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Jenny's team watched the first real furrows being cut into the earth, guarded by soldiers who looked more like sentinels than conquerors.
A week passed.
Not the kind of week that announced itself with fireworks or speeches, but the kind that settled in quietly, measured not by days on a calendar but by callused hands, tightened bolts, turned soil, and conversations that ended with nods instead of arguments.
Goodneighbor didn't change overnight.
It never would have.
But it has shifted slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, like a building settling after new supports were driven into its bones.
The first full day after the convoy arrived was loud.
Metal rang against metal as Sturges' team worked from dawn, the rhythmic clang echoing through alleys that had grown used to gunfire but not construction. Sparks flashed as welders flared to life, briefly overpowering the neon glow with white-hot light.
Locals watched from balconies and doorways, some with crossed arms, others pretending not to care while clearly caring very much.
"They're really doin' it," a ghoul muttered near The Third Rail, squinting toward the perimeter.
"Yeah," another replied. "Question is why."
Suspicion ran deep in Goodneighbor. It always had. Survival here depended on assuming the worst until proven otherwise.
Sturges felt it in every stare.
He didn't let it slow him.
"Okay," he called out, pointing toward a reinforced section near the eastern approach. "That support beam goes there. Angle it right, if it doesn't look like it belongs, people'll hate it."
One of his engineers wiped sweat from her brow. "You worry too much."
"No," Sturges replied, tightening a bolt. "I worry just enough."
By sunset, the first section of wall stood taller that not higher enough to feel oppressive, but solid enough that even the skeptics had to admit it looked better.
Stronger.
South of the city, the farm site buzzed with a different kind of energy.
Kate moved through it like she'd always belonged there, sleeves rolled up, boots already caked with soil. She wasn't loud. She didn't bark orders. She showed people what needed doing and trusted them to do it.
That alone won over more locals than any promise ever could.
On the second day, an older man named Rourke approached her, arms crossed, expression hard.
"You really think this'll work?" he asked, nodding at the half-cleared land.
Kate straightened, stretching her back. "I know it will."
Rourke snorted. "People've tried before."
Kate met his eyes. "People didn't have this before."
She gestured which not to the soldiers, not to the tools but to the way locals and her team worked side by side, sharing water, sharing jokes, sharing quiet determination.
Rourke stared for a long moment.
Then he picked up a shovel.
By the fourth day, rows were marked. Irrigation trenches dug. Compost pits established.
Seeds were sorted carefully, almost reverently.
When the first crops went into the ground, a hush fell over the site that not silence, but focus. Hands moved gently. Dirt was pressed down like a promise.
Kate stood back, watching.
"Alright," she said softly. "We're committed now."
A young woman beside her smiled. "Feels good."
Kate nodded. "It really does."
Inside Goodneighbor, Sarah and Fahrenheit spent most of the week together.
Not always comfortably.
They argued over patrol routes. Over sightlines. Over how visible was too visible.
"You put guards there," Fahrenheit said on the third day, stabbing a finger at the map, "and people'll think you're occupyin' the place."
Sarah leaned back, arms crossed. "If I don't put guards there, someone dies."
Fahrenheit glared. "You don't get to—"
Sarah cut in, calm but firm. "I get to prevent it."
The room went quiet.
Then Hancock laughed from the doorway.
"Alright," he said. "Let's all take a breath before someone throws a chair."
Fahrenheit exhaled sharply, then rubbed her face. "Fine. Compromise."
By the end of the week, they had one.
Early warning posts disguised as lookout points.
Patrols timed to blend into Goodneighbor's natural rhythm.
Fallback routes that didn't scream "military doctrine."
On the seventh day, they stood atop one of Sturges' new vantage points, looking out over the city.
"Gotta admit," Fahrenheit said grudgingly, "this works."
Sarah nodded. "Because it's yours."
Fahrenheit glanced at her. "You ever think about how weird this is?"
"All the time," Sarah replied.
If anyone in Goodneighbor noticed Magnolia's team at all, it was only because things stopped going wrong.
Caravans arrived on time.
Supplies stopped vanishing mysteriously.
Storage stopped rotting or leaking.
Lou, the logistics officer sat hunched over a table with Magnolia's team lead, eyes wide as numbers finally made sense.
