If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
They turned away as dawn began to creep over the ruins of Boston, the light pale and uncertain, washing over the aftermath of a war that would never be remembered by history, but would ripple outward all the same.
The city did not celebrate dawn.
It never did.
The light crept in the way it always had since the world ended that slow, gray, filtered through broken clouds and drifting smoke. It revealed more than it comforted. Cracked streets. Collapsed facades. Shells of buildings standing because they hadn't yet been given a reason to fall.
Robert stood in the middle of it, boots planted on cold asphalt, eyes scanning what remained of the operation.
The perimeter held.
Fifty Commandos formed a loose but disciplined ring around the ruined building, their silhouettes sharp against the early light. Weapons were still raised, fingers resting near triggers, posture alert despite the fatigue settling into shoulders and spines. Some leaned against cover now, finally allowing themselves a half-breath of rest, but no one fully relaxed. Not yet.
Not while adrenaline still hummed in the blood.
Not while the dead were still warm.
Robert turned slightly, surveying his people. He didn't look at the bodies first. He never did. He looked at the living.
A Commando knelt near the curb, helmet off, pressing a gloved hand against a bleeding gash in another man's thigh while the medic worked. Two others sat with their backs against a burned-out car, heads tilted back, eyes closed that not sleeping, just forcing their breathing to slow. One of the Charlie overwatch snipers climbed down from a fire escape, rifle slung, face streaked with soot and sweat.
They were intact.
Shaken. Bruised. Wounded.
But standing.
Robert let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
He keyed his comms, voice carrying the same steady authority it had all night, though inside the tension was finally loosening its grip.
"Medic," he said. "Status."
The response came immediately, clipped but professional. "We've got eight injured, sir. No criticals. Two gunshot wounds, non-life-threatening. Rest are shrapnel, concussive injuries, fractures. All stable."
Robert nodded once, even though the medic couldn't see it. "Good. Prioritize mobility. Anyone who can walk, gets patched and ready."
"Understood," the medic replied.
Robert turned and spotted MacCready a few meters away, crouched beside one of the prisoners. The Railroad leader sat with his head bowed, wrists bound, shoulders slumped in a way that spoke less of physical pain and more of the weight finally crashing down on him. MacCready stood guard nearby, rifle hanging loose but ready, eyes sharp as he scanned the surrounding rooftops out of habit more than necessity.
Robert walked over.
MacCready glanced up as he approached. "Perimeter's solid," he said quietly. "No movement beyond our cordon. Looks like nobody came running when things went loud."
"Good," Robert replied.
He looked past MacCready, at the kneeling leader, then at the two other captured higher-ups sitting against the wall under guard. They were quieter now. No defiance left. Just exhaustion, shock, and the dawning realization that their war had ended in a single night.
Robert turned back to MacCready.
"I need a full casualty check," he said. "The Commandos. Confirm KIA status."
MacCready straightened immediately, the casual edge gone. "On it."
He moved off without another word, slipping into the perimeter, speaking briefly with team leads, counting heads, checking tags. Robert watched him go, trusting the man implicitly. If there was bad news to deliver, MacCready would do it straight.
Robert shifted his attention back to the wounded.
The medic worked with quiet efficiency, moving from one injured Commando to the next, assisted by two others trained just enough to help without getting in the way. Tourniquets were loosened and retightened. Bandages replaced with cleaner wraps. Painkillers administered carefully, logged, controlled.
One of the injured men which a young Commando with a split lip and a fractured wrist? looked up as Robert approached.
"Sir," he tried to say, struggling to push himself upright.
"Easy," Robert said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder, pressing him back down gently. "You did your job. Stay still."
The Commando nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, sir."
Robert straightened and stepped away, mind already moving ahead.
They had won the fight.
Now they had to survive the aftermath.
The city was never truly empty. Noise attracted attention. Smoke traveled. Rumors moved faster than bullets. Every extra minute they stayed was another minute someone could stumble onto the aftermath or worse, decide to test the perimeter.
