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Sico stepped out into the morning air again, the mist thinner now, the light cutting sharper across Sanctuary's lanes. The rhythm of boots and tools and voices carried through the settlement, the heartbeat of a people trying to survive.
The morning after his talk with Virgil, Sico sat in the Freemasons' HQ, a room that carried the air of command more than comfort. His office wasn't ornate—just a broad desk of sanded wood, a map of the Commonwealth tacked to the wall, and shelves lined with folders of reports, supply manifests, and dispatches. A faint smell of paper and ink hung in the air, mingling with the distant metallic tang of oil from the workshops below.
The first light of day cut in through the window slats, stretching across the desk where Sico had spread his notes. His pen moved steadily, marking off requisitions and drafting orders for the week. It was routine work, the kind of calm that came between storms.
But storms never stayed quiet long in the Commonwealth.
The door burst open.
Preston Garvey strode in, his face tight with urgency, his boots striking the floor harder than usual. Sico looked up immediately—he'd known Preston long enough to recognize the difference between a man walking in with questions and a man bringing bad news.
"Sico," Preston said, his breath a little short as though he hadn't wasted a moment on pleasantries. "We've got a situation."
Sico set his pen down slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Talk."
"One of the patrol teams sent word—" Preston began, and then hesitated, as though measuring just how to deliver the weight of it. "They spotted movement at the C.I.T. Ruins. A group of Super Mutants."
Sico straightened in his chair, his jaw tightening. The ruins weren't far. Too close. "How many?"
Preston swallowed, his expression grim. "They estimate at least fifty. Maybe more. And not just that—about twenty Mutant Hounds with them."
The words hit like a hammer. Fifty mutants. Twenty hounds. That wasn't a raiding party—that was a warband.
Sico's voice came sharper now, the commander's edge cutting through. "Weapons?"
Preston nodded, his brow furrowing deeper. "The patrol reported seeing at least a few heavy weapons. Miniguns. Missile launchers. They're not just wandering aimlessly—this looks organized."
Sico pushed back his chair and stood, his palms braced against the desk as he loomed over the map pinned to the wall. His eyes scanned the terrain, the markings of roads, rivers, and settlements. C.I.T. sat like a rotting heart in the middle of it all, a place that had long since lost its purpose but still carried echoes of the old world.
Now those echoes were filling with the guttural roars of mutants.
"Fifty…" Sico muttered, his mind already turning. "If they're gathering in numbers like that, it's not by chance. Could be they're planning a push. Could be they're rallying under a stronger one—a leader." He tapped a finger on the map near Sanctuary's position. "Either way, if they move out from there, we're in their path."
Preston stepped closer, lowering his voice as though the walls themselves might eavesdrop. "You think they'll come for us?"
Sico's eyes didn't leave the map. "If not us, then someone close enough to bleed. And once they taste blood…" He let the thought hang.
The room was quiet except for the low hum of the lantern on the desk. Outside, faint voices carried through HQ corridors—scouts reporting, scribes filing notes—but here, in this office, the air was thick with the knowledge that Sanctuary might soon be staring down an army.
Finally, Sico turned back to Preston, his voice steady but firm. "Get me the patrol's full report. I want every detail—numbers, weapons, their positions around the ruins. Then double the watch on Sanctuary's perimeter. If they start moving, I want to know the second their boots hit the road."
Preston nodded sharply. "On it." He hesitated, then added, "Do you want me to start preparing the militia as well? Just in case."
Sico paused, his gaze hardening. He thought of Virgil's lab, of the papers spread out like promises of impossible futures. He thought of the conversation about soldiers who could stand toe to toe with mutants. Not yet, he told himself. They weren't ready for that gamble. Not with lives at stake.
"Not the militia," Sico said finally. "Not yet. Keep them on alert, but don't sound the alarm unless we have to. Panic won't help us right now."
Preston gave a short nod, though his eyes betrayed the unease of a man who'd seen too many towns fall to chaos. "Understood. I'll get the report."
