If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
By the time they circled back toward the center, the noise of hammers had faded into a steady rhythm in the background of their thoughts. Sturges wiped sweat from his brow with a dirty sleeve, looking both worn and alight at the same time.
Sturges spat into the dirt and jerked his chin toward the next stretch of scaffolding. "Alright, boss, you seen the bones and the bite. Now lemme show you the guts. A place don't stand just on walls. She stands on how people live inside 'em. That's where most folks get it wrong—build a fortress, forget the folk. But a place don't breathe without her people."
Sico's eyes tracked the flow of settlers moving through the courtyard: women hauling planks in pairs, a kid scurrying underfoot with a bucket of nails too big for his arms, an old man puffing as he dragged pipe fittings toward a growing pile. This wasn't an army—not yet—but it was blood and willpower, and that counted for more than steel sometimes.
"You're right," Sico said. "A fortress without life is just a tomb waiting to happen."
Sturges nodded, pleased to have the thought mirrored. "Exactly. So here's what I got in mind. The settlers' homes—yeah, the shacks, the half-rebuilt apartments, them jury-rigged huts—they're gonna pull double duty. Not just roofs over heads, but bunkers too. Folks'll sleep where they fight, and they'll fight where they sleep."
He gestured toward a cluster of two-story shells that once belonged to a dormitory wing. The brickwork was chipped, windows gaping holes, but the frames still stood tall. Already, settlers had hammered corrugated sheets across some of the windows, patching them with scavenged wood. "See that? Those rooms'll be families by day, foxholes by night. Every shack we build, we build it with a crawlspace underneath or reinforced walls. Furniture against the inside ain't just for sittin'—it's cover. Beds? Build 'em so they flip and lock into place like barricades. Kitchen tables get hinges, flip 'em up, and you got a shield wall for shootin' behind."
Sico ran a hand along the brick as they passed. He liked the idea. There was something fierce about a home that could bite back. "They'll feel safer, too. Knowing the place they sleep is the same place they'll defend. Makes the line between settler and soldier blur. That's good."
Sturges grinned, clapping Sico on the shoulder. "Now you're talkin' my language. Blurry lines make strong walls."
They trudged on toward a half-built intersection where beams of wood crossed like ribs. The framework of a larger structure was being hammered into place—four walls, wide open inside. "Now here," Sturges said, "this ain't no home. This here's supply depot number one. I want three of 'em spread across the grounds. One here, one closer to the north wall, one tucked near the south choke point. Don't make sense to pile all our eggs in one basket. You ever see what happens when a raider torch hits a storeroom? Boom. All your beans and bullets in smoke. Nah, better to spread 'em. Small depots, disguised so they look like more homes. Hide 'em in plain sight."
Sico crouched, fingertips brushing the dirt. "And routes between them? If the enemy cuts off one, the others need to feed it."
"Exactly." Sturges squatted beside him, sketching in the dirt with a stub of chalk pulled from his pocket. "See, this one here links down a path behind the scaffolding. We dig shallow trenches, run rails if we can find wheels. Doesn't have to be pretty, just gotta move crates. I figure we can salvage some old carts, maybe even a brahmin or two if the traders don't gouge us too bad."
Sico's eyes flicked over the rough sketch. "And the infirmaries?"
"Already thought of that." Sturges stood, brushed his hands, and led the way toward a sagging building near the center. The sign above its door had long since fallen, leaving only rusted bolts in the brick. "This used to be one of them student centers. Cafeteria, study rooms, whatever. Now it's our main infirmary. Big rooms, lots of windows for light, easy access from anywhere in the compound. And get this—there's a basement. Dry as a bone. We can stash medical supplies down there, maybe even set up beds for overflow if things get ugly."
Inside, the place smelled of dust and rust, but the bones were good. Wide open halls, sturdy pillars, a roof that, while cracked, hadn't caved. Settlers were already dragging in stretchers made from old doors lashed to pipes.
"Not bad," Sico murmured, running his eyes across the space. He could already picture it in battle—bloodied men carried through the doors, Curie's voice sharp as she ordered bandages and chems, Sturges' rigs of power humming in the background to give light. "We'll need more than one."
"Course," Sturges said, nodding. "This'll be the big one, but I'm thinkin' smaller infirmaries tucked by the walls too. That way you don't have to drag some poor bastard clear across the yard while he's leakin' red. Patch 'em quick near the line, then haul 'em here if they need the full works."
"That'll save lives," Sico said simply.
