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They left the interrogation room together, their footsteps echoing down the concrete hall. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting pale halos that followed them as they walked. Outside, the first hint of dawn was beginning to creep through the high windows — a soft, uncertain light breaking through the gloom.
The corridor was silent except for the low hum of the generators buried somewhere beneath the building. The concrete walls still carried the faint smell of oil and gunmetal, and the soft echo of boots followed the three of them — Sico, Sarah, and MacCready — as they made their way down the long hall toward the command wing.
They didn't speak at first. The night had been long, the kind that crawled into your bones and made every word feel heavier than it needed to be. Outside, the sky was turning a pale grey — the last embers of night bleeding into dawn — and the world beyond the reinforced glass was still.
Sico pushed open the heavy steel door to his office, and the faint scent of coffee and paper hit them. The room was spacious but simple — functional, not grand. A desk of dark wood sat near the center, its surface scattered with reports, field maps, and a few files marked with the Republic's insignia. The corner lamp cast a warm, amber glow that softened the edges of the cold concrete walls.
Sico crossed the room and set his gloves on the desk. He didn't sit right away. He stood for a long moment, looking out the narrow window behind his desk — the kind that barely showed the dawn light creeping through the mist outside. His reflection looked older in that glass. Tired.
Sarah and MacCready remained standing at first, exchanging a brief glance before Sarah finally broke the quiet. "You look like you've been awake for two days straight."
Sico let out a short breath — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. "Feels like it."
He finally turned around and motioned for them to sit. The leather of his chair creaked as he sank into it, the weight of command seeming to settle a little deeper onto his shoulders.
MacCready sat opposite him, stretching one leg out and rubbing the back of his neck. "So," he said, voice rough. "What's the plan, boss? We hand him over to the tribunal, let them do their thing?"
Sico didn't answer immediately. He leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on the folder still lying on the desk — Ross's file, thick with photographs, notes, and witness statements. He reached for it slowly, opening it as if to remind himself why the night had gone the way it had.
Photos — black and white — of the victims. Three families. Two women, one man. Civilians. Each image felt like a weight. He studied them quietly, his thumb tracing the corner of the page.
After a moment, he closed the file again.
"No," Sico said at last. His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it — a kind of cold finality that made both Sarah and MacCready glance up.
"No?" MacCready repeated.
Sico looked at him, then at Sarah. "There'll be no trial."
Sarah frowned slightly, though not in surprise — more in caution. "You mean to fast-track it?"
"I mean to end it," Sico replied. He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. "The evidence is clear. His confession is recorded. There's no doubt in anyone's mind about what he's done."
MacCready tilted his head. "You're saying we skip the Republic tribunal?"
"I'm saying we don't need bureaucracy where justice is obvious," Sico said. "All we need now is Curie's psychological assessment — confirmation that he's sane enough to understand what he's done. Once that's filed, we make the sentence public."
Sarah's eyes narrowed slightly. "Public?"
Sico nodded. "Yes. We hang him — in front of the people."
The silence that followed was long. Not shocked, exactly — but weighted. MacCready broke it first.
"Well," he muttered, scratching his jaw. "That'll sure get the message across."
Sico's gaze was steady. "That's the point."
Sarah leaned forward slightly. "You want to make it an example."
"I want to make it justice," Sico corrected. "We've built this Republic on law and accountability. People need to know that even in a new world — even in peace — the darkness still has consequences. They need to see that no one gets away with cruelty."
Sarah's brow furrowed. She understood the logic. Hell, she even agreed with most of it. But something in Sico's tone — that thin layer of exhaustion buried beneath control — told her this wasn't just about law. It was personal in a way he hadn't yet admitted.
"You're sure about this?" she asked quietly.
Sico's eyes flicked to her. "He murdered three innocent people. He terrorized an entire district. He confessed. There's no question of guilt."
"That's not what I asked," she said. "I asked if you're sure this is the right way."
MacCready's gaze drifted between them, sensing the tension but staying silent.
Sico sat back again, exhaling through his nose. He stared past them for a moment, as if his mind were elsewhere — maybe back in the interrogation room, or maybe somewhere far earlier than that.
"I've seen what happens when justice hesitates," he said finally. "Back in the early days — before the Republic, before Sanctuary even got walls — I saw men like him walk free because people wanted to 'understand' them. To study them. And every time, they killed again."
Sarah nodded slowly, her voice softer now. "You're saying mercy cost lives."
Sico's gaze sharpened. "It always does, when it's misplaced."