"You're tellin' me," he said slowly, "we've got enough reserves to last two months?"
"Yes," the team leader replied calmly. "Assuming no major disruptions."
Lou let out a shaky laugh. "That's… that's never happened."
Magnolia's philosophy worked exactly as intended.
No announcements.
No banners.
No speeches.
Just stability.
By the end of the week, Goodneighbor's logistics board glowed green across the board—routes secure, reserves stocked, redundancies in place.
Two months of survival.
Enough time for crops to grow.
Enough time for hope to take root.
On the seventh evening, Goodneighbor felt… different.
Music still poured from The Third Rail. Laughter still echoed through the streets. Trouble still existed, it always would.
But there was something else now.
Confidence.
Sturges stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the completed wall upgrades. "Yeah," he said softly. "That'll do."
Kate walked the farm at sunset, brushing fingers over newly sprouted greens. "They're coming in strong," she murmured.
Sarah filed her final defense report, nodding once as she sealed it. "Good."
Magnolia team leader reviewed her team's work and allowed herself a single, satisfied breath.
The seventh night settled over Goodneighbor the way it always had with slow, smoky, alive.
Neon lights flickered against cracked concrete, painting the streets in bruised pinks and electric blues. Music rolled out of The Third Rail in lazy waves, mixing with laughter, arguments, and the distant rattle of dice on tabletops. It wasn't quieter than before. It wasn't calmer.
But it was steadier.
And people felt it, even if they didn't have words for it yet.
Sturges stood near the upgraded eastern wall long after most of his crew had packed up for the evening. He rested his hands on his hips, helmet dangling loosely from one hand, eyes tracing the line where old scrap met new reinforcement. The work blended better than he'd hoped with no sharp edges screaming "foreign," no unnecessary bulk. Just strength where there had been weakness.
A local guard leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed.
"Never thought I'd see this spot hold up against anything bigger than a drunk with a pipe," the guard muttered.
Sturges chuckled. "Give it a chance. It's sturdier than it looks."
The guard snorted. "Everything here looks like it's about to fall apart."
"Yeah," Sturges said softly. "But it doesn't."
That felt like the right answer.
South of the city, the farm lay quiet under the deepening orange of sunset.
Kate moved slowly between the rows, boots crunching softly against dry earth. The first shoots were small which is fragile-looking, almost but they were there. Real. Alive.
She crouched, brushing her fingers gently across a line of green.
"They're coming in strong," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
A young local woman named Mira stood nearby, wiping dirt from her hands. "Never seen anything grow this close to the city before."
Kate smiled faintly. "That's because no one had the space or the patience."
Mira hesitated. "You really think this'll last? After you leave?"
Kate straightened slowly, looking out across the field where locals laughed quietly as they packed away tools, soldiers standing watch without hovering.
"Yes," she said. "Because it's yours now."
Mira swallowed, nodding.
Kate turned her gaze back toward Goodneighbor's lights. She knew when to leave things alone. This was one of those times.
Inside the Old State House, Fahrenheit leaned back in her chair, boots once again propped on the desk, staring at the ceiling like she was daring it to fall.
The door creaked open.
Hancock stepped in, coat slung loosely over one shoulder, grin easy but tired at the edges.
"Well," he said, "look at that. Still standin'. That's a good sign."
Fahrenheit snorted. "You bringin' bad news, or you just here to annoy me one last time before you leave?"
Hancock closed the door behind him, the noise of the building muffling.
"Little of column A, little of column B," he replied. "Mostly just wanted a word."
Fahrenheit dropped her boots to the floor and leaned forward. "Alright. Let's hear it."
Hancock didn't sit. He leaned against the desk instead, hands braced behind him.
"We're headin' back to Sanctuary," he said. "Sarah's already gettin' the convoy ready. Sturges too."
Fahrenheit nodded slowly. "Figured that was comin'."
Hancock studied her for a moment longer than usual.
"You good?" he asked.
She scoffed. "Define 'good.'"
"I mean," Hancock said carefully, "you ready to hold this place without us hoverin'?"
Fahrenheit's jaw tightened, then relaxed.
"I've been holdin' it without you hoverin' for a long time," she said. "Difference now is… we've got options."
