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He stopped near the edge of the settlement and looked back toward the lab complex. Lights glowed within that controlled, contained. Tomorrow, sixteen more people would step into that light. And Curie would decide who they became.
The night did not break suddenly.
It loosened.
Sanctuary exhaled as the last watch changed over, as lights dimmed to their lowest operational glow, as the quiet machinery of a living settlement continued its work without drawing attention to itself. Somewhere in the lab, an automated monitor ticked over to the next cycle. Somewhere near the southern gate, a guard shifted his weight and adjusted his rifle strap, eyes scanning out of habit more than fear.
And somewhere, in a narrow corridor of Freemasons HQ, Sico slept lightly, the kind of sleep that came only when responsibility never fully let go.
Morning did not ask permission.
It arrived.
Not with urgency. Not with alarm. But with the same steady resolve Sanctuary had learned to embody.
Sunlight crept through reinforced windows and caught on the edges of metal desks, filing cabinets, and wall-mounted maps that charted supply routes like veins across the Commonwealth. Freemasons HQ woke before most of the settlement, its halls already alive with quiet foot traffic and the low murmur of coordination.
Sico was already at his desk when the first official shift began.
Paperwork waited for him in disciplined stacks. Not relics of bureaucracy for its own sake, but living documents: manifests, patrol logs, production reports, trade agreements, requisition approvals. The unglamorous spine of everything Sanctuary had become.
He worked through them methodically.
Rad shipments accounted for. Ammunition allotments adjusted. Medical supply projections cross-checked against lab output forecasts Curie had sent the previous night. He paused occasionally to annotate margins, flagging concerns for later discussion, or to initial approvals that would ripple outward into action.
This was leadership stripped bare.
No speeches.
No crowds.
Just decisions.
The office was quiet in the way that encouraged focus. A window behind him overlooked the central yard of Freemasons HQ, where a handful of operatives trained at a measured pace, sparring not to impress, but to maintain readiness. Further out, Sanctuary moved with its now with it's familiar rhythm.
He allowed himself one small moment to think of the lab.
Sixteen more recruits arriving today.
Curie would already be preparing.
She always was.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
Sharp.
Urgent.
Not routine.
"Enter," Sico said without looking up.
The door opened, and Magnolia stepped inside.
She did not waste time with pleasantries.
That alone told him something was wrong.
"Sico," she said, closing the door behind her. "We have a problem."
His pen paused mid-stroke.
"Go on," he said calmly.
"One of our caravans," Magnolia continued, already moving toward his desk. She placed her tablet down and tapped it once, pulling up a highlighted report. "The Rad-X shipment. The one bound for Diamond City."
Sico's eyes flicked up now.
"When?" he asked.
"Early this morning," Magnolia replied. "Just past dawn. About two hours outside Sanctuary, north-east route."
"Status?"
"The caravan was attacked," she said. "Disabled. Not destroyed. No fatalities."
That was something.
"But," she continued, voice tightening slightly, "the Rad-X was taken."
Sico leaned back in his chair slowly.
Not in shock.
In calculation.
"How much?" he asked.
"Full shipment," Magnolia said. "Three secured crates. Medical-grade Rad-X."
Silence settled between them.
That was not a random target.
"Casualties?" Sico asked again, more specifically.
"Two wounded," Magnolia said. "Non-critical. Caravan guards did their job as they fell back, preserved lives."
"Good," Sico said. "Where are they now?"
"Returning under escort," she replied. "They'll reach Sanctuary before nightfall."
Sico nodded once.
Then, quietly, "Who knew about the shipment?"
Magnolia did not hesitate. "Logistics. Trade liaison. Security routing. And Diamond City's medical board."
"Anyone else?"
"No," she said. "Not officially."
Sico's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"This wasn't opportunistic," Magnolia added. "The ambush was clean. Coordinated. They knew the route, the timing, and the value."
"Describe the attackers," Sico said.
"Witness reports are consistent," Magnolia replied, scrolling. "Eight to ten individuals. Organized. Not Raiders. Not Gunners remnant as it was wrong tactics. No Brotherhood markers either."
"Equipment?"
"Mixed," she said. "Some pre-war firearms. Some modified energy weapons. Enough to suggest backing, but not uniform supply."
Sico exhaled slowly through his nose.
"So," he said, "someone with information and resources decided to test us."
Magnolia met his eyes. "Yes."
"And they chose Rad-X," he said. "Not weapons. Not caps."
