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As the convoy began to roll, dust rising in thick clouds beneath their wheels, James Hart stood at the edge of the yard, watching them go. His hand rose in a silent salute, held steady until the last truck disappeared beyond the curve of the broken road.
The road home was never quiet.
The convoy's four trucks rattled along the cracked and stubborn pavement, their engines thrumming in steady rhythm, the sound carrying out into the barren stretches of land that spread between the Freedom Stronghold and Sanctuary. Dust rose in sheets behind them, sometimes catching in the sunlight like gold smoke, sometimes settling into a haze that clung to the back windows.
Inside the first truck, Sico sat in the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Preston drove with both hands steady on the wheel, his gaze scanning the long road ahead. The ride was bumpy, the kind where every dip in the asphalt sent a small shiver through the chassis, but Sico hardly seemed to notice. His mind was elsewhere.
Behind them, Jenny sat crammed in with her farmers, their tired faces pressed against the open windows. They talked little, the hum of the road filling the silence. Some dozed, their heads nodding, others simply stared at the passing land, lost in thought about the soil they had planted back at the Stronghold. Sturges and his crew rode in the third truck, louder by comparison, their voices breaking into bursts of laughter and half-argued jokes. Even worn down by days of labor, the workers carried their ease with them like a banner. The fourth truck, filled with supplies and a handful of drivers, trailed close behind.
Hours passed. The wasteland's broken skyline shifted, old overpasses crumbled into nothing, and trees stripped bare of leaves stretched their limbs toward the cloud-thick sky. Every so often, Preston leaned forward over the wheel, narrowing his eyes as if expecting movement. Raiders, ferals, or worse — nothing could be taken for granted out here.
But then, at last, the convoy rounded a bend where the road cut between two slopes of rock and broken brick, and Sanctuary appeared.
The wall rose up first, proud and defiant against the horizon. Not the scrap-patched barricades of old settlements, but the tall, deliberate structure that Sico and the Freemasons had poured men, time, and sweat into raising. From a distance, its steel plates gleamed dully in the afternoon light. The towers along the top were manned, figures shifting with rifles at the ready. Even here, home had its teeth bared.
The bridge stretched out before them, its rebuilt frame spanning the water below. The planks and steel supports creaked as the trucks began to cross, one by one, their weight pressing down on every joint and seam. Settlers paused in their tasks on the far side of the gate, shading their eyes as they watched the convoy roll in. Some waved, tentative but warm; others simply stood and waited, curiosity alive in their stances.
When the trucks finally passed beneath the gate arch and into Sanctuary proper, engines still rumbling, there was a moment of stillness. A kind of quiet acknowledgment that something had returned — not just the people, but the weight of their work, the knowledge of what had been built out there beyond the walls.
The trucks pulled into the wide parking area just past the gate. Dust billowed up as tires ground to a halt, then slowly drifted down. Engines cut off one after another, and silence fell in their wake, broken only by the muffled shuffle of boots and the groan of doors swinging open.
Jenny was the first to step down, her farmers following close behind. They stretched stiff limbs, their faces turning toward the familiar houses and streets of Sanctuary. Relief showed in their postures, subtle but real — they were home, and the work they had left behind at the Stronghold would hold.
Sturges climbed down from the third truck, clapping one of his men on the back as they unloaded tools. "Nothin' like breathin' your own dust," he muttered, squinting toward the rooftops he knew so well.
Sico swung out of the lead truck, boots crunching against gravel as he landed. Preston joined him on the ground, taking in the sight of home with a measured look. Around them, people began to gather, a small knot of settlers and soldiers curious about the return.
Sico didn't linger in the sentiment. His gaze swept the walls, the towers, the faces of those watching, and then he leaned closer to Preston. His voice was low, but steady, carrying the tone of command that never rested.
"I want scouts sent to the Boston Airport," Sico said. "Two of them. Careful men, not hotheads. They'll watch the Brotherhood. See what they're doing, how many they've pulled in, what they're building. I want eyes on that place before they make their next move."
Preston nodded without hesitation, his reply just as crisp. "I'll pick the men myself. They'll leave at first light."