They lingered a moment, both men standing in the hollowed-out hall, hearing the distant clang of hammers. It was quiet here, but not for long. Soon this room would hear screams and prayers, the kind of noises walls remembered. Sico's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed even. "Make sure every medic station has two exits. Always two. No one gets trapped."
Sturges' face shifted serious. "Already thought of it. Which brings me to the fun part."
Sico raised a brow. "Fun?"
Sturges' grin came sly now, the kind of grin that usually followed trouble. He motioned for Sico to follow him back out into the courtyard, weaving through stacks of pipe and welded sheet. "Escape routes. Don't matter how strong you build a fort, boss—sometimes the best fight's the one you walk away from. And sometimes, you need to move folks quick—civilians, kids, even fighters who can't stand no more. So, we dig."
They came to a section near the rear wall where the ground had been disturbed. Settlers with shovels stood waist-deep in a trench, sweat dripping down their necks. Wooden beams braced the dirt walls.
"Underground?" Sico asked, eyes narrowing as he studied the work.
"Yup. Tunnels. Not big fancy ones like the Institute had—hell no, that's a lifetime of diggin'. Just lean, narrow runs. Enough to move people one at a time. We dig 'em out, brace with wood, maybe even scavenge some old piping for strength. Lead 'em under the walls, out into the alleys and ruins beyond. Anyone gets pinned inside, they'll have a way out. Raiders won't know the holes are there, 'cause we'll hide 'em under floorboards or behind fake walls."
Sico crouched at the edge, peering down at the raw dirt. He could already imagine the black mouths of tunnels stretching into the dark. "Dangerous work," he said.
Sturges shrugged. "Yeah, well, so's everythin' these days. But better we dig now than bleed later."
Sico gave a slow nod. "Good. But keep them hidden. Few should know. If word spreads, it only takes one loose tongue for the enemy to find them."
"Already ahead of you," Sturges said, tapping his nose. "Only me, you, and the diggers know the full layout. When they're done, I'll collapse half the false routes so even if someone talks, they'll be sendin' folks down dead ends."
Sico smirked faintly. "Devious. I like it."
They carried on, Sturges dragging Sico through every corner. They talked about where brahmin pens would be built—double-lined so animals could be herded inside for cover during attacks. They mapped kitchens that could cook for a hundred mouths at once, with chimneys disguised to look like ruins so smoke wouldn't betray them. They even argued over where to build water purifiers, finally agreeing on three separate units tucked behind reinforced barricades to avoid a single point of failure.
The sun dipped low as the tour stretched on, the light turning the ruins gold. By the time they circled back to the center, both men were coated in dust, their boots worn, their minds spinning with plans.
Sturges leaned against a beam, breath ragged but grin still alive. "So what d'you think, boss? You seen the walls, the homes, the depots, the infirmaries, the rabbit holes. This ol' skeleton still got teeth?"
Sico stood still for a long moment, looking out over the stronghold. The settlers, the scaffolding, the dust and sweat—all of it humming with the energy of something not yet finished but already alive. He could see it. A place that could stand. A place that could bite.
His voice was quiet, but it carried like stone. "She'll stand. And when the Brotherhood comes, she'll bleed them dry. Make it happen, Sturges. This place… this place will be our shield. And our sword."
Sturges chuckled, spitting into the dirt. "Now that's the kind of talk that keeps a man swingin' a hammer 'til his arms fall off."
The courtyard was quiet for a beat after Sico's words, though the silence wasn't the absence of sound so much as a moment where the hammering and sawing faded into the background, swallowed up by what hung between the two men.
Then Sturges straightened, wiped a greasy streak of sweat across his forehead with the back of his glove, and gave that sideways grin of his. "Alright, boss. We walked the bones, we talked the teeth. But a place like this don't just chew and spit. She's gotta eat, drink, and shit same as we do. So, how 'bout I show you where the guts are gonna sit? Kitchens, critters, water, and our little rabbit holes. You'll see what I mean."
Sico gave him a short nod. "Lead the way."
They cut across the heart of the compound toward a half-standing building that had once been a lecture hall. The roof sagged inward, beams sticking like broken ribs against the evening sky, but the ground floor was wide, open, and close enough to the center of the stronghold that anyone could reach it quick.
"This here's my first pick for the main kitchen," Sturges said, boot scraping across the cracked tile floor as they stepped inside. The air smelled of dust, but someone had already dragged in a few battered cookpots and an old stove scavenged from God knows where. "Central location, plenty of space, easy to vent smoke out once we rig the chimneys. You ever see a settlement run short on hot grub? Ain't pretty. People lose spirit real fast when they're gnawin' cold beans out the can."