Hancock smiled faintly. "That we do."
She looked at him then, really looked.
"You sure this is how you want it?" she asked. "Mayor tied up playin' Republic hero half the time?"
Hancock shrugged. "Someone's gotta make sure the bigger picture doesn't go to hell. And you've got this."
Fahrenheit snorted. "You always say that."
"Because it's true," Hancock replied. "And listen—"
His tone shifted, losing the humor entirely.
"If you need anything," he said, tapping the radio at his belt, "you send a word. No bureaucracy. No bullshit. You call, we answer."
Fahrenheit held his gaze for a long moment.
Then she nodded once. "Alright."
She smirked. "Don't make me regret trustin' you."
Hancock grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."
They stood there a second longer, the weight of years and shared chaos hanging between them.
"Keep Goodneighbor safe," Hancock said quietly.
Fahrenheit scoffed, but her voice softened. "Always do."
Outside, the return preparations were already underway.
Sarah moved through the convoy with efficient focus, clipboard tucked under one arm, radio crackling softly at her shoulder. She checked manifests, confirmed headcounts, spoke briefly with drivers and escorts.
"Fuel topped off?" she asked one.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Routes clear?"
"Scouts say green."
"Good," Sarah replied. "Keep it that way."
Sturges jogged up beside her, grease smudged across his cheek again like it had personally chosen him.
"All tools accounted for," he said. "Left behind the basics they'll need for maintenance. Nothing they can't handle."
Sarah nodded. "Smart."
He hesitated. "You think it'll hold?"
Sarah glanced back toward the city, neon lights glowing against reinforced walls.
"Yes," she said simply. "I do."
That seemed to satisfy him.
She spotted Kate approaching from the direction of the farm, dirt still under her nails, posture tired but proud.
"How's the site?" Sarah asked.
Kate smiled faintly. "Alive."
Sarah allowed herself a small smile in return. "That's more than enough."
Kate shifted her weight. "Locals are nervous about us leaving."
"They'll adjust," Sarah replied. "You gave them tools. Not dependency."
Kate nodded. "That was the point."
Across the yard, Magnolia's logistics team finished loading their remaining crates, movements quiet, precise. Their work here was mostly invisible—and that was exactly how Magnolia wanted it.
Her team leader approached Sarah briefly.
"Systems are stable," she reported. "We'll maintain oversight remotely. Minimal interference unless necessary."
Sarah inclined her head. "Thank you."
The team leader paused. "They'll be fine."
Sarah met her eyes. "I know."
As dusk deepened, Sarah raised her radio.
"All units," she said calmly, "prepare for departure. Five minutes."
The convoy stirred back to life with engines humming, lights flickering on, people climbing into vehicles with practiced ease.
Sturges gathered his crew with a clap of his hands.
"Alright, geniuses," he called. "Let's head home before someone decides they miss us too much."
A few locals lingered near the edge of the street, watching.
One called out, "You comin' back?"
Sturges smiled. "Hopefully not because something went wrong."
That earned a few laughs.
Kate paused near Mira, who stood clutching a sack of seeds.
"You really leavin'?" Mira asked quietly.
Kate nodded. "Yeah."
Mira swallowed. "Thank you."
Kate squeezed her shoulder gently. "Take care of it."
"I will," Mira said. "I promise."
Hancock emerged from the Old State House just as the convoy was lining up.
Sarah approached him. "We're ready."
He nodded. "Good."
He took one last look down the street at the guards posted confidently at reinforced points, at the glow of The Third Rail, at people moving with just a little less tension in their shoulders.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's not overstay our welcome."
Sarah climbed into the lead vehicle.
Hancock took the passenger seat again, boots back on the dash like nothing had changed.
As the convoy began to roll, people watched.
Not with fear this time.
With something closer to respect.
Goodneighbor didn't wave.
It didn't cheer.
It simply stood with walls stronger, food growing, systems holding.
And that was enough.
The last vehicle cleared the main street, engines fading into the distance.
The convoy slipped out of Goodneighbor the same way it had arrived that measured, deliberate, without ceremony.
Neon bled away behind them as cracked streets gave way to darker roads, the glow of the city shrinking until it became just another bruise on the horizon. The night swallowed the sound of engines slowly, wrapping the column in the low, steady hum of travel and the soft chatter of radios checking distances and spacing.
