asked, voice low.
Nora's reply was immediate.
"I do. She's scared. She's brilliant. And most important — she wants to fight back."
Silence stretched between them for a long moment.
Then Sico's lips pulled into a slow, grim smile.
"All right. Let's do it."
Relief flashed across Nora's face, quickly masked by determination.
"I'll get her ready. Sanctuary can handle the transition — keep her safe until the Brotherhood picks her up."
Sico nodded again, already moving toward the battered table to update the few plans they had left standing.
"This changes everything," he said quietly.
"Yeah," Nora agreed. "It does."
They stood there for a moment longer, surrounded by the quiet hum of exhausted survivors beyond the door — men and women who had fought and bled to hold this ground. The future was still uncertain, still fraught with danger.
But for the first time in a long time after this war started, Sico felt something stir deep inside him.
Hope.
Not blind, naive hope — but the hard, bloody kind that grows only after the worst battles. Hope born of scars, of sacrifice, of choosing to fight for something better even when the odds said you shouldn't bother.
________________________________________________
• 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:-