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He turned back toward the heart of Sanctuary, boots crunching softly over the gravel path, the wind curling around him like a familiar old coat. Back toward the lanterns, back toward the hammering and the welding that would start again in the morning.
The overcast sky hung low above Sanctuary that morning, painted in muted layers of ash and pewter. There was no sun yet—just the soft glow of daylight diffused through a blanket of gray. But there was movement. Always movement.
Reconstruction never waited for blue skies.
Sico moved through the eastern wing of the compound with steady strides, his boots slapping gently on the packed gravel path that wound past the barracks and supply depot. Here and there, settlers were already up: sharpening tools, wiping down rifles, hauling crates of nails and wiring. A pair of scavvers chatted in low voices near the animal pens, steam curling from their coffee mugs. Off in the distance, someone laughed. It was a short, hard laugh—gravel and fatigue rolled into one—but it was real.
He didn't stop for any of them this time.
His mind was elsewhere.
Magnolia's office was tucked into the administrative wing—what used to be the old Sanctuary school, before the bombs, and then the community hall, before the Institute raid. Now it served as the brain of the Republic. Logistics. Ledgerkeeping. Diplomacy. Taxation. Wages. Rations. Hope, itemized.
He reached her office door and paused just a moment. The air smelled faintly of ink and oil—the scent of paperwork and hard work.
Sico rapped once with his knuckles, just loud enough to be polite.
"Come in," came the voice from inside.
Magnolia was already seated at her desk when he entered, her dark hair pulled into a loose tie, pencil behind her ear, sleeves rolled up. She was surrounded by papers, two ledgers open at once, and an old green holotape player humming a soft jazz tune from the corner. It clashed against the crinkle of parchment and the scrape of graphite, but somehow suited her.
She looked up with a small smirk. "You're early."
"You know me," Sico replied, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd come see how many caps we torched yesterday."
Magnolia snorted and reached for the thicker ledger, flipping to a marked page. "Torch is a strong word. We made investments."
Sico raised an eyebrow.
She didn't flinch.
"Fifteen thousand, three hundred and forty-five caps," she said flatly, tapping the total with her pencil tip. "Exactly."
Sico let out a low whistle, half amusement, half grim acknowledgment.
"It was a lot," Magnolia continued. "That Clearway Loop caravan hit most of the wishlist—insulated ceramic wrap, fusion cable, treated hardwood, prefab paneling. You don't get that kind of clean salvage every run."
"Was it worth it?" he asked.
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "I'd do it again. You want your turrets up and a tower standing before frost hits? You need that material. It wasn't a luxury."
"But it was expensive," Sico muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Magnolia nodded. "It was. But here's the thing—it's manageable. The treasury's still solid. Thanks to the Republic's tax intake—monthly, from Sanctuary and the other settlements—we've got steady flow. Comes out to just under twelve thousand caps monthly, reliable."
Sico gave her a wary glance. "So you're saying we'll survive this purchase."
"We'll survive," she said. "But we can't make a habit of it. That's what I'm telling you."
She leaned forward, folding her hands over the ledgers.
"The problem isn't that we spent over fifteen thousand. The problem is that we're already spending most of our monthly income just staying upright. Between rations, repair parts, medic supplies, housing—then you add in soldier wages…"
"How much do the troops cost us?" Sico asked.
She flipped to another page.
"About eight thousand caps a month, give or take. Hazard bonuses bump that up to nine or more, depending on raids or patrol frequency."
Sico leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"That means we're burning two-thirds of our income just on people."
"You want them fed and loyal, don't you?"
"Of course."
"Then that's the cost. And it's the right call," Magnolia said firmly. "But it doesn't leave much wiggle room. So when a caravan like Cray's rolls in and we drop a fifteen-k stack on materials? That's our entire safety net gone in one day."
He nodded slowly, letting the numbers settle.
"I take it you're not suggesting we cut wages."
"Hell no," she said. "We do that, we get deserters and riots. People aren't just loyal to the Republic because they believe in it—they're loyal because it feeds their families. You start shorting them, they'll start shorting us."
"So what do we do?"
Magnolia stood, pacing a short loop in the room.
"I've got a few ideas. First, we raise the trade tax—just a little. One percent. That gets us another 400–500 caps a week without scaring off merchants. Just enough to start rebuilding the buffer."
"Okay," Sico said. "We can sell that."
"Second, we get the community involved," she said. "We've got idle hands. People too old for patrols, too green for salvage runs. But they can sew, lift, clean, cook. Let them earn partial credit toward their tax. Less drain on treasury. More dignity in the system."
