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Sico stood alone in the hall for a long while after. The map loomed behind him, the pins marking places where people lived, laughed, bled — and now, perhaps, died. This was the burden of it
The morning broke cold and grey, despite the firestorm that loomed on the horizon.
A low mist hung over Sanctuary as the sun climbed its slow path behind a curtain of faded clouds. The settlement stirred quietly — not in the usual, sleepy rhythms of early work or communal gathering, but with the grim readiness of a people holding their breath. Soldiers moved in tight groups across the common square. Trucks and Humvees stood in rows, hulking shapes shrouded in steam from their pre-dawn ignition. Sentinels loomed like metallic gods, towering figures of cold iron and humming hydraulics, their optics blinking to life in slow succession.
Sico stood on the high walkway outside the armory, one hand resting on the railing, coat pulled tight against the chill. His gaze moved slowly across the gathering war machine.
This was it.
Below him, Preston was in motion — directing, inspecting, calling names off a roster. The Commandos had already slipped out under cover of darkness, ghosting through the northern hills and pine-choked ravines toward the suspected Gunner encampment. What was coming now wasn't covert. It wasn't silent.
It was thunder.
Preston caught sight of him mid-stride. He called something to one of the Sentinel pilots, then made his way toward the stairs. Sico came down to meet him.
"Word came in last night," Preston said before Sico could ask. "Lita and Hodge sent confirmation. Vance is there. Not just there — in command."
Sico's breath drew long through his nose. "They sure?"
Preston nodded. "Lita scoped the camp personally from an elevated bluff. Hodge infiltrated the perimeter and planted recon tags. They're certain. Full military setup. Bunkers. Watchtowers. Hardened tents. Camouflage netting. They're moving in tonight to disturb the chains of command — hit the relay post, cut off communication with any outposts."
Sico looked off past the gate, toward the unseen treeline miles away. "How many men?"
"Estimates say seventy to eighty. Maybe more inside the hills. Possibly automated turrets, mines. But nothing that can hold against us if we move fast and with force." Preston glanced over his shoulder at the convoy. "We hit them before dawn tomorrow. By then, the Commandos will have shattered their intel flow. They won't see us coming — not like this."
Sico turned his gaze back to Preston. "Then this ends today."
Preston nodded again, tight-lipped. "One way or another."
The sound of boots striking the hardpan earth echoed around them — squads moving into position, power armor suits stomping to life, men checking their weapons, women clamping helmets under their arms, loading belts of ammunition and finalizing supplies. The convoy was nearly ready.
Sico followed Preston through the tight knots of soldiers and mechanics, his eyes brushing over the dozens of faces preparing for war. Most of them were younger than him. Some looked barely old enough to shave. Yet every one of them had the same resolve burned into their eyes.
They'd been here before. Maybe not this exact fight. But they'd all come up through the fires of the Commonwealth. Raiders. Deathclaws. Feral ghouls. Starvation. Grief.
And still they stood.
The six trucks were loaded with gear and infantry, interiors packed with weapons, food, water, and medical kits. Each Humvee was assigned a crew — one gunner, one driver, one support. Their heavy turrets gleamed in the half-light, barrels capped and ready. The two Sentinels stood further back, crew members making last-minute system checks at knee-level control panels. Their titanic frames flexed with the hiss of power hydraulics, servos twitching beneath armored carapaces.
"Call signs?" Sico asked as they stopped beside the lead truck.
"Vanguard One through Six for the trucks. Guardian One and Two for the Sentinels. Hammer One to Four on Humvees. Power suits run under Blackline protocol, ten strong, led by Sergeant Jules." Preston glanced down at his clipboard. "Radio sync's been triple-checked. Supply logs squared away. Everyone's on a 36-hour combat loadout."
Sico nodded. "And you're taking point?"
"Convoy's mine to lead. I'll be with Hammer One."
Sico looked at him, really looked. "You know what you're walking into?"
Preston gave a short, grim smile. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be the one going."
The two men stood for a long moment in silence, the machinery of war thrumming around them. Then Sico clapped a hand on Preston's shoulder.
"Bring them home."
Preston's jaw twitched with emotion. "I will."
And then — as the mist began to burn off and the first slivers of sunlight pierced the cold sky — the convoy rolled out.
The gates of Sanctuary creaked open. One by one, the trucks began to move, tires kicking up dust and frost in equal measure. The Humvees followed, engines growling, turrets swiveling to test their range. The Sentinels brought up the rear, their footfalls shaking the ground, echoing off the walls like distant artillery.
Sico stood at the top of the gate, watching it all pass.
Watching as his promise to protect the Republic moved off into the dawn.
Watching his friends ride to war.
He didn't linger at the gate for long. There was too much still to do.