Sarah sat in the lead Humvee, posture upright but not rigid, hands resting loosely near the dashboard as her eyes tracked the road ahead. She didn't need to grip the wheel. She trusted the driver. She trusted the route. Trust, she'd learned, wasn't the absence of caution as it was the presence of preparation.
Beside her, Hancock leaned back in the passenger seat, boots up on the dash like the wasteland still owed him comfort. His hat was tipped back, eyes half-lidded, cigarette unlit between his fingers more out of habit than intent. He looked relaxed, but Sarah knew better. Hancock never truly relaxed. He just learned how to look like he had.
The first ten minutes passed in silence.
Not awkward silence. Functional silence.
The kind that came when there was nothing immediate to solve.
The Humvee rolled over a stretch of uneven asphalt, suspension groaning softly. Outside, ruined storefronts slipped past like ghosts—shadows of lives that had once been ordinary, now reduced to half-remembered outlines.
Sarah broke the quiet.
"You sure about this?" she asked, voice calm, almost conversational.
Hancock didn't move at first. His eyes stayed on the road ahead, following the pale sweep of headlights as they carved through the dark.
"About headin' back to Sanctuary?" he asked.
"No," Sarah replied. "About leaving Goodneighbor again."
That got his attention.
He turned his head slightly, enough to look at her without fully shifting. "You worried?"
Sarah considered her words carefully.
"I know what Goodneighbor is," she said. "And I know what it does to people who leave a vacuum behind. You've got rivals there. People who've been waiting for you to slip, or disappear long enough for them to make a move."
She paused, then added, "And you're putting Fahrenheit in charge."
Hancock smiled faintly. Not amused. More… fond.
"That sound like a complaint?"
Sarah shook her head. "It's not a complaint. It's a risk assessment."
He chuckled softly. "Of course it is."
The Humvee crested a small rise, the road ahead briefly leveling out before dipping again into broken terrain. The escort vehicles followed in tight formation, lights disciplined, spacing clean. Sarah watched them in the side mirror, then returned her gaze forward.
"You've already been gone a lot lately," she continued. "Every time you leave, someone notices. Someone starts thinking."
"Someone's always thinkin'," Hancock replied. "That's Goodneighbor."
Sarah's tone stayed steady. "Thinking turns into planning. Planning turns into action. Titles change fast in places like that."
She looked at him now. "Are you sure you want to hand them another opportunity?"
Hancock exhaled slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before tucking it back into his coat pocket.
"I've left Goodneighbor before," he said. "Plenty of times."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "And every time you came back, something had changed."
"Yeah," Hancock agreed. "And it was still mine."
She waited.
He knew better than to think she was finished.
Hancock shifted, boots dropping from the dash as he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. The humor drained from his expression, leaving something harder but also more honest.
"I trust Fahrenheit," he said.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just plainly.
Sarah studied him. "Trust doesn't stop bullets."
"No," Hancock said. "But preparation does."
She didn't interrupt.
He continued.
"Fahrenheit's been holdin' that place together longer than most people realize," he said. "Not just muscle. Not just fear. She knows who matters, who doesn't, and who's pretending to be one when they're really the other."
Sarah nodded slowly. "She's competent."
"She's more than that," Hancock replied. "She's ruthless when she needs to be, and invisible when she should be. And she doesn't crave the title."
That mattered.
Sarah leaned back slightly. "Neither did you. At first."
Hancock smirked. "Yeah. Look how that turned out."
The Humvee hit a pothole, jolting them lightly. The driver muttered an apology over his shoulder. Hancock waved it off.
"Point is," he continued, "Fahrenheit's been runnin' Goodneighbor every time I've been away. She just didn't have the hat."
Sarah frowned. "And your rivals?"
Hancock's eyes flicked toward the side window, watching ruins slide past.
"They've tried," he said.
Sarah waited again.
"Couple of 'em thought my absence meant weakness," Hancock went on. "Thought they could stir up trouble, maybe make a play for the mayor title while I was busy playin' Republic ambassador."
"And?" Sarah asked.
"And they underestimated two things," Hancock replied. "How patient I can be. And how thorough Fahrenheit is."