Sico's eyes narrowed slightly, fixed on the horizon beyond Sanctuary's walls, as though he could already see the distant shape of the Airport, the Brotherhood's shadow stretching across the Commonwealth. "Good," he said. "If they're planning anything, I want to know before it hits us. This peace we've built — it won't mean a damn thing if they march on us blind."
Preston shifted his stance, glancing at the bustle of Jenny's farmers unpacking their satchels and Sturges' men unloading crates. "We'll keep the home front steady. You'll have your eyes in the sky."
Sico finally let out a slow breath, his expression easing but only just. "That's what I need, Preston. Eyes, ears, and steel."
The dust hadn't yet settled around the convoy when another figure cut across the yard toward them. Her boots struck the gravel in quick, purposeful strides, and her dark braid swung gently at her shoulder. Sarah wore her usual field gear, a rifle slung across her back, sidearm at her hip, but her face softened as she drew closer.
"Welcome back," she said, her voice clear and steady, but warmer than her usual clipped tone. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Jenny and Sturges, then back to Sico and Preston. "Word spread quick. Folks were waiting on you."
Sico turned toward her fully, his posture as immovable as ever, though his gaze carried the faintest trace of acknowledgment. "We're back," he said. Then, without pause, his voice lowered into that even, deliberate cadence that brooked no wasted words. "Any trouble while we were gone? Anything pressing while we were at the C.I.T. ruins — clearing the super mutants, turning it into the Freedom Stronghold?"
Sarah shifted her weight, crossing her arms loosely. She didn't flinch under the question, but her reply came with the tone of someone who had kept watch too many nights in a row. "Well," she began, "the usual. Raiders sniffing around the edges. Took down a couple scouting parties before they got close enough to test the walls. A few settlers had their share of disputes — water pumps clogging, someone trading bad crops for good ones. Nothing we couldn't handle. Just… the Commonwealth being the Commonwealth."
Preston gave a low chuckle, dry but knowing. "Raiders and petty arguments. Feels like home."
Sarah's lips tugged into the faintest smirk. "Better than a nest of super mutants, at least."
But then her tone shifted back to business. "There was one thing. Caravan out of the south came through two days ago. Said they spotted more Brotherhood patrols near Lexington. Low flight patterns, Vertibirds moving in pairs instead of singles. Looked like they were marking ground. We kept our heads down. Didn't draw attention."
Sico's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening by a fraction. "Lexington," he repeated, almost under his breath. Then louder: "Good you didn't engage. They're testing their lines, seeing what's worth claiming. That means they're spreading thinner than before."
Sarah gave a firm nod. "That's how it looked."
For a moment, silence hung between the three leaders, broken only by the distant sounds of Sanctuary in motion — crates being unloaded, laughter from Sturges' crew, the sharp bark of a dog down one of the lanes. But Sico's mind was already grinding forward, gears clicking into place.
"You did well," he said finally, his voice carrying that steady finality that marked a decision made. His gaze flicked between Sarah and Preston. "First light, scouts to the Airport. And Sarah — double the watch on the walls tonight. If the Brotherhood's pulling closer, I want to know before they so much as breathe in our direction."
Sarah's smirk was gone now, replaced with that crisp steadiness she wore when responsibility pressed down. "Consider it done. I'll have the towers rotated every two hours. No blind spots."
Preston looked sidelong at her, a flicker of approval crossing his face before he turned back to Sico. "Stronghold's set. Sanctuary's steady. Next step is making sure we don't get caught between their boots."
Sico didn't answer right away. His gaze had drifted, not out toward the walls this time, but across Sanctuary itself — to the settlers gathering near the market stalls, the children darting through the open square, the small knots of people watching their leaders with unspoken questions in their eyes.
When he finally spoke, it was quieter, almost to himself. "We've built something worth keeping." His voice hardened. "That means someone's bound to want to take it from us."
Sarah tilted her head, studying him. "Let them try," she said flatly.
That drew Preston's faintest grin. "They'll regret it."
The last echoes of their words seemed to settle into the ground itself, carried away by the wind as if Sanctuary had been listening. Then, without speaking, Sico turned first, his boots crunching against the gravel, his stride purposeful. Preston and Sarah fell into step with him, the three of them moving as one, the kind of rhythm born not from military drill but from trust built under fire. Jenny and Sturges lingered a moment, exchanging glances that carried both relief and that constant ember of worry that never seemed to leave anyone these days, before hurrying after them.
