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They parted ways there, each heading toward their next responsibility, the machine of Sanctuary already shifting to accommodate the new information.
The night air outside the prison felt colder than it had any right to be.
Sanctuary was still awake, but the energy had shifted. The hum of generators, the distant clatter of boots on concrete walkways, the low murmur of voices drifting between buildings all carried a sharper edge now, like the settlement itself had leaned forward, listening.
The reinforced prison doors slid shut behind them with a heavy finality.
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
Sico stopped just beyond the threshold, boots planted on the concrete, hands resting at his sides now instead of folded behind his back. The overhead lights cast hard shadows across his face, emphasizing lines that hadn't been there years ago. He looked from one person to the next from Preston, Sarah, Robert, MacCready that not just with readiness, but resolve.
Then he moved.
"Preston. Sarah," he said, voice low but decisive. "I want immediate action."
Both of them straightened instinctively.
"You heard the locations," Sico continued. "Every safehouse, contact point, and fallback the Railroad leader gave us, no delays."
Preston nodded, already thinking through logistics. "How much force?"
"Fifty soldiers per sweep," Sico replied. "Convoy composition: three Humvees, three transport trucks, one Sentinel tank for overwatch and deterrence."
Sarah blinked once. "A tank?"
"I don't want any surprises," Sico said flatly. "These aren't random scavengers. They're organized, desperate, and cornered. That makes people stupid."
Preston exhaled slowly. "Understood."
Sico stepped closer, lowering his voice further. "You move fast. You move clean. Secure everyone alive if possible. Any resistance gets shut down immediately."
Sarah's jaw tightened. "Rules of engagement?"
Sico met her eyes. "Same choice everyone gets."
That was answer enough.
"I'll coordinate the dispatch," Preston said. "I'll pull from Alpha and Delta companies. They'll be rolling within the hour."
"Good," Sico replied. "I want reports as each location is secured. No assumptions."
Sarah nodded sharply. "I'll brief the commanders personally."
Sico turned away from them before either could say more.
"Go," he said.
They didn't hesitate.
Preston and Sarah split off down the illuminated walkway, already issuing orders over comms, their voices blending into the constant operational noise of Sanctuary. Within seconds, alarms weren't blaring, but movement increased from soldiers redirecting, mechanics prepping vehicles, gunners checking mounts.
Sanctuary was pivoting.
Sico turned then, facing Robert and MacCready.
"This one's yours," he said.
Robert straightened slightly. "The warehouse."
"Yes," Sico replied. "Near Diamond City. I don't want half-measures."
MacCready folded his arms. "Force?"
"Fifty Commandos," Sico said without hesitation. "Your best. Convoy of five Humvees, two trucks for equipment and detainees."
Robert nodded. "Rules?"
Sico's gaze hardened. "You wipe them out if they resist. No warnings beyond one chance to surrender."
"And intel?" MacCready asked.
"Everything," Sico replied. "Notes. Terminals. Hard drives. Paper files. Research. Anything that smells like Railroad work or synth logistics."
Robert's jaw set. "We'll catalog it on-site."
"Good," Sico said. "I don't care how long it takes, nothing gets left behind."
MacCready tilted his head slightly. "Diamond City's going to notice."
Sico allowed himself a thin smile. "They always do. Just not right away."
He stepped closer to both of them now, lowering his voice again.
"This is the last artery," he said. "Cut it clean."
Robert met his gaze steadily. "Understood."
MacCready nodded once. "We'll make sure it stays dead."
Sico studied them for a second longer, then stepped back.
"Move," he said.
They did.
The staging yard behind Sanctuary came alive with purpose.
Floodlights flicked on as mechanics rolled tool carts between vehicles. Humvee hatches were opened, weapons mounts checked and rechecked. Ammunition crates were stacked and strapped down with practiced efficiency. The Sentinel tank assigned to Preston and Sarah's sweep roared to life in the distance, its engine growl deep and unmistakable.
Robert walked the line of Commandos as they assembled.
Fifty of them.
Veterans. Specialists. Men and women who didn't talk much when things like this were about to happen. Their gear was clean, their movements economical. Faces set into expressions that weren't angry, just focused.