They couldn't linger.
Time mattered.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before MacCready returned.
He walked with a steady pace, but Robert could read him easily by now. There was no tension in his jaw. No hesitation in his stride.
That alone told Robert most of what he needed to know.
MacCready stopped in front of him and gave a short nod. "I checked everyone. Twice."
Robert held his gaze. "Report."
"No KIA," MacCready said. "All fifty accounted for."
The words landed with quiet force.
Robert felt them sink in, deep and heavy, loosening something in his chest that had been clenched tight since the first charge went off.
"And injured?" Robert asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"Eight," MacCready replied. "Same ones the medic reported. All stable. Nobody's bleeding out. Nobody's dying today."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Around them, the Commandos continued working—checking gear, securing weapons taken from the Railroad remnants, maintaining the perimeter. Life moved on, even in the shadow of death.
Robert nodded slowly. "Good work."
MacCready exhaled. "Could've gone worse."
"It often does," Robert said.
He glanced toward the medic again, watching as a splint was tightened and secured.
"Two hours," Robert said quietly, more to himself than to MacCready.
MacCready followed his gaze. "That enough time?"
"It has to be," Robert replied.
He turned back to MacCready. "Go tell the medic we depart for Sanctuary in two hours. I want everyone who can walk, walking. Anyone who can't gets stabilized enough to move. No exceptions."
MacCready nodded. "I'll make it clear."
"And tell them to be quick," Robert added. "No unnecessary delays. We're not staying past that window."
MacCready gave a half-smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "He'll love that."
"He doesn't have to love it," Robert said. "He just has to do it."
MacCready clapped a hand briefly on Robert's shoulder before turning away. "I'll pass it on."
As MacCready walked off toward the medic, Robert stood alone again, the weight of command settling back onto him now that the immediate danger had passed.
He looked around the street once more.
The building loomed behind them that broken, gutted, quiet. A tomb for an ideology that had refused to die gracefully. Bodies had already been moved inside, laid out where they'd fallen, not out of respect, but necessity. Leaving them in the open invited scavengers. Invited questions.
Inside that building, sixty people had believed they were fighting for something righteous.
Outside it, fifty Commandos stood because discipline had beaten belief.
Robert didn't feel triumph.
He rarely did.
Victory, in the wasteland, was just survival with fewer regrets than last time.
A faint breeze stirred, carrying the smell of smoke and spent explosives down the street. Somewhere in the distance, a piece of loose metal clanged softly, stirred by the wind. The city exhaled, indifferent.
Robert walked toward the prisoners again.
The Railroad leader lifted his head as Robert approached, eyes tired, rimmed red.
"You keeping your word?" the man asked quietly.
Robert stopped a few feet away. "You'll be transported," he said. "You and your people."
"To where?" the leader asked.
"That depends on what you tell us," Robert replied evenly.
The man swallowed. Looked away. "Figures."
Robert didn't press. Not now. Interrogations came later, when wounds were cleaned and shock had time to settle.
He turned away again, satisfied for the moment.
The medic's voice rose briefly, sharp but controlled, barking instructions. A stretcher was brought out for one of the more seriously injured Commandos with a man with a shattered ankle who grimaced through the pain but never once complained.
Robert watched as they lifted him carefully.
"Hang in there," the medic muttered.
The Commando managed a weak grin. "I am. Don't rush on my account."
"We're rushing on everyone's account," the medic replied.
Robert allowed himself the smallest hint of a smile at that.
Two hours.
The countdown had started.
He keyed his comms again, issuing quiet orders to team leaders with prepare the vehicles, redistribute ammo, double-check prisoners' restraints, keep overwatch rotating. Nothing flashy. Nothing loud. Just the steady work of leaving a battlefield without creating another one.
As the sun climbed higher, the shadows shortened, revealing more of the damage. Bullet scars stitched across brick walls. Blackened doorframes. Cracked windows that would never be repaired.
Robert stood there, hands clasped behind his back, watching his people work.