Sico paced slowly, boots crunching over shards of glass. He ran a hand along one of the brick walls. "Plenty of surface here for counters. And fire pits could run along that line." He pointed to the far wall, already dark with old soot. "You'll want more than one line of cooking. If one's hit or burns out, the others keep running."
Sturges nodded eagerly. "Exactly what I was thinkin'. Three big pits, side by side, with grates strong enough to hold them monster stew pots. Hell, if we can scavenge them old Institute water tanks, we'll cut 'em down, make cauldrons big enough to feed two hundred in one go. We put in prep tables along the middle, shelves up top for salt, chems, spices—hell, even squirrel jerky if the traders bring any in. Folks'll get used to smellin' supper waftin' out here every day. Keeps morale up, y'know?"
"Morale matters more than people realize," Sico said quietly. He could picture it: smoke curling through patched chimneys, the clang of ladles against pots, settlers lining up with bowls and battered tin cups, trading stories after long shifts of labor. A fire in the belly kept a fire in the fight.
Sturges slapped the wall. "We'll rig chimneys disguised as busted stacks. From the air, the Brotherhood won't see nothin' but ruins. And we can scatter the heat with pipes so no one bird's-eyein' us'll know where the real hearths are."
Sico's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Good. But don't put all the kitchens here. Spread them. If this place is shelled or burned, we don't lose it all. Where are the others?"
Sturges grinned and jerked his thumb. "I'll show you. Got one spot earmarked near the north barricade—smaller, but enough to feed the watch. And another near the south wall, built half-underground. That way, if things get real bad, we still got one kitchen runnin' no matter how the fight goes."
Sico's lips twitched in approval. "Redundancy. That's how we live."
From the kitchen, they trekked westward, the sun dipping lower behind the skeletal towers of Boston's corpse. They came to an open yard hemmed in by crumbled walls on three sides. The dirt here was churned already, settlers having cleared the rubble into neat piles along the edges.
"This," Sturges said, spreading his arms wide, "is where the moo-cows go."
Sico gave a short grunt. "Brahmin."
"Yeah, them too," Sturges chuckled. "Traders don't move without 'em, and our supply runs sure as hell ain't gonna either. I want this yard double-fenced—wood on the inside, chainlink on the out. Big enough that if shots start flyin', we can herd the beasts inside the inner pen and let the outer one take the fire. Raiders see brahmin, first thing they do is shoot 'em, try to starve us out. Not happenin' on my watch."
Sico squatted, scooping a fistful of dirt and letting it run through his fingers. "The soil's firm. We can stake posts deep. You'll want troughs here—" he pointed to the east side, near a collapsed wall—"so they're fed and watered out of sight. Less line-of-sight for snipers."
"Exactly," Sturges said, nodding hard. "We'll cover the troughs with corrugated tin, rig 'em up with rain catchers. And the pens'll double as cover for fighters if the lines break. Wood posts thick enough, they'll take a few bullets. Not perfect, but better than nothin'."
Sico rose, scanning the yard. He imagined smoke curling, the stink of beasts, the low rumble of brahmin chewing cud. "You'll need guards on them day and night. Not just for raiders. Hunger makes thieves."
Sturges' grin faded a little, but he nodded. "Ain't wrong. We'll set up watch towers on them two corners. Crossfire over the yard. Any fool thinks he's sneakin' a steak dinner outta here, he'll get a mouthful of lead instead."
For a moment, they stood in silence, each man picturing the pens not just as livestock yards, but as choke points, shields, even lures. To Sico, everything was a weapon if you thought hard enough.
By the time they reached the eastern edge of the compound, twilight had started creeping in. The ruins here sloped downward toward what used to be an old service canal, long since choked with silt and rusted pipework. Settlers had dug trenches, dragging up thick bundles of corroded pipe, and a half-finished scaffold leaned over the waterline.
"Now here's the real lifeblood," Sturges said, voice carrying a note of pride. "Water purifiers. Got three sites planned—this one, one up north, one tucked under rubble near the south end. Ain't no one survivin' without clean water. Problem is, these rigs take juice. Big juice. So we'll need them generators Curie's boys been workin' on. Fusion cells if we're lucky, maybe wind if we're desperate."
Sico walked to the edge, crouched, and peered into the dark water. It stank faintly of oil and rot, but he could see the faint shimmer of fresher runoff beneath. "You can filter this?"
"Hell yeah," Sturges said, crouching beside him. "Takes some scrap filters, a couple pumps, but we can do it. Hook it up through triple filter beds—sand, charcoal, cloth. Won't taste like wine, but it won't kill ya neither. And we'll build 'em in threes. One purifier goes down, two keep us drinkin'. Brotherhood blows one up, we patch it while the others run."
