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But somehow, the room didn't feel as heavy anymore. Not when he knew or truly knew, that he wasn't carrying the Commonwealth alone.
The next day, Sico was already awake before dawn.
Not because he couldn't sleep, though sleep had been shallow lately. Not because he was plagued with nightmares, though memories of gunfire and Brotherhood vertibirds sometimes crawled into the edges of his dreams. And not because he felt forced to rise early.
No.
He woke because he wanted to.
Because today mattered.
Because today was the day the Commonwealth shifted again as quietly, subtly, but undeniably.
He pulled on his coat, the one Nora had repaired twice and Curie had reinforced with new lining. He stepped outside into the cold morning air, seeing his breath drift up in soft white clouds. The sun hadn't risen yet; the horizon was only a pale blue shard breaking the darkness.
Sanctuary was mostly silent.
Mostly.
Faint sounds—hammers tapping, livestock rustling, soft chatter from settlers who never slept in late that floated through the settlement like ghostly whispers. But Sico wasn't heading toward them.
He was heading to the training yard.
A place he had built.
A place he had expanded.
A place he had watched turn from an empty patch of cracked asphalt into the heartbeat of a growing military.
And today?
Today it would beat louder than ever.
The training yard was already alive when he arrived.
Steel clashed. Boots stomped. Voices carried. The rhythmic thwap of arrows hitting targets echoed through the air. And the scent of cold morning mixed with gun oil, burning wood, and training dummies stuffed with straw.
Sico walked in silently.
But everyone saw him.
A few recruits straightened.
Others paused mid-swing.
Some whispered to each other.
And yet… he didn't feel like a symbol, or a hero, or a commander looming above them. He felt like part of the machine. A piece in a larger, growing system that needed every person present.
Sarah Lyon's voice cut through the air, sharp and clear.
"Eyes forward! You're not here to stare at Sico—you're here to prove you deserve to stand in this yard!"
Her tone wasn't harsh. It was grounding. A reminder of purpose. The recruits snapped back to attention, and Sico hid a faint smile as Sarah shot him a sideways smirk.
He walked across the yard to where Preston stood with a clipboard, a pencil tucked behind his ear.
The man looked tired.
Not physically as Preston could march through snowstorms without flinching, but mentally. Recruiting meant judging people. It meant evaluating which settlers could survive the battlefield and which shouldn't be put anywhere near it. It meant seeing the hope in their eyes… and imagining the graves that might follow.
But Preston didn't falter.
He never did.
"Sico," Preston said, offering a nod.
"How many?" Sico asked.
"Fifty-six signed up so far," Preston replied. "And more are on the way once the caravans arrive."
Sico lifted a brow. "Fifty-six? Already?"
Preston exhaled. "Word spreads fast. People want protection. People believe in the Republic. And…" he paused, eyes softening for a moment, "…people believe in you."
Sico didn't respond. That kind of belief… it wasn't something he ever felt comfortable wearing.
Not like armor.
Not like a weapon.
Not like responsibility.
Belief was fragile.
Belief could shatter.
He looked across the field.
Recruits stood in lines as men, women, young adults barely old enough to hold rifles properly. Some were ex-raiders seeking redemption. Some were farmers wanting to defend their land. Some were former Gunners tired of being mercenaries. A handful were synths integrating into the Republic ranks. There were settlers from Nordhagen. Former scavvers from Bunker Hill. A quiet pair from Abernathy Farm who had lost everything to raiders last winter.
And a few… a few were simply here because they wanted purpose.
He watched them for a moment.
Watched the way they held themselves.
Watched the fear, determination, anxiety, and courage swirling in their expressions.
Fifty-six.
And more coming.
The army was growing faster than he expected.
And Preston and Sarah knew it too.
Sarah approached, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Even early in the morning, she trained like she was preparing for a war that never ended.
"Sico," she said, voice firm. "I've evaluated the candidates. Half are promising. A quarter are workable. And the rest…"
She shook her head lightly.
"…the rest will need time."
"Too weak?" Sico asked.
Sarah shook her head. "Not weak. Just untrained. But they have heart. And heart counts."
Preston added quietly, "Heart's what kept us alive through the Minutemen's collapse. It's what rebuilt this place."
Sico nodded, absorbing their words.
"Let's get started then," he said.
The morning began with basic drills.