That silence again — that quiet weight that settled between them like smoke. MacCready shifted in his chair, looking toward the wall as if trying to avoid the heaviness in the air.
He cleared his throat. "So… Curie runs her assessment in the morning, confirms he's mentally sound, and then we prep the execution?"
Sico nodded once. "We'll post the notice. I'll address the citizens myself. They'll have the right to know what's being done in their name — and why."
Sarah was still watching him. "And if Curie says he's unstable? Too far gone to even understand what's happening?"
Sico hesitated for half a heartbeat. "Then we document it," he said. "And we proceed anyway."
That answer hung in the air like a slow echo.
Sarah leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "You've already decided."
"I've already seen," Sico said, his tone tightening just slightly. "I've seen what he did to those families. What kind of message would it send if we let a man like that hide behind his madness?"
MacCready exhaled through his nose, shaking his head faintly. "Can't argue with that. Guy's as sick as they come. Still — not sure Curie's gonna like it."
"She doesn't have to like it," Sico replied. "She just has to tell the truth. And the truth is — he knew what he was doing."
Sarah's gaze softened slightly, though her tone stayed level. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."
He met her eyes, unflinching. "Maybe I am. Doesn't change what needs to be done."
For a moment, no one spoke. The distant hum of the generators was the only sound.
Then MacCready leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and sighed. "I get it, boss. Really do. People need closure. Hell, we all do. But… you sure hanging him in public's the way? Feels a little… old-world."
Sico gave a small, humorless smile. "That's exactly why it works. Old-world punishments for old-world evils."
MacCready raised his hands slightly. "Alright. Just saying. Some folks might not stomach it."
"They don't have to like it," Sico said quietly. "They just have to see it."
Sarah watched him carefully. There was something in his voice — not cruelty, but something colder. The tone of a man who'd carried the burden of leadership for too long, and had learned that mercy sometimes cost more than brutality.
"You'll write the statement yourself?" she asked.
"I already have the draft," Sico said, opening one of the folders on his desk. A neatly typed page lay within, marked with corrections in pen — words like justice, accountability, and warning circled in dark ink.
Sarah glanced at it briefly before looking back at him. "You've been planning this since before the interrogation ended."
Sico nodded slightly. "You don't go into a night like that without knowing where it'll end."
MacCready rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. "Guess we're lucky you're the one calling the shots, then."
Sico didn't respond. He just leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Luck's got nothing to do with it."
The three of them sat in silence for a while after that. The office felt smaller somehow, the air heavier. Sarah's eyes wandered to the shelf by the window — old relics from the pre-war world. A rusted compass. A faded Republic banner folded neatly in a glass case.
It reminded her that even the strongest men carried ghosts.
When Sico finally spoke again, it was with the measured tone of someone who'd made peace with a hard choice. "We'll keep this between us for now. No word outside this room until Curie delivers her report."
Sarah nodded. "Understood."
MacCready stood, stretching with a low grunt. "Guess that means no sleep tonight either, huh?"
Sico allowed himself a faint smile. "Go get some rest. You've earned it."
MacCready gave a small salute, half-sincere, half-tired. "Aye, boss. Wake me if Ross grows a conscience."
When he was gone, the room quieted again, leaving just Sico and Sarah. She didn't move right away. Her eyes stayed on the desk — on the file that held Ross's name — before she finally said, softly, "You're right about one thing."
Sico looked up. "What's that?"
She met his gaze, her voice steady but not unkind. "Justice has to mean something. But so does how we deliver it."
He didn't answer right away. His hand rested on the edge of the desk, his thumb brushing against the edge of the paper.
"I know," he said finally. "And that's why we'll do it cleanly. No spectacle. No cruelty. Just truth — and consequence."
Sarah nodded once. "That's all I needed to hear."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder. "Try to get some rest too, Commander. You look like hell."
A faint smile touched Sico's lips. "I'll take that as a compliment."
When she was gone, the office fell silent again. Only the soft hum of the lights filled the space. Sico leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
The next morning came slow — the kind of morning that didn't so much arrive as it crept, inch by inch, through the cold grey light that filtered across the Republic compound.
Sico hadn't really slept. He'd spent most of the night in that office, still dressed in yesterday's uniform, the faint smell of gun oil and paper lingering in the air. The coffee pot on the side table was cold now, half-drained, the mug beside it untouched. He had tried, once, to close his eyes — but all that came was the echo of Ross's voice. That hollow laugh. That twisted conviction. "Loneliness — that's just another word for safety."