As Preston turned to leave, Sico's voice stopped him at the door.
"And Preston," Sico said, quieter now but no less firm. "Make sure the men know—this isn't just another skirmish. This could be the start of something bigger. Tell them to be ready."
Preston gave a single nod, then disappeared down the hall, his footsteps echoing away.
The office felt heavier once Preston left, the silence pressing in against the walls. Sico stood with his hands on the edge of the map table, his eyes locked on C.I.T.'s position, as if sheer willpower could keep the Super Mutants penned inside those crumbling ruins. The lantern hissed faintly beside him, its flame flickering in the draft that slipped through the window frame.
Minutes crawled by. Outside, the muffled rhythm of life in HQ went on—boots striking wooden floors, voices passing hurried orders, the clang of tools in the courtyard forge. It was all familiar, grounding. But Sico's thoughts kept circling back to the ruins, to the vision of fifty hulking figures and twenty slavering hounds waiting in the shadows of dead academia.
When the door opened again, Preston stepped back inside. He carried a folded sheaf of paper in his hand, his expression grim. He shut the door behind him, gave a short nod, and crossed the room.
"Full report just came in," Preston said, handing the papers over.
Sico took them without a word, sinking back into the chair behind his desk. The pages were rough, copied quickly by a scribe, the ink still smudged in places. But the words were clear enough.
He read slowly, carefully. Patrol Unit Four had shadowed the mutants for half a day, keeping distance. They counted fifty-two distinct individuals—though the scribe had scratched a note in the margin: Likely more inside the ruins, out of sight. The mutants had been active, hauling wreckage into makeshift barricades, setting up sentry positions on the upper floors of collapsed lecture halls.
The description of weapons made Sico's jaw tighten. Two confirmed miniguns. At least one missile launcher. Several mutants carried heavy boards with nails or rebar hammered through them, the kind of brutal tools that could crush bone in a single swing. The hounds—twenty, maybe more—were restless, penned near the old quad like guard dogs waiting to be unleashed.
But it was the last part of the report that made his stomach drop.
Mutants chanting. A leader among them, larger than the rest, wearing jury-rigged plates of power armor. Distinctly giving orders. Estimated height: nearly ten feet.
Sico set the paper down slowly, his fingers pressing hard against the desk. A leader. That changed everything. Super Mutants didn't just gather in disciplined groups, not without someone—or something—rallying them. Fifty was already an army, but with leadership behind it? That meant coordination. That meant intent.
Preston was watching him closely. "So? What do you make of it?"
Sico didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed for a moment, the weight of command settling heavier on his shoulders. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.
"This isn't just a nest, Preston. It's a warband. And warbands don't sit idle for long."
Preston's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "So what's our move?"
Sico tapped the paper once, decisive now. "We don't decide it alone. Get Sarah, Robert, MacCready, and Piper. I want them in this office within the hour. If this is the beginning of something bigger, then we need every voice at the table."
Preston gave a short, sharp nod. "I'll fetch them." He turned on his heel and was gone before the words fully settled.
The hour that followed stretched taut. Sico busied himself clearing the desk, pushing aside requisition notes and patrol schedules until only the map remained. He pinned the patrol's report to the corner with a knife, the blade sinking into the wood with a satisfying thunk. Then he stood by the window, watching the courtyard below.
The settlement was alive with movement. Two scribes carried a crate of spare rifles toward the armory. Children darted between houses, laughter strangely bright against the tension that hung over the adults' faces. He saw Sarah in the distance once, moving across the yard with her long coat swaying, her stride clipped and purposeful. She hadn't been called yet, but Sico knew she'd sense something stirring—she always did.
When the knock came at his door, it was brisk, followed by Preston's voice. "They're here."
"Send them in," Sico called.
The door opened, and they came in one by one.
Sarah Lyons first, the commander's edge in every movement she made. Her hair was tied back, her expression sharp as a blade. She didn't need to ask why she'd been summoned—her eyes went straight to the map.