Sarah led physical training, barking orders with a soldier's authority but a mentor's understanding.
"Keep your feet apart! Lower your stance! Don't lean when you shoot and control the recoil, don't fight it!"
Preston handled logistics, checking names, assigning squads, measuring progress.
Sico…
Sico walked.
Observed.
Evaluated.
He moved from recruit to recruit, watching them load rifles, throw punches, patch up dummies, lift heavy crates, sprint across the yard, scale walls, crawl through dirt, or hold their stances until their arms shook.
Some struggled.
Some excelled.
He offered small corrections when needed.
"Your elbow's too high, raiders will shoot that first."
"Shift your weight before you swing, you'll strike harder."
"Don't aim with fear. Aim with reason."
Most recruits nodded nervously.
Some thanked him.
A few looked starstruck.
He didn't like that last part.
"Don't put me on a pedestal," he told one. "Pedestals break."
The recruit nodded, cheeks red.
Sico moved on.
By midday, the sun was high, melting frost from the rooftops. Recruits sat on crates eating lunch with meat stew, fresh bread, and purified water.
Sanctuary had come far.
Very far.
Sico stood off to the side with Preston and Sarah, each holding tin cups of hot tea Nora had brewed earlier. The steam rose between them like thin ghosts drifting upward.
Preston flipped a page on his clipboard. "We'll need instructors. More than before."
Sarah nodded. "We can't train fifty or sixty recruits alone. Commanders train commanders, not entire battalions."
Sico took a slow sip of his tea. "Who do you have in mind?"
Sarah pulled a notebook from her belt pouch, the same one she had been scribbling in since yesterday.
"I've narrowed it down to six. Barnes. Okoro. Magsen. Torre. Delilah. And Wright."
Preston nodded slowly. "Good choices. Each one's got discipline, experience, and loyalty."
Sico tilted his head. "Wright? The ex-Bunker Hill caravan guard?"
Sarah smiled faintly. "Yes. She's strict, skilled, and has a tongue sharp enough to keep idiots in line."
Preston snorted. "You're not wrong."
Sico rubbed his chin. "Bring them to me after drills. I want to talk with them personally."
"Of course," Sarah said.
Sico looked back at the recruits.
Some laughed.
Some ate quietly.
Some cleaned their weapons obsessively.
Some stared anxiously at the training field.
Children of a broken world learning to become soldiers.
He swallowed a heavy breath.
"Do we have to expand this fast?" he asked softly.
Preston and Sarah exchanged a look.
One of understanding.
One of shared burden.
One of silent agreement.
And it was Preston who answered.
"If we don't," he said in a quiet voice, "we risk losing everything we built."
Sarah added, "We're not trying to create an army because we want power. We're creating it because we need it."
Sico looked at them both.
Their faces.
Their exhaustion.
Their determination.
He nodded once.
And that was enough.
By afternoon, drills resumed.
But they were harsher now.
Harder.
Real.
Sarah lined up recruits near the obstacle course.
"Alright! Listen up! This isn't a playground, this is the difference between living and dying out there. You finish this course or I'll make you run it again until you forget what softness feels like!"
Preston fired a blank round into the sky.
"GO!"
Recruits sprinted.
Mud splashed.
Metal clanged.
Voices shouted.
Bodies slammed the ground.
Sico watched them struggle through:
– Crawling under barbed wire
– Scaling wooden walls
– Dragging weighted dummies
– Sprinting up steep mounds
– Navigating broken cars
Some stumbled.
Some fell face-first into mud.
Some cursed.
Some cried.
And yet not a single one quit.
That mattered.
Sico stepped near a recruit who was struggling to pull a weighted dummy across the field. The young woman's arms trembled violently, her breath ragged, sweat dripping from her chin.
She tugged.
The dummy didn't budge.
She tugged again.
Her legs buckled.
Sico crouched beside her.
"You're using your arms too much," he said calmly. "Your legs are stronger. Lift with your heels, not your back."
She nodded breathlessly.
Tried again.
The dummy shifted.
Again.
Further.
She gasped and nearly collapsed, but she kept going, inch by inch, until she reached the marker.
When she finally let go, she fell on her back, staring at the sky with tears in her eyes.
"Good," Sico said quietly. "That's how a soldier is made."
Hours passed.
Recruits improved.
Some barely.
Some significantly.
