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The sky above them faded into deep violet as the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon. And the three recruits who is broken, sore, bruised, humbled was walking back to the barracks together.
The next morning came slowly, creeping into the Commonwealth with a cold bite that hinted at the winter approaching. It wasn't the kind of gentle cold the old world once had as no soft frost on windows, no peaceful mist rolling in from forests or rivers. This was the Commonwealth's cold: harsh, dry, sharp enough to crawl beneath clothing and nestle in bone.
But inside the Freemasons Headquarters, warmth radiated through the halls with the warmth from boilers, warmth from generators, warmth from people moving with purpose.
And in the President's office, Sico had already been awake for hours.
His desk was cluttered with maps, reports, patrol routes, agricultural plans, defense grids, and a half-eaten plate of mutt-chops he had forgotten to finish. A mug of coffee sat steaming beside stacks of handwritten notes, the pen beside it uncapped and left tilted on its side where he'd dropped it last night from fatigue.
He wore his usual dark coat, sleeves rolled halfway, gloves off, hair tied loosely behind his head. There were new bruises forming on his arms from yesterday's spar, though he showed no sign of feeling them. Today wasn't a day for fighting as today was planning, reading, preparing, securing the future of a Republic still too fragile to survive a bad winter.
He reached for another paper when the door opened with a light knock.
"Good morning, sir," Jenny said as she stepped inside, clutching a thick clipboard to her chest. Her boots clicked softly against the polished floor. She looked tired in the way all farm workers looked tired like burned by the sun, stiff from early mornings, but her eyes were bright and steady.
Sico gestured for her to enter fully. "Jenny. Come in. What's the report?"
She set the clipboard on the desk, flipping through pages filled with handwritten notes, crop charts, water allocation schedules, livestock logs.
"Well," she began, "the harvest numbers are in. And… good news, sir. Very good news."
Sico leaned back in his chair, fingers lacing together. "Go on."
"We've finished processing the crops with tato, corn, tarberries, razorgrain, and the last of the mutfruit gardens. After calculating what we'll need to feed the HQ, Sanctuary, and all connected settlements…"
She paused, letting the moment sink in.
"…we've got a surplus. A big one. Particularly in razorgrain and corn."
Sico blinked once, eyebrows lifting just slightly.
That was rare. Surplus wasn't a word thrown around lightly in the Commonwealth. Especially not when winter was coming.
Jenny continued, warming with pride. "It's the strongest yield we've had in months. Maybe longer."
Sico exhaled, a soft but genuine breath of relief. "That's good," he murmured. "Better than good."
Jenny smiled a little. "Yes, sir. It puts us in a good position for the cold months."
Sico nodded, thoughtful, but not relaxed. He reached for the clipboard, skimming the numbers with a quick analytical eye.
"I don't want to be comfortable," he said at last. "Not yet."
Jenny's brows furrowed. "Sir?"
"This winter is supposed to be harsher than the last. The Minutemen's scouts saw frost forming early up north."
His voice trailed, but Jenny understood.
Winter always needed food.
And people from families, soldiers, children was needed food more than anything.
He set the clipboard down and met her eyes.
"I want you and your team to plant more."
Jenny blinked. "More… sir, with respect, we've already—"
"I know," Sico said gently. "You've done more than enough already. But if you and your team can manage it, if you have the seeds, the soil, the water as I want another round planted before the frost hardens the ground."
Jenny hesitated. "You want winter crops."
"Yes."
"That means overworking the fields."
"I know."
"And the soil might not recover fully for spring."
"I know."
Jenny exhaled through her nose, tapping her clipboard nervously. "Sir, you're planning for something. Something more than just a cold season."
Sico didn't answer immediately.
Outside, beyond the window, he could see the faint silhouettes of patrols moving across the yard. Soldiers. The scouts. Civilians carrying crates toward warehouses. All of them counting on him. Trusting him.
Not just as a leader.
But as a shield.
He looked back at her with steady certainty.
"I won't let us face a food crisis in the middle of a war," he said quietly. "If that means planting more now, we plant more now."
Jenny nodded slowly.
"Alright," she said at last. "We'll do it."
Sico watched her expression soften with her professional precision turning into the familiar hardworking resolve that had kept the farms alive even through storms, raider attacks, and supply shortages.
"Thank you," he said sincerely.
Jenny smiled faintly. "Just doing my part, sir."