MacCready stood near the lead Humvee, helmet tucked under one arm, scanning the group.
"These aren't raiders," he said quietly to Robert as they watched the final checks. "They'll try to run before they try to fight."
"Then we don't give them space to think," Robert replied.
MacCready smirked faintly. "Always liked your optimism."
Robert stopped in front of the group.
"Listen up," he said, voice carrying without shouting. "Target is an abandoned warehouse near Diamond City. Railroad remnant cell. Approximately twenty occupants. Expect evacuation attempts and data destruction."
Eyes sharpened.
"No one moves without my order," Robert continued. "Primary objective is intel recovery. Secondary is containment. Anyone who resists gets neutralized. Anyone who surrenders gets restrained and processed."
He paused.
"This is close to civilian territory," he added. "No collateral. No freelancing. We go in, we do it right, and we leave nothing behind."
A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the group.
MacCready stepped forward next.
"You know the drill," he said. "Watch your sectors. Trust your teams. And remember, these people aren't heroes. They're just the last ones who didn't get the message."
A few grim smiles appeared.
Robert turned. "Mount up."
Engines roared.
Five Humvees rolled out first, headlights cutting through the night, followed by two heavy trucks carrying additional gear and containment units. The convoy passed through Sanctuary's gates without ceremony, guards saluting as they went.
The convoy disappeared into the dark, engines fading into the layered noise of the Commonwealth night.
Sanctuary didn't exhale when they left.
It tightened.
Because while Robert and MacCready carried the sharp end of the knife toward Diamond City, the rest of the blade was already swinging elsewhere.
Preston rode in the lead Humvee, hands resting on his thighs, eyes forward but unfocused.
The road ahead was familiar in the worst way with broken asphalt, skeletal streetlights, half-collapsed houses that had become landmarks not because they mattered, but because they lasted. Alpha Company rolled with practiced discipline behind him: three Humvees in tight formation, three transport trucks carrying infantry and equipment, and the Sentinel tank anchoring the rear like a moving promise of finality.
The tank's engine growled low and constant, a sound that didn't rush and didn't threaten, it assumed.
Preston keyed his radio.
"Alpha elements, sound off."
One by one, acknowledgments came back. Calm. Ready.
He leaned back slightly, letting the seat take some of his weight. His jaw was tight, but his breathing was steady. He'd led men into firefights before. Raiders. Super mutants. Gunners. Those were easier in some ways.
This wasn't.
These locations weren't just enemy positions. They were homes, hideouts, borrowed corners of a world that never stopped collapsing. People had eaten there. Slept there. Believed in something there.
Preston didn't flinch from that thought.
Belief didn't excuse consequences.
The first target lay just beyond an old suburb which a reinforced townhouse that had once belonged to a pre-war lawyer, now wrapped in jury rigged plating and disguised with scavenger junk to look abandoned. According to the Railroad leader, it had been used as a relay and logistics node. Not large. Not flashy.
But active.
The convoy slowed a block out.
"Tank holds position," Preston ordered. "Humvees fan. Infantry dismount on my mark."
The vehicles glided into place like pieces on a board. Soldiers spilled out, boots hitting the ground in near silence despite the weight of their gear. Alpha Company moved with the kind of cohesion that came from shared drills and shared losses.
Preston moved with them, rifle in hand, scanning windows, doorways, rooftops.
"Give them one chance," he said quietly.
A soldier nodded and raised a loudspeaker.
"This is Alpha Company of the Commonwealth Defense Force," the amplified voice rang out. "This building is surrounded. Come out unarmed with your hands visible. You will not be harmed."
Silence answered.
Ten seconds passed.
Then a shot cracked from an upstairs window, the round slamming into the pavement near a Humvee tire.
Preston didn't hesitate.
"Breach," he said.
The Sentinel tank roared forward just enough to bring its main gun to bear that not firing, not yet, but visible. Overwhelming.
Explosive charges detonated at the front and rear entrances in controlled blasts, doors caving inward. Alpha teams poured inside.
Gunfire echoed briefly.
Then stopped.
The building fell quiet in under four minutes.
Two defenders dead. Three wounded. Four surrendered.