And when the sun began to set, its orange glow bathing the entire yard in a warm haze, Sico ordered the final test of the day.
"Pair up!" he shouted across the yard. "Hand-to-hand combat!"
An immediate eruption of groans filled the air.
Sarah grinned cruelly. "Aww, look at that. Music to my ears."
Preston clapped his hands. "Pair up with someone your size! And no, you can't partner with someone weaker so you can feel tough!"
Recruits spread out and squared up, fists raised, legs bent.
Sico walked through them, making sure nobody was pairing unfairly.
He paused at two men who looked seconds away from breaking into a fight before the match even started.
"You two good?" Sico asked.
They jolted upright.
"Yes, sir!"
"Fine, sir!"
Sico raised an eyebrow. "Then go."
They gulped.
And the yard exploded into motion.
Punches thrown.
Kicks exchanged.
Bodies hitting dirt.
Shouts of pain, triumph, frustration, disbelief.
Sarah moved through them like a ghost, adjusting stances, swatting poorly thrown punches, demonstrating grapples.
Preston yelled encouragement from the sidelines.
Sico…
Sico evaluated.
He studied their reactions.
Who panicked?
Who thought?
Who protected themselves?
Who went wild?
Who adapted?
When the final whistle blew, Preston using a chipped whistle he'd found in an old school building as the recruits collapsed onto the ground, panting, shaking, but alive.
Sarah blew out a satisfied breath. "Not bad."
Preston nodded. "They're raw, but they'll get there."
Sico looked around.
Sweat.
Mud.
Exhaustion.
Determination.
These were the people defending the future.
These were the people who would shape the Commonwealth.
And Sico felt something in his chest tighten.
Not fear.
Not regret.
Not pressure.
A strange warmth.
Pride, maybe.
Or hope.
He wasn't sure.
Maybe both.
As the recruits gathered their gear and cleaned up, Sarah approached with the six names she had mentioned earlier.
Barnes.
Okoro.
Magsen.
Torre.
Delilah.
Wright.
They stood in a line as each was tall, strong, experienced, yet nervous in Sico's presence.
He approached them calmly.
"Sarah says you're the best."
They remained silent.
Sico looked each one in the eye.
"You're going to help lead this army. You're going to train people. You're going to carry the weight of decisions that might get someone killed. You will be the ones others look to when everything goes wrong."
A long silence hung between them.
Then Sico asked:
"Do you still want this responsibility?"
One by one, each nodded.
Strong.
Firm.
Unwavering.
And Sico said only one thing:
"Then prove Sarah right."
The next day came colder than the last.
Not brutally cold winter hadn't sunk its claws fully into the Commonwealth yet, but cold enough that each breath formed a faint mist, lingering in the air before fading like a memory that didn't want to disappear.
Sico arrived at the training yard even before Preston had brewed his first pot of morning coffee. The sun hovered low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. Frost clung stubbornly to the training dummies, making them look like silent guards frozen in place. The sharp scent of gun oil and sweat from the previous day still lingered, and in the distance, faint echoes of metallic clinks drifted through the settlement as early risers tended to tools and workstations.
But today, today something new filled the air.
A crowd.
A big one.
When Sico stepped into the yard, he saw a line stretching all the way from the training grounds to the makeshift recruitment table Preston and Sarah had set up. People were clustering, forming uneven queues, murmuring nervously to one another.
Farmhands.
Caravan guards.
Mechanics.
Former raiders.
Even a couple of teenagers whose parents stood beside them, looking torn but resolute.
Dozens of them.
Wave after wave.
And more coming down the road from Sanctuary's north entrance.
Sico felt the weight of that sight settle in his chest.
He had expected more recruits over time. Not this sudden surge. Not this almost desperate rush of people eager to serve, eager to fight, eager to belong to something bigger than the quiet, fragile lives they were trying to rebuild.
Winter was coming.
The Brotherhood was restless.
Raiders had begun probing again near the old highways.
And word of the Freemasons Republic had growing strength, has spread far enough to reach ears hungry for safety.
Safety meant soldiers.
Soldiers meant sacrifice.
Sico took in the scene for a few long breaths, his gaze drifting from newly arrived recruits to the ones already on the training field. Sarah was already shouting drills, pacing between squads with her usual combination of sharp authority and genuine belief. Preston stood by the recruitment table, quill in hand, listening intently to each person's story before deciding where to place them.