"Yes," Magnolia replied. "Which means they understood the implications."
Rad-X was not just medicine.
It was access.
Influence.
Protection in irradiated zones that others avoided or suffered through.
Taking it was not just theft.
It was leverage.
Sico stood.
The movement was unhurried, but decisive.
"Lock down routing intel," he said. "Full audit. Quietly."
"Already started," Magnolia replied.
"Good," Sico said. "Notify Curie."
Magnolia hesitated. "Do you want to… soften it?"
"No," Sico said. "She needs the truth. Rad-X is her domain now."
Magnolia nodded. "I'll send the message."
"Also," Sico added, "get me the caravan leader. I want to hear it from them directly when they return."
"I'll arrange it."
She paused, then added, "Diamond City has already sent an inquiry."
Sico almost smiled.
"Of course they have," he said.
"What should I tell them?" Magnolia asked.
"Tell them the truth," he replied. "Shipment was attacked. We're investigating. Replacement will be delayed."
"And if they push?"
"They will," Sico said calmly. "Let them."
Magnolia studied him for a moment. "You think this is connected to the lab expansion."
"I think nothing happens in isolation anymore," Sico said.
That was answer enough.
Word moved quickly.
Not through panic.
Through channels.
By the time the caravan reached Sanctuary, Curie already knew.
She received the message mid-briefing.
Her datapad chimed softly, just once, against the low murmur of instruction she was giving the combined first and second groups. She finished her sentence without pause, dismissed them to a supervised practical review, and stepped aside to read.
Her expression did not change.
But something in her eyes sharpened.
Rad-X shipment.
Stolen.
She closed the message and stood very still for a moment.
Then she moved.
She summoned her senior staff into a side room without urgency, but without delay.
"We have lost a Rad-X shipment," she said simply once they were assembled.
A few reactions flickered with concern, calculation, anger but no one spoke over her.
"It was en route to Diamond City," Curie continued. "Attacked. Stolen."
"Do we know who?" one technician asked.
"No," Curie replied. "Not yet."
Another leaned forward. "Production impact?"
Curie considered.
"Short-term," she said, "manageable. Medium-term, this will stress goodwill."
"And long-term?"
"That depends on our response," Curie said.
She tapped the table lightly.
"We will not rush production to compensate," she said firmly. "We will not cut corners. Anyone suggesting it may leave the room now."
No one moved.
"Good," Curie said.
She turned to one of the medics. "Inventory audit. I want exact numbers, not estimates."
"On it."
"To the logistics lead," she said, "review distribution priorities. Sanctuary first. Then allied settlements."
"And Diamond City?" someone asked.
Curie's gaze was steady. "Diamond City will receive what we can responsibly provide."
She paused.
"And they will be told why."
Back at Freemasons HQ, the caravan arrived just before dusk.
Dust-covered. Tired. Wounded but standing.
Sico met them personally.
Not in the yard.
In a private briefing room.
The caravan leader was a woman named Hale. Veteran. Calm. Her arm was in a sling, bandaged cleanly.
She did not flinch when she spoke.
"They knew where we'd slow," she said. "Collapsed overpass. Forced us to funnel."
"Did they speak?" Sico asked.
"No," Hale replied. "Professional. Fast. Took only the Rad-X. Didn't even check the other crates."
Sico nodded.
"Did they leave anything behind?" he asked.
Hale hesitated. "One thing."
She reached into her pack and placed a small, scorched metal token on the table.
No markings.
No symbols.
Just deliberately plain.
"They wanted us to find it," she said.
Sico studied it.
"Yes," he said quietly. "They did."
The token lay between them like an accusation.
Sico did not touch it at first.
He let it sit there on the bare metal table, catching the overhead light just enough to make its edges glint. It was deliberately plain, almost insulting in its simplicity. No sigils. No markings. No attempt to claim credit.
Power did not always announce itself.
Sometimes it waited to be acknowledged.
Hale sat across from him, posture straight despite the sling, eyes steady. She had done her job. She had brought her people home alive. Whatever failure had occurred, it was not hers.
"You did the right thing," Sico said finally.
Hale nodded once. "We knew we were outmatched the moment they hit the choke point. Pulled back like we were trained."
"You preserved lives," he said. "That matters more than crates."
"Still," she replied, jaw tightening slightly, "they took something important."
"Yes," Sico said quietly. "They did."
He picked up the token then, turning it slowly between his fingers. It was warm still, or maybe that was just his imagination. He had seen this tactic before. Not this group, perhaps, but the mentality behind it.