Back inside Sanctuary, the administrative wing was already waking. Scribes and aides buzzed through hallways with clipboards and cracked terminals, coordinating incoming refugee reports, logistics requests, and patrol rosters. Civil defense volunteers organized food lines. Engineers double-checked the hydroponic flow rates in the greenhouse bunkers.
But for all the bustle, the energy had changed. No longer the cautious optimism of a reborn community. Now there was urgency. Tension. The knowledge that one misstep could undo everything they'd built.
Sico walked briskly into the war room. The same map hung on the far wall, now updated with the convoy's route and Commandos' infiltration paths, small green LEDs blinking at intervals. A few delegates still in Sanctuary were gathered near the planning table — Oberland's rep, the older woman from Graygarden, a junior envoy from Somerville who looked like she hadn't slept.
They looked up as Sico entered.
"Convoy's away," he told them. "Engagement begins in less than twenty-four hours."
"Godspeed," said Oberland's man.
"What do you need from us?" asked the Graygarden woman.
"Evacuation drills in settlements near the northern corridor," Sico replied. "If Vance has allies we haven't seen yet, we may see retaliation. I want every non-combatant either underground or moved south. Use vault shelters, basements, whatever you have. I'll dispatch civilian guards to assist."
"And Sanctuary?" the Somerville envoy asked.
Sico glanced at her. "Fortified. And I'll remain here. If this is the heart of the Republic, it needs to be held by its head."
She nodded solemnly.
The meeting continued for nearly an hour. Sico went over fallback plans, contingency codes, communication blackouts. By the time it broke up, the sun was high — and the settlement had begun to shift again. Patrols were increased. Lookouts doubled. People walked with purpose, not fear — but with their eyes open, and their hands near weapons.
As Sico stepped outside once more, he could hear the faint sound of radio static in his earpiece. One of the Commandos — Lita's voice, sharp and clear.
"This is Echo-Four," she said. "Target compound now under surveillance. Interference unit in position. Vance's command tent identified — far west quadrant. No sign of reinforcements. They don't know we're here."
Then silence.
Sico drew a slow breath.
Tonight, it would begin.
Hours passed. The sun dipped low again, casting long shadows across the Commonwealth. In Sanctuary, lanterns flickered to life once more, but tonight, no one gathered by the firepits. The mood was quiet. Reverent. Waiting.
In the command tower, Sico stood alone, watching the dots move on the tactical screen — a hundred lives moving through dark woods, ancient ruins, overgrown highways, all moving toward a reckoning.
Preston's voice came over the radio just before midnight.
"This is Hammer One. We've reached position. No contact yet. Lights off, guns cold. Waiting on the signal."
Sico keyed his mic. "Copy that, Hammer One. Commando strike in T-minus five minutes. Once the lights go out — burn them to the ground."
There was a pause. Then Preston replied, calm and sure.
"Understood. See you on the other side."
And then — the last whisper of quiet.
Then came the storm.
The radio line hissed once, then cut to silence.
The world seemed to hold its breath. In the command tower of Sanctuary, Sico didn't move. His hand hovered near the console, eyes fixed on the flickering green dots marking the convoy's position. The screen showed no gunfire yet, no telltale flashes of explosions or status markers turning red.
And then—
A low, distant thump rolled across the earth like the warning drumbeat of some ancient god.
It was followed by another. Then another. Until the whole ground began to tremble, dust falling from ceiling beams, lanterns swaying in their hooks.
Sico didn't need a camera feed to know what was happening.
The Sentinels had begun to fire.
Miles away in the rugged northern foothills, Preston Garvey stood at the edge of a tree line overlooking the Gunner compound. The air was thin and cold, soaked with pine resin and the faint ozone of static charge. He raised his arm and pointed forward through the dark, his voice low and steady but sharp with command.
"Guardian One, Guardian Two — you are go. Fire on enemy fortifications. Full suppression."
The Sentinels did not reply in words.
They spoke in fire.
A split-second later, the heavy whine of capacitors filled the night — rising to a scream before the twin barrels of the massive shoulder-mounted railguns released their payload. Twin streaks of searing light exploded from the hilltop, crossing a thousand yards in less than a heartbeat. The first round hit the Gunner watchtower with surgical precision — vaporizing its upper structure in a blossom of incandescent steel and shattered rebar. The second struck deeper, farther inside the compound — leveling a hardened tent bunker in a rain of concrete and dust.
The night lit up with hellfire.
Preston didn't wait. He yanked his arm forward.
"Move, move, move!"
The infantry surged with him — rows of boots pounding over hard ground, weaving through trees, then out into the open. The Humvees roared behind them, tires biting into the earth, turrets spinning. Hammer Two and Three cut to the flanks, sending arcs of tracer fire into the enemy perimeter. Blackline power-armored troops charged like battering rams, their servo-enhanced legs making thunder of their own, weapons braced across chests.