The two hours passed the way waiting always did after violence that too slowly at first, then all at once.
At first, every minute dragged. Every sound felt louder than it should have been. A distant clang of metal made hands tighten on rifles. A flicker of movement in a blown-out window drew eyes and optics in unison. No one said it out loud, but everyone felt it: the uneasy sense that the fight wasn't truly finished until they were gone.
The medic worked like time itself was breathing down his neck.
Bandages were tightened, splints reinforced, painkillers administered with careful restraint. The eight injured Commandos were rotated through treatment in order of severity, each one checked, rechecked, and cleared for transport. Those who could walk were made to stand, stretch, test their balance. Those who couldn't were strapped onto stretchers, immobilized as best as the wasteland allowed.
One man with a concussion sat on the hood of a Humvee, eyes half-lidded as the medic shined a light into his pupils.
"How many fingers?" the medic asked.
"Four," the Commando answered immediately.
"Good. Again."
"Four."
"Any nausea?"
"No."
"Headache?"
"Yeah."
The medic nodded. "You'll live. Try not to fall asleep in the vehicle."
The Commando smirked weakly. "No promises."
Nearby, another injured man flexed his fingers slowly, testing a hand that had been peppered with shrapnel. His face tightened, but he didn't complain. None of them did. Complaining didn't change anything, and everyone here knew that.
MacCready moved through it all, checking on people without hovering, making quiet jokes where he could, clapping shoulders, exchanging nods. He paused briefly beside one Commando whose arm was in a sling.
"Still got the good one," MacCready said, tapping the uninjured shoulder.
"Yeah," the man replied. "Lucky me."
MacCready's smile softened. "You did good."
That mattered more than most things.
Robert stayed mostly still, observing, listening, intervening only when necessary. He spoke with team leaders, adjusted departure order, reassigned seating to balance injuries and combat readiness. He checked the prisoners once more, ensuring restraints were secure, gags removed but monitored, guards alert.
The Railroad leader sat with his back against the Humvee tire, wrists cuffed in front of him now, posture slumped but compliant. His eyes followed the Commandos as they moved with practiced coordination, the efficiency of a force that had done this too many times to count.
"You always this organized?" the man asked quietly as Robert passed.
Robert didn't stop. "We're alive," he said. "That usually requires organization."
The man huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. "Guess that answers my question."
The sun climbed higher, burning off some of the haze but not the smell. Smoke still clung to the street, mixed with cordite and dust and old rot. The city wore the aftermath like a scar it didn't bother hiding.
At exactly two hours, Robert gave the order.
"Mount up."
The Commandos moved immediately.
Humvee engines rumbled to life one by one, a low chorus that vibrated through the broken street. Rear doors were opened, stretchers loaded first, injured Commandos secured carefully inside. Others climbed in after them, weapons resting across knees, eyes already scanning outward through reinforced windows.
The prisoners were loaded next.
The Railroad leader was guided firmly but not roughly into the lead Humvee, flanked by two Commandos who took positions on either side of him. Their weapons weren't aimed at his head, but they didn't need to be. Their presence alone made the point clear.
MacCready climbed into the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, rolling his shoulders as he settled in. Robert took the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel, posture straight.
The door slammed shut.
For a brief moment, everything was contained within the armored shell of the Humvee with the smell of oil and dust, the muted breathing of men who were finally letting adrenaline drain away, the faint rattle of gear.
Robert checked his mirrors.
"Convoy ready," came the call over comms.
"Move out," Robert replied.
The lead Humvee lurched forward, tires crunching over debris as they pulled away from the ruined building. One by one, the rest followed, engines echoing between skeletal structures before the sound faded into the wider streets of Boston.
The city watched them leave without comment.
The ride back to Sanctuary was quieter than the ride out.
No one sang. No one joked loudly. Conversation, when it happened at all, stayed low and clipped, passed between seats or over comms in professional shorthand. Fatigue crept in now, heavy and undeniable, settling into muscles and bones.