Sico's eyes flicked to the workers hauling pipe. "And defenses?"
Sturges grinned. "See, that's the fun part. We disguise 'em. From the air, this'll look like a collapsed sewer. Rubble piled high, a couple fake fires burned in barrels to sell the illusion. But underneath? She'll be hummin' clean water like a dream. Any bastard comes sniffin' too close, they'll find themselves starin' down barrels before they know what hit 'em."
"Good," Sico said. "But you'll want armed escorts for the water runs. Carryin' barrels is as dangerous as carryin' caps."
Sturges smirked. "Oh, I got a better idea than barrels. I want carts on rails, like them old mine tracks. Line runs straight into the compound, covered so no one sees what we're movin'. Quick, quiet, and hard to hit. If we pull it off, we'll be drinkin' cleaner than half the Commonwealth."
Sico gave the faintest of smiles. "That'll keep the people strong."
Their last stop brought them back toward the rear wall where the tunnel diggers had been sweating earlier. By now, lanterns had been hung on poles, their glow spilling golden light into the raw earth. Men and women worked in pairs, bracing dirt walls with scavenged timber, hammering wedges into place. The sound of shovels was steady, rhythmic, like a drumbeat underground.
Sturges waved a hand proudly. "Ain't much to look at now, but give us a month, and you'll have a rabbit warren no Brotherhood'll ever sniff out. First one here runs straight out to the old metro line. Pop up half a mile from here, and you're gone before they even know it. Second one I'm plannin' will cut under the east wall, pop out in them burned-out shops. We'll keep diggin' more as we go, but I want at least three solid exits by the time the birds come circlin'."
Sico crouched at the tunnel mouth, inhaling the earthy scent. His eyes lingered on the timber braces. "You'll need more supports. Soil's loose. If it caves, we lose people."
"Already workin' on it," Sturges said. "Once we scavenge enough rebar, we'll line the walls. Strong as steel. And we'll rig false doors at the exits. From the outside, looks like a busted wall or a caved-in shop. From the inside, push, and you're out."
Sico's gaze lingered, mind running through scenarios—civilians fleeing, fighters retreating, children clutching mothers' hands in the dark. Tunnels meant survival, but they also meant secrecy. "Keep the maps hidden. Memorize routes. No written plans that can be stolen."
Sturges tapped the side of his head. "All up here, boss. Ain't no raider gettin' inside this skull."
The two men stood together in the glow of the lanterns, watching the diggers vanish into the earth like shadows. The air hummed with sweat and resolve.
By the time they circled back to the center, night had settled proper. Torches and lanterns lit the compound in patches of orange flame, shadows stretching long across the bones of the C.I.T. Settlers worked on, some hammering, some cooking, some hauling rubble. The place wasn't finished—not by a long shot—but it was breathing now. Alive.
Sturges leaned heavy on a beam, chest rising and falling with the long day. "So there you have it, boss. Kitchens to fill bellies, pens to keep the beasts, purifiers to keep us drinkin', and tunnels to keep us breathin'. Ain't perfect, but it's a damn sight better than scratchin' in the dirt."
Sico stood tall, eyes sweeping the compound one last time. The bones of the old world were rising into something new—something hard, sharp, and full of teeth. His voice came quiet, but every word was iron.
"This will hold. And when the Brotherhood comes, they'll bleed themselves against it. You've done well, Sturges."
For once, Sturges didn't crack a joke. He just nodded, that grin of his tempered now into something steadier. "We'll make it bite, boss. You watch."
Sico let his gaze sweep once more across the lantern-lit compound. The hum of hammers and the low murmur of voices carried on the cool night air. For all the ruin, the place already felt less like a graveyard and more like a heartbeat — pulsing, raw, but steady. He exhaled through his nose, then shifted his eyes back toward Sturges, who was still leaning against the beam, wiping grit off his palms.
"Tell me something," Sico said at last, his tone even but weighted. "You've thought about a wall? Surrounding the ruins? Something like Sanctuary's. Concrete. Strong enough to break the Brotherhood's teeth when they come."
Sturges blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Heh. Knew that was comin'. You don't build a house without thinkin' about the fence, right?" He straightened, rolling his shoulders, his grin half there, half cautious. "Yeah, boss, I been thinkin' on it. Hell, I'd be a damn fool not to. But lemme tell you… it ain't no small job. Sanctuary, we had months, we had the lay of the land, and we had walls already half-started from them old cul-de-sacs. Here?" He gestured wide at the jagged skyline. "We're talkin' square miles of busted bones, half of it toppled higher than my head. That's a lotta wall to pour."