Sico could have stepped in.
He could have taken over.
He could have commanded the whole scene effortlessly.
But today, he didn't need to.
Today, he trusted them.
He stepped back, allowing the organized chaos to unfold naturally.
Preston caught his eye from across the yard, giving him a firm nod as the kind soldiers gave each other in unspoken understanding. Sarah merely jerked her chin toward him as if to say: We've got this.
And Sico believed them.
So he turned away.
Silent.
Steady.
Intent on addressing something else equally important for the future they were building.
Food.
Winter would be harsh and will be harsher than last year, judging by the early cold fronts rolling down from the north. And every new recruit meant another mouth to feed. Sanctuary could not afford shortages. Not when morale, discipline, and stability depended on full bellies and warm homes.
Which was why, today, he was heading to the farm.
The farm sat at the far edge of Sanctuary, past rows of restored houses, past the workshop Sturges had taken over, past the children's playground Curie insisted on building so settlers could "exercise joy," as she put it. The fields didn't look like much from afar with patches of dirt, scattered crops, makeshift irrigation pipes, scarecrows made from raider armor and old clothing but up close, the place was alive.
Really alive.
Freshly turned soil stretched in rich brown lines.
Carrots poked their green tops through the earth.
Tatos grew stubbornly, thriving even in poor soil.
Mutfruit trees was small, but growing through lined the edge of the field.
And the air was rich with the earthy smell of labor.
Jenny was bent over one of the crop rows when Sico arrived, her red bandana tied tight over her forehead to keep the morning chill out of her hair. Her sleeves were rolled up, coat buttoned crookedly in a way she never bothered fixing. She held a shovel in one muddy glove, stabbing it into the soil with rhythmic precision, as if her body had memorized the movement long ago.
Around her, her crew worked just as intensely.
Three young adults, former scavvers from a ruined settlement outside Revere.
A middle-aged man from Covenant who wanted to contribute something meaningful.
A synth farmhand from the Institute that named Model N7, whose movements were slow, careful, almost tender toward the plants.
Old Lady June, too stubborn to retire, sat on an overturned crate sorting seeds with weathered hands that somehow never trembled.
They looked up when they heard Sico's footsteps crunch across the frost-kissed dirt.
Jenny straightened, wiped her brow, and smirked in that tired, satisfied way farmers do when they've already been working for hours before most people wake.
"You're early," she said, adjusting her bandana. "Or maybe we're late."
"You're never late," Sico replied with a small smile. "Not when it comes to the fields."
She snorted. "Damn right. Crops don't wait for commanders."
He walked closer, crouching beside a row where N7 was planting new seedlings. "Good spacing," Sico murmured. "Looks healthier than last season."
N7 turned, eyes glowing softly. "I adjusted the nutrient density of the soil based on Miss Jenny's observations. It should increase yield by approximately eleven percent."
Jenny threw her hands up proudly. "See? I keep telling everyone, synths make better fieldhands than half the settlers. Not that I don't appreciate the humans," she added quickly, pointing her thumb toward her crew. "But these ones don't complain about back pain."
The synth gave a curious tilt of the head, unsure whether to process that as praise or insult.
Sico chuckled. "Winter's coming. How fast can we get another batch ready?"
Jenny wiped her gloves on her pants, leaving streaks of brown soil. "Three weeks for tatos. Two for carrots. Mutfruit'll take longer, but we're staggering the harvest so nothing goes to waste."
"And food reserves?"
"Growing slowly," she admitted. "We've got enough to hold Sanctuary for a few months if the weather stays mild. But…" she hesitated, glancing toward the distant hills where Brotherhood patrols sometimes flew overhead, "…if we get more recruits like the waves yesterday and today, we'll need more hands."
Sico nodded. "I'll assign help. Maybe rotate shifts from the new soldiers who grew up on farms."
Jenny raised a brow. "Soldiers working fields?"
Sico nodded. "Every soldier in the Republic will know how to fight and how to feed the people they protect."
Jenny stared for a moment, then grinned. "I like that. Means they'll respect the food more if they sweat for it."
Sico stepped beside her, hands on his hips as he surveyed the fields.
The soil was dark.
Rich.
Alive.
This land had been dead once.
Barren.
Forgotten.
Just like the Commonwealth.
But they brought it back.
Through effort.
Through stubbornness.