She flipped to another page on her clipboard.
"Now… cattle."
Sico raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Jenny took a small breath, her voice warming with pride.
"The Brahmin herd is doing well. Very well, actually. As of this morning's count, we officially have…"
She checked her notes.
"…thirty-five Brahmin."
Sico blinked. "Thirty-five?"
"Yes, sir. Twenty adults that are healthy and strong, with fifteen calves that all doing good under watch."
Sico leaned back, a slow smile forming. "That's… more than I expected."
Jenny beamed. "It's enough to stabilize meat and fertilizer production. And with proper breeding, we could reach fifty by next year."
"Impressive work," Sico said. "Truly."
Jenny blushed slightly. "It's the team, sir. Not just me."
"No," Sico corrected quietly. "It's you leading the team. Don't diminish that."
She swallowed, clearly touched, and cleared her throat before turning to the next page.
"And last, the chickens."
Sico couldn't help a small amused lift of his brow. "How many chickens do we have now?"
"Twenty-three," Jenny said proudly.
"That many?"
"Yes, sir. And that's just the adults. We've got six chicks still growing in the hatch pens."
"Egg production?"
"Weekly yield is up to 120 eggs."
Sico paused.
"…One hundred and twenty per week?"
Jenny nodded happily. "Yes, sir. Enough for the HQ mess hall, Sanctuary families, and still enough left to trade with allied settlements."
Sico rested his elbows on the desk, absorbing the numbers not just as statistics, but as something far more meaningful.
Food.
Stability.
Growth.
Security.
These were the foundations of any nation, any future.
But he also felt a cold knot in the back of his mind.
Surpluses meant targets.
Livestock meant vulnerability.
Winter approaching meant raiders, mercs, or even Brotherhood will slowly growing desperate.
He couldn't show that concern to Jenny. Not yet. She needed praise, not fear.
But Jenny noticed anyway.
Her smile faded. "Sir… what's wrong?"
Sico tapped his fingers once against the wooden desk, thinking.
"You've done excellent work," he began slowly. "Better than anyone could have asked. But with these numbers, we need to increase security around all agricultural sectors."
Jenny tilted her head. "You think someone will try to take them?"
Sico didn't sugarcoat his response.
"Yes."
Jenny's throat bobbed.
He leaned forward.
"Jenny… people kill for less than a crate of razorgrain. A herd of Brahmin? A winter food supply? That's wealth. Power. Survival."
She set her clipboard down, eyes hardening with understanding. "So you want guards."
"Yes. The soldiers. And I want the farms to have emergency alarms installed within the week."
Jenny nodded quickly. "I'll inform the others."
"Good," Sico said. "And Jenny… I know it's more work. But everything you're doing, it's what keeps this Republic alive."
Jenny's voice softened. "We don't mind the work, sir. We believe in what you're building."
Sico looked away, just for a moment, almost shy at the sincerity of her tone.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Jenny gathered her clipboard and stepped back. "I'll get started with the replanting preparations right away."
As she reached the door, Sico called out again.
"And Jenny?"
She paused. "Yes, sir?"
"If you or your people need anything from tools, manpower, supplies just send word immediately."
Jenny smiled warmly. "I will, sir."
Then she left.
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Sico alone in the quiet again.
The quiet did not last long.
Barely a minute had passed after Jenny's departure when another knock came that not timid, not hurried, but polite and practiced, like someone who'd spent years navigating the respectful space between professionalism and familiarity.
"Come in," Sico said, rubbing a thumb over the corner of one of the maps.
The door opened, and Magnolia stepped inside.
But this wasn't the Magnolia of The Third Rail, not the performer drenched in stage lights and velvet melodies. This was Magnolia the Treasurer of the Freemasons Republic, an identity she had grown into over since joining them with surprising confidence.
Her dress today was tailored, modest but elegant, a deep burgundy that complemented the seriousness of her new position. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she held a thick ledger book pressed against her hip.
She looked… different. In a good way.
Stronger.
"Morning, Mr. President," she said with a warm yet professional smile.
Sico returned the smile faintly. "Magnolia. Come in."
She closed the door behind her and approached the desk with the air of someone who had numbers burning holes in her thoughts and wouldn't rest until they were spoken aloud.
"I've finished the tally," she said, tapping the top of the ledger. "All purified water shipments from the past two weeks have been sold and logged."
Sico motioned for her to continue.