The path toward the Freemasons HQ wound along the edge of Sanctuary's main square, a place that had once been a ghost town but now thrummed with life. Smoke curled upward from cookfires. Children darted past, their laughter bright but edged with the wild caution of kids who had learned the world wasn't always safe. A few settlers paused in their work—hauling lumber, hammering planks, sorting salvaged goods—to nod or tip their hats at the passing leaders. Their eyes followed the group, questions unspoken but written in every glance: Are we safe? What comes next?
Sico gave nothing away, his gaze fixed ahead, but Preston lifted his hand in a casual wave to one of the farmers leaning against a water pump. Sarah's eyes, sharper and more restless, flicked from rooftop to alley, never quite still. She walked like she carried the weight of every watchtower in her shoulders, even when she wasn't standing one.
They were halfway down the lane that led toward the squat, fortified structure of the HQ when the air shifted. It was subtle at first—just that slight ripple you feel when someone else steps into your space before you've seen them. And then Albert emerged from around a corner, as if the shadows themselves had spit him out.
"Hold up."
His voice cut through the air, firm but not hostile, though it carried the unmistakable urgency of someone who'd been waiting for his chance. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his hair pulled back in a rough knot at the base of his skull, his jacket dusted with travel and sweat. His eyes locked on Sico immediately, the kind of look that didn't ask permission so much as demanded attention.
Sico stopped clean, the others slowing with him. His gaze flicked once over Albert, measuring the tension in the man's stance, before he gave the faintest nod that said: Speak.
Albert didn't waste the breath. "We need more fusion cores."
The words landed heavy, practical and pressing all at once. He let them hang a moment, watching Sico's face, then added: "The Power Armor squad's running low. What we've got won't last if the Brotherhood starts pressing harder. We're already rationing usage—half the suits are staying cold just to save juice."
Sarah's brow knit, and she muttered under her breath, "Damn." Preston exhaled through his nose, the faintest shake of his head betraying that he'd known this problem was coming, even if he hadn't said it aloud.
Sico, though—Sico was stone. His eyes narrowed just a fraction, the only outward sign of thought as his mind ticked over the implications. Power Armor wasn't just another weapon. It was a symbol. It told raiders, Gunners, even the Brotherhood that the Freemasons were a force not to be toyed with. Letting those hulking suits sit idle was like leaving a blade sheathed during a duel.
Albert pressed on, sensing the silence stretching. "If we don't get ahead of this, those frames are just statues. Steel coffins with no fire. And if it comes to a push—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening, the words unspoken but obvious: if the Brotherhood comes knocking, every core counts.
Finally, Sico spoke. His voice was calm, even, but carried that underlying steel that meant there was no room for doubt. "You'll take it to Hancock. His scavenger team runs wide, knows the ruins better than anyone. Tell him I said fusion cores are a priority. And not just those." His eyes pinned Albert, sharp enough to draw blood if they could. "If they're out there pulling cores, they bring back whatever else they can get their hands on. Ammo. Meds. Food. Even junk that can be broken down. Don't waste the trip."
Albert nodded quickly, relief flickering across his face, though his shoulders didn't ease. "Got it. Hancock, fusion cores, and anything else worth carrying." He hesitated a fraction, then added, "You want me leading the squad, or just riding shotgun?"
"You'll lead," Sico said without pause. "But make damn sure Hancock's got room to run it his way. He knows how to sniff out a haul. You keep him and his people breathing long enough to bring it back here."
That seemed to settle it. Albert's tension eased into a grim sort of determination. "Understood." He gave a sharp nod to Sarah and Preston, then glanced once toward Jenny and Sturges before peeling off, his boots striking hard against the dirt as he vanished down the opposite lane.
For a moment, the group stood still, watching his figure disappear. The sound of hammers and laughter and the distant hum of a generator filled the space he'd left behind.
Sarah broke the silence first, her voice low. "He's not wrong. Without those suits running, we're a lot softer than we look."
Preston gave a small shrug, though it was more weary than dismissive. "That's why we've got walls. That's why we've got rifles. Power Armor's a hammer, sure—but sometimes a good defense is knowing when to keep the hammer behind your back until you need it."
Sico finally moved again, his stride resuming toward the HQ. "Then let's make sure the hammer's ready when we do."