Through hope.
Through unity.
Jenny cleared her throat, bringing him back to the present.
"So," she said, leaning on her shovel, "you're expecting things to get worse, aren't you?"
Sico didn't hide the truth.
"Yes."
A simple word.
But heavy.
Jenny sighed. "Figured. Folks have been whispering. Saw a vertibird shadow last night. Thought it was passing by, but it turned. Like it was watching."
Sico's jaw tightened. "The Brotherhood's desperate. Nora's plan is working as they're stretched thin. But that makes them unpredictable."
Jenny's expression hardened, the lines of her face deepening with worry. "Then we'll be ready. I'll grow enough food to feed every damn recruit in this settlement."
"You already are," Sico said quietly.
She looked down, embarrassed by his sincerity. "Well," she muttered, "crops don't plant themselves."
"Some do," N7 commented.
Jenny pointed at him. "You don't count. You're a marvel of robot science."
The synth seemed offended for exactly two seconds before calmly returning to his planting.
Sico looked around at the workers.
Boots sinking softly into fresh soil.
Hands burying seeds with quiet deliberation.
Breath forming faint clouds in the cold morning air.
The Commonwealth wasn't just being defended here.
It was being built.
One seed at a time.
Sico walked the rows with Jenny, talking through winter plans, ration rotations, greenhouse reinforcement, irrigation improvements, and emergency reserves. She showed him where the soil needed reinforcements, where moles had tunneled too close to the pipes, and where she wanted to expand once she had enough hands.
The sun climbed slowly, warming the frost bit by bit.
After a while, Jenny stopped in the middle of the fields and leaned on her shovel, catching her breath.
"You look tired," Sico observed.
She scoffed. "Everyone in Sanctuary looks tired. Builds character."
"But you're pushing yourself too hard."
"So are you."
He didn't respond.
She smirked knowingly. "Thought so."
A quiet moment settled between them as it was comfortable, warm despite the cold. The kind of moment that comes only after shared struggle and mutual trust.
Then Jenny's tone softened.
"You're doing good, Sico. Really good. People believe in you because you don't just protect us… you help us grow."
Sico stared at the rows of crops swaying gently in the cold breeze.
"Growth matters," he said. "What's the point of fighting if we don't give people a future worth living in?"
Jenny nodded. "And that's exactly why people keep joining the Republic."
He exhaled through his nose. "More recruits means more responsibility."
"More responsibility means more leadership," she said firmly. "Good thing we've got you."
He shook his head slowly. "It's not about me."
"Maybe not." She stabbed her shovel into the soil. "But you make people feel safe. And right now? That's more valuable than any weapon."
Sico didn't know what to say to that.
So he didn't say anything at all.
He simply walked beside her, helping her check another line of crops, making sure the irrigation valves weren't frozen, making sure the seedlings were spaced correctly, making sure nothing threatened the future of their food supply.
Because here among the soil, the workers, the quiet determination, he understood something deeper.
Sanctuary wasn't built by guns.
Or walls.
Or soldiers.
It was built by hands.
Hands planting seeds.
Hands repairing homes.
Hands lifting fallen comrades.
Hands writing names on recruitment sheets.
Hands pulling others out of danger.
Hands holding onto hope.
Hands that refused to let the Commonwealth fall apart.
Hands just like Jenny's.
When the wind picked up, carrying the smell of burning wood from the blacksmith's forge, Sico looked back toward the training yard. Even from the farm, he could hear Sarah shouting orders that cracked like rifle fire.
"Lower your stance! This isn't a dance class!"
Preston's calmer voice followed a moment later:
"You don't have to be strong right away. You just have to keep trying!"
It made Sico smile faintly.
Jenny followed his gaze. "They're doing fine without you for the morning."
"I know."
"You trust them."
"I do."
"You should," she added. "They trust you too."
That truth did not sit lightly in his chest. But it didn't burden him either.
It grounded him.
Jenny wiped her brow again, then nudged him in the ribs. "Go on. You've got that look in your eyes."
"What look?"
"The I have fifty problems to solve and they all showed up early today look."
He laughed under his breath. "Maybe."
"Go handle them. We'll handle the fields."
"And the winter harvest?"
"Consider it done."
He nodded once, deeply, grateful in a way words couldn't express.
Jenny turned back to her crew and clapped her hands loudly.