She opened the ledger, flipped to a bookmarked page, and turned it toward him so he could see the neat columns of figures.
"As of this morning," Magnolia said carefully, "our purified water trade has yielded a total of 74,500 caps."
Sico lifted an eyebrow.
That was not a small number.
Not by any stretch.
Magnolia took a slow breath. "Which brings our total treasury to 134,575 caps."
For a moment, Sico simply stared at the numbers.
Caps were more than currency, they were power.
Power to feed people.
Power to arm the soldiers.
Power to build.
Power to survive.
He exhaled, slow and controlled.
"That is very good," he said at last, looking up at her with an appreciative nod with the kind of gesture he reserved only for people who had earned his complete trust.
Magnolia smiled, and there was pride behind it. Not vanity, but the pride of someone who had reinvented herself from a singer in a smoky bar to a financial architect of a rising Republic.
"I wanted you to hear it directly from me," she said softly.
"Good work," Sico replied. "Truly."
She swallowed, the smallest hint of warmth in her expression. "Thank you."
Sico leaned back, fingers steepling as he shifted from appreciation into planning mode, the gear Magnolia always recognized immediately.
"Magnolia," he said, voice taking on that crisp commander tone, "winter is approaching fast, and I want us to be prepared before the first frost hits the Sanctuary streets."
She nodded. "What do you need?"
"Blankets," he said. "Warm clothes. Thick coats. Wool if we can get it."
Magnolia's brow furrowed in thought. "I can buy them from Diamond City traders or Goodneighbor vendors, but prices are going to spike now that the cold's coming."
"Then," Sico said, "we'll buy what we can… and scavenge the rest."
Magnolia's eyes sharpened with immediate understanding.
"You want me to send Hancock," she said.
"Yes. Him and his scavenging team."
Magnolia smiled faintly, she always liked when Sico trusted her to handle logistics involving her old friend.
"I'll speak to him," she said. "They'll sweep the surrounding towns and abandoned houses. Clothes, blankets, winter gear, anything that can help the Republic through the freeze."
"Good," Sico said warmly. "And don't let Hancock overestimate his tolerance for radiation if they go near the old warehouses. He tends to forget he's not invincible."
Magnolia smirked. "I'll remind him."
Sico tapped a finger softly on the desk. "Next item… wood."
Magnolia blinked. "Wood?"
"For fires," Sico clarified. "Barrel fires along the Sanctuary streets. The soldiers on winter patrol will need warmth or they'll freeze their fingers off."
Magnolia nodded slowly. "That means cutting trees."
"Yes."
"I'll need to hire settlers."
"That's exactly what I want," Sico said. "Put up postings. Offer daily wages. We'll need a small, rotating crew clearing dead trees, fallen logs, anything burnable."
Magnolia scratched a note in her ledger. "Should I start today?"
"Immediately."
She closed the ledger with a soft thump, holding it to her chest.
"You're preparing for a hard winter," she said quietly. "Harder than you're telling the others."
Sico didn't answer at first.
He stared at the papers before him from the crop yields, the livestock counts, the security routes.
Then he leaned forward.
"Magnolia… if winter hits harder than expected, that means resources get scarce. When resources get scarce, people get desperate."
Magnolia swallowed.
"And desperate people do stupid things. Violent things," Sico continued. "If raiders, scavver, or even Brotherhood scouts see smoke from our chimneys or livestock in our fields, they'll take it as an invitation."
Magnolia exhaled slowly.
"So we prepare," she finished for him.
"Yes."
The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of responsibility.
Magnolia shifted, then spoke more gently.
"You're carrying a lot, Sico."
He didn't deny it.
"You've built something people believe in," she continued, voice softer. "And they trust you to protect it."
Sico leaned back again, eyes tired but sharp.
"I don't want trust," he murmured. "I want them safe."
Magnolia watched him for a long moment—really watched him. Not as the President, but as the man beneath the layers of duty and expectation.
Then she stepped closer.
"We're with you," she said. "All of us. So let us help carry the weight."
Sico's jaw tightened, but a gentler breath slipped through.
"I know," he said quietly. "And I'm grateful for it."
Magnolia smiled, warm and genuine.
Then she straightened her posture back into her treasurer role.
"I'll get started on everything," she said. "Blankets, clothes, scavenging orders, wood cutters. You'll have reports by this evening."