This was a message.
And messages demanded answers.
"You're dismissed," Sico said gently. "Medical will clear you. Then rest."
Hale stood, hesitated, then said, "If you need us again—"
"I know where to find you," Sico said.
She left without another word.
When the door closed, Sico remained seated for several seconds, the token resting in his palm. Then he stood and crossed the room to the secure disposal chute.
He did not drop it in.
Instead, he placed it in a sealed evidence case and marked it personally.
Some things were meant to be studied, not discarded.
The corridors of Freemasons HQ had shifted tone by the time Sico stepped back into them.
Not louder.
Sharper.
Information moved in murmurs now, carried by people who knew better than to speculate aloud. Guards straightened when he passed. Clerks paused, waiting for instruction that did not need to be spoken.
Sanctuary had felt this before.
Not fear.
Alertness.
Sico returned to his office and closed the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, hands resting on the back of his chair, eyes fixed on the wall map opposite his desk. Caravan routes. Patrol lines. Known faction territories marked in faded ink and constant revision.
He traced the northeast route with his gaze.
Collapsed overpass.
Funnel point.
Deliberate.
He exhaled, then reached for the intercom panel mounted beside his desk.
"Send a runner," he said calmly. "I need Preston Garvey and Sarah Lyons in my office. Now."
"Yes, sir," came the immediate reply.
The line clicked off.
Sico sat down, but he did not return to his paperwork.
Instead, he pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer and began to write.
Not orders.
Questions.
Who benefits most from Rad-X disruption?
Who has the manpower to execute a clean ambush?
Who knows Sanctuary's routes well enough to predict timing?
He did not expect immediate answers.
But he would find them.
Preston arrived first.
He always did.
There was a familiarity in the sound of his boots in the corridor, a steady, unhurried cadence that spoke of a man who had learned patience the hard way. He knocked once and entered without waiting for a response.
"Sico," Preston said, removing his hat automatically. His expression was serious, but not alarmed. "I got the message."
"Sit," Sico replied.
Preston did, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"Something changed," Sico said.
That answer made Preston's eyes sharpen.
Moments later, the door opened again.
Sarah Lyons stepped in with the same quiet authority she carried everywhere. Power armor absent, but the presence remained. She closed the door behind her and looked between the two men.
"You don't call both of us unless it matters," she said.
"It matters," Sico replied.
He gestured for her to sit. She did, folding her arms loosely as she waited.
Sico did not draw it out.
"One of our Rad-X caravans was hit this morning," he said. "En route to Diamond City. Ambushed. Shipment stolen."
Preston's jaw tightened immediately.
"Anyone hurt?" he asked.
"Two wounded," Sico replied. "They'll recover."
"That's something," Preston said, though his voice carried little comfort.
Sarah leaned forward. "Who did it?"
"We don't know yet," Sico said. "But this wasn't random. Clean execution. Right target."
"Which means someone's testing you," Sarah said flatly.
"Yes," Sico replied. "And I don't intend to let that stand."
He turned to the desk and opened a folder Magnolia had prepared, sliding it across so both could see.
"I want an investigation team deployed immediately," Sico continued. "Fifty soldiers. Not fewer."
Preston's eyebrows lifted slightly. "That's a sizeable force."
"It needs to be," Sico said. "This is not a scouting run."
Sarah nodded slowly. "Equipment?"
"Two Humvees," Sico said. "Four transport trucks. Supplies for extended operation. Medical support included."
"And the objective?" Preston asked.
Sico met his gaze.
"Identify who's responsible," he said. "Capture them if possible. Secure the stolen Rad-X and bring it home."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
Sarah studied him carefully. "And if they resist?"
"They already have," Sico replied. "You have full authority to respond."
The room went quiet for a moment.
Not because of doubt.
Because of weight.
Preston leaned back, crossing his arms. "This'll ripple," he said. "Sending a force that size won't go unnoticed."
"I'm counting on that," Sico replied. "Let them notice."
Sarah nodded once, decisive. "I'll assemble the team."
"I want discipline," Sico added. "No civilian casualties. No unnecessary destruction."
"You'll get it," Sarah said.
Preston tilted his head. "Any restrictions?"
"Yes," Sico said. "No freelance justice. This is not a message of terror. It's a reclamation."
Preston smiled faintly at that. "You've always been particular about your messages."
"They last longer that way," Sico replied.