No Alpha casualties.
Preston stood in what had once been a living room, now stripped down to terminals, weapon racks, and crates marked with Railroad symbols hastily scratched out.
He watched soldiers secure prisoners, zip-tying wrists, checking for concealed weapons.
A young man that barely more than a kid, sat against the wall, shaking, eyes wide.
"We were supposed to leave," he whispered. "We were told to pack up."
Preston looked at him, expression unreadable. "You should have."
The kid lowered his head.
Outside, Alpha Company moved on.
There were no speeches.
Only orders.
The second hideout was farther out, an old subway maintenance access hidden behind a collapsed overpass. The Railroad had used it as a transient safehouse, rotating people through to avoid detection.
That didn't help them tonight.
Alpha Company sealed both ends of the tunnel within minutes, floodlights cutting through the darkness. Soldiers advanced carefully, boots splashing through stagnant water, rifles trained downrange.
This time, the surrender came quickly.
Hands went up before Preston even gave the order.
Some people cried. Some glared. Some looked relieved.
Preston accepted them all the same way.
Restraints. Processing. Transport.
He didn't raise his voice once.
By the time Alpha Company rolled away, the tunnel was empty except for discarded gear and the echo of footsteps that wouldn't be returning.
The Sentinel tank never fired a shot.
It didn't need to.
Sarah stood in the open hatch of her lead Humvee, wind tugging at her coat as Delta Company cut through the ruins at speed.
Where Preston's movements were measured, Sarah's were precise and aggressive. Delta didn't lumber. It struck.
Her targets were spread wider with smaller cells, mobile caches, one confirmed fallback base hidden in the shell of a pre-war hospital that had been written off as irradiated and unstable.
Sarah had never trusted that assessment.
"Delta Actual to all elements," she said into her mic. "We hit fast. No drawn-out engagements. They're going to try to scatter."
Acknowledgments came back crisp.
The hospital loomed ahead, its upper floors collapsed inward like broken ribs. Radiation warnings still clung to the outer walls, faded but legible.
Sarah smiled grimly.
"Guess they thought we wouldn't come knocking."
The convoy halted just outside the perimeter.
"Tank forward," Sarah ordered. "Crack the front."
The Sentinel tank rolled past the Humvees, its presence dwarfing the ruined structure. Its main gun adjusted and fired.
The shot was thunderous.
Concrete exploded outward as the hospital's main entrance collapsed entirely, debris raining down in a cloud of dust and smoke.
Before it could settle, Delta Company moved.
Soldiers surged through the breach, clearing room by room with brutal efficiency. Resistance was sporadic that desperate, poorly coordinated. These weren't fighters. They were runners, technicians, planners.
People who had never expected to be on the receiving end of something this overwhelming.
Sarah pushed deeper, boots crunching over broken tile, rifle steady.
She found the command center on the third floor, hidden behind a false wall.
Terminals glowed with active data transfers.
"Too slow," she muttered.
"Cut the uplink," she ordered.
A soldier slammed a power spike into the terminal bank. Screens went dark.
Somewhere deeper in the building, someone screamed.
Then another.
Delta Company didn't slow.
By the time the hospital was fully secured, smoke poured from its shattered entrance, and the remaining Railroad personnel were lined up outside under guard.
Sarah stood near the tank, helmet off, sweat streaking her temples.
"How many?" she asked.
"Ten detained," came the reply. "Four KIA."
Sarah nodded once.
"Load them," she said. "We're not done."
The next two locations fell even faster.
A farmstead that had been masking a weapons cache.
A half-sunken barge in the river, used as a mobile transfer point.
Each time, Delta Company arrived with overwhelming force, offered a single chance to surrender, then executed with ruthless speed when that chance was refused.
By the time Sarah finally called it in, the sky was beginning to lighten at the horizon.
Delta Company regrouped on a cracked highway overpass, vehicles lined up like predators at rest.
Sarah keyed her comm.
"Delta to Sanctuary," she said. "All listed targets neutralized. Prisoners secured. No losses."
There was a pause.
Then Sico's voice came back.
"Understood," he said. "Stand down and return."
Sarah closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them again.