By the time the morning hum of activity began outside — the sound of boots in the corridors, comm chatter from the courtyard, the faint whir of a passing vertibird — he was already at the mirror, running cold water over his hands, straightening his collar. The man who stared back looked older than he should have: the lines at the corners of his eyes deeper, the weight in them heavier.
He buttoned his coat, clipped his sidearm in place, and headed for the lower medical wing.
The infirmary was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the low murmur of Curie's voice. She stood beside the glass partition that separated the examination room from the observation area, her posture immaculate, clipboard in hand. Her white coat was perfectly pressed, her dark hair pulled neatly back. Yet behind the professional calm, there was something subdued in her expression — something thoughtful.
Inside the observation room, Sarah stood with her arms crossed, her eyes trained on the small figure beyond the glass — Victor Ross, seated on the examination bench. His hands were cuffed in front of him, the bandages on his leg newly changed. He looked different in daylight. Smaller somehow. Like the night had burned away whatever fragments of power he'd once convinced himself he held.
Preston was there too, standing by the console, his hat tucked under one arm. He'd been brought in as part of the oversight — one of the Republic's moral arbiters, they called them now. Men and women who stood between justice and vengeance.
When Sico entered, Curie turned immediately, nodding once in acknowledgment. "Commander," she said, her accent still carrying that soft, careful cadence that never quite lost its gentleness, no matter the weight of her words.
"Morning, Curie," Sico replied quietly, stepping beside Sarah. His gaze drifted through the glass to Ross. "How's he been?"
Curie's brow furrowed. "Silent for the most part. Cooperative, though resistant when prompted to reflect. I have completed the initial assessment. If you are ready, I will present my findings."
Sico gave a short nod. "Proceed."
Curie glanced down at her clipboard, flipping to the relevant page. Her voice stayed even — clinical, precise, but not without compassion.
"Subject Victor Ross exhibits signs of advanced paranoia, persistent delusional thinking, and antisocial behavioral traits. His worldview is built upon a core trauma, likely abandonment or social rejection, which has calcified into a justification for violence. He displays a pronounced inability to empathize with his victims, though he articulates his motivations as moral correction — that is to say, he believes his actions reveal the hypocrisy of others."
Sarah exhaled softly, eyes still on Ross. "In other words," she murmured, "he thinks he's teaching people a lesson."
Curie nodded once. "Precisely. He sees himself not as a murderer, but as an instrument — a mirror to those he believes wronged him. This suggests what we would call moral displacement. The guilt he refuses to face has been projected outward, onto society."
Sico's eyes narrowed slightly. "And his mental state? Is he capable of understanding what he's done?"
Curie hesitated. The pause was brief but noticeable. She glanced up from the notes, meeting Sico's eyes directly. "Yes. He is lucid. Fully aware of his actions and their consequences."
Preston's jaw tightened, his voice low. "So no plea of madness."
Curie shook her head. "No. He knows. He just does not believe he is wrong."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The hum of the lights above filled the silence, faint and steady. Ross sat beyond the glass, motionless, his eyes unfocused — staring somewhere into a space that wasn't quite here.
Sico finally drew a slow breath. "Then it's done."
Curie looked at him carefully. "You mean to proceed with the sentence?"
Sico nodded. "This afternoon."
Sarah shifted slightly. "Robert and MacCready are already setting up the platform," she said quietly. "West yard — near the watchtower."
Curie's frown deepened ever so slightly. "You will make it public?"
"Yes," Sico said. "It has to be. The Republic's law doesn't mean anything if people never see it enforced."
Curie's voice softened, though her eyes didn't waver. "And yet… to make a man's death a spectacle, even for justice, risks feeding the wrong instincts. Fear, anger… these are contagious emotions, Commander."
Sico regarded her for a moment — not with irritation, but with a weary sort of understanding. "You're not wrong," he said quietly. "But so is silence. We've kept too much hidden in the name of peace. The people deserve to see that their safety has a cost — and that someone pays it."
Preston nodded slowly. "Justice needs to be seen. Otherwise it turns into rumor."
Curie sighed. "Perhaps. But I hope you do not mistake punishment for closure. The two are not the same."
Sico's eyes flicked back to Ross. "No," he said softly. "But sometimes, it's the only bridge between them."
Outside, the day had brightened, though the sky remained overcast — a pale sheet of white stretched over the compound. The wind carried the faint scent of steel and dust. In the courtyard, construction teams were already setting up the wooden frame of the scaffold.