MacCready leaned back slightly, one boot braced against the floor, eyes forward.
"You did good back there," he said after a while.
Robert kept his gaze on the road. "They did."
MacCready nodded. "Yeah. They did."
In the back, the Railroad leader shifted, chains clinking softly.
"You really think this ends anything?" he asked, voice rough but steady.
Robert didn't answer immediately.
The road stretched ahead, cracked and uneven, bordered by rusted cars and collapsed storefronts. Sanctuary was still miles away.
"Things don't end," Robert said finally. "They change."
The man considered that. "And what did we change into?"
Robert glanced at him in the mirror, meeting his eyes. "That depends on what you know."
The leader looked away, jaw tightening.
MacCready watched the exchange without comment, filing it away. There would be time for words later. For now, the important thing was getting home.
As the convoy pushed on, the landscape slowly shifted. Ruins gave way to more familiar territory with paths they'd patrolled before, landmarks they recognized. Tension eased in small increments with every mile that passed without incident.
When the first watchtower of Sanctuary came into view, someone in one of the rear vehicles let out a quiet breath of relief over the comms.
"Home stretch."
The gates opened as they approached, guards already posted and alert. The convoy rolled through, engines idling down as they entered the parking area just beyond the main compound.
Sanctuary greeted them not with cheers, but with readiness.
Lights were on. Personnel moved with purpose. Medics were already waiting with additional supplies and stretchers. This place understood what it meant when Commandos returned like this.
The Humvees came to a stop one by one.
Doors opened.
The wounded were unloaded first, carefully transferred to Sanctuary's medical teams. The injured Commandos were greeted with nods, claps on shoulders, quiet words of reassurance. No one made a spectacle of it. Respect here was understated, practical.
Robert stepped out of the lead Humvee, boots hitting familiar ground.
And there, standing a few meters away in the parking lot, was Sico.
He hadn't bothered with ceremony. No entourage, no dramatic stance. Just Sico, hands clasped behind his back, coat stirring slightly in the breeze as he watched his people return.
His eyes met Robert's.
Then MacCready's.
Then flicked briefly to the prisoners being unloaded.
Sico walked forward.
"Welcome back," he said simply.
Robert nodded. "Operation complete."
Sico's gaze sharpened slightly. "Casualties?"
"No KIA," Robert replied. "Eight injured. All stable."
Something eased in Sico's expression that not relief exactly, but satisfaction.
"Well done," he said.
His attention shifted fully to the prisoners now which is the Railroad leader and the two higher-ups, restrained, guarded, stripped of weapons and illusions alike.
"So," Sico said calmly, stopping a few feet in front of them, "you're what's left."
The Railroad leader lifted his head, meeting Sico's eyes. There was no bravado left there. Just tired defiance.
"For now," the man said.
Sico smiled faintly. "That's usually how it starts."
He turned to the nearby guards. "Take them to the prison."
The Commandos acknowledged immediately, tightening grips, guiding the prisoners forward.
"They'll be prepared for interrogation," Sico continued, his voice carrying just enough to be heard by those nearby. "We'll want everything. Names. Locations. Old contacts. Any base, safehouse, or hideout still breathing out there."
The Railroad leader stiffened.
"You think there's anything left?" he asked.
Sico glanced back at him. "Hope tends to linger longer than people do."
The man said nothing after that.
The prisoners were marched away, disappearing into the reinforced corridors that led to Sanctuary's holding facilities. The sound of their footsteps faded, swallowed by concrete and steel.
Robert watched them go.
Beside him, MacCready crossed his arms. "Guess that's that."
"For them," Robert said.
Sico turned back to the two of them. "You both look like hell."
MacCready snorted. "You should see the other guys."
Sico's lips twitched. "I will. Later."
He studied Robert for a moment longer. "Get some rest. Both of you. Debrief in four hours."
"Yes, sir," Robert replied.
MacCready nodded. "Wouldn't miss it."