Sico straightened. "A work-for-credit program?"
"Exactly," she nodded. "Sarah can organize it. She already knows who's struggling and who's looking for purpose."
"She'll be on it today," Sico said.
Magnolia wasn't done.
"Third, we start selling again. We're making things now—tools, ammo, scrap kits. We've got purifiers running clean water. If we can build surplus, we can export it. Cray's not just a seller, he's a buyer. Diamond City's always thirsty. You want long-term stability? We become a supplier."
Sico smiled faintly. "You've been busy."
"I didn't stay alive this long by thinking small."
He stood and stepped to the window. Outside, settlers worked the scaffold lines. A child ran past with a dog, laughing. In the corner, two soldiers argued over how to reposition the outer turret brace.
"You think we can really turn this place into a hub?" he asked.
"We're already doing it," she said. "Now we just have to prove it wasn't luck."
He turned back. "Raise the merchant tax by one percent. Launch the work-credit program under Sarah. Prioritize water and ammo production for trade. Send a scouting delegation to Diamond City within the week. Can you manage all that?"
Magnolia snorted. "Can I manage it? You're the one running around with a laser rifle and a death wish. I'll take the paperwork any day."
Sico chuckled.
Then, quieter, he said, "Thank you. For holding this together."
She softened. "That's what you pay me for, isn't it?"
"Not nearly enough."
Magnolia had just softened—just for a second—when Sico, standing by her office window, added lightly, "How about I ask Albert to help you out?"
The words hung in the warm space between them for a beat, as the tick of the old wall-mounted clock became the only sound besides the faint hum of the jazz tape playing in the corner.
Magnolia blinked once. Then leaned back against her chair with a deliberately skeptical squint.
"Albert," she said, slowly.
Sico turned to her, face impassive but not unreadable.
"You said yourself the workload's growing," he offered. "Spreadsheets, ration rosters, supply projections, trade rotation logic, caravan math. I know you can handle it, but you shouldn't have to do it alone. And Albert—he's sharp. Reliable. And he knows both sides of the ledger."
Magnolia tilted her head, lips pursed. "He also nearly electrocuted himself three months ago trying to rewire a desk lamp into a generator."
"Exactly," Sico said with a faint grin. "Which makes him humble. And careful now."
She laughed. A short, sudden burst. Then her eyes narrowed playfully.
"You sure you want to pair us up?" she asked.
Sico raised a brow. "Why not?"
"Because if Sarah gets jealous that her husband's spending his days buried in dusty files with me, I'm telling her you're the one who thought it was a good idea."
Sico laughed despite himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll take the blame."
"Good," Magnolia said, mock-stern, "Because Sarah doesn't half get jealous. You know how she gets when she's even mildly suspicious. She's sweet until she's not."
"She's protective," Sico said, defending her with the loyalty of a long-time comrade. "She's earned it."
"No argument here," Magnolia said, rolling her pencil back behind her ear. "Still. I'd rather not have a cast iron pan flying at my head while I'm counting inventory."
"Then I'll tell her myself," Sico offered. "Make it official. Just paperwork support."
Magnolia smirked again, but there was real appreciation behind it this time. "Fine. If Albert's willing, I could use another set of hands. Preferably attached to someone who doesn't mind data entry and can brew tea without setting something on fire."
"He's your guy."
"God help us both."
They shared a look—a short-lived, unspoken moment of mutual understanding—and then the sound of boots scuffing outside Magnolia's office door broke the quiet.
Sico stepped away from the desk, back straight, posture already shifting back into that of the leader everyone needed him to be.
"Let me find him," he said. "You'll have him before lunch."
"Just warn him to wear gloves," Magnolia called after him. "The budget's sharp enough to draw blood."
Albert wasn't hard to find.
Sico knew his habits well. After all, Albert was the kind of guy who never said no. Which meant you usually had to stop him before he started trying to do five jobs at once.
Sure enough, Sico found him elbow-deep in the guts of a fusion battery module behind the tool shed, using a bent spoon and an old pip-boy stylus as makeshift prying tools.
"Don't tell me that's supposed to go back into the turret grid," Sico called out.
Albert looked up with a start, then grinned sheepishly. "No. I swear. This one's for the lantern posts."
"You're salvaging a fusion battery for lanterns?" Sico stepped closer, arms crossed.
"Well, I was. But then I remembered we had that crate of converted wind dynamos in the back. Thought maybe I could run a small loop. Cut power draw from the west grid entirely." He stood, wiping grease on his shirt. "You know, make Magnolia's spreadsheets a little prettier."