Alpha Company's final target was the most remote which is a small compound built into the remains of a water treatment plant miles from any settlement.
It was quiet when they arrived.
Too quiet.
Preston raised a hand, signaling a halt.
"Drones," he ordered.
Small reconnaissance drones lifted off, buzzing silently toward the structure. Their feeds appeared on a tablet in Preston's hands.
Empty rooms.
Abandoned posts.
Burned papers still smoldering.
"They were here," one of his lieutenants said.
Preston nodded. "Recently."
Inside, Alpha Company found the aftermath of a rushed evacuation with half-packed crates, smashed terminals, hastily destroyed notes.
And something else.
A chalk mark on a concrete wall.
A symbol.
Preston stared at it for a long moment.
"They ran," he said quietly. "But not clean."
"Orders?" a soldier asked.
Preston took a breath.
"Secure what's left," he said. "Then we head back."
He looked down at the chalk symbol again.
The Railroad had believed in moving people.
Tonight, they'd learned what it felt like to be chased.
While Alpha and Delta carved through the remnants, Sanctuary tracked it all.
Maps updated in real time.
Status lights flipped from red to green.
Sico stood in the command center, hands resting on the edge of the table, watching the operations unfold without comment.
When Preston's final report came in, Sico nodded once.
When Sarah's followed, he allowed himself a quiet exhale.
The machine was working.
But his eyes kept drifting to one location still marked ACTIVE.
The warehouse near Diamond City.
Robert and MacCready.
The last artery.
The warehouse squatted on the edge of Diamond City's outer shadow like a forgotten thought.
From a distance, it looked exactly like what it was supposed to be: a dead pre-war shipping depot, corrugated metal walls eaten by rust, loading bays half-collapsed, windows boarded over decades ago and never bothered with since. Scavvers passed it without a second glance. Caravans steered wide, more out of habit than fear. Even Diamond City's guards, visible on the distant walls under bright floodlights, never spared it more than a cursory look.
That was why the Railroad had chosen it.
And why it was about to become a grave.
The convoy rolled to a halt two streets out, engines throttling down until the night reclaimed its soundscape. Five Humvees formed a loose semicircle, headlights killed. The two trucks idled quietly behind them, loaded with containment cages, data crates, and demolition gear that everyone hoped they wouldn't need but brought anyway.
Fifty Commandos dismounted in near silence.
No shouted orders. No unnecessary motion. Just the soft clack of boots, the whisper of straps being adjusted, the muted checks of rifles and optics.
Robert stood at the hood of the lead Humvee, a tactical map projected faintly from a wrist unit. The warehouse schematic rotated slowly, reconstructed from pre-war blueprints and drone flyovers taken earlier in the evening.
MacCready joined him, helmet on now, visor lifted just enough to show his eyes.
"Big," MacCready muttered, studying the projection. "Bigger than it looks from outside."
"Shipping hub," Robert replied quietly. "Multiple internal partitions. Storage floors. Office block on the north side."
"And plenty of places to hide," MacCready added.
Robert nodded once.
He lifted his head, scanning the dark outline of the structure in the distance. No lights. No visible movement. No obvious sentries.
That didn't reassure him.
It never did.
"They've had hours," MacCready said. "If they were smart, they'd already be halfway to nowhere."
"If," Robert replied. "But they were also ordered to move everything."
MacCready grimaced. "Yeah. And nobody ever moves everything."
Robert straightened and turned to the assembled Commandos.
They gathered in a loose half-circle, faces obscured by helmets and shadows, weapons slung but ready. These weren't fresh recruits. These were people who had survived long enough to know exactly what kind of night this was going to be.
Robert didn't waste words.
"Target is the warehouse ahead," he said, voice calm and even. "Railroad remnant base. Estimated twenty occupants. Expect attempts to flee, destroy data, or blend into the surrounding area."
He gestured to the holographic map, zooming in on the structure.
"We split," he continued. "East and west. Twenty-five with me on the west approach. Twenty-five with MacCready on the east."
MacCready stepped forward, nodding once in confirmation.
"East side has secondary loading bays and a sewer access," Robert added. "That's your vector."
MacCready smirked faintly. "Figured."
