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Robert let the radio click off. His eyes scanned the shadows, the grotesque trophies swinging faintly in the night breeze. He could feel the weight of the mutants' words like chains dragging behind him.
Robert's fingers lingered on the radio a moment longer after Sico's voice faded into static. His jaw clenched as he looked at Ellis and Vickers, the glow of the mutants' fires flickering faintly behind them. He didn't need to tell his men how bad this was—they'd heard the same words he had. Sanctuary wasn't just on the mutants' radar. It was their target.
But Robert wasn't going to let his squad stumble blind into panic. He was a soldier, and soldiers turned fear into discipline. He slipped the radio back to his belt and gave his men a short nod.
"Stay sharp. We're pulling the others."
Ellis frowned, whispering. "You mean we're regrouping already?"
Robert's eyes were ice. "We've got enough. Any longer here and we risk getting burned."
He crouched lower, pulled the radio back up, and switched to the squad frequency. "MacCready, this is Robert. Status?"
There was a faint hiss, then MacCready's dry, sardonic voice slid into his ear. "Still alive, thanks for asking. We're dug in near the south fountain. What's your read?"
Robert exhaled. Relief was a dangerous feeling out here, but hearing MacCready's voice was enough to keep the cold edge from biting too deep. "I want you moving back to the outskirts. Same for the other teams. Quiet exfil. We rally up outside the ruins—northwest tree line. Copy?"
MacCready's reply was immediate. "Copy. I'll pull the boys back. What's the rush? Something spook you?"
Robert's gaze flicked toward where the two mutants had lumbered off. His tone dropped flat, edged with a blade. "Overheard patrol. They're not just squatting. They're gathering reinforcements for an attack. 'Big settlement'—you know what that means."
There was a pause on the line, followed by a low whistle. "Well, shit. Alright. We'll meet you at the tree line. MacCready out."
Robert switched channels again, calling in the other fireteams. One by one, hushed acknowledgments came through. The Commandos were pulling back, ghosts in the night.
He led Ellis and Vickers through the maze of rust and ruin, retracing their steps with painstaking care. Every sound—a pebble skittering, a hound barking faintly in the distance—made their nerves crawl. But bit by bit, the ruins thinned out, and the night opened into a jagged line of trees that clawed at the skyline.
The Commandos began trickling into the clearing—threes and fours slipping out of the dark until thirty hardened figures formed a silent half-circle around Robert and MacCready. Lantern light was forbidden; they spoke in whispers, faces pale in the moonlight.
MacCready stepped forward, his rifle hanging loose in one hand, his eyes sharp despite the smirk tugging at his lips. "Alright, Rob. We're all here. What's the grand plan? 'Cause walking into mutant central just to say hi doesn't sound like much of a party."
Robert didn't waste time. He crouched, dragging a stick through the dirt to sketch rough outlines of the C.I.T. ruins. Fires marked with crude dots, patrol lines with sweeping arcs. Then he stabbed the stick into the outskirts, where their clearing sat.
"They're gathering reinforcements," Robert said, his voice steady but low. "We don't know how many, but if we let them stack their numbers before our main force arrives, we'll be fighting a full army."
MacCready tilted his head, catching on quick. "So you're thinking…"
Robert's eyes swept across the gathered faces of the Commandos. "We cut the reinforcements off before they get there. Intercept them on the roads. Every mutant heading to C.I.T. doesn't make it. That way, when Commander Sico brings the hammer down, it's on the numbers we already know—not an even bigger horde."
There was a long silence. The Commandos shifted, eyes darting, the weight of the suggestion pressing hard. It wasn't an order yet—it was a proposition, one Robert was laying bare.
Finally, MacCready let out a sharp breath and grinned without humor. "Ambush duty, huh? I can live with that. Kill 'em before they get comfy. Hell, might even the odds for us."
Ellis glanced around, nervous but determined. "You think it'll work? Mutants travel heavy. If we bite off more than we can chew—"
MacCready cut him off with a scoff. "Kid, everything out here is more than we can chew. Point is, better to choke them in the woods than wait till they're knocking on our door with seventy of their buddies."
Robert let MacCready's words hang, then nodded once. "Exactly. We can't fight them head-on in their fortress. But on the road? That's our ground. We pick the terrain, we pick the fight."