They followed him without another word, the conversation dissolving into the steady rhythm of their boots.
The Freemasons HQ loomed larger as they approached, its silhouette cutting against the sky like something both familiar and foreign. The building had once been a town hall, its bones old and weathered, but it had been reforged into something else entirely. Reinforced steel plates lined the outer walls, sandbags stacked in careful layers, guard towers jutting like watchful eyes. At the entrance, banners stitched from salvaged cloth hung heavy, bearing the symbol of the Freemasons—a compass and square overlaying a rising sun, the edges painted with a steady hand.
Settlers moved in and out of the wide double doors, some carrying crates, others carrying news. A pair of guards straightened as they caught sight of Sico and the others, rifles held tight but respectful.
Inside, the air was cooler, shaded from the sun. The wide hall stretched out with tables on either side, maps and ledgers and scavenged terminals flickering weakly with green light. At the far end, a raised platform had been built into a command dais, where scouts often laid out their reports and plans were hammered into shape. It wasn't grand, but it was steady.
Then before the door close, Jenny and Sturges join Sico and the others. As doors of the HQ closed behind them with a dull, weighty thud, sealing out the noises of Sanctuary. Inside, the voices of settlers and guards faded, replaced by the muted hum of activity and the faint scent of oil, paper, and old wood. Sico led the way past the hall, his boots striking deliberate against the worn floorboards, each step echoing in the high rafters above.
Eyes tracked them as they walked. Some nodded, others murmured quietly to each other. Sturges muttered something to Jenny under his breath about needing to fix the flickering lights, but no one dared break the quiet focus that seemed to settle around Sico when he was on the move.
At the far end of the hall, a door stood slightly ajar, brass handle dulled from decades of use. Sico pushed it open and stepped through, holding it long enough for Sarah, Preston, Jenny, and Sturges to follow.
The office was modest by any pre-war standard, but in the Commonwealth it might as well have been a governor's chamber. A heavy desk dominated the room, scarred with knife marks and burn stains but still sturdy. Maps were spread across it, weighted down by small pieces of rebar and bullet casings to keep them from curling. One wall was lined with shelves stuffed with scavenged books, binders, and loose sheets of paper that smelled faintly of mildew. In one corner, a radio sat silent atop a crate, its wires patched together with tape.
The curtains were nothing more than thick tarps, pinned to keep out too much sun, and the lone lamp on the desk buzzed faintly when switched on. But it was a room where decisions were made — the kind that shaped more than just Sanctuary's day-to-day survival.
Sico didn't bother with ceremony. He circled behind the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat heavily, the old wood creaking under his weight. Preston leaned against the far wall, arms crossed loosely. Sarah dropped into one of the mismatched chairs opposite the desk, her rifle clinking faintly against the side as she shifted. Jenny perched on another, hands folded in her lap, while Sturges remained standing, already fidgeting with a loose gear he'd picked from his pocket.
For a few moments, the only sound was the faint rasp of Sico dragging one of the maps closer. Lexington. Cambridge. The C.I.T. ruins. He ran his finger along the penciled notes scrawled across the paper — Brotherhood patrols, scavenger routes, supply caches. Then he looked up.
"Albert wasn't wrong," Sico said, his voice steady but carrying weight. "Fusion cores are running thin. If the Power Armor goes dark, we lose more than firepower. We lose the edge of fear. Raiders think twice when they see steel giants on the walls. Brotherhood too. If those frames stand empty, we're softer, like Sarah said."
Sarah gave a firm nod. "He's right. Half the time, just walking patrol in Power Armor is enough to keep scav groups from even looking our way. We don't use them every fight — but when we roll them out, it reminds people who we are."
Preston shifted against the wall, his tone pragmatic. "And when the Brotherhood sees we've got fewer cores? They'll press harder. Maybe even bait us into burning what little we've got just to keep up appearances. They know the game."
Jenny leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Then isn't sending Hancock's crew after cores risky? Brotherhood's pushing closer. If they're marking ground around Lexington, they'll have scav teams too. What if they get to the cores first?"
"Then Hancock doesn't come back empty," Sico said firmly. "He's been running with scavengers since before we pulled him into this. He knows how to sniff out value in rubble most folks wouldn't piss on. If cores aren't there, there'll be something else worth dragging back. Ammo. Fuel. Medicine. We don't gamble on one thing. We take everything we can hold."