Sico watched as Commandos dispersed with some heading toward the med bay, others toward quarters, still others remaining on duty despite exhaustion. Sanctuary absorbed them the way it always did, folding them back into its rhythm.
"Good work," Sico said again, quieter this time.
Then he turned and walked away, already thinking several moves ahead.
Robert stood there a moment longer, the hum of Sanctuary settling around him.
They had come back alive.
They had brought answers with them.
Four hours later, Sanctuary felt different.
Not quieter as Sanctuary was never quiet, but heavier. The kind of weight that settled into concrete and steel when decisions had already been made, when the moral line had been stepped over in advance and everyone involved knew it.
The prison sat beneath the main compound like a buried truth. Thick walls. Narrow corridors. Reinforced doors that had been rebuilt twice since the old world ended, each time stronger, each time with fewer pretenses about what they were for.
Sico walked at the front, hands clasped behind his back, boots striking the floor with an unhurried rhythm. He looked composed, almost calm, but anyone who knew him understood what that calm meant. It wasn't peace. It was focus sharpened to a blade.
Robert followed half a step behind on his right. MacCready on his left. Preston and Sarah walked just behind them, their expressions tight, eyes forward, neither speaking. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and metal, layered over the ever-present undertone of damp concrete.
No one joked.
No one filled the silence.
They didn't need to.
The guards at the end of the corridor snapped to attention as the group approached. One of them keyed in a code, then another, the door unlocking with a low mechanical growl before sliding open.
"Prisoners are secured," the guard said. "Interrogation room is ready."
Sico nodded once. "Good."
They stepped through.
The interrogation wing was sparse by design. No windows. No decoration. Just functionality stripped down to its bones. The room at the end of the hall was larger than most, reinforced further than necessary, built to hold more than one subject at a time.
Inside, three chairs were bolted to the floor.
Three prisoners waited.
The Railroad remnant leader sat in the center, wrists cuffed to the chair's armrests, posture stiff but controlled. He'd cleaned up as best he could with blood washed from his temple, coat replaced with a plain gray prison jacket, but the exhaustion still clung to him. His eyes flicked up as the door opened, tracking each person who entered.
The two higher-ups sat on either side of him.
They looked worse.
One of them had his arm in a sling, face pale beneath the grime that hadn't quite washed away. The other leaned forward slightly, shoulders hunched, jaw set in stubborn defiance. Both had the same look in their eyes with the kind that came from believing, deep down, that silence was still a weapon.
Sico stopped a few feet in front of them.
Robert and MacCready took up positions behind and to either side, silent, looming. Preston and Sarah stayed closer to the table, expressions guarded but tense.
"Good evening," Sico said calmly, as if this were a meeting scheduled weeks in advance instead of the aftermath of a massacre. "I trust you've had time to rest."
No one answered.
Sico didn't seem bothered by the silence. He turned his head slightly toward Preston.
"Let's begin."
Preston stepped forward, folding his arms, trying to project calm authority even as his jaw tightened.
"We're not here to hurt you," he said. "We want information. Names. Locations. Anything you know about remaining Railroad cells."
The leader smirked faintly. "You're late," he said. "Railroad's been dying for years."
Sarah stepped in next, voice sharper.
"Then help us make sure it's finished," she said. "You know how this works. Cooperation makes things easier."
The higher-up on the left laughed quietly, a rasping sound. "You think we're giving you anything?"
Minutes passed.
Questions were asked.
Answers were not given.
They tried different angles that appeals to survival, to pragmatism, to the idea that whatever cause they'd been fighting for no longer existed in any meaningful way. Preston spoke of rebuilding. Sarah spoke of stability. Of fewer people dying needlessly.
The prisoners listened.
And said nothing.
The leader stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused in a way that said he'd already made his choice. The two higher-ups followed his lead, silence hardening into something deliberate.
Eventually, Preston stopped speaking.
He looked at Sico, frustration flickering across his face. "They're not budging."
Sarah exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her face. "We can keep going, but—"
Sico raised a hand.