He jabbed the stick into the dirt again, dragging lines outward from the ruins. "There are three major routes into C.I.T. North road runs along the river. East road cuts through the industrial zone. South road comes up from the old subway yards. Mutants will use all three to funnel in. We split into small hunter-killer teams, set ambushes, and bleed them dry before they ever reach the ruins."
A murmur rippled through the Commandos. Some nodded, others frowned. It was bold—hell, reckless—but it was also the kind of plan that gave them a fighting chance.
MacCready rubbed his jaw, considering. "Not bad. Small teams, hit and run, don't stick around for the fireworks. But here's the catch: we make noise, and the ones already camped in C.I.T. are gonna notice their buddies aren't showing up. They'll send patrols sniffing. How do we keep from being boxed in?"
Robert's eyes hardened. "We don't get boxed in. We move fast, strike hard, disappear. Guerrilla style. The ruins stay untouched until Commander Sico brings the full force. Our job is simple: starve the beast before it grows."
The Commandos absorbed his words. They weren't green—every one of them knew the stakes. And slowly, nods began to spread through the group. Resolve took root where fear had lived.
MacCready finally gave a short chuckle, shaking his head. "You know, Rob, you've got a hell of a way of making suicide sound like strategy. Fine. I'm in. And when I'm up to my ears in mutant guts, I'll remember this was your idea."
Robert almost smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. We move before dawn. Teams of five, one squad per road. No fires, no noise. We melt into the trees and wait for the bastards to march."
He rose, his shadow tall in the moonlight. "We're Commandos. Tonight, we don't just survive—we make sure Sanctuary does too."
The night around the C.I.T. ruins felt like it was holding its breath, the kind of silence that wasn't peace but the pause before thunder. Robert and MacCready had their men fanning out into three hunter-killer squads, each taking a road where the Super Mutants were likely to funnel in. Plans were whispered in low voices, checked and rechecked. Every man and woman in the Commandos knew the risks—this wasn't a fair fight. It was about hitting first, hitting fast, and never giving the enemy a clean target.
But while Robert and MacCready prepared their shadows in the ruins, Sanctuary itself had turned into a hive of motion and steel.
The rising light of dawn spread pale orange over the settlement, spilling across the rebuilt walls, watchtowers, and guard posts. Sanctuary had the look of a town that had clawed itself out of the ashes and then armored every inch of its new skin. This morning, though, it wasn't just holding the line. It was mobilizing for war.
Engines roared and clattered in the yard near the workshop. Trucks lined up in a long column, each with steel plating bolted to its flanks and cages welded over their windows. Humvees sat between them, turrets manned, gunners checking belts of 5.56 like farmers checking the weather. At the front and rear of the convoy sat the real muscle: Sentinel tanks, massive and squat, their barrels yawning like thunderclouds waiting to break.
Men and women moved everywhere. Soldiers in matched combat armor climbed into flatbeds, weapons strapped tight to their chests. Mechanics jogged down the line, checking tires, tightening bolts, and giving the drivers last-second nods. The clang of metal, the rumble of engines, and the bark of shouted orders rolled together into a rhythm that shook the air.
And at the center of it all was Sico.
He stood near the leading Humvee, helmet under his arm, scanning the line with sharp, measuring eyes. Preston was already beside him, the brim of his hat low, his face carved with its usual seriousness. He had his laser musket slung across his chest, but his real weapon was the way his presence steadied the men—people trusted Preston, and Sico knew that mattered.
Sico drew in the scene, every detail. The men were tense, yes, but they weren't panicked. They were eager, coiled like springs. They'd seen what was building at the C.I.T. ruins, and they weren't going to wait for it to come to them.
"Convoy's ready, Sico," Preston said, his voice cutting over the din. "Trucks are loaded. Tanks are fueled. We can move on your word."
Sico let his gaze sweep down the line one last time—the steel, the guns, the soldiers who had thrown their lot in with him. This was more than firepower. This was belief given form.
He pulled the Humvee door open and climbed into the front passenger seat. Preston slid in after him on the driver's side, giving him a quick nod. The engine growled to life beneath them, vibrating through the floor.
Sico reached for the radio mounted to the dash. His voice was steady, but it carried the weight of command.
"All units, this is Sico. Convoy is moving. March to the C.I.T. ruins outskirts. Our objective is to establish a forward operating base before nightfall. Stay sharp, stay tight. We're heading into hostile territory."