Robert barked orders from below, his tone brisk but controlled. "Make sure that beam's reinforced — I don't want it collapsing mid-procedure! No shortcuts, you hear me?"
MacCready stood nearby, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, watching two engineers tighten the bolts along the hang stand. "You'd think we were building a damn stage," he muttered.
Robert shot him a look. "We are, in a way. Just not the kind anyone wants to see twice."
MacCready exhaled, the wind tugging at his jacket. "Still feels wrong, you know? Building this thing right next to the barracks. Half the recruits are staring at us like we're setting up a circus."
Robert wiped a streak of grease off his glove. "They need to learn what justice looks like. The Republic doesn't run on mercy alone."
"Yeah," MacCready said. "Guess so."
He watched as the final plank was nailed into place, the thick rope looped and tested by one of the guards. Everything was neat, efficient — military precision, even in death. The hang stand rose stark against the dull sky, a dark outline that cast a long shadow across the yard.
Robert checked his watch. "Curie should be finishing up her report by now. Once the Commander signs off, we start briefing the crowd control units."
MacCready nodded absently. His gaze wandered past the scaffolding toward the walls of the compound, where the Republic flag stirred faintly in the wind. "You think people'll come?"
"Oh, they'll come," Robert said. "Word's already spreading. Everyone wants to see the man who made them afraid — see him brought down."
MacCready gave a quiet grunt. "Yeah. That's what worries me."
Back in the medical wing, Curie's assessment had concluded. Ross had been escorted from the examination chamber back to his holding cell. The guards walked in silence, their boots echoing against the corridor floor.
Inside the observation room, Sico remained at the console, arms folded, staring at the monitor that showed the cell feed. Ross sat on the narrow cot, his hands resting in his lap, eyes unfocused. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just waited.
Sarah leaned against the wall, her voice quiet. "He doesn't even look scared."
Sico didn't answer right away. "Men like him don't get scared. They just… fade."
Preston adjusted his hat, his voice low but firm. "I'll have the square cleared by fourteen hundred hours. The citizens have the right to attend if they choose, but we'll keep the perimeter tight. No one gets close to the platform except security."
Sico nodded. "Good."
Curie set her clipboard down, the motion deliberate. "I have filed my report," she said. "Signed and witnessed. It confirms what I have told you — he is of sound mind, fully aware of the consequences of his actions."
Sico looked at her, expression unreadable. "Thank you, Curie. You've done your duty."
She hesitated. "Duty," she echoed softly, as if tasting the word. "Yes… I suppose that is what this is."
He caught the tone, and for a moment, his voice gentled. "If you want to stay away from the execution, I'll understand."
Her eyes lifted to meet his. "I will attend. As a doctor, I believe one must witness the end to understand the weight of beginning."
Sico nodded once. "Then I'll see you there."
By midday, the courtyard had filled. Not crowded — the Republic never allowed chaos — but gathered. Soldiers, civilians, engineers, nurses. Men and women who had built this place with their hands and guarded it with their hearts. They stood in lines, murmuring softly, faces solemn under the pale light.
The hang stand loomed at the far end, its shadow stretching like a scar across the dirt. Two guards stood by the ladder, rifles slung, faces expressionless.
Sico arrived with Sarah, Robert, and MacCready at his sides. He wore his formal coat now — dark grey, the insignia of the Republic stitched into the collar. The wind tugged at the edges of his sleeves.
Ross was brought out last. Shackled, limping, flanked by two guards. He didn't resist. His expression was strangely calm — the calm of a man who had stopped fighting long before the battle ended.
The murmurs quieted as they approached the platform.
Sico stepped forward, standing before the gathered crowd. His voice carried easily — not loud, but clear, every word deliberate.
"Citizens of the Republic," he began, his tone steady. "Today we stand not to celebrate death, but to affirm life — the lives of those taken, the lives we protect, and the law that binds us all."
The wind moved faintly through the courtyard, stirring the flag overhead.
"Victor Ross," he continued, turning toward the condemned man, "is guilty of three counts of murder, psychological terrorism, and desecration of public safety. He has confessed. He has been examined, found sound of mind, and unrepentant. The evidence is clear, and the law is absolute."
Ross looked up then, eyes glinting faintly. "You talk about law like it's a god," he said, his voice low but carrying. "But gods don't bleed. Men do."
Sico didn't flinch. "You made others bleed. Now you'll answer for it."