Sarah stood. "We'll move within the hour."
"One more thing," Sico said.
Both turned back.
"This group knew what they were taking," he said. "Rad-X isn't just valuable, it's strategic. Whoever did this either plans to use it or trade it."
"Which means they won't move fast," Sarah said thoughtfully. "They'll try to secure it."
"Exactly," Sico said. "You have a window."
Preston nodded. "We won't waste it."
They turned to leave.
"Preston," Sico added.
He paused at the door.
"Keep your people grounded," Sico said quietly. "This isn't revenge."
Preston met his eyes. "I know."
Then they were gone.
Preparation rippled outward with controlled speed.
Sarah moved through the barracks with practiced efficiency, assigning squads, checking equipment, adjusting rosters. The selected fifty were not the loudest, nor the newest. They were the ones who listened. The ones who followed orders without losing initiative.
Two Humvees were fueled and armed, their engines humming low as technicians made final checks. Four transport trucks were loaded with rations, medical kits, spare ammunition, and portable scanners designed to detect pharmaceutical compounds.
Rad-X had a signature.
They would find it.
Preston coordinated logistics, ensuring routes were mapped and fallback positions established. He spoke quietly with squad leaders, emphasizing restraint and clarity of mission.
"Bring them back alive if you can," he told one. "Information matters."
At the lab, Curie received confirmation of the deployment.
She paused mid-review, reading the message twice.
Good, she thought.
She adjusted production schedules slightly, compensating for potential delays without overextending capacity. She did not panic.
She never did.
But she did reinforce security protocols.
Trust did not mean complacency.
Sico watched the convoy depart from the upper balcony of Freemasons HQ.
The engines rolled out in disciplined formation, dust kicking up beneath heavy tires. No cheers. No ceremony.
Just action.
He remained there long after they vanished down the road.
Magnolia joined him quietly.
"They're moving fast," she said.
"They need to," Sico replied.
She glanced at him. "If this escalates—"
"It already has," he said.
Magnolia nodded slowly. "You're certain this is the right move."
"Yes," Sico said without hesitation. "If we let this go unanswered, we invite more."
"And if it turns into something bigger?"
Sico looked out toward the horizon.
"Then we handle that too," he said. "One step at a time."
The convoy moved through territory that had once been lawless.
Now it was… contested.
Scanners pinged intermittently as they passed through irradiated pockets, the soldiers alert but steady. They followed the ambush route first, examining scorch marks, broken asphalt, and spent casings.
Sarah dismounted at the collapsed overpass.
"They set this up days in advance," she observed. "Cleared lines of sight. Prepped fallback routes."
"Professionals," Preston muttered.
One of the scouts called out. "Picking up trace compounds. Rad-X residue."
Sarah straightened. "Which way?"
The scout pointed northeast.
"They didn't go far," Preston said. "They couldn't."
"Then we're close," Sarah replied.
The trail pulled them forward like a held breath.
It wasn't dramatic at first. No sudden reveal, no obvious signpost pointing toward danger. Just a faint, persistent thread the scanners kept picking up with the residual traces of Rad-X clinging to dust, to tire grooves, to the broken skin of the road itself. Invisible to the naked eye, but unmistakable to those trained to look for it.
Preston rode in the lead Humvee, one hand resting on the dash, the other loosely gripping the frame above the door. His eyes moved constantly that not darting, not nervous, just… aware. He had learned long ago that the Commonwealth punished tunnel vision more harshly than fear.
Sarah followed close behind in the second Humvee, her posture relaxed in a way that only seasoned command ever achieved. She wasn't scanning frantically. She trusted her people to do that. Her attention stayed on patterns with the terrain shifts, structural silhouettes, the way the land itself seemed to narrow reminder after reminder that they were no longer in friendly territory.
The convoy slowed as the terrain changed.
Cracked asphalt gave way to hard-packed dirt. Dead trees leaned inward like witnesses that had seen too much and said nothing. Old signage that half-buried, rusted that marked what had once been an industrial district. Warehouses. Depots. Places built to store things people thought would last forever.
"They didn't choose this route by accident," Preston said over the radio.
"No," Sarah replied. "They chose it because it disappears."
The residue strengthened.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
Enough to confirm what both of them already felt settling into their bones.
They were close.
The convoy halted just short of a low ridge. Engines cut one by one until the air settled into a quiet so complete it felt artificial.
Sarah climbed out first.