Robert was next, the leader of the Commandos, his steps steady but slower. He carried a gun tucked under his arm, and his face had both wisdom and determination.
MacCready followed, still in his patched-up coat, his rifle slung over his back even though he knew he wouldn't need it in here. His eyes flicked around the room, wary, calculating, like a man who'd been in too many bad situations to trust the calm before the storm.
And finally, Piper Wright, her ever-present notepad in hand, her pen already tucked behind her ear. She gave a small nod toward Sico, her brow furrowed in curiosity and worry both. "This isn't a casual chat, is it?" she asked lightly, though her voice carried the tension beneath.
"No," Sico said simply.
They all gathered around the desk. Sico didn't sit this time. He stood at the head of the map, his hands braced against the wood as he looked at each of them in turn.
"What I'm about to tell you stays in this room until we decide otherwise," he began. "Earlier today, one of our patrols spotted activity at the C.I.T. Ruins. Fifty Super Mutants. Twenty hounds. And they're not just squatting there—they're organized. They've fortified the grounds, and they've got heavy weapons. Miniguns. Missile launchers. And worse…" He paused, his eyes flicking toward the pinned report. "They've got a leader. Bigger than the rest. Smart enough to issue orders."
A silence settled over the group, heavy and suffocating.
Sarah was the first to break it. "Fifty?" Her voice was sharp, incredulous. "That's not a raiding party—that's an invasion force."
Robert frowned deeply, his hand resting on his notebook. "The ruins aren't far from Sanctuary. If they march…"
"They could be on us within a day," MacCready finished grimly, his arms folding across his chest.
Piper shook her head slowly, scribbling notes almost without realizing. "And you're telling me they've got someone leading them? Someone smarter than the usual pack of brutes?" She let out a low whistle. "That's… that's bad news. Really bad news."
Sico nodded once. "Exactly why we're here. This isn't just about a fight—it's about what kind of fight it'll be, and whether we can stop it before it lands on our doorstep."
Sarah stepped closer, her eyes locked on the map. "We can't let them march unchecked. If they've fortified C.I.T., it means they're planning to stay put long enough to prepare for something bigger. That leader… if he's smart, he'll use the ruins as a staging ground."
"Or a fortress," Robert added gravely. "C.I.T. was built to last. Those walls won't fall easy. If the mutants entrench themselves there, driving them out will cost us dearly."
The silence in the room pressed down like a storm cloud waiting to break. The map on Sico's desk—creased and worn, pinned at the corners—suddenly felt less like parchment and more like a battlefield laid bare before them. The markers of towns and ruins were no longer abstract points of interest; they were lives, fragile and real, balanced on a knife's edge.
Sico let the weight of the moment hang for a few beats longer, his eyes moving slowly across the faces of those gathered: Sarah's jaw tight with barely restrained fury, Robert's steady calm belying the storm behind his eyes, MacCready's guarded skepticism, Piper's pen hovering as though the words themselves might turn poisonous on the page. Preston stood slightly off to the side, but his presence was solid—a rock at Sico's shoulder, waiting for direction.
Finally, Sico's voice cut through the thick silence, low but carrying the force of a hammer hitting steel.
"No matter what," he said, each word sharp, deliberate, "we have to wipe them out."
The words landed with the gravity of a verdict. The air seemed to tighten, the lantern flame flickering as if it too felt the weight of the decision.
Sarah straightened immediately, her eyes flashing with grim satisfaction. She'd been waiting for this.
Robert's brows furrowed, and his fingers tapped once against the butt of the pistol tucked beneath his arm. He didn't argue, not yet, but the crease of his mouth said he was already considering the cost.
MacCready let out a sharp breath through his nose, his arms crossing tighter. "Well," he muttered, "there's no dancing around it now."
Sico didn't waver. He turned first to Preston and Sarah, his gaze locking on theirs. "Preston, Sarah—I need the soldiers ready. Every trained man and woman, fully equipped, alert. We can't afford half measures. I want defensive lines drawn around Sanctuary in case they move sooner than we expect, but I also want a strike force prepped for the moment we give the order. Sarah, that's your specialty—you'll coordinate the soldiers into units, drill them until they move as one. Preston, you'll handle the logistics—supply lines, ammunition stockpiles, fallback points."