Ross smiled — not defiant, not mocking, just weary. "You think this makes you better?"
"No," Sico said quietly. "It just makes us accountable."
He gave a small nod to Robert.
The guards guided Ross up the platform steps. The rope hung waiting. MacCready looked away, jaw tight. Curie stood in the front row, her hands folded before her, her face pale but composed. Sarah's expression was unreadable — the stillness of a soldier holding the line between justice and pity.
Ross stopped beneath the beam. For a moment, he looked out over the gathered faces. No one met his eyes.
He laughed once, softly — almost to himself. "At least this time," he murmured, "they're all looking."
The guard slipped the noose over his head.
Sico gave the signal.
The lever dropped.
And just like that — it was done.
The body hung motionless in the wind, the rope creaking softly. The silence that followed was profound — no applause, no relief. Just the sound of the flag flapping above, the hum of life continuing in a world that had just watched death.
Sico stood for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the still form. Then he turned to Sarah and Preston. "Cut him down after the crowd disperses," he said quietly. "Bury him outside the walls. No marker."
Sarah nodded once. "Understood."
The wind had grown colder by the time the last tremor left the body.
The courtyard stood in heavy silence — that kind of silence that doesn't feel like peace, but rather the echo of something too solemn to name. The hanging rope still swayed faintly, the beam creaking in rhythm with the breeze.
For a long moment, no one moved. Not even the birds.
Sico stood there, his boots planted firmly in the dust, his hands clasped behind his back. The shadows of the platform stretched long and thin across the ground, touching the edges of the crowd. Dozens of faces watched him — some pale, some hardened, some unreadable. The citizens of Sanctuary, the soldiers of the Republic, the engineers and medics who'd built this place from ashes — all looking to him now.
He took a breath, slow and deliberate, before stepping forward. The sound of his boots was soft against the packed earth.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it carried — a steady weight that reached every ear in the yard.
"Let this be a lesson," he said. "To every man, woman, or soul who believes they can take life and walk free under the banner of the Republic."
The crowd remained still. Eyes followed his every word.
"In this land," Sico continued, "we have fought too long, bled too much, and buried too many to let evil grow within our walls. The Freemasons Republic was built to protect, to rebuild, to give our children a home where they no longer fear the night. But make no mistake—"
His voice tightened, firm as iron. "—Protection is not weakness."
He looked across the gathered faces — farmers with dirt under their nails, soldiers with scars across their knuckles, engineers with oil-stained sleeves, and nurses with tired eyes. People who'd earned their peace inch by inch.
"If you commit a crime against the innocent," he said, "if you spill blood out of greed, malice, or perversion—then know this: we will find you. We will hunt you down. And we will deliver the sentence you deserve."
The words rang through the courtyard, heavy as a hammer striking steel.
Sico's gaze swept once more over the crowd, and for a heartbeat, it met a young woman near the back — one of the victims' sisters, though he didn't know which. She clutched a folded cloth against her chest, knuckles white, tears streaking silently down her face. She didn't cry out. She didn't move. But her eyes — they held something raw, something that broke past all the speeches and justice and order: grief.
He lowered his tone slightly, his next words coming quieter, steadier.
"No law can bring back what was lost. No punishment can fill the emptiness left behind. But justice — justice reminds us that we are not helpless. That when darkness rises, this Republic will not turn away. It will not forget."
The silence that followed wasn't empty anymore. It had weight. A pulse. Like the people themselves were breathing together again after holding it too long.
Sico let it linger. Then he looked once more toward the hanging body — the rope still swaying gently in the wind, the weight of death already beginning to fade into memory — and spoke one last time.
"This," he said quietly, "is what accountability looks like."
He stepped back from the platform, his expression unreadable, and gave a small nod to Sarah. She raised her hand in signal, and the guards moved forward. Slowly, methodically, they began to cut the rope.
The body fell limp into waiting arms, and the murmurs rippled through the crowd — low, cautious, uncertain. Then Preston stepped forward, his voice measured and commanding: "Return to your duties. The Commander has spoken."
The people began to disperse, slowly at first, then more steadily, the sea of faces thinning as boots crunched across dirt and voices faded into the wind.
Sico stayed where he was.
For a moment, he just watched the emptying yard — the wind tugging faintly at the flag above, the faint scent of dust and hemp lingering in the air. It felt… quieter, somehow, than before.
Sarah approached, her footsteps light. "It's done," she said softly.
Sico nodded once, still watching the horizon. "No," he murmured. "It's only beginning."