She crouched instinctively, boots sinking slightly into damp soil as she surveyed the area ahead through binoculars. What she saw made her jaw tighten that not in surprise, but in recognition.
An abandoned warehouse complex squatted in the distance.
Large. Squared-off. Pre-war industrial construction. Corrugated metal walls rusted into dull reds and browns, punctuated by broken windows like blind eyes. A collapsed loading dock on one side. A skeletal guard tower leaning at a slight angle, its ladder half torn away.
And movement.
Not careless.
Not chaotic.
Armed figures paced the perimeter.
Raiders but not the frothing, screaming kind most people imagined when they heard the word. These moved with purpose. They held angles. They rotated positions. Weapons were slung with familiarity, not desperation.
"Confirmed visual," Sarah murmured. "Multiple hostiles. Armed. Guarding the structure."
Preston stepped up beside her, lifting his own binoculars.
"Count?" he asked.
"Hard to say," she replied. "At least twenty visible. Likely more inside."
Preston lowered the binoculars slowly. "They're not just camping out."
"No," Sarah agreed. "They're holding."
The warehouse loomed heavier now, as if it had gained weight simply by being seen.
"That's our Rad-X," Preston said quietly.
"Yes," Sarah replied. "And probably whoever thought stealing from Sanctuary was a good idea."
She turned and raised a hand.
The signal rippled backward.
Within moments, squad leaders gathered, moving quickly but without noise. No one spoke above a murmur. This wasn't panic. This was professionalism.
Sarah crouched, spreading a rough map across the hood of the Humvee. It was old of pre-war map overlaid with post-war markings, scribbled notes, and updated scans. She tapped the warehouse structure with two fingers.
"Here's what we know," she said. "Primary structure, reinforced steel. Limited entrances. Main loading doors on the west side that likely barricaded. Smaller service doors here and here."
She traced two points along the southern wall.
"Guard rotation visible along the perimeter. Tower here," she added, indicating the leaning structure. "They've got eyes, but not coverage."
Preston nodded. "Raiders don't usually bother with proper overwatch unless they're protecting something valuable."
"Which they are," Sarah said.
She looked up at the assembled leaders.
"We're splitting the team," she continued. "Two groups. Pincer maneuver."
A ripple of understanding moved through the group.
"Alpha team," Sarah said, pointing to the left side of the map, "with me. We circle east, use the tree line and debris for cover. We push toward the rear access points."
She shifted her finger.
"Bravo team," she said, looking at Preston, "you take the west. Draw their attention. Controlled engagement. Enough pressure to pull defenders outward."
Preston met her gaze. "No full breach until we confirm the Rad-X location."
"Correct," Sarah replied. "Objective is capture, not annihilation. We want the leader alive if possible."
A murmur of agreement.
One of the squad leaders frowned slightly. "Raiders don't usually surrender."
"No," Preston said calmly. "But leaders value their own lives more than they value their people."
Sarah's expression hardened just a fraction. "And if they don't?"
"Then we adapt," she said. "But we try."
She straightened slightly.
"Rules of engagement remain," she added. "No unnecessary casualties. No collateral damage to civilians that unlikely, but we stay disciplined. This is a recovery operation."
She looked around the circle.
"We move in five."
The squads dispersed with efficient speed.
Weapons were checked again. Comms tested. Hands brushed over armor plates not in superstition, but habit. Some soldiers exchanged brief looks with silent acknowledgments of trust forged through shared danger.
Preston lingered for a moment beside Sarah.
"Think they know we're here?" he asked.
Sarah scanned the tree line one last time. "Not yet."
"And when they do?"
She gave a faint, grim smile. "Then we make sure they know who they stole from."
The teams moved.
Alpha slipped into the eastern cover, boots stepping carefully over leaf litter and broken concrete. Sarah moved at the front, posture low, rifle steady. Her breathing was even, measured. This was familiar territory which not the location, but the feeling. The quiet before violence, where every sense sharpened and the world narrowed to purpose.
Bravo advanced west, Preston guiding them through a shallow depression that kept them below the warehouse's line of sight. He raised a fist once to halt, then crouched as a pair of raiders passed overhead on a catwalk.
"Too relaxed," one of his soldiers whispered.
"Because they think no one's coming," Preston replied softly.
That would change.
Alpha team reached the rear of the warehouse without incident.
Up close, the building smelled like rust, old oil, and something chemical that sharp and sterile beneath the decay.
Rad-X.
Sarah signaled for a halt.