The Gunners inside weren't ready.
The Commando teams had done their work with brutal precision. Relay posts were dead. Perimeter alarms had been cut. Officers silenced. The main camp hadn't known it was being hunted — not until the Sentinels began to tear it apart.
Now it was too late.
Preston sprinted through the smoke, rifle raised. He could see the first ranks of enemy fighters stumbling into view from behind crates and sandbags, still scrambling to understand what had hit them. One of them lifted a hand radio to scream a warning—
Too slow.
Preston fired. The man jerked and collapsed backward. Chaos erupted around them — Gunners returning fire in disorganized bursts, some trying to flee, others clustering near mounted weapons. But it was all reaction. All desperation.
"Blackline, on me!" Preston shouted. "Suppress that nest at the northwest corner!"
"Copy!" came Sergeant Jules's voice, distorted but audible through the comm.
The power armor team peeled off, stomping forward through the shattered front line, blue sparks trailing from their boots. Pulse rifles barked in unison — lighting up the night with withering force. A mounted minigun on a tripod whined into life and spat bullets, clattering off Jules' chest plate — but he didn't even slow down. He raised his right arm, locked onto the emplacement, and launched a shoulder-fired plasma grenade.
The gun emplacement disappeared in a blossom of green fire.
Preston's team pushed deeper.
To the south, the trucks fanned out behind the vanguard, disgorging platoons of foot soldiers. Guardians One and Two repositioned — their footfalls shaking the hill as they stomped down toward the valley. They didn't need orders. Their combat protocols were engaged, AI systems painting enemy armor positions and weapons caches in glowing red targets.
A series of massive "BOOM"s echoed through the valley as the Sentinels launched another volley — destroying a mortar nest and collapsing the entryway to a supply tunnel. Secondary explosions lit the night, sending orange flames spiraling upward into the sky.
From the high ridge, Hodge and Lita watched the assault unfold through sniper scopes.
"He's doing it," Lita muttered, eyes scanning through the smoke.
"Told you," Hodge said, calm and matter-of-fact as he chambered another round. "Garvey doesn't hesitate when it counts."
Below, a Gunner commander was screaming orders, trying to rally defenders behind a central trench system. Lita marked him with a soft beep in her HUD.
"Tagged. Priority target. Wind's steady."
"I've got him."
Hodge breathed out. Squeezed the trigger.
The commander's helmet burst open like a dropped cantaloupe.
Back at the front line, Preston was already halfway through the compound, his uniform smeared with dirt and soot, rifle hot from constant firing. A nearby bunker door slid open — two Gunners burst out with shotguns, yelling in panic.
Preston ducked and rolled, came up on one knee, and dropped them both with two clean shots to center mass.
Behind him, a squad of Freemason riflemen moved in formation — cutting down fleeing hostiles, clearing corners with cold discipline. The months of drilling, the rigorous field training, the battle-hardening — it had all led to this. And it showed.
The Freemasons were winning.
Then came the counterattack.
From the far side of the camp, another explosion rocked the hillside — not from the Sentinels this time, but from a stockpile of buried mines. A flash of white light, a plume of dirt — and then cries of pain and confusion.
One of the trucks had rolled over a pressure plate. Vanguard Three was gone in an instant.
"Trap!" someone screamed.
"They've wired the access road!" barked a captain near the rear.
But it was already too late for that route — more mines detonated in a chain, catching part of Vanguard Four's infantry column and sending men flying.
Preston whirled toward the sound, face darkening. "Pull the vehicles back! Disembark! Keep pushing forward on foot! Sentinels, redivert suppressive fire toward the ridge — locate the mine control signal!"
Guardian One's optics pulsed with pale blue light as it scanned the terrain. A second later, its shoulder-mounted cannon rotated, and a long-range shot cracked through the air, striking a raised satellite relay near the ridge — an old Comm Tower just outside the compound. It exploded in a bright, stuttering fireball.
Signal gone. Mines offline.
Preston spat a curse under his breath, wiping dust from his goggles. He turned toward Sergeant Jules, who was stomping past with three power armor troopers behind him.
"Time to finish this," Preston growled. "We hit their command tent now — west quadrant. Move!"
Jules gave a sharp nod and powered ahead.
Through the crumbled perimeter wall, past burning vehicles and torn earth, the last defenses of the Gunners took shape. A dense nest of concrete barriers and dug-in machine gun pits shielded the largest tent — Vance's command post. More Gunners were clustered here, better armed and better organized. Preston recognized former Brotherhood tech among the ranks — scavenged power armor plates, repurposed laser rifles, even what looked like a modified Gauss cannon.
They were ready for a last stand.
Preston didn't hesitate. "Sentinels — full barrage. Break that line."