She tilted her head slightly. "What do you mean?"
He turned toward her, his expression somber. "Justice has a cost. Every time we enforce it, we remind people that peace isn't free. That there's always a shadow waiting just behind it."
Sarah's eyes followed his gaze toward the scaffold. "You think people will see it that way?"
"Some will," he said quietly. "Others will just remember the rope."
They stood there in silence for a while, the wind carrying the faint clang of metal from the workshops, the murmur of voices from the nearby barracks.
Then Sico said, "I want extra patrols around the civilian quarters tonight. Especially the eastern blocks. Fear makes people reckless — and rumor spreads faster than truth."
Sarah gave a short nod. "I'll handle it personally."
"Good."
Preston approached then, removing his hat out of respect as he came near. His expression was thoughtful, even grim. "Crowd behaved better than I expected," he said quietly. "But there'll be talk. Some folks will say it was justice. Others… they'll say it was vengeance."
Sico met his gaze. "They're both right."
Preston gave a faint, tired smile. "Guess that's the kind of world we built, huh?"
"The kind we inherited," Sico corrected. "We just made it cleaner."
Preston nodded slowly, then stepped away to coordinate the guards who were lifting the body onto a stretcher.
Sico turned back toward the west wall, where the afternoon sun had begun to break through the clouds. The light washed over the compound in streaks of gold and shadow, illuminating the steel walkways and the concrete walls that marked the Republic's boundary.
For a moment, it almost looked beautiful. Peaceful, even. But he knew better.
Every brick, every turret, every inch of wire fencing was there because of fear — the memory of what came before.
He could still hear Ross's words echo faintly in his head. "You think this makes you better?"
No. It didn't. But it made them safer.
And for now, that had to be enough.
Later that evening, the yard was empty again. The scaffold had been dismantled, the wood stacked neatly near the storage depot for reuse. The dust had been swept, though faint traces of it still marked the ground.
Sico stood by the window of his office, the low orange light of sunset spilling across the floorboards. A bottle of whiskey sat unopened beside a single glass. He hadn't touched it — just stared at the reflection of the fading sky in the glass.
The door creaked open behind him. "You didn't eat," came Curie's voice, soft but certain.
He glanced over his shoulder. She stood there with a tray in hand — soup, bread, and a folded napkin — the kind of simple gesture that somehow felt heavier after days like this.
"Not hungry," he said quietly.
She set it down anyway, moving closer. "You should try. The body may be strong, but grief feeds on exhaustion."
Sico gave a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You think this was grief?"
Curie studied him carefully. "Perhaps not the kind most people name. But yes — a kind of it."
He looked back out the window. "I don't grieve for him. Or for what we did."
"I know," Curie said softly. "That is what worries me."
He glanced at her. She didn't flinch. Her eyes were calm, unblinking — the gaze of someone who saw more than most dared admit.
"You believe in mercy," Sico said.
"I believe in humanity," she replied. "Even when it is ugly."
He turned away again, exhaling through his nose. "You think I don't?"
"I think you remember it too much," she said gently. "Enough to bury it under duty."
The words landed quietly, but they stayed — lingering like the aftertaste of truth.
Sico didn't answer. He just kept staring at the horizon, where the sun had nearly vanished, leaving only the faint afterglow along the line of trees beyond the wall.
Finally, he said, "Do you think the others will see this as justice?"
Curie's voice was calm. "Some will. Others will only see death. Both will be right."
He nodded faintly — the same answer he'd given Preston earlier. The same truth he couldn't escape.
After a moment, Curie stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You did what was necessary. That does not mean it was easy."
"It wasn't supposed to be," he murmured.
She looked at him for a long moment more, then gave a small nod and turned to leave. At the doorway, she paused. "Try to rest, Commander. Tomorrow will need you again."
When she was gone, Sico finally sat down. The chair creaked faintly under his weight. He looked at the cold soup on the tray, then at the folder still lying on his desk — Ross's file.
He reached out, flipping it open. The photographs were gone now, but the words remained — the reports, the signatures, the final line stamped in red ink:
CASE CLOSED — EXECUTION CARRIED OUT.
He stared at those words for a long time.
Then he closed the folder slowly, pressing a hand over it.
Outside, night had fallen — the faint buzz of generators humming through the compound, the distant sound of patrol boots echoing through the streets of Sanctuary. Somewhere out there, families were lighting lamps, telling their children that the monster was gone.
________________________________________________
• 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:-