Robert continued. "West side has main storage access and the office block. That's mine."
He paused, letting his gaze move across the group.
"Rules are simple," he said. "One chance to surrender. If they resist, they're neutralized. Priority objective is intel recovery. Notes. Terminals. Physical documents. Anything you find, you tag it and secure it."
His voice hardened slightly.
"No heroics. No freelancing. Diamond City is too close for mistakes."
A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the group.
Robert looked to MacCready. "You ready?"
MacCready slid his helmet fully down, visor sealing with a soft hiss.
"Born ready," he said.
Robert nodded once.
"Move."
The Commandos broke apart smoothly, flowing into two columns that vanished into the dark on opposite sides of the street.
On the east side, MacCready led his team low and fast, moving through the skeletal remains of old delivery trucks and collapsed fencing that provided natural cover. The east side of the warehouse was less exposed to Diamond City's lights, swallowed by shadow and neglect.
He raised a fist.
The column halted instantly.
Ahead, the outline of the eastern loading bays came into view with three massive roll-up doors, two half-crushed, one still intact but rusted shut. A narrow personnel door sat off to the side, its keypad dark.
MacCready crouched, scanning.
"No visible guards," whispered one of his Commandos.
"Doesn't mean shit," MacCready replied under his breath.
He tapped his comm twice.
"East to West," he murmured. "We're in position. No contacts yet."
Robert's reply came a second later. "Copy. Proceed."
MacCready motioned two Commandos forward. They moved like ghosts, checking angles, testing the personnel door.
Locked.
"Of course," MacCready muttered.
He shifted his attention to the sewer access the Railroad leader had mentioned, a rusted grate half-hidden beneath debris and overgrown weeds. One of the Commandos knelt, prying it open just enough to peer inside.
"Tunnel's clear," she whispered. "Fresh scuff marks. Someone used it recently."
MacCready's jaw tightened.
"They're still here," he said quietly. "Or they just left."
Either way, he wasn't letting them decide the terms.
"Stack up," he ordered. "Silent breach."
A cutting torch hissed softly as it bit into the personnel door's hinges, sparks swallowed by a shielding blanket. The door was eased inward without a sound.
MacCready went first.
The interior smelled like dust, oil, and something sharper that ozone from active electronics. Emergency lighting glowed faintly along the floor, casting the cavernous interior in dull amber strips.
He swept left. Clear.
The Commandos flowed in behind him, fanning out, rifles tracking every shadow.
They moved deeper, passing towering shelves of empty crates and pallets marked with faded corporate logos. Some crates weren't empty. A few had been ripped open, their contents hastily removed.
"Too rushed," MacCready muttered.
A sudden clatter echoed from deeper inside the warehouse.
Someone dropped something.
MacCready froze, raising his fist again.
The sound came again with a hurried whisper, a scuffling footstep.
He keyed his mic.
"Contacts," he breathed. "East interior. Moving."
"Copy," Robert replied. "Engaging on west."
MacCready's lips twitched grimly.
"So it begins."
He gestured, splitting his team into two fireteams. One advanced along the shelving, the other took the central aisle.
They rounded a corner and found three people scrambling to unplug terminals mounted on a mobile workstation.
The Railroad members froze, eyes wide.
"Don't—!" one of them started.
"Drop it," MacCready snapped. "Hands up. Now."
Two complied instantly, hands flying into the air.
The third lunged for a detonator.
Gunfire cracked.
One precise shot.
The detonator clattered uselessly to the floor as its owner collapsed.
The other two screamed.
"Hands on your head!" MacCready barked. "On your knees!"
They obeyed, sobbing, bodies shaking.
MacCready exhaled slowly.
"Secure them," he said. "Then bag everything."
As Commandos moved in, MacCready glanced at the terminals. Screens still glowed with scrolling data with lists, coordinates, names.
"Not fast enough," he muttered again.
On the west side, Robert's team approached from the opposite flank, hugging the shadows cast by the warehouse's western wall. This side was closer to Diamond City's outer districts that closer to light, closer to witnesses.
That meant speed mattered even more.
He raised his hand, halting the column near a collapsed fence that provided partial cover.