Sico nodded. "Good. Thank you."
She turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"And Sico?"
He looked up.
"You're doing the right thing," she said softly.
Before he could respond, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.
Leaving Sico alone again.
The silence had not even fully settled after Magnolia's departure when another knock came as this one heavier, more rhythmic, impossibly familiar. A knock that didn't belong to clerks or officers or treasurers.
Sico didn't even look up from the paper he was scanning.
"Sturges," he said.
"Howdy, boss," came the easy, warm drawl from behind the door.
"Come in."
The door swung open, and Sturges stepped inside with the kind of confident stride that could only belong to a man who built half the Commonwealth with his own two hands. His overalls were stained with oil, dust, and what might have been the remnants of some adhesive experiment that had gone wrong two days ago. His red bandana was tied loosely, sweat-marked, and his tool belt clinked with every step, announcing his presence like a traveling workshop.
He grinned widely as he approached the desk.
"You look like you've been buried under paperwork for a week straight."
Sico exhaled through his nose, halfway amused. "Feels like it."
Sturges leaned his elbows on the back of a nearby chair, not sitting yet, waiting for the moment Sico acknowledged the reason he was here.
"So?" Sico asked. "What's the report?"
Sturges brightened, rubbing his palms together. "Well, boss, got some good news for ya. Real good news."
"I could use some."
"I figured."
He finally pulled out the folded blueprint sheet from under his arm and set it on the desk. The corners were smudged with pencil lines and grease, the unmistakable signs of Sturges' handiwork.
"We finally finished the Sanctuary expansion houses."
Sico sat up a little straighter.
"All of them?"
"Every last one," Sturges confirmed proudly. "Walls, roofs, wiring, heating lines, even the chimneys are patched up and ready for winter. Got the last paint coat dryin' right about now."
Sico allowed himself a slow, relieved nod.
The expansion project had been hanging over them for months. With refugees, new settlers, and the steady growth of the Republic military, Sanctuary had needed more homes or real homes, not improvised shacks or temporary tents.
And now they had them.
"That's excellent work, Sturges."
"Aw, shucks," Sturges said, waving a hand. "It ain't just me. Got a whole crew out there bustin' their backs. Good folks. They're real proud of what they built."
"They should be," Sico replied sincerely. "Sanctuary keeps growing because of them. Because of you."
Sturges scratched the back of his head, cheeks flushing under the praise. "Well… I appreciate ya sayin' that."
He then unfolded another sheet as this one more structured, filled with neat squares representing buildings and wide pathways.
"Now, the markets are underway. Still early stages, but we got the frames up. By next week, settlers should have booths, stalls, and interior spaces ready for merchants. Gonna turn Sanctuary into a hub bigger than anything north of Diamond City."
Sico's jaw tightened, but in satisfaction. "Good. Commerce brings stability. And stability brings loyalty."
"Exactly what I was thinkin'," Sturges said with a proud grin.
"What about the barracks?" Sico asked next.
Sturges cleared his throat and flipped to another plan.
"That's goin' smooth as butter. We already finished the main building with solid foundation, reinforced walls, bunk space for hundreds soldiers. Should keep the lads warm through the cold season. Now we're expanding out the extra wings. Armory room's almost done."
Sico looked down at the blueprint thoughtfully. "Good. I want the barracks efficient. Soldiers fight better when they're well-rested."
Sturges nodded firmly. "And they will be. Got insulation thicker than a deathclaw's hide in them walls."
Sico gave him a faint smile.
Then Sturges took a breath, posture shifting into something more serious with more businesslike, which for Sturges meant he was really about to say something important.
"Alright," he continued. "Now… factories."
Sico's attention sharpened immediately.
Factories meant war.
Factories meant preparation.
Factories meant the Republic's future.
"The weapon manufacturin' lines are solid," Sturges reported. "We're pumpin' out rifles, sidearms, and shotguns like clockwork. No delays. No breakdowns."
"And the combat armor?" Sico asked.
"That's goin' steady too," Sturges said. "Maybe not fast, but consistent. I'd say we're producin' a reliable number each week. Enough to outfit new patrols and replace damaged gear."
"And ammunition?"
Sturges grinned. "Factories are hummin'. Every slot's filled. Every press is loaded. We got bullets runnin' through the machines nonstop. A real pretty sight."
Sico nodded approvingly.
But Sturges raised one finger.