Sico blinked. "Funny you mention her."
Albert froze. "…Uh oh."
"Relax," Sico said. "It's nothing bad. She needs help with logistics—budget flow, ledgers, material sourcing, trade rotation. It's growing fast. She needs a support clerk."
Albert's brows furrowed. "And you want me to help her with… paperwork?"
"She needs someone smart. Someone with eyes on both engineering and economy. And you've been building both turrets and ration charts since the third day of the Republic. You're perfect."
Albert scratched the back of his head. "That's not usually where I shine, Sico. I'm better at fixing problems when I can hit them with a wrench."
"Well," Sico said with a grin, "This time the wrench is a pencil."
Albert gave a theatrical groan. "Do I at least get to sit down?"
"There's even tea," Sico added helpfully.
Albert sighed. Then, after a pause, nodded. "All right. I'll help. But only if you promise me one thing."
Sico raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
"That you tell Sarah yourself. And in person. If I'm gonna be locked in a room with Magnolia, I want my name nowhere near the explanation."
Sico chuckled. "Already planned to."
Albert smiled. "Then I guess I'm your numbers guy."
Sico didn't wait long before heading toward the residential circle, where the married housing units lined the west lawn with tidy rows of modified prefab structures. Sarah had likely finished her morning round by now and would be home prepping her mid-morning notes—or watering her two beloved succulents named "Hope" and "Sarcasm."
He knocked once. The door opened a moment later.
Sarah, wrapped in a simple flannel shirt and with half a pencil still tucked behind her ear, looked up at him with a slight smirk. "You don't usually come bearing that guilty face unless something's about to cost me time or sanity."
Sico gave a half-laugh. "Both, maybe. But I come in peace."
She stepped aside, waving him in. "Go on, then."
He entered the little home—it smelled like mint tea and gun oil, which was about right for the two people who lived there.
"Albert's gonna be helping Magnolia with administrative logistics," Sico said.
There was a beat.
Then Sarah stopped pouring her tea, turned slowly, and arched an eyebrow so high it nearly reached her hairline.
"Come again?"
"She needs support. Numbers are ballooning. Incoming trade, expenditure breakdowns, regional tax rotations. And Albert's ideal—he knows both the technical and the resource side."
"And you volunteered my husband," she said, calmly, "to be locked in a room all day with the smoothest-talking woman in the entire Wasteland."
"She's got tea and math. That's it," Sico replied.
Sarah narrowed her eyes. Then—abruptly—she snorted, and began to laugh.
Sico blinked.
"I'm not mad," she said between chuckles. "You should've seen your face. You're lucky I trust them both."
"You do?" he asked, a little surprised.
"Of course," she said. "Magnolia's too focused on balance sheets to start flirting. And Albert? If he gets flustered when I change my shirt, he's not gonna survive three days in a room with her unless it's strictly business."
Sico grinned. "Then we're all clear."
"Mostly," Sarah said, reaching for a new sheet of paper from her desk. "Now that you've disturbed my peace, you can help me draft the work-for-credit notices. Magnolia says I'm running it. Which means you're my errand boy until lunch."
Sico blinked again. "That's not how delegation works."
"It is today."
By late afternoon, the gray skies had begun to ripple with wind, and the smell of copper and dust swirled low across the compound. Sico's coat flapped at the hem as he passed a patrol group near the supply depot—one of the young guards raised a hand in salute, but he didn't stop. His legs ached, his throat was dry, and the clipboard tucked under his arm was now crammed with scribbled notes from half a dozen neighborhoods. Sarah hadn't just made him her errand boy—she'd made him her runner, her courier, her impromptu outreach director, and her verbal complaint filter.
He kind of admired it, honestly.
Now, the clipboard went under his arm as he pushed through the familiar doors of the old school building—cooler air pressing against his face the moment he stepped inside. The place smelled like old paper and warm metal. Somewhere in the distance, a fan hummed and papers rustled.
He found them in Magnolia's office, just where he'd expected.
Magnolia was standing beside the chalkboard they'd re-hung two weeks ago, her sleeves rolled up and a piece of white chalk gripped in her fingers like it was a weapon. Half the board was covered in tallies and arrows—she was sketching out a supply funnel diagram.
Albert, hunched in a chair beside her desk, was half-lost in a stack of budget logs and efficiency maps. His expression was unusually firm.
Sico didn't interrupt. Not yet.
"You're ignoring the numbers," Albert was saying, voice calm but with an edge of stubbornness. "Ammunition costs caps to make. Primers, powder, casting—every piece has weight, risk, and dependency. We can't afford that many single-point failures."
"And I'm telling you," Magnolia snapped—not angrily, but sharply—"ammo sells. Every town, every outpost, every caravan wants bullets. If we put out a flyer to Diamond City saying we've got surplus .308s and .10mm in clean boxes, they'll eat out of our hands."
"They'll also watch us like hawks," Albert replied, setting down a form. "And raiders will start sniffing our walls. You want to send a message that Sanctuary's stockpiling bullets? That makes us a target again. They don't care if it's for trade."
Sico stepped in then, clearing his throat. "Should I come back later?"
Magnolia turned, brows raised, but didn't look annoyed. "You're just in time to settle a tie."
Albert looked up with a relieved grin. "You missed the fun part. Magnolia accused me of being allergic to profit."
"She is allergic," Magnolia muttered. "Especially the kind that requires a little courage."
Sico shut the door behind him and took a slow breath. "Okay. What's the issue?"
Magnolia pointed at the chalkboard. "We need a primary trade good. Something we can start moving in and out regularly. I say we start with ammunition—small batches, high demand, controlled output. It's profitable, strategic, and sends a message that we're not some backwater hub scraping rust."
Albert lifted a hand. "And I say we start with purified water. It's safe. We've already got a functioning purifier, we've got the storage, and most importantly—it builds goodwill. Clean water in a bottle is something you give to desperate settlers and high-end buyers alike. And it won't paint a target on our backs."
Sico scratched his chin.
Magnolia crossed her arms. "You've seen what we've got, Sico. Stockpiles of lead and shell casings from our last few hauls. Enough scrap to load at least four ammo benches for a good month."
"And the power draw to run those benches full-time?" Albert asked, already anticipating the reply. "We'd need to expand the turbine housing. That means more ceramic, more heat shielding. We can't cut corners."
Magnolia gave him a side-eye glare. "You spent half your lunch drawing turbine schematics for fun."
"And I know how fragile the grid still is," he replied. "That's why I'm not putting it under strain for a side hustle."
Sico stepped forward, letting the discussion cool in his silence. He looked from the chalkboard to the papers on the desk. Then to Albert. Then Magnolia.
"You're both right," he said.
Magnolia sighed.
Albert raised an eyebrow. "Not helping."
"No, really," Sico continued. "Magnolia's right—ammo has leverage. It opens doors, gets respect. It puts us on a different tier when it comes to negotiations. If we're supplying bullets, we're not just rebuilding—we're strong."
Magnolia gave a pointed little nod.
"But Albert's right too," Sico added. "Starting with bullets could backfire. The second word gets out, raiders will start testing our gates. The Institute might sniff around again, just to see if we're resupplying."
"So what do we do?" Albert asked. "Flip a coin?"
Sico shook his head. "We start with water. Short-term, low-risk. We control output. Build trust. Cray's caravan is still parked near the north fence—they've got empty canisters. Sell them ten cases. No advertisement. Just quiet trade."
Magnolia didn't protest—yet.
"Meanwhile," Sico went on, "we prep a small, discreet ammo line. Two benches, not four. No public bulletin. Internal inventory only. When we're ready, we test the market quietly—maybe via a third-party trade through Diamond City. Something low-profile."
Albert leaned back. "Split the risk."
"Split the attention," Sico clarified. "We stay valuable without becoming a prize to be looted."
Magnolia looked at the board again, tapping the chalk against her lip. "Ten cases of water. Internal ammo prep. Trade only through trusted hands."
"Exactly," Sico said.
She exhaled. "Fine. But I get first dibs on who runs the ammo prep. No corner-cutters."
"Deal."
Albert grinned. "You two argue like a married couple."
Magnolia threw a balled-up scrap of ledger paper at his head. "Shut up, numbers boy."
Albert ducked, laughing.
Sico turned back to the door, already thinking through the next set of logistics: casing counts, sterilized bottle storage, guard rotation near the water depot.
"Start bottling by tomorrow," he said over his shoulder. "And Magnolia?"
"Yeah?"
"You're doing good work."
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Yeah. Don't tell Sarah. She'll think I'm soft."
Outside, the wind was picking up again—steady now, not sharp. Settlers moved through Sanctuary's heart with purpose. Kids ran between scaffold posts, soldiers adjusted their gear, and from the watchtower, a new flag caught the breeze: the white hammer on dark green.
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• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-