The west entrance loomed ahead: a wide bay door partially ajar, its locking mechanism visibly forced. Fresh scratches marked the metal.
"They went out this way," one Commando whispered.
"Or came in," Robert replied.
He keyed his mic.
"West to East," he said. "We've got signs of recent movement. Breaching main bay."
"Copy," MacCready responded. "We've got contacts inside."
Robert nodded to himself.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's close the net."
He motioned forward.
The bay door groaned softly as it was eased open further. Robert slipped inside first, rifle raised.
The western interior was different with more administrative. Rows of cubicles, overturned desks, filing cabinets ripped open and dumped. Paper littered the floor like dead leaves.
Someone had tried to destroy records.
They hadn't finished.
Robert moved methodically, eyes scanning, ears tuned to every sound.
A sudden burst of movement ahead that figures darting toward a rear stairwell.
"Stop!" Robert shouted. "Drop your weapons!"
They didn't.
Gunfire erupted.
Robert dove behind a concrete support as bullets chewed into the wall where he'd been standing. His Commandos responded instantly, controlled bursts pinning the fleeing Railroad members down.
Two went down.
One kept running.
"Cut him off!" Robert ordered.
A Commando sprinted laterally, intercepting the runner at the base of the stairwell. The Railroad member raised his weapon and was tackled to the ground before he could fire.
Robert advanced, boots crunching over shattered glass.
He looked down at the subdued man, breathing hard, eyes wild.
"It didn't have to be like this," the man spat.
Robert met his gaze calmly.
"It did," he replied.
As both teams pushed deeper, the warehouse turned chaotic.
Railroad remnants tried to scatter, using side passages and maintenance corridors they thought no one knew about. They tried to dump terminals into drainage pits, smash hard drives, burn paper.
They were too slow.
Commandos flooded the structure from both sides, herding the remaining occupants inward, cutting off exits with ruthless efficiency.
MacCready linked up with Robert near the central storage floor, the last pockets of resistance collapsing around them.
"Count?" MacCready asked, voice steady but edged with adrenaline.
"Seventeen secured," Robert replied. "Three KIA. That's twenty."
MacCready nodded. "Matches intel."
They stood amid the wreckage with terminals stacked for extraction, crates of data drives tagged and sealed, prisoners zip-tied and kneeling under guard.
Some stared at the floor.
Some stared at the Commandos with hatred.
Some looked… relieved.
MacCready scanned the room.
"Anyone else want to make a run for it?" he called out.
No one answered.
Robert exhaled slowly.
"Good," he said. "Let's clean this up."
Hours later, as dawn crept toward the horizon, the warehouse was silent again.
But it wasn't empty.
Commandos loaded crates into the trucks with methodical care. Each terminal was powered down properly, each document sealed in radiation-proof containers. Nothing was left behind that not a scrap, not a note, not a name.
Prisoners were processed, cataloged, and loaded under heavy guard.
MacCready leaned against a crate, helmet off now, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Think Diamond City noticed?" he asked.
Robert glanced toward the distant glow of the city.
"Not yet," he said. "They will."
MacCready snorted. "They always do."
Robert looked back at the warehouse at the hollow shell that had once housed the last beating heart of the Railroad.
"It's done," he said quietly.
MacCready followed his gaze.
"Yeah," he replied. "It is."
The convoy rolled out just as the first hints of sunrise touched the skyline.
Behind them, the warehouse stood empty.
The last artery severed.
And with it, the Railroad finally bled out into history.
The road back to Sanctuary felt longer than the one out.
Not because of distance, but because of weight.
The convoy rolled through the early morning Commonwealth in staggered formation, engines steady, headlights cutting through thin bands of mist that clung to the cracked asphalt. Dawn hadn't fully arrived yet which just a pale suggestion of it, the sky bruised purple and gray at the horizon. Birds stirred in ruined trees. Somewhere far off, something howled and then went quiet again.
Inside the lead Humvee, Robert sat rigid, helmet resting against his knee, rifle secured between his boots. He stared through the windshield without really seeing the road. His mind kept replaying moments from the warehouse with the panic in the Railroad members' eyes, the desperate way they'd tried to erase themselves, the sheer amount of work they'd put into rebuilding something they knew was already dying.