"But the transport factory… well, that's where it gets interestin'."
"Go on."
Sturges wiped his hands against his overalls, spreading a faint streak of grease.
"They're focusin' on trucks and Humvees now. Production's faster. Smoother. They're crankin' out new vehicles like they're bakin' sugar bombs."
"Good," Sico said. "We always need more transports. Especially with winter routes freezing up."
"But…" Sturges added, "the heavier projects from the Sentinel tanks, the Growlers, and the mobile AA gun trucks as they're movin' slower."
"Explain."
Sturges fixed his tool belt and leaned closer, as if discussing sensitive machinery.
"Well, boss, Sentinel tanks take a lotta parts. A lotta heavy parts. And we ain't got a full set of duplication molds yet. So every new piece is hand-forged, hand-measured, hand-fitted. That takes time."
Sico nodded. "Tanks aren't cheap. Or simple."
"Exactly. They're comin', but slow."
"And the Growlers?" Sico asked, referring to the motorcycle-with-sidecar combat vehicles the Republic had begun developing.
Sturges shrugged. "Same issue. Not slow like the tanks, but slower than trucks. The engines are delicate. Need precision. Can't rush those or they'll blow up on like the first test ride."
"And the AA trucks?"
Sturges made a face. "Well… that one's tricky. We got the truck part easy. But the turret? That's the headache. Takes specialized parts, and we gotta salvage half of 'em from derelict military sites."
Sico sat back, absorbing the information.
Slow production wasn't failure.
Slow production was expected.
And still, hearing it spoken aloud stirred the cold knot at the back of his mind again.
The Brotherhood still had airships.
Raiders sometimes got lucky and scavenged pre-war tech.
They needed those AA trucks.
Sooner rather than later.
But Sturges wasn't done yet.
He lifted another folded paper from his tool pouch.
"Before you worry too much," he said with that same familiar grin, "we're improvin'. Every week. Every day. The boys in the factory are gettin' better at their jobs. And with more resources, we can double production next season."
Sico's eyes narrowed slightly. "Resources like what?"
"Steel, mainly. Aluminum. Fusin' stacks. And rubber. Lots o' rubber."
"We'll work on acquiring more," Sico said.
Sturges nodded, satisfied, then finally pulled out the chair in front of the desk and sat down with a heavy exhale.
"You okay, boss?"
Sico looked at him.
"Why do you ask?"
Sturges gestured vaguely at the maps, charts, and paperwork covering every inch of the desk.
"This is a lot," he said plainly. "Even for you."
Sico rested his hands on the arms of the chair.
"I manage."
Sturges snorted softly. "Yeah, I know. But just 'cause you can carry the Commonwealth don't mean you gotta carry it alone."
Sico didn't respond, but something in his expression softened.
Sturges offered a small, easy smile.
"We're buildin' somethin' real here. Something people ain't seen since before the bombs. And it ain't all on your back. We're here too. All of us."
Sico let out a slow breath.
"I know," he murmured. "And I'm grateful."
Sturges stood up again, adjusting his tool belt.
"Well, I better get back to it. Got markets to frame, barracks to finish, a hundred folks askin' me ten different questions…" He grinned. "I swear, these settlers treat me like a walkin' manual."
Sico smirked. "That's because you are."
Sturges laughed, warm and easy.
"Fair enough."
He headed toward the door, then paused, shooting Sico a thoughtful look over his shoulder.
"We're ready for what's comin', boss. Winter, raiders, the Brotherhood… whatever it is. We'll be ready."
Sico nodded once.
"Make sure we are."
Sturges tapped the doorframe and stepped out, leaving Sico in the office once more. Alone, but not isolated. And as the door clicked shut behind the engineer, Sico leaned forward again, staring at the blueprints and numbers before him.
The quiet returned, but not for long.
Sico had barely dipped his quill back into the inkwell when he heard the faint creak of boots in the hallway. Two sets, steady and practiced, their rhythm matching almost perfectly. Footsteps of soldiers who moved like they belonged everywhere they walked. Footsteps of people who had faced death enough times to no longer fear the echo of their own stride.
He didn't need to guess this time.
"Enter," Sico said, still writing.
The door opened, and Preston Garvey stepped inside first, his presence as steady as ever, though war and leadership had sharpened him in ways Goodneighbor gossip never quite captured. His duster coat was clean but worn at the edges, not from neglect but from relentless duty. The familiar laser musket strapped to his back had been upgraded, shining with polished steel and reinforced clamps which is Sarah's work, no doubt.