Both Guardian units took aim and fired again — this time in sync. The blast radius staggered the defenders. Sandbags turned to dust, barricades flipped end over end. Even the Gauss gunner was sent flying like a rag doll.
Preston raised his rifle.
"CHARGE!"
The final push began.
Smoke filled the air. Shadows danced between flames. Steel met fire, and the world turned to chaos.
Inside the command tent, Commandant Vance gritted his teeth as the walls shook around him. The roar of explosions was deafening. An aide scrambled beside him, screaming about retreat routes and dead channels.
"No," Vance barked. "No retreat. We hold the center. If the head breaks, the rest dies."
But his words were swallowed by thunder.
Preston came through the smoke like a reaper, rifle up. Behind him, Jules and the power squad tore into the command post's defenders with unstoppable fury. Vance pulled a sidearm — but barely raised it before Preston's rifle cracked.
The Commandant fell backward into the dirt, eyes wide.
Silence began to fall.
Not the silence of ambush or preparation — but the hollow, bone-deep silence of victory.
Sico heard it in Sanctuary even before the call came.
Not through the radio. Not through the speakers.
He heard it in the absence of gunfire.
He heard it in the way the tactical screen stopped blinking red and yellow and turned a steady, unchanging green.
Then the radio crackled.
"This is Hammer One," came Preston's voice, heavy with exhaustion and smoke. "Compound secured. Vance is down. All hostiles neutralized or surrendered. We have full control."
In the command tower, Sico didn't speak for a moment. He let the weight of it settle in.
Sico leaned over the console, eyes still fixed on the steady green overlay glowing back at him. The battlefield map no longer pulsed with threat indicators. No more alarms. No more blinking hazard zones. Just the digital ghosts of victory. The sound of Preston's voice still hung in the air, the finality of the words "Compound secured" settling like a weight on Sico's shoulders.
He slowly leaned back in the chair, running a hand across his jaw. His fingers felt the roughness of a day's growth, the tension still clinging to his muscles like dried sweat. But his eyes — sharp, dark, calculating — were already moving past the moment.
Not all victories were final.
He pressed the radio receiver button on the side console, leaning in slightly, voice low and taut with purpose.
"Was he captured?" Sico asked. "Vance. Is he alive?"
There was a pause — just long enough to speak volumes.
From the other end, the rustle of movement came through the comm line. The dull clatter of boots on concrete. The faint echoes of shouting in the background — Freemason soldiers organizing prisoners, dragging crates, extinguishing small fires. Then Preston's voice, slower now, edged with fatigue but firm.
"No," he said. "He's dead."
Sico closed his eyes.
Preston continued, his tone like gravel. "He didn't want to surrender. Drew on me. Got a round to the chest before he could get a shot off. It was clean. Fast."
The silence between them stretched.
Sico leaned back in the chair again, staring at the ceiling. A light flickered above, swaying slightly from the earlier tremors. Dust still lingered in the air from when the Sentinels first fired.
He exhaled through his nose. Slowly. Purposefully.
"We needed him," he murmured.
"I know," Preston replied, no defensiveness in his voice. Just the solemn understanding of a soldier who had pulled the trigger when he had no choice.
Sico opened his eyes, turning back to the screen. He tapped one key, then another, zooming out from the compound to the surrounding area — scanning for movement, for hidden blips, for anything the satellite might have missed.
"His intel could've told us if any other Gunner cells were still active," he said. "If he had backup out there, if they've moved assets, if they've got another base. We'll have to do it the hard way now."
"We've got some prisoners," Preston offered. "A few officers, maybe one who worked close to him. Not high command, but… they might know something. We'll sort them out once we've secured the area."
"Do it," Sico said. "Interrogate them properly. No shortcuts. I want names. Routes. Code phrases. Anything that points to surviving command structures."
There was a beat, then: "Understood."
Sico's hand lingered on the console, knuckles tense. Then he stood slowly, the chair creaking behind him as he rose to full height, casting a long shadow against the dim light of the command tower. Through the window, the starlight glimmered faintly over Sanctuary's walls. The wind had begun to pick up outside — dry, whistling through the towers and trees like the sigh of something ancient and weary.
He stepped to the glass, arms crossed.
"You did well," he said into the comm, quieter now. "All of you."
There was no reply right away, only the sound of soldiers moving in the background. The tail end of a firefight. Someone barking orders. Another voice laughing breathlessly, too relieved to hide it. The sounds of survivors.
Then Preston spoke again. "Thank you, sir."
Sico let the radio click off, the line falling to quiet static.
But his mind didn't rest. Not yet. The war against the Gunners might have tipped tonight — might even have swung fully in their favor — but it wasn't over. Not until every last remnant was hunted down. Not until there were no more commandants left to rise again, no more ambushes waiting in the hills, no more traps buried in long-forgotten ruins.
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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:-