Beside him, the driver said nothing. Nobody felt the need to fill the silence.
Behind them, the trucks carried more than prisoners and crates. They carried proof. Closure. And a warning.
MacCready rode a few vehicles back, slouched slightly against the side of another Humvee, exhaustion finally catching up to him now that the adrenaline had bled off. He rolled his shoulders once, wincing, then let out a long breath.
"Hell of a night," he muttered to no one in particular.
One of the Commandos across from him gave a tired snort. "That's one way to put it."
MacCready tilted his head, watching the scenery crawl by. Burned-out cars. Crumbling storefronts. A couple of early traders already moving along the road, pausing to stare as the convoy passed, eyes wide at the sheer amount of firepower rolling through.
"They'll be talking about this," MacCready said quietly.
"Yeah," the Commando replied. "Everyone always does."
MacCready didn't respond. He was thinking about Diamond City on about how close they'd been, how thin the line was between decisive action and political disaster. About how Sico always seemed to walk that line without slipping.
Most people thought that made him ruthless.
MacCready thought it made him necessary.
Sanctuary came into view just as the sun finally crested the horizon.
The settlement looked different in daylight. Less ominous. More alive. Guards stood alert at the gates as the convoy approached, weapons lowered but ready, eyes tracking every vehicle. The gates opened smoothly, and the convoy rolled inside without stopping.
The place was already awake.
Mechanics moved between workstations. Farmers tended plots just beyond the inner barricades. Children ran between buildings under watchful eyes. To anyone living there, it was just another morning.
They didn't see the quiet relief ripple through the soldiers as they rolled to a halt in the staging yard.
Orders snapped into place.
Prisoners were transferred to holding under heavy guard. Crates were unloaded and taken directly to secure storage. Terminals were handed off to technicians who treated them like unexploded bombs.
Robert dismounted last, boots hitting the concrete with a dull thud. He stood there for a second, stretching his neck, letting the stiffness bleed out of his shoulders.
MacCready walked up beside him, helmet dangling loosely from his fingers.
"Well," he said, glancing around, "looks like the place didn't burn down while we were gone."
Robert huffed quietly. "Low bar."
MacCready smirked. "Hey, you take your wins where you can."
Robert turned his head toward the Freemasons HQ with a solid, reinforced structure at the heart of Sanctuary, its flags stirring faintly in the morning breeze.
"Sico's waiting," Robert said.
MacCready nodded. "Figured."
They fell into step together, boots echoing softly as they crossed the yard.
The Freemasons HQ had a different atmosphere than the rest of Sanctuary.
Quieter. Heavier.
Guards stood at attention near the entrance, nodding respectfully as Robert and MacCready passed. Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of old metal, oil, and something almost antiseptic. The halls carried the low hum of generators and the distant murmur of voices from deeper within.
They weren't the first to arrive.
Preston and Sarah were already there.
Preston sat on one of the benches lining the outer office area, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. He looked tired, but composed with the kind of tired that came from responsibility, not regret.
Sarah stood nearby, arms folded, leaning against the wall. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, tracking movement even now.
She glanced up as Robert and MacCready approached.
"Looks like everyone made it back in one piece," she said.
"Mostly," MacCready replied. "Warehouse put up a little fight."
Preston looked up. "You get what you went for?"
Robert nodded. "Everything."
That got Preston to stand.
"Then let's get this over with," he said quietly.
A guard stepped forward and knocked once on the heavy office door.
"Sico," he called. "They're here."
"Send them in," came the reply from inside.
The door opened.
Sico's office was spare but purposeful.
A large table dominated the center, its surface cluttered with maps, datapads, handwritten notes, and a few personal items that never moved. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with binders and relics of a world that no longer existed. A single window let in the early morning light, illuminating dust motes in the air.
Sico stood near the table, hands resting on its edge, reading something on a datapad.
He didn't look up right away when they entered.
"Close the door," he said calmly.
The guard did, leaving the room sealed in quiet.
Only then did Sico lift his head.
His eyes moved from face to face from Preston, Sarah, Robert, to MacCready taking them in with a practiced, assessing gaze.