Behind him came Sarah Lyons, with her hair was tied tightly behind her head, her armor plates matte and practical, her stance one of someone who never once relaxed… but somehow still managed to look composed. She gave Sico a nod that was respectful, but also a silent acknowledgement of the weight they all carried.
Both stood at attention, hands folded behind their backs.
"General," Preston said simply.
"Sico," Sarah added, tone warm but still commanding.
Sico set down his quill and looked up at them fully. "I assume you aren't here to talk about the weather."
Preston cracked a small smile. "If we were, it'd be a short conversation."
Sarah stepped forward slightly, her helmet tucked under her arm. "We're here with our report."
"Go ahead."
Preston took a breath, straightened his back, and began.
"The recruits, we've trained them as hard as we can. As hard as they can take. They're not raw anymore. Not scared little kids holding rifles backwards. They're soldiers now."
Sarah nodded firmly. "We put them through tactical drills, marksmanship, cold-weather survival training, field repairs, everything they'll need for this winter and beyond."
"They've held up," Preston said. "Better than we expected."
Sico leaned back. "And you've sent them out already?"
Sarah answered this one.
"Yes. In teams with veterans. They've already joined patrol rotations and they've helped clear out four raider camps in the last week."
"Four?" Sico's brow lifted. "Already?"
Preston's lips tightened, not in pride but more in frustration.
"Would've been five if the last camp hadn't fled before we arrived. They heard the Republic was taking the fight to raiders now. That's a good sign… and a bad one."
Sarah crossed her arms. "Good because they're scared of us. Bad because scared raiders get unpredictable."
Sico nodded slowly. "Casualties?"
"None," Preston said. "Just a few bruises and a twisted ankle. Nothing serious."
Sarah added, "Your new armor designs? They saved lives. Again."
Sico said nothing, but his jaw shifted with a quiet, controlled relief.
He'd spent nights sketching armor configurations, modifying plating weight, adjusting stress points, another thing he carried alongside everything else. Knowing it worked? Knowing it protected them? That mattered more to him than any cap in Magnolia's ledger.
Preston took a step closer.
"And that's why we're here."
Sico narrowed his gaze. "Go on."
Sarah inhaled deeply. "We need your approval to recruit the next batch of soldiers."
There it was.
The request.
The heavy one.
Sico rested his elbows on the desk. "The next batch? Already?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes."
"Why?" he asked simply. "You trained dozens. We have patrol teams on rotation. Veterans reinforcing them. Outposts covered. Are you telling me that's not enough?"
Preston shook his head gently. "No. It isn't."
Sico straightened. "Explain."
Sarah stepped forward, her voice steady, calm, but undeniably firm.
"Sico… our territory has doubled in size over the past two months. We've taken in more settlers, expanded supply routes, added new farms, and built new outposts. Even with the soldiers we have now, we're stretching them thin."
Preston added, "We need more people to patrol the borders. More people to man the outposts. More to escort caravans. More to protect the factories. And even settlements with militias still rely on us when things hit the fan."
Sico closed his eyes for a moment.
He knew this was coming.
He just didn't want it to be this soon.
"And you need more soldiers to maintain all that," Sico said quietly.
Sarah nodded. "Exactly."
Sico sighed with a long, slow breath that seemed to gather every exhaustion in his bones before letting it go.
He opened his eyes.
"You want more people. More bodies. More families without fathers or mothers at home. More chances of someone dying on a patrol that could've been avoided." He leaned forward. "Is that what you're asking me?"
Preston didn't flinch. He had seen more death than most men alive.
"It's what we need to keep them alive," Preston said softly.
Sarah's voice lowered. "If we don't expand the army now, we risk losing territory later. And then those families won't just lose soldiers. They'll lose everything."
Sico tapped a finger against the desk.
"And how many recruits are you asking for?"
Sarah didn't hesitate. "As many as we can find."
Sico looked at her sharply. "That's not a number."
"Because the number keeps changing," Sarah replied. "The more people join the Republic, the more territory we have to protect. And the more territory we have, the more enemies we attract. Raiders, scavvers, the Brotherhood, even smaller gangs. Everyone is watching us right now."
Preston crossed his arms. "And they're testing us. Testing our borders. Testing our patrol timings. Testing how fast we respond."