"That won't be necessary," he said.
The room seemed to grow colder.
The Railroad leader's eyes sharpened, flicking to Sico. "This is it then?"
Sico met his gaze without blinking. "This was always it."
He turned slightly, looking at Robert and MacCready.
"Separate them."
The guards moved immediately, unfastening the restraints of the two higher-ups and hauling them to their feet. One protested weakly. The other said nothing, eyes darting toward the leader.
"What are you doing?" the leader demanded, voice rising for the first time.
Sico ignored him.
He pointed to Robert. "Take the one on the right."
Then to MacCready. "You take the other."
Robert's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
MacCready's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened.
Preston took a half-step forward. "Sico—"
Sico didn't look at him. "This is no longer a negotiation."
The leader strained against his cuffs. "You don't need to do this."
Sico finally leaned in close enough that only the prisoners could hear him.
"You're wrong," he said softly. "I do."
The guards dragged the two higher-ups toward side rooms branching off from the main interrogation chamber. Heavy doors closed behind them, one after the other, the sound echoing down the corridor like punctuation.
The Railroad leader was left alone in the center.
Breathing hard now.
Sico pulled a chair out and sat directly in front of him, folding his hands on the table.
"You see," Sico said evenly, "this is the part where silence stops being noble."
The leader glared at him. "You think hurting them will make me talk?"
"I think," Sico replied, "watching them break will."
From behind the wall to the right, muffled sounds began to filter through.
Not screams.
Not yet.
Just raised voices. Struggle. The unmistakable sound of someone realizing they were no longer in control of what happened next.
The leader's jaw tightened.
Robert's side room was smaller, more confined. He stood across from the higher-up he'd been assigned, the man's face pale, eyes wide now that bravado had evaporated.
Robert didn't touch him at first.
He didn't need to.
"You know why you're here," Robert said quietly.
The man swallowed. "You won't get anything from me."
Robert nodded once. "That's fine."
He turned away briefly, letting the silence stretch. Letting the man's imagination do the work.
"I don't enjoy this," Robert continued. "But I will do it."
The man's breathing quickened.
From the other side, MacCready's voice carried faintly through the wall that low, controlled, almost conversational. He'd always been good at that. Making things feel casual right up until they weren't.
Time stretched.
Then bent.
The Railroad leader shifted in his chair as sounds from both sides began to change with struggle giving way to pain, pain giving way to fear. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white.
"Stop," he said suddenly.
Sico didn't react.
"I said stop!" the leader snapped, voice cracking.
Sico tilted his head slightly. "You can."
The leader's breathing turned ragged. "What do you want?"
"Everything," Sico said.
Another sound echoed through the wall that sharper this time. Final in a way that made the leader flinch.
"Okay," the leader said hoarsely. "Okay. I'll talk."
Sico studied him for a long moment, then stood.
He gestured to the guards. "Bring them back."
The doors opened again.
Robert returned first, expression hard, unreadable. MacCready followed a moment later, jaw set, eyes avoiding the prisoners.
The two higher-ups were brought back in and dropped into their chairs.
They looked broken now.
Not physically destroyed but shaken to the core, eyes unfocused, breathing uneven. Whatever resolve they'd had was gone.
The leader sagged forward.
"I'll tell you," he said quietly. "Just… don't do that again."
Sico sat back down.
"Good," he said. "Now we can be efficient."
The interrogation resumed.
And this time, the silence was gone.
Names spilled out. Locations. Old dead drops. A half-forgotten safehouse on the edge of the Glowing Sea. A contact in Goodneighbor who'd been feeding information for caps and favors. A small cell that had fled south weeks ago, hiding in the ruins of a pre-war factory.
Sico listened without interrupting.
Preston took notes, hands shaking slightly. Sarah's expression was tight, conflicted, but she didn't stop writing.
Robert stood still, absorbing it all.
MacCready leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze distant.
When it was finally over, the Railroad leader slumped in his chair, empty.