"Report," he said.
Preston went first.
"Alpha Company neutralized all listed locations," he said, voice steady. "Two hideouts surrendered without resistance. One engaged; resistance was minimal. Total detainees: eleven. Four KIA. No losses on our side."
Sico nodded once. "Delta?"
Sarah pushed off the wall. "All targets confirmed and cleared," she said. "Hospital fallback base was active. We breached with armor support. Ten detained, four KIA. Additional caches destroyed. No Delta casualties."
Sico's gaze shifted to Robert.
"And the warehouse."
Robert stepped forward and set a sealed data case on the table.
"Warehouse secured," he said. "Twenty occupants total. Seventeen detained, three KIA. Full intel recovery. No data successfully destroyed."
MacCready added, "They were in the middle of pulling together something bigger. Sloppy, rushed, but ambitious."
Sico finally allowed himself a slow exhale.
"Good," he said quietly.
He gestured to the data case. "Let's see it."
Robert opened it.
Inside were neatly stacked data drives, folders of preserved paper documents, and a hardened terminal unit. Everything was labeled, cataloged, and sealed.
Sico picked up one of the paper folders, flipping it open.
His eyes scanned quickly.
Then slowed.
He set the folder down and picked up another. Then another.
The room stayed silent.
Minutes passed.
No one spoke.
Sico's expression didn't change much, but something in his eyes sharpened as he read. His fingers tapped lightly against the table, once, then again.
Finally, he leaned back slightly and let the papers fall closed.
"So," he said calmly, "they weren't just hiding."
Preston frowned. "What do you mean?"
Sico tapped the folder.
"They were rebuilding," he said. "Recruitment lists. Supply acquisition plans. Contact networks that survived the purge."
MacCready let out a low whistle. "Knew it."
Robert's jaw tightened. "There's more."
Sico nodded. "Yes. There is."
He lifted one document and turned it so they could see.
"Attack projections," he said. "Target priorities. Infiltration routes."
Preston's eyes widened. "That's—"
"Us," Sarah finished grimly.
Sico nodded once. "Freemasons infrastructure. Patrol patterns. Command rotations."
The room felt colder.
"They were planning to strike," Preston said quietly.
"Yes," Sico replied. "Not immediately. They were still gathering strength. But they intended to."
MacCready crossed his arms. "Bold."
"Desperate," Sico corrected. "And dangerous."
Robert spoke carefully. "They didn't have the numbers yet."
"No," Sico agreed. "But they were close enough to try."
He set the document down and looked at all of them.
"You caught them before they could," he said. "That matters."
Preston swallowed. "If they'd gotten one clean hit—"
"They wouldn't have," Sico interrupted gently. "But they would have caused damage. Losses. Panic."
He paused.
"Symbolism," he added. "That was their real weapon."
Sarah shook her head. "They were never going to win."
"No," Sico said. "But that's not the same as being harmless."
Silence settled again.
Finally, MacCready broke it.
"So what now?" he asked. "Is this it?"
Sico considered the question.
"For the Railroad?" he said. "Yes."
He closed the folder decisively.
"This was the last coordinated effort," he continued. "Without leadership, without infrastructure, without secrecy, what's left will dissolve. Some will surrender. Some will disappear."
"And some will try something stupid," Sarah said.
Sico nodded. "And we'll deal with them if they do."
He looked at Robert.
"You did well," he said. "All of you did."
The praise wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
Robert inclined his head. "Thank you."
Sico straightened fully, setting the intel aside.
"Get some rest," he ordered. "You've earned it. We'll debrief further once analysis is complete."
Preston exhaled, shoulders finally loosening.
Sarah rolled her neck once. "I'll make sure my people stand down properly."
MacCready smirked faintly. "Guess that means drinks later."
Sico almost smiled.
"Go," he said.
They filed out of the office one by one, the weight of the night finally starting to lift as the door closed behind them.
Sico remained where he was.
Alone again.
He looked down at the intel spread across his desk.
The Railroad had believed they could rise again.
They had believed in timing, In secrecy and in one last strike. Sico gathered the documents neatly, placing them into a secure drawer and locking it with a firm click.
______________________________________________
• 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:-