Sico clenched his jaw.
He hadn't known that part.
"They've been testing us?" he asked.
Preston nodded grimly. "For the past ten days. We've had raider scouts show up near Sanctuary Ridge. Gunfire near the northern farmlands. A sniper spotted two miles west of Outpost Delta. They're poking at us, seeing where the weak points are."
Sarah spoke next. "And Sico… we have weak points."
Silence hung between them.
Thick.
Heavy.
Undeniable.
Sico drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"We didn't want to worry you before we confirmed the pattern," Sarah said. "But now? It's a pattern."
Preston nodded. "We need more soldiers."
Sico pushed his chair back and stood, walking around the desk. He paced slowly toward the window, looking out at Sanctuary.
Settlers walked along the paths, laughing, carrying supplies, pulling carts of vegetables, talking with guards, tending crops. Kids chased each other near the newly built houses, their laughter echoing like something out of a pre-war memory. Dogs barked. Smoke drifted peacefully from chimneys. Workers moved lumber, hammered nails, assembled market stalls. Soldiers patrolled in pairs, rifles slung across their shoulders. Life, a real life has bloomed in a place that had once been ruins.
And beyond it?
Snow clouds forming.
Winter creeping closer.
And somewhere in the distance…
Enemies waiting.
He exhaled slowly.
"Recruit the next batch," Sico said, still looking out the window.
Preston released a quiet breath of relief.
Sarah nodded. "We'll get started immediately."
But Sico raised a hand slightly. "However…"
They both paused.
Sico turned back toward them.
"No more enlisting people without giving them a choice. No pressure tricks, no promises of glory. Only volunteers. Only those who truly want this life."
Preston nodded firmly. "Agreed."
"And," Sico continued, "we improve their training. Longer drills. More survival practice. More weapon training."
Sarah cracked a tiny, satisfied smirk. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"And…" Sico's voice deepened. "I want our soldiers to rotate home more. No more sending a patrol out for weeks on end. They fight better when they remember what they're fighting for."
Preston smiled. "The men will appreciate that."
Sarah added, "They deserve it."
Sico walked toward them until he stood directly between the two commanders.
"And one more thing," he said quietly.
Both straightened.
"If we expand our military again, then you two are going to need more officers. Leaders you can trust. People who can take command when you're elsewhere."
Preston nodded slowly. "We were thinking the same."
"We already have a list," Sarah said, pulling a small folded paper from her pocket. "Potential captains. Sergeants. Squad leaders."
Sico raised a brow. "Already?"
Sarah shrugged lightly. "We plan ahead."
Sico almost laughed with a tired, appreciative sound. "Of course you do."
He accepted the list and unfolded it.
Names.
Faces.
Skills.
Evaluations.
Soldiers he had seen training.
Soldiers he had seen hauling lumber and fixing roofs.
Soldiers who shared stories with settlers at campfires.
Soldiers who stood guard in snowstorms.
Soldiers who had walked into raider camps without hesitation because they believed in this new world.
He folded the list again.
"Choose your officers," Sico said quietly. "Pick the best ones. And train them yourselves."
Sarah nodded. "We'll do that."
Preston smiled, pride glowing faintly in his eyes. "We won't let you down."
Sico looked between them.
"I know you won't."
He returned to his desk, rubbing a thumb across the corner of a blueprint.
The office was quiet again, but not empty as not in spirit. Preston and Sarah remained standing, waiting in case he had more to say.
And he did.
He looked up at them, voice soft but solid.
"We are not the Brotherhood. We are not raiders. We're not tyrants. We're something new. Something better. And the only way we survive is if we stay united. Soldiers. Settlers. Engineers. Scientists. Every single one of us."
Sarah nodded, eyes serious. "Unity is our strength."
Preston lifted his chin. "And freedom."
Sico exhaled. "Then let's protect it."
Sarah tapped her fist over her heart. "We will."
Preston placed a hand over his chest. "Always."
They exchanged a final look with him with one of mutual respect, shared burdens, and unspoken promises then turned to leave.
As the door began to close behind them, Preston paused and glanced back.
"Oh, one more thing, General."
Sico raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
Preston smiled faintly.
"You're doing good. Real good."
Sarah added, softer, "Better than most leaders ever could."
Then the door closed.
Leaving Sico alone once more.
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.
________________________________________________
• 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:-