He glanced at her, a sharpness in his gaze now.
"We didn't just react," he said. "We prepared."
Sarah's lips pressed into a thin line. "You planted spies."
Hancock smiled, slow and unapologetic. "We planted listeners."
"Every rival group?" Sarah asked.
"Every one that mattered," he corrected. "And a few that thought they mattered."
He leaned back again, more relaxed now that he'd said it out loud.
"Goodneighbor thrives on secrets," he said. "You don't control it by shoutin' louder than everyone else. You control it by knowin' what they're whisperin' before they realize they're whisperin' it."
Sarah absorbed that in silence.
"You squashed every rebellion attempt?" she asked.
Hancock nodded. "Quietly."
"How?"
"Sometimes with conversation," he said. "Sometimes with leverage. Sometimes by lettin' people see just enough of the truth to scare 'em straight."
He shrugged. "And sometimes by lettin' Fahrenheit do what she does best."
Sarah exhaled slowly. "Which is?"
"Making problems disappear without makin' martyrs," Hancock replied.
That earned a small, reluctant nod from her.
They drove on for a while, the rhythm of the convoy settling into something almost meditative. Radios crackled intermittently with status updates. The night air cooled as they moved farther from the city, carrying the scent of dust and distant vegetation.
Sarah broke the silence again, quieter this time.
"You ever worry," she asked, "that one day you'll come back and Goodneighbor won't need you anymore?"
Hancock laughed softly, the sound edged with something bittersweet.
"All the damn time," he admitted.
She glanced at him.
"But here's the thing," he continued. "If that ever happens, it means we did something right."
Sarah considered that.
"Most leaders don't think that way," she said.
"Most leaders are insecure," Hancock replied. "I already died once. Kinda takes the pressure off."
A faint smile tugged at her mouth despite herself.
The road narrowed, trees pressing closer on either side, skeletal branches clawing at the darkness. The convoy adjusted smoothly, spacing tightening, headlights dimming slightly to reduce visibility.
Sarah checked her watch.
"We'll reach Sanctuary before dawn," she said.
"Good," Hancock replied. "I prefer my homecomings without fanfare."
"You don't get fanfare in Sanctuary," Sarah said. "You get work."
"Perfect," he replied. "Keeps me humble."
She snorted softly.
Another stretch of silence passed, thicker now but not uncomfortable. Sarah's thoughts drifted back to Goodneighbor with the reinforced walls, the growing farm, the quiet confidence settling into people's movements. She pictured Fahrenheit standing in the Old State House, boots on the desk, eyes sharp, listening.
"You really believe she'll hold it?" Sarah asked.
Hancock didn't hesitate. "Yeah."
"And if your rivals make a move while you're gone?" she pressed.
He shrugged. "Then they'll find out the hard way that I never stopped watchin'."
Sarah glanced at the radio on the dash.
"Remote oversight," she said.
"Exactly," Hancock replied. "Just because I'm not there doesn't mean I'm absent."
She nodded.
"That's the part people always forget," she said. "Presence isn't just physical."
"Damn right," Hancock said. "It's influence."
The Humvee slowed slightly as the convoy navigated a collapsed overpass, debris forcing a careful detour. Sarah leaned forward, eyes scanning the terrain automatically, mind shifting gears back into command.
"Convoy," she said into the radio, "maintain spacing. Eyes open."
Acknowledgments crackled back.
Hancock watched her with quiet respect.
"You're good at this," he said.
Sarah didn't look at him. "It's my job."
"No," he corrected. "It's who you are."
She didn't respond, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
As the road opened up again, the first faint hint of dawn touched the sky with a pale gray bleeding slowly into the black.
Hancock tilted his head back, watching it.
"You know," he said, "Goodneighbor'll be fine."
Sarah glanced at him. "Because of Fahrenheit?"
"Because of people," he replied. "Because they've got walls, food, and just enough hope to make 'em stubborn."
She nodded. "Hope's dangerous."
"Yeah," Hancock said. "But so is despair. I'll take my chances."
The Humvee rolled on, carrying them closer to Sanctuary, closer to the next set of problems waiting patiently for their turn.
Dawn reached Sanctuary before the convoy did.