One by one, acknowledgments cracked through the radio, a chorus of voices steady and grim.
Sico set the mic back in its cradle, then looked out the windshield at the road stretching ahead. "Let's move."
Preston gave a sharp nod and slammed the Humvee into gear. The convoy lurched forward.
The tanks led with the weight of giants, treads grinding deep into the dirt road, leaving scars behind them. Humvees followed, tires spitting dust into the air, and the trucks rumbled along with soldiers standing tall in their beds, rifles pointed skyward. At the rear, the second Sentinel tank brought up the tail, its turret scanning the treeline like a silent sentinel.
The ground trembled beneath the combined power of the machines. Sanctuary faded behind them, its people watching from walls and windows. Some raised hands in quiet salutes, others just watched with wide eyes. Mothers clutched children. Farmers leaned on their tools. Every gaze followed the convoy until it disappeared into the morning haze.
Inside the Humvee, the world outside rolled past in muted colors—trees stripped bare, fields of rusted cars, crumbling husks of old-world buildings. The Commonwealth stretched like a scarred battlefield around them, silent but for the growl of engines and the occasional bark of radio chatter.
Sico sat with one arm braced against the window, eyes never leaving the road ahead. His mind worked faster than the convoy could roll, turning over pieces of the puzzle—Robert and MacCready with their ambush squads, the mutants gathering at C.I.T., the civilians still inside Sanctuary.
He reached for the radio again, this time flipping to the secure command frequency. The signal buzzed, then steadied.
"Sarah, this is Sico. Do you copy?"
There was a faint hiss, then Sarah Lyons' voice answered, strong and clear despite the static. "Copy, Commander. What's your status?"
Sico's tone was clipped but steady. "Convoy is en route. Estimated arrival at the C.I.T. outskirts in two hours. Once we establish the forward base, I want reinforcements. Send an additional hundred soldiers. We'll need them to hold the line once we dig in."
There was a pause, the kind that came when someone weighed the cost of what you were asking. Then Sarah answered, firm. "Understood. I'll have them prepped and moving once you confirm the base is secure. Don't stretch too thin out there, Sico. You know those mutants fight like hell."
Sico's mouth tightened. "That's why we're bringing the fight to them before they bring it to us. Keep the reinforcements on standby. We'll call when the ground is ours."
"Copy. Stay alive, Commander. Sarah out."
The line clicked dead.
Preston shot him a sidelong glance, one hand steady on the wheel. "Think a hundred more will be enough?"
Sico leaned back slightly, the weight of the answer sitting heavy on his chest. "If Robert and MacCready keep the roads choked, we might just manage. If not…" He let the thought trail off. They both knew what it meant.
Preston gave a short nod, his jaw tightening. "Then we make sure they succeed."
The convoy rolled on through the broken spine of the Commonwealth, engines growling like a single beast that wouldn't stop until it reached its prey. The soldiers inside the trucks kept their grips tight on their rifles, helmets tilted forward, eyes never leaving the cracked roads and shattered buildings sliding past outside. Even the rookies, the ones who'd barely seen a skirmish beyond raiders, had a stiffness to them—they knew what was waiting near the C.I.T. ruins, and none of them were fool enough to think this was going to be easy.
Dust plumed in great clouds behind the last Sentinel tank as it churned up the road, and the roar of treads and tires filled the air for miles. Birds scattered from the treetops, the Commonwealth's quiet broken under the march of war.
Sico leaned forward in the Humvee, one hand braced against the dash as Preston handled the wheel with steady, deliberate precision. His eyes stayed pinned to the horizon. He knew the ruins weren't far now—too close for comfort, close enough that every bump in the road made the soldiers in the convoy shift a little tighter in their seats.
And then, finally, they saw it.
The skyline of the C.I.T. ruins loomed out of the haze, skeletal towers clawing at the sky like broken fingers. The air itself seemed heavier here, carrying with it the faint smell of smoke and rot. What had once been a place of knowledge, a jewel of the old world, now crouched like a carcass feeding scavengers. Sico could almost hear the guttural echoes of mutant roars riding on the wind.
Preston slowed the Humvee, raising one hand out the window. The convoy responded immediately—tanks slowed, trucks rumbled into a halt, gunners swung their weapons into scanning arcs. The soldiers dismounted, boots thudding into the dirt as they spread out into formation, rifles up, eyes on the ruins.