Both nodded in unison, the kind of affirmation that came from years of hard fights and harder losses.
"Understood," Preston said, his voice steady. "I'll see to it immediately."
Sarah's eyes were hard as iron. "They'll be ready, Sico. I promise you that."
Sico's gaze then shifted, turning to Robert and MacCready. The two men stood slightly apart from each other, the difference in their demeanors stark—Robert the seasoned commander, calm and disciplined, MacCready the mercenary with sharp edges and a cynical bite. But in this moment, both were exactly what he needed.
"You two," Sico said, his voice dropping lower, heavier. "I want the Commandos to scout the ruins. Quiet, precise. I don't just need confirmation of the numbers—we already know what we're up against. What I need is control. I want eyes inside that ruin. I want to know how they're moving, where they're fortifying, how many entrances they're leaving exposed. And if you see any more Super Mutants heading there—any stragglers trying to join that warband—you put them down. No hesitation. We can't allow their numbers to swell any further."
Robert gave a slow, grave nod, his hand tightening on the strap of his weapon. "We'll move at dusk. My men are disciplined enough to stay unseen. If there's a weakness in their defenses, we'll find it."
MacCready let out a short, dry laugh—humorless, but steady. "Scouting, killing stragglers. Yeah, figures. Fine by me. But don't expect us to take on fifty by ourselves."
Sico's eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no anger there—only resolve. "Nobody's asking you to take on fifty. But if you keep them blind, cut off reinforcements, and weaken them at the edges, then when we move with the full force of the militia, we stand a chance. This isn't about suicide runs. This is about strategy."
MacCready tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Fair enough. Just making sure we're on the same page."
For a moment, the office was filled with the sound of breathing, boots shifting, paper rustling faintly under the pinned knife. Sico took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and allowed himself to meet their eyes again, one by one.
"This isn't going to be easy," he said, his voice quieter now, but carrying no less weight. "Fifty Super Mutants and twenty hounds is more than most settlements could even dream of facing down. But we aren't most settlements. We've fought too hard to build this place, to carve out a home from the ashes. If we back down now, if we let them mass and march, then everything we've built will burn. Our families, our people—they're counting on us to stand. And we will."
Sarah's chin lifted. "Damn right we will."
Preston gave a solemn nod. "You've got my word."
Robert adjusted his grip on his pistol, his eyes calm but resolute. "Then we'll bleed them in the shadows before they even know we're there."
MacCready shrugged, but the glint in his eyes was fierce. "Guess it's time to earn our pay again."
Piper, who had been silent until now, lowered her notepad slowly. Her voice, when it came, was softer, more tentative than the rest. "And what happens if… if it doesn't work? If they're too strong?"
The room stilled for a moment.
Sico looked at her, and though his face was hard, his voice carried something gentler. "Then we fight anyway. Because the only other option is to let them come to us on their terms. And I won't let that happen."
Piper swallowed, nodded once, and scribbled something quick on the page before her.
Sico straightened then, pulling the knife free from the map and folding the report shut with finality. The meeting wasn't over—far from it—but the orders had been given, the course set. He could see it in their faces, the mix of fear and determination, the quiet fire that burned in each of them.
"Preston, Sarah—you've got work to do. Robert, MacCready, you'll brief your Commandos before dusk. Piper…" His eyes softened for just a fraction. "Keep this quiet for now. The people don't need fear. They need strength. Once we have a plan, once we move, then you tell the story. Not before."
Piper's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. "Understood."
Sico leaned over the desk once more, his hands braced against the wood, his voice a final iron command. "Go. Make ready. Tonight we start bleeding them, and soon after… we wipe them out."
The group broke, each moving with purpose now, the weight of orders propelling them into motion. The office emptied one by one, until only Sico remained, the map spread before him like the battlefield it was.
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• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-