It crept in slowly, thin light spilling over broken rooftops and half-rebuilt walls, catching on windshields and polished metal, turning dust into something almost golden. The night didn't vanish so much as it loosened its grip, retreating step by step as the Republic's heart came back into view.
Sanctuary always looked different at first light.
Less like a fortress. More like a town that had decided that it would exist tomorrow.
The convoy rolled in through the main approach at reduced speed, engines lowering to an idle hum that blended into the morning sounds of life already awake. Guards at the outer checkpoint straightened when they recognized the lead Humvee. There were nods instead of salutes, hands raised briefly in greeting rather than rigid formality.
They knew these vehicles.
They knew these people.
Sarah watched it all through the windshield, taking in the details the way she always did. New scaffolding along one house. A brahmin being guided toward the market area. A pair of children darting past a stack of crates, laughter sharp and fearless in a way that would have been impossible a year ago.
Sanctuary hadn't paused while they were gone.
That, more than anything else, reassured her.
The convoy slowed further as it turned toward the Freemasons Headquarters, the central building standing solid and deliberate at the heart of the settlement. It wasn't the largest structure in Sanctuary, but it carried weight. Authority without excess. Order without spectacle.
The lead Humvee came to a stop directly in front of the HQ.
Engines cut one by one, the sound tapering off until only the wind and distant voices remained. Doors opened. Boots hit the ground. People stretched, adjusted gear, exchanged quick words that were half-report, half-relief.
Sarah stepped out last.
She paused for just a moment, inhaling deeply. Sanctuary smelled like wood smoke, soil, oil, and something faintly green with new growth mixed into old scars. It was a smell she associated with responsibility. With continuity.
She raised her voice, not shouting, but projecting.
"Alright," she said. "Convoy's home. Stand down."
The words rippled through the group.
Weapons were lowered. Tension eased. Postures softened in ways that only happened when people knew they were back under familiar protection.
"Escort units," Sarah continued, "you're released back to your regular rotations. Debrief reports by midday. Logistics, inventory check before lunch."
A few nods. A couple of tired smiles.
Sturges climbed down from one of the support vehicles, rolling his shoulders and squinting toward the rising sun.
"Home sweet home," he muttered, then glanced at Sarah. "Walls held. Farm's started. Systems didn't fall apart."
Sarah allowed herself a small nod. "Good work."
Kate followed, quieter, eyes already drifting toward the fields beyond Sanctuary where early workers moved among rows of crops.
"They'll be fine," Kate said, more to herself than anyone else.
"They will," Sarah replied.
Magnolia's logistics team disembarked efficiently, already discussing handoff procedures and data synchronization. They didn't linger. They never did. Their satisfaction came from knowing the numbers would keep working after they walked away.
Hancock stepped out of the Humvee last, stretching theatrically like the road had personally offended him.
"Well," he said, hands on hips, surveying Sanctuary, "would ya look at that. Still standin'."
Sarah glanced at him. "You sound surprised."
"Not surprised," Hancock replied. "Relieved."
She turned back to the assembled personnel.
"That's it," she said. "You're dismissed."
The convoy broke apart naturally after that. People peeled away toward bunks, mess halls, workshops. The Republic didn't dissolve into chaos when missions ended as it redistributed itself, energy flowing back into a thousand small responsibilities that kept everything alive.
Sarah watched them go for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she turned to Hancock. "Let's go."
He tipped his hat. "Lead the way, General."
They crossed the open space toward the HQ together, boots crunching lightly against gravel. The building loomed closer with each step, its reinforced doors already open to the morning activity inside.
Hancock glanced sideways at her. "You gonna walk me through this, or am I gettin' the 'you talk, I nod' treatment?"
Sarah didn't smile. "You'll talk. I'll fill in the gaps."
"Ah," Hancock said. "Teamwork."
Inside, the HQ was awake but subdued. Clerks moved between offices with folders tucked under their arms. Radios murmured quietly. The hum of governance that never dramatic, never glamorous, but constant.
They passed a few familiar faces. Nods were exchanged. No one stopped them.
Everyone knew where they were going.
Sico's office sat slightly apart from the main administrative floor. Not isolated, but intentional that close enough to be accessible, far enough to allow focus.