Sico opened his door and stepped out, the ground crunching beneath his boots. He stood tall, helmet tucked under one arm, surveying the jagged outline of C.I.T. ahead. For a moment he let the weight of it settle into his chest. They were here, standing at the threshold of a battle that would decide whether Sanctuary held its ground or bled under the mutant tide.
"Preston," Sico said, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the clatter of soldiers forming ranks.
Preston turned, giving him a quick nod.
"Get the men working," Sico ordered. "We need a forward base here, strong enough to hold until reinforcements arrive. Barricades first, then firing pits. Get the engineers laying down fortifications. I want this ground ready before nightfall."
Preston tipped his hat back, his eyes narrowing at the treeline ahead. "Got it. I'll have them moving." He lifted his voice, his command sharp and ringing across the clearing. "Alright, you heard the Commander! Engineers, with me—start laying the perimeter! Infantry, I want overlapping firing lanes, trenches dug by sundown! Let's move like our lives depend on it, because they damn well do!"
The soldiers broke into motion, no hesitation in their steps. Some unloaded crates of supplies from the trucks—sandbags, rolls of wire, heavy machine guns waiting to be mounted. Others carried shovels and picks, already carving at the earth to set the base's bones. The tanks angled themselves into position, one forward and one back, their barrels sweeping as though daring the ruins to move first.
Sico let Preston's orders ripple through the men while he reached for the radio at his belt. His thumb pressed down on the worn button, and his voice lowered just slightly—not soft, but sharpened with the steel of command.
"Robert, this is Sico. Status report."
For a heartbeat the only answer was static, the hiss filling his ear with its thin uncertainty. Then Robert's voice came through, low and clipped, carrying that same controlled steadiness that made him the kind of man Sico could trust in the field.
"Commander, this is Robert. We're in position. Three hunter-killer teams deployed on the northern, eastern, and southern roads. No contact yet, but we've got eyes on patrols moving around the ruins. They're alert, but they don't know about us. Not yet."
Sico's gaze stayed fixed on the jagged skyline of C.I.T., his jaw tightening. "Good. Hold your positions. Any movement of reinforcements toward the ruins, I want them cut down before they get there. Keep the pressure quiet, keep it clean. Our base is going up here on the outskirts. Once it's fortified, you'll have backup if things get heavy."
Robert's reply was immediate, but Sico caught the undertone—a grit beneath the words, the understanding of just how dangerous this plan was. "Understood. We'll bleed them on the roads, Commander. Every mutant heading to C.I.T. dies before they get close. We'll keep their numbers from swelling."
Sico's eyes flicked toward the soldiers hammering posts into the earth, the engineers laying wire, the gunners hefting sandbags into walls. He knew Robert and his men were out there in the dark places, trading their safety for time. Time enough to build something here that might actually stand when the horde came.
"Stay sharp, Robert," Sico said into the radio, his tone softer for just a breath. "I need every one of you back in one piece. Sanctuary's counting on it."
Robert's voice carried a faint edge of grim humor, the kind men used when they knew the odds but refused to let them break their resolve. "We've done worse with less, Commander. You'll see us back. Bravo Team out."
The line clicked dead, leaving only the crackle of static before Sico released the button and clipped the radio back to his belt.
He stood there a moment longer, eyes narrowed on the ruins. The base was beginning to take shape around him—walls of sandbags rising, trenches cutting lines into the earth, machine guns settling into their mounts. The soldiers worked with the focus of people who knew that every shovel of dirt, every bag lifted, every bolt tightened was one more chance at survival.
Preston strode back over, dust streaking his boots, his face damp with sweat but steady as ever. "Men are moving fast. We'll have a solid perimeter in a few hours. I'll assign watch rotations once the barricades are up."
Sico gave him a short nod. "Good. Keep them tight. No weak links."
He let his gaze sweep once more toward the horizon, the ruins waiting like a monster in the dark. He knew Robert and MacCready were already threading their knives into the mutant warband, and that soon enough, the enemy would know the hunters were in the woods.
The sun had crawled across the sky, dragging its weight slowly toward the horizon. Hours passed in sweat and steel. The once-barren clearing at the edge of the C.I.T. ruins had transformed, piece by piece, into something formidable. It was no longer a stretch of dirt and cracked concrete—it was a fortress taking its first breath.