Two guards stood near a service door, weapons slung casually. One laughed at something the other said, sound muffled by the thick metal walls.
Sarah assessed angles, distance, timing.
She raised two fingers.
Two soldiers shifted forward like shadows.
The takedown was swift and silent. One guard crumpled with a hand over his mouth, the other lowered gently to the ground, unconscious before he could register surprise.
Sarah approached the door, pressing her ear against it.
Voices inside.
More than a few.
She tapped her mic. "Alpha to Bravo. We're in position."
"Copy," Preston replied. "We're ready."
Sarah inhaled slowly.
"Execute," she said.
On the west side, Bravo made their presence known.
A single shot rang out that deliberate, controlled as it shattering a rusted light fixture near the loading dock. Shards of glass rained down with a sharp, echoing crash.
"Contact!" a raider shouted.
Weapons came up.
Preston stepped into view with two squads behind him, weapons raised but disciplined.
"Freemasons!" he called out, voice carrying across the open space. "Drop your weapons and step away from the building!"
For a heartbeat, there was confusion.
Then gunfire erupted.
Bravo took cover as bullets sparked against concrete and metal. Preston stayed calm, directing fire with sharp hand signals and clipped commands.
"Left flank, suppress!"
"Don't push, hold them!"
The raiders responded with aggression, shouting, some reminding each other to hold positions, others firing wildly. It wasn't elegant, but it was loud.
And that was the point.
Inside the warehouse, Alpha heard the chaos.
Sarah didn't waste the moment.
"Breach," she whispered.
The service door gave way under a controlled charge, metal buckling inward with a dull thud. Alpha poured inside, weapons sweeping the interior.
The warehouse was cavernous.
Crates stacked high, many marked with faded corporate logos. Makeshift barricades built from scrap and overturned pallets. And there near the center was the three familiar, sealed medical crates.
Rad-X.
Sarah's jaw knownly tightened.
"Visual on shipment," she murmured into the mic. "Confirming Rad-X intact."
"Copy," Preston replied, gunfire crackling faintly in the background. "Any sign of leadership?"
"Searching," Sarah said.
They moved deeper.
Raiders scrambled inside, some trying to reinforce the western side, others panicking as Alpha appeared where they hadn't expected resistance.
A man barked orders from an elevated platform near the back with a figure in reinforced armor, rifle slung across his chest, voice cutting through the noise.
"Hold the line! Don't let them—"
Sarah saw him.
"Target identified," she said. "High ground. Likely leader."
She signaled two soldiers to flank while she advanced directly, keeping pressure.
The leader saw her then.
Their eyes met across the chaos.
Recognition flashed not of her specifically, but of authority. Of someone who wasn't here to scavenge or die.
He raised his rifle.
Sarah fired first, deliberately low. The round shattered the railing near his feet, forcing him to stumble back.
"Stand down!" she shouted. "It's over!"
He laughed with sharp, humorless, and fired back.
Alpha returned fire, pinning him in place. The flanking soldiers moved fast, cutting off escape routes.
Outside, Bravo tightened the noose.
Preston saw raiders beginning to break as some retreating toward the warehouse, others trying to flee into the trees.
"Cut them off!" he ordered. "Non-lethal if you can!"
Smoke drifted across the loading yard as stun grenades detonated, disorienting several attackers. Preston moved forward, rifle up, eyes scanning for movement.
Inside, the leader realized his position was collapsing.
He turned, sprinting toward a back exit with only to skid to a halt as two Alpha soldiers stepped into his path.
He hesitated.
Just long enough.
Sarah closed the distance and struck, rifle butt connecting with his shoulder, sending him sprawling. He cried out, weapon clattering across the concrete.
She pinned him with her boot.
"It didn't have to be this way," she said, breath steady despite the adrenaline humming through her veins.
He spat blood onto the floor. "You think you own the wastes now?"
"No," Sarah replied. "We protect what keeps people alive."
She signaled for restraints.
The fight ended minutes later.
The warehouse fell silent except for the groans of the wounded and the distant crackle of small fires being extinguished.
Rad-X crates were secured.
Raiders were detained.
And one leader, alive.
Preston entered the warehouse shortly after, scanning the scene before his eyes settled on the restrained figure.
He exhaled slowly.
"Good work," he said to Sarah.
She nodded. "Now let's find out who thought they could make an example out of Freemasons Republic."
Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the broken concrete. The message had been answered. And Freemasons would be listening closely to the reply.
______________________________________________
• 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:-