"That's all I know," he murmured. "I swear."
The room stayed quiet after his words.
"That's all I know," the Railroad remnant leader murmured. "I swear."
No one moved.
Not Preston, whose pen hovered over the page like it had forgotten how to fall. Not Sarah, who had stopped writing altogether without realizing it. Not Robert or MacCready, both still standing where they were, carrying the weight of what had just happened in their posture alone.
Sico didn't speak either.
He simply looked at the man.
Not with anger. Not with triumph. Just with that same focused calm he'd carried since he stepped into the prison with an expression that made people uneasy because it suggested he wasn't finished thinking yet.
The Railroad leader shifted under that gaze, shoulders sagging, breath shallow. He looked smaller now, stripped of the certainty that had carried him through years of resistance. He looked like a man who had already given everything he thought he had left.
Sico leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers interlaced, eyes never leaving the leader's face.
For a long moment, it seemed like that would be the end of it.
Then Sico spoke.
"Where's the last base?"
The words were simple.
Flat.
Delivered without emphasis.
They landed like a detonation.
Preston's head snapped up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. Sarah turned sharply toward Sico, eyes wide despite herself. Even Robert, who prided himself on keeping his reactions locked down, felt the question hit somewhere deep in his chest.
MacCready straightened from the wall, arms uncrossing.
The Railroad leader froze.
Completely still.
His eyes flicked up to Sico, then to Preston, then to Sarah, as if he were checking whether he'd heard correctly.
"The… what?" he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"The last base," Sico repeated calmly. "Not a cell. Not a dead drop. Not a contact who might know someone who once knew something."
He leaned forward now, elbows resting on the table.
"I mean the last place your people are still operating from. The one you didn't mention."
Silence swallowed the room.
The two higher-ups flanking the leader exchanged a glance that quick, panicked, unmistakable. It was gone in a second, but it was enough.
Sico saw it.
So did Robert.
So did MacCready.
The leader's mouth opened, then closed again. His jaw worked as if he were chewing on something bitter.
"There is no—" he started.
Sico raised a hand.
"Don't," he said quietly.
The word carried more weight than shouting ever could.
"You've already crossed the line where lying helps you," Sico continued. "If there wasn't another base, you wouldn't be reacting like this."
The leader's breathing quickened. "You said you wanted everything I knew. I told you."
"You told me everything you thought I'd settle for," Sico replied. "Those aren't the same thing."
Preston swallowed hard. "Sico…"
Sico didn't look at him. "Let him answer."
The Railroad leader stared down at the table, eyes unfocused, chest rising and falling like he was bracing against a wave that had already broken.
"You don't understand," he said hoarsely. "If I tell you—"
"If you don't," Sico interrupted, "we'll find it anyway. The only difference is how many people get hurt between now and then."
That did it.
The leader laughed with a short, hollow sound that held no humor at all.
"Always the same," he muttered. "You people always think you're the only ones trying to stop the bleeding."
Sico didn't respond.
The man lifted his head slowly, eyes rimmed red.
"There's a warehouse," he said. "South end of Diamond City. Abandoned pre-war shipping facility. No markings. Looks empty if you don't know where to look."
The air in the room changed instantly.
Sarah inhaled sharply.
"Diamond City?" Preston repeated. "That's—"
"Too close," MacCready finished grimly.
The leader nodded. "That's why it worked."
Sico remained still. "How many?"
"Twenty," the leader said. "Maybe a few more. Couriers, technicians, old runners. Not fighters. Not really."
Robert's eyes narrowed. "Equipment?"
The leader hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Weapons. Terminals. Hard copies. Old synth relocation data. Names that never made it out of the archives."
Preston's face went pale. "You kept that near Diamond City?"
The leader looked at him with tired bitterness. "We kept it where you wouldn't expect us to. Where you'd be afraid to move openly."
Sico tilted his head slightly. "Why didn't you mention it earlier?"
The leader's shoulders slumped.