Sico didn't flinch. His eyes tracked the ruined silhouettes as though measuring them. "If we don't enclose it, we leave holes. Holes are death."
Sturges scratched the back of his neck, smearing a streak of dirt across his jaw. "You're right. You always are when it comes to fightin'. But we gotta think it through. Concrete's king, sure, but concrete needs mix. That means sand, gravel, water, and a whole lotta mixin'. We got scavvers, but not enough wagons yet to haul in that much material. Sanctuary's walls took tons, and that was just a neighborhood. This?" He gave a short laugh. "This is like buildin' a damn castle."
Sico's lips twitched into the barest shadow of a smile. "Then we build a castle."
For a beat, Sturges just looked at him — searching his face for any sign of jest. There was none. The big man sighed, rubbed his palms against his trousers, and shook his head with a chuckle. "You don't dream small, do ya, boss? Alright, lemme lay it out the way I see it."
They started walking again, their boots crunching over the uneven ground as Sturges gestured, painting lines in the air. "First thing: we can't build a wall all at once. Not unless we want to break every back in this camp and still come up short. So we do it in bites. Quarters. We start with the north approach — it's the flattest ground, easiest to haul rock. Build a straight run, maybe fifteen feet high, thick enough you could park a tank on top without it fallin'. We brace it with scrap metal and rebar. That way, even if the Brotherhood shell it, it'll take more'n a few hits to make a hole."
Sico grunted approvingly. "And the towers?"
"Oh, we'll stud the wall with 'em like spikes on a molerat. Every hundred feet or so. Doesn't gotta be pretty — just tall enough to put a rifleman's eyes over the field. Maybe rig some with them spotlight rigs we pulled from the old police station. Put a siren on top, run it through a crank generator. When the birds come screamin', the whole place'll light up like a Christmas tree."
They rounded a corner, stepping over a fallen beam. The ruins opened wide again, the city's broken spine silhouetted by the stars. Sturges jabbed a finger toward the jagged east flank. "That side's tougher. Rubble's too thick. We'll have to build over it, like pourin' a shell on top of a corpse. But if we pull it off, that wall'll be stronger than hell. Nothin' says 'don't mess with us' like a forty-foot stretch of concrete studded with rusted cars and scrap iron. Raiders'll look at it and piss themselves before they even think about takin' a shot."
Sico's eyes followed the lines Sturges drew with his words, his mind's eye seeing not ruin but ramparts, not rubble but redoubts. "Materials," he said at length. "Where will they come from?"
"Now there's the rub," Sturges muttered, scratching his beard. "We can salvage plenty. Bust up sidewalks, tear down half-crumbled buildings, crush the stone. That'll give us aggregate. Water we got covered with the purifiers. But the binder… the cement powder… that's trickier. We'll have to raid old industrial sites. Cement plants, warehouses. I know of a couple east of here, out past the old quarries. Problem is, those places don't stay unoccupied long. Raiders like the flat ground, and ghouls… well, ghouls love the shadows."
Sico didn't hesitate. "Then we clear them."
Sturges shot him a sidelong glance. "Just like that, huh?"
"Just like that."
For a moment, the only sound was their boots crunching on grit. Then Sturges chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Y'know, I used to think you was crazy when you talked like that. Clear a quarry, raid a warehouse, turn a ruin into a stronghold. But hell, boss… look around." He swept an arm at the lantern-lit compound. Settlers hauling beams. Children chasing shadows. A pair of women stirring a pot over a campfire. "You already proved crazy works."
Sico let the silence stretch, the weight of the night pressing down. Finally, he spoke, voice low. "Walls are not just stone. They are promise. To the people inside, they say: you are safe. To the enemy outside, they say: you shall break. That is why we build them. Not for beauty. Not for pride. For survival."
Sturges's grin softened into something steadier, almost reverent. "Damn, boss. You shoulda been a preacher, not a war chief."
Sico's lips curved — just barely. "War is its own sermon."
From there, the two men kept circling the compound, talking long into the night. They spoke of where to place the gates — wide enough for brahmin carts, but narrow enough to hold against charges. They spoke of kill zones, open strips where attackers would be caught in crossfire. They spoke of building storehouses within the walls, granaries of grain, caches of ammo, so if the Brotherhood cut them off, they could last weeks.
Sturges dreamed out loud, his words half-blueprint, half-wild invention. Sico cut through each idea with a blade of pragmatism, honing them down to what could be done. Together, they shaped not just a plan, but a vision: a fortress of the new world, rising from the bones of the old.
________________________________________________
• 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:-