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Robert and MacCready would hold Starlight steady for those few days. They would teach, reinforce, listen. And then they would return, bringing with them more than just reports as they'd bring proof that what they were building worked.
The road back to Sanctuary stretched long and uneven, a scar carved into the land by years of travel, conflict, and stubborn survival. Dust hung in the air behind the convoy like a trailing thought, never quite settling, never quite letting go.
Inside the lead Humvee, Sico sat quietly, one hand resting on the edge of the open window, feeling the vibration of the engine through the frame. He wasn't watching the road so much as he was watching everything else with the horizon, the ridgelines, the subtle shifts in terrain that told stories to anyone who knew how to listen.
They passed the time in stretches of silence broken only by short, efficient check-ins over the comms.
"Convoy status green."
"Sentinel One holding steady."
"Truck Two reporting no issues with wounded."
Each report was acknowledged, logged, and released back into the quiet.
Preston rode a few vehicles back, scanning his own sector, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. He trusted the road, but he never trusted it completely. The wasteland had a way of reminding people that complacency was just another word for invitation.
As the hours passed, the light shifted. Morning bled into afternoon, the sun climbing high enough to bake the cracked earth and shimmer against the armored hulls of the Sentinels. The wounded slept fitfully in the trucks, medics moving among them with practiced care, checking bandages, offering water, murmuring reassurance.
At one point, Sico keyed the comms. "Any changes?"
"Negative," came Sarah's voice from one of the support vehicles. "Vitals stable. No mechanical issues."
"Good," Sico replied. "Maintain spacing."
They rolled on.
The closer they drew to Sanctuary, the more familiar the land became. The ruined overpass that leaned like a broken spine. The cluster of dead trees struck long ago by fire. The radio tower that marked the outer edge of Freemasons Republic territory, its signal light blinking steadily against the sky.
That was when the tension eased, just a little.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But eased.