Soldiers moved like ants across a nest, every motion purposeful, every tool put to use. Sandbags now lined in thick walls stacked shoulder-high, with firing slits cut into them like watchful eyes. Trenches zigzagged outward, giving infantry cover and lines of fire in case the mutants charged. Barbed wire gleamed in the fading light, twisted across choke points to funnel any assault into the teeth of their guns.
The Sentinel tanks stood sentinel at the flanks of the perimeter—silent giants whose shadows stretched long in the evening light. They were angled outward, turrets ready, their treads sunk deep into the earth from their sheer weight. To the rear, heavy machine guns and mortars had been set into positions reinforced with timber and stone. Ammo crates were stacked high in makeshift depots, covered with tarps to protect from the weather.
And at the heart of it all was a command post—little more than a tent with reinforced sides and a wooden table inside, but it bore the marks of order. Maps had been spread and pinned, radios hummed, and sentries kept constant watch on the perimeter.
Four hours of relentless labor, sweat, and the kind of urgency that only fear could sharpen had turned this patch of wilderness into a stronghold.
Sico walked the lines, helmet clipped to his belt, dust clinging to his boots. Soldiers straightened when he passed, though his eyes were more for the fortifications than the salutes. He studied every wall, every gun emplacement, every trench, and only when he was satisfied did he let himself breathe out slow through his nose.
Preston joined him near the central post, wiping the back of his neck with a rag darkened by sweat. His hat was pulled low, but the gleam of pride in his eyes was unmistakable. "It's done, Sico. Solid lines. You could throw a horde of ghouls at this place, and it'd hold."
Sico gave a faint grunt, not of doubt but of acknowledgment. His gaze swept once more toward the jagged towers of C.I.T. in the near distance. The mutants were out there, surely aware of something stirring on their doorstep by now. "Good work. Now let's give ourselves the teeth we'll need when the storm breaks."
He unclipped the radio from his belt, turning the dial with a practiced hand until the static thinned to a clear channel. His thumb pressed down, and his voice carried across the distance in that calm, steady tone that had become his mark.
"Sarah, this is Sico. Do you copy?"
A hiss of static, then her voice cut through, sharp but steady. "Copy, Commander. Go ahead."
Sico's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon as he spoke. "Forward base is complete. Perimeter fortified, tanks and heavy weapons in place. We are secure enough to hold position. Send the one hundred reinforcements as planned. They'll need full supply for a long deployment—rations, ammo, medical stock, heavy weapons included. This will not be a short fight."
There was a pause on the other end, and though the airwaves carried no face, Sico could imagine Sarah Lyons standing at her post, weighing her answer like the commander she was.
Then her voice came, firm and unhesitating: "Understood. I'll dispatch the hundred within the hour. Convoy will move with full supplies, plus an additional field medic team. You'll have them by morning."
Preston, standing nearby, let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Reinforcements meant relief, meant the base wasn't just a bold stand but the beginning of something sustainable.
Sico's tone, though still composed, carried the faintest edge of approval. "Good. Have them travel with armor escort. Mutants aren't the only predators in this stretch of land. Raiders and gunners will sense movement."
"Already accounted for," Sarah replied. "Three APCs and a Sentinel will accompany them. They'll arrive intact."
Sico gave the faintest nod, the kind only Preston noticed. "Copy that. We'll be ready to receive them. Sico out."
The line clicked dead, leaving behind only the quiet hum of the radio.
Preston shifted, his eyes sweeping over the soldiers moving along the base, some shoveling the last of the trenches, others cleaning weapons, others eating what passed for a quick meal in the field. The base looked strong, but even the strongest walls were only as good as the men behind them.
"You think the mutants'll move tonight?" Preston asked, his voice low enough not to carry beyond the two of them.
Sico looked at him, then past him, to the ruins looming like jagged teeth against the sky. His silence was answer enough at first, but then he spoke. "If they don't, they will soon. They're gathering for something. Mutants don't move in packs this size by chance. And when they move…" His eyes narrowed. "We'll be ready."
The ground beneath their boots seemed to hum with the life of the base, with the energy of men and women preparing to fight for more than themselves. Sanctuary's survival, maybe the survival of the whole stretch of the Commonwealth, balanced on this thin, dusty line they had carved from the earth.
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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:-