"Because I told them to evacuate," he said quietly. "As soon as the attack on the HQ started. I knew we wouldn't hold. I ordered them to move everything they could. Burn what they couldn't."
He swallowed. "If they're smart, they're already gone."
MacCready let out a low breath through his nose. "If."
Sico studied the leader carefully. "How long ago?"
"Hours," the man replied. "Maybe half a day. Depends how fast they moved."
Robert did the math automatically. Routes. Distances. Traffic patterns. Patrol coverage.
"They won't have gotten far with that much material," he said.
"Unless they split it," Sarah added. "Or dumped it."
Sico finally leaned back fully, processing.
Diamond City.
A warehouse.
Twenty people.
Not soldiers, but not harmless either.
He looked at Preston. "This is why we don't stop at assumptions."
Preston nodded slowly, jaw tight. "I'll alert the city leadership. Carefully."
"No," Sico said.
That stopped him.
"We don't," Sico continued, "until we know what's actually there."
MacCready raised an eyebrow. "You thinking recon or straight grab?"
"Both," Sico replied. "But quiet first."
He turned back to the Railroad leader. "You gave the order to evacuate. Did you give them a fallback location?"
The leader hesitated, then shook his head. "No. On purpose. Less damage if one cell gets caught."
Sico considered that. "Smart."
The man let out a bitter laugh. "Doesn't feel like it."
Sico stood.
The scrape of his chair against the floor echoed in the room.
"We're done here," he said. "For now."
The leader looked up sharply. "That's it?"
"For you," Sico replied. "You'll be moved to holding."
The guards stepped forward immediately.
As the prisoners were unfastened and pulled to their feet, the leader turned his head just enough to look at Sico again.
"They won't go quietly," he said. "The ones left. They still believe."
Sico met his gaze evenly. "So did you."
The leader had no answer to that.
He was led away with the others, the sound of their footsteps fading down the corridor once more.
When the door closed, the room felt larger.
And emptier.
Preston exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "An abandoned warehouse. Near Diamond City."
Sarah leaned back against the table, arms folded tightly across her chest. "That's a political nightmare waiting to happen."
MacCready snorted softly. "Everything near Diamond City is a nightmare. Just depends how loud it gets."
Robert looked to Sico. "Orders?"
Sico didn't answer right away.
He walked to the wall, staring at a blank patch of concrete like it might offer clarity if he looked at it long enough.
"Get eyes on it," he said finally. "No uniforms. No markings. I want confirmation before we move."
MacCready nodded. "I know a couple people who can walk Diamond City without turning heads."
"Good," Sico said. "Use them."
He turned to Robert. "Prepare a rapid-response unit. Standby only."
"Yes, sir."
Sico looked at Preston and Sarah. "You two will coordinate contingency plans. If this goes wrong, we need Diamond City leadership ready for the fallout."
Sarah grimaced. "They're not going to like this."
"They rarely do," Sico replied.
Preston hesitated. "And the people in that warehouse?"
Sico met his eyes. "They'll be given the same choice everyone else gets."
"And if they don't take it?" Preston asked quietly.
Sico didn't flinch.
"Then we end it," he said.
No one argued.
They left the interrogation wing together, the weight of the revelation following them up the corridor, through reinforced doors, back into the dimly lit halls of Sanctuary.
Above them, the settlement carried on.
People worked. Guards rotated shifts. Lights glowed warm against the encroaching night.
Most of them had no idea how close the danger still was.
And Sico intended to keep it that way, for now.
As they reached the junction where their paths would split, MacCready fell into step beside Robert.
"Diamond City," he muttered. "Place never stops being trouble."
Robert nodded. "Trouble tends to hide where people feel safe."
MacCready glanced back toward the prison doors. "Think they really had time to move everything?"
Robert's jaw tightened. "Doesn't matter. We'll find what they missed."
MacCready smirked faintly. "We usually do."
They parted ways there, each heading toward their next responsibility, the machine of Sanctuary already shifting to accommodate the new information.
______________________________________________
• 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:-