Sturges scratched the back of his neck, his voice thoughtful but edged with worry. "It ain't just about finding 'em, boss. Even if Hancock turns up a haul, cores don't last forever. Those suckers burn quick if you're running hot. Maybe we need to think longer term. Like—figurin' how to recharge what we've got, not just scavenge scraps."
Sarah shot him a look, half skeptical, half curious. "You got a plan for that?"
Sturges shrugged, twirling the gear in his hand. "Not yet. But maybe the C.I.T. stronghold's a place to start. You saw what's left down there, boss. Labs, reactors, half-dead terminals still coughing out code. We could dig in, see if there's tech worth repurposing. Hell, maybe even figure out how the Institute used to power their synths and gear. If we could replicate something like that…" He trailed off, letting the idea linger like smoke.
The mention of C.I.T. shifted the room's energy. Sarah leaned forward slightly, Preston uncrossed his arms, and Jenny's eyes darted toward Sico, searching his face.
"C.I.T. is secure now," Preston said carefully. "Super mutants are gone. Walls are going up. Freedom Stronghold's more than just a name now. But it's a skeleton. We've got to put muscle on it. If it's going to serve as our forward base, it needs more than just patrols and walls. It needs people, supplies, purpose."
Sarah's voice cut in, sharp. "It needs soldiers. If the Brotherhood's moving out of Lexington, they'll push east, and C.I.T.'s right in their shadow. We can't hold it with a skeleton crew. We need to rotate men, maybe even some Power Armor suits, if we can spare the cores."
"That circles us back to the same problem," Preston said, a faint edge of frustration creeping in. "Cores. We can't guard Sanctuary, build up C.I.T., and keep mobile squads running without more. Every move we make costs fuel we don't have."
Silence pressed in, the truth of it heavy. The lamp on the desk flickered once before buzzing steady again.
Sico leaned back, folding his hands together. His gaze traveled the room — to Sarah's hard stare, Preston's measured calm, Jenny's worried frown, Sturges' restless energy. He let the silence stretch until it was taut, until every eye was on him.
Then he spoke.
"We'll do both."
Sarah's brows shot up. Preston frowned slightly. Jenny tilted her head in confusion.
Sico pressed on, his voice low but firm, each word measured like a hammer strike. "Albert leads Hancock's crew. They find fusion cores, or whatever else they can drag back. That keeps the suits breathing. Meanwhile, Sturges—" His gaze shifted to the tinkerer, who straightened instinctively. "—you take a team into C.I.T. Not to fight, not to guard. To dig. Find tech. Find anything we can use to recharge cores, build better defenses, or keep the Stronghold running without bleeding Sanctuary dry."
Sturges blinked, then a slow grin tugged at his mouth. "Now that's a job I can sink my teeth into."
"Sarah," Sico continued, turning his gaze. "You double the wall watch here, just like we said earlier. But I also want a rotation to C.I.T. Small squads, reliable. Keep pressure off the settlers we send there to build. They need to see soldiers in the ruins, not just hammers."
Sarah gave a sharp nod. "Done."
Finally, Sico's gaze landed on Preston. "And you'll coordinate it all. Patrols, supply runs, rotations. Keep Sanctuary from thinning out while still feeding the Stronghold. You've done it before, you'll do it again."
Preston gave a slow nod, the faintest smile of dry amusement crossing his lips. "Guess I asked for that one."
Jenny finally spoke, her voice quiet but edged with conviction. "And the Brotherhood?"
The question hung heavier than any other.
Sico leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the scarred desk. His voice dropped, but it carried, each word like stone placed carefully into a wall.
"The Brotherhood's spreading thinner. That's good for us. But it also means they're watching closer. They'll see us moving. They'll test us. Maybe raid caravans. Maybe hit C.I.T. first, just to see what we'll do." His eyes hardened. "We don't flinch. We hold Sanctuary. We build the Stronghold. And when the time comes, we make them regret thinking we were soft."
No one spoke for a long moment. The weight of it filled the room, heavy but not crushing — the kind of weight you chose to carry, because the alternative was letting someone else break your back.
________________________________________________
• 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:-