Sarah reached the door first.
She knocked once.
Inside, papers rustled.
"Enter," came Sico's voice, even and controlled.
Sarah opened the door and stepped aside slightly, allowing Hancock to enter with her.
Sico looked up from his desk mid-motion, pen paused over a document. The moment he registered who stood there, something subtle shifted in his expression—not surprise, not relief, but acknowledgment.
"You're back," he said.
"We are," Sarah replied.
Hancock gave a lazy salute. "Miss us?"
Sico set the pen down carefully, folded his hands once, then stood.
"Come in," he said, stepping around the desk. "Close the door."
Sarah did, the soft click echoing faintly in the room.
Sico studied them both for a second with dust-streaked boots, travel-worn gear, eyes sharper than when they'd left.
"Report," he said simply.
Sarah didn't waste time.
"Goodneighbor is stable," she began. "Walls reinforced. Defensive posture adjusted without provoking the locals. Early-warning positions established and disguised. Patrol routes integrated into the city's natural movement patterns."
Sico nodded slowly, listening.
"Food production has begun south of the city," she continued. "Kate oversaw the initial planting. Locals are involved. Ownership is theirs. We didn't create dependency."
"That was important," Sico said quietly.
"It worked," Sarah replied. "Suspicion eased once people realized we weren't staying."
Hancock leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely.
"Sturges' upgrades blend in," he added. "Strong enough to matter, subtle enough not to scream 'occupation.'"
Sico glanced at him. "And governance?"
Hancock's expression shifted that not joking now, not flippant.
"Fahrenheit's still in charge," he said. "Same as every time I'm gone. Only difference now is it's official."
Sico studied him carefully. "You're comfortable with that."
"I trust her," Hancock replied without hesitation. "More importantly, Goodneighbor trusts her."
"And your rivals?" Sico asked.
Hancock smiled faintly. "Still my rivals. Still watched."
Sarah stepped in smoothly. "Rebellion attempts were anticipated and neutralized before escalation. Intelligence networks are intact. Oversight continues remotely."
Sico raised an eyebrow slightly. "You left listeners behind."
Hancock shrugged. "Goodneighbor runs on secrets. We'd be fools not to."
Sico accepted that without comment.
"Logistics?" he asked.
Sarah nodded. "Magnolia's team stabilized supply routes and reserves. Goodneighbor has approximately two months of buffer. Enough for crops to take hold."
"Enough for confidence to settle," Sico said.
"Yes," Sarah agreed.
Sico walked back toward his desk slowly, gaze unfocused as he processed everything. He didn't rush conclusions. He never had.
"And the people?" he asked.
Sarah paused.
"They're… steadier," she said. "Not grateful. Not submissive. Just less afraid."
"That's the goal," Sico replied.
He sat down again, steepling his fingers briefly.
"You did what you were sent to do," he said. "And you did it without breaking the place in the process."
Hancock smirked. "High praise, comin' from you."
Sico ignored the comment.
"There will be consequences," he said calmly. "There always are. Strength attracts attention."
Sarah nodded. "We're ready for that."
Sico looked at her. "Are you?"
She met his gaze evenly. "Yes."
Silence settled for a moment.
Not heavy. Not tense.
Just the quiet acknowledgment of work completed and work yet to come.
"Goodneighbor stands," Sico said finally. "That matters."
He looked between them. "You'll both need rest. Debrief summaries by evening. Full strategic review tomorrow."
Hancock straightened slightly. "Then what?"
Sico's expression didn't change.
"Then we move on to the next fracture," he said. "Because stability is never permanent."
Sarah exhaled softly. "No. But it can be extended."
"That's our job," Sico replied.
Hancock pushed off the wall. "Well," he said, clapping his hands once, "if that's it, I'm gonna find somethin' that vaguely resembles breakfast."
Sico almost smiled.
Sarah turned toward the door, then paused.
"Director," she said.
"Yes?" Sico replied.
"Goodneighbor didn't just survive," she said. "It grew."
Sico inclined his head. "Then it was worth the effort."
They left the office together, the door closing quietly behind them.
Outside, Sanctuary continued waking up with people moving, systems turning, life asserting itself again and again against a world that had every reason to collapse.
______________________________________________
• 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:-