"Alright, lazybones! The Commander's counted on us, so get those beds planted before lunch or you're all eating mush for a month!"
Her crew groaned dramatically, but they worked harder.
N7 raised his hand politely. "Will I also be punished with mush?"
"Yes!" Jenny barked.
N7 nodded. "Understood."
Sico left the farm with a light weight in his chest, the kind that comes from seeing tangible progress. Jenny and her crew were already humming with energy, boots sinking into rich soil, hands moving rhythmically as if the land itself had taught them to dance. Even N7 had become almost human in its subtle nods of approval and quiet satisfaction. That sight lingered in his mind as he walked back toward the center of Sanctuary, boots crunching over frost-hardened dirt, coat flapping gently in the cold morning wind.
The settlement was waking up fully now. From this distance, he could hear the rhythmic hammering of Sturges' metalworks, the distant clatter of kettles in the kitchens, and the low hum of settlers moving through streets, carrying tools, baskets, and small packs of supplies. Children ran past in pairs, laughing loudly, their voices carrying over the crisp air and momentarily softening the hard edges of the world they were rebuilding.
Sico didn't pause. He didn't need to. His steps were steady, purposeful, as he made his way to the purified water depot. This place, modest but vital, was one of the arteries of Sanctuary's survival. Without clean water, the settlers' morale, health, and resilience would crumble faster than any wall or gunfire could protect. And today, the depot had its own urgency: more settlements had placed orders, and those orders had to be fulfilled before the first wave of winter storms hit.
When Sico arrived, Magnolia was already at work. She stood beside the largest purification tank, sleeves rolled up, hands deftly tightening valves and checking the flow of water through the filtration system. The polished steel glinted faintly in the morning light, and the subtle hum of the machinery filled the depot, blending with the occasional splash of water as it poured into storage barrels. Around her, Albert moved with precise efficiency, loading filled barrels onto trolleys, marking inventory, and preparing shipments for distribution. Both were focused, yet the energy in the room was alive with a quiet pulse of industry that reminded Sico that this settlement was more than just buildings and defenses; it was a beating organism, and every person had a role.
Magnolia turned as Sico entered, brushing a strand of damp hair from her forehead and offering a small smile. "Morning, Sico," she said, voice calm but carrying an undertone of pride. "I wasn't expecting you so early."
"I like to see things for myself," he said, scanning the room. His eyes settled on the new barrels lined neatly against the walls, the orderly stacks of filters ready for deployment, and the steady hum of activity. "Orders from the neighboring settlements came in last night?"
Magnolia nodded. "Yes. Five new settlements, mostly small communities on the northern outskirts. They requested full weekly shipments. I coordinated with Albert to prioritize delivery so we don't fall behind." She gestured toward a clipboard sitting on a small table nearby, covered with lists, maps, and hand-written notes. "We're staggering the purification cycles to maximize output, but it's tight."
Sico stepped closer, examining the setup. Each tank was connected through a network of pipes that curved with careful precision, leading to storage barrels of varying sizes. Labels marked each batch: Settlement name, date, volume, and delivery priority. Everything was precise. Everything accounted for. This was Magnolia's domain, and it reflected her methodical mind. "Do you need more help?" he asked quietly.
Magnolia shook her head. "Not yet. Albert is efficient, and the crew we have is steady. The problem is logistics. Getting the barrels safely to each settlement. The northern routes are already risky this time of year, and a few raider groups have been seen near the old Boston highway."
Sico's jaw tightened slightly. "Then we'll need scouts and escorts for the deliveries. I can assign some of the new recruits to rotation shifts. They'll get experience, and our shipments stay safe."
Her eyes softened. "I was hoping you'd say that. I've been worrying about the scouts I usually rely on, they've been stretched thin. Having trained soldiers will make a huge difference."
He nodded. "Consider it done. We'll coordinate with Preston to assign squads after drills."
Albert wheeled a trolley toward them, loaded with barrels marked for a settlement three days' ride northeast. "Everything's ready for shipment," he said. "Magnolia, we just need the final sign-off."
Magnolia examined the clipboard once more, tapping a finger on a list. "All right. Barrels one through fifteen for Abernathy, sixteen through twenty-five for Nordhagen, twenty-six through thirty-two for Revere. I'll sign off on these and Albert can load them. The rest will follow after the next purification cycle."
Sico crouched slightly to meet her eyes. "You've done a lot, Magnolia. Not just today, not just this week. This place… you're keeping us alive. More than you probably realize."
She smiled faintly but looked away. "I do what I have to. The settlers need water, or none of this matters. Soldiers, farms, walls, they all fail if we don't have clean water. That's what keeps me focused."
He nodded, understanding fully. There was no dramatic flourish in her work. No grand speeches. Just steady, relentless care, attention to detail, and an unspoken commitment that everything she touched would endure. "We'll make sure the deliveries are safe," he said. "You focus on production. Nothing else."
Magnolia's lips quirked up in a small, genuine smile. "I suppose it's nice to hear that sometimes."
He returned the smile briefly, but his mind was already calculating, weighing risks, planning rotations, and imagining the waves of recruits pouring out of the training yard. This wasn't just a settlement anymore. It was a network. A growing, interdependent system that could survive not just against raiders, not just against the Brotherhood but against the cold, against scarcity, against despair itself.
Sico rose to his full height, letting the hum of the depot fill his ears. The smell of clean water, metal, and the faint tang of frost-bitten air grounded him. "How soon can you have the next batch ready?" he asked.
Magnolia glanced at the purification tanks, then at the scheduling on her clipboard. "Three cycles. That's approximately two days, assuming nothing goes wrong. After that, we can keep a steady rotation, one batch leaving each morning."
"And the northern settlements?" he pressed gently. "Will two days be enough to meet their needs?"
"Yes," she replied, confident now, "if the deliveries leave on schedule. Albert knows the routes. The only real variable is weather or raiders. We can handle minor snow or frost, but heavy snowfall could delay shipments."
Sico nodded. "Then we'll prepare contingencies. Scouts to check routes, some of the recruits for defense, and emergency rations in each shipment. No settlement gets left dry."
Albert tilted his head slightly. "Emergency rations? For water deliveries?"
"Yes," Sico said. "If something delays the shipment, at least the settlers will have a buffer until the next cycle. We can't risk running out."
Magnolia raised a brow, impressed. "Thought of everything, haven't you?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let his gaze drift across the depot, taking in the tanks, the barrels, the careful labeling, the small adjustments that kept the system running like clockwork. Each detail mattered. One overlooked valve, one miscounted barrel, one missed schedule could ripple outward, endangering not only the settlers but the morale of the entire Republic. "It's not about thinking of everything," he said finally, "it's about knowing what matters. Water matters."
Magnolia gave a soft nod, almost reverently. "Then we're on the same page."
Sico allowed himself a moment, breathing in the scent of the depot from the water, the metal, the warmth of people working together toward a common goal. Then he stepped closer to the central tank, hands resting lightly on the cool steel. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, reflecting the overhead sunlight filtering through the windows. Each barrel waiting to be filled was a promise. A lifeline. A symbol that Sanctuary was not just surviving, but actively sustaining life beyond its walls.
Albert returned from organizing the last of the barrels. "Ready for shipment?" he asked.
Magnolia checked her clipboard one final time. "Yes. Load them carefully. Watch the handles, and make sure we rotate the barrels so nothing spills. Each one is essential."
Sico turned his gaze toward the depot exit, imagining the wagons carrying the water down the frost-lined roads. He pictured the settlers in Abernathy, Nordhagen, and Revere receiving the barrels, hands steadying the heavy containers, relief flooding their tired faces, children laughing at the sound of water flowing into clean vats for the first time that day. Every delivery a small victory, a tangible mark that the Republic was alive and thriving.
"Albert," Sico said, voice firm but calm, "make sure every wagon has at least one escort from the new recruits. Safety in numbers. Don't underestimate raiders or the Brotherhood if they're watching our movements."
Albert nodded. "Understood. I'll coordinate with Preston for patrol rotations."
Sico glanced at Magnolia one last time. "Keep the purification cycles strict. No shortcuts. The settlers depend on you. Every barrel counts."
She smiled faintly, but there was seriousness in her eyes that matched his own. "Understood. We won't fail."
He turned, walking slowly toward the center of Sanctuary, boots crunching softly over frost-hardened earth. Behind him, the depot hummed with life, water flowing steadily, barrels being loaded, schedules being checked, orders being finalized. Another crucial piece of the Commonwealth's survival was in motion.
________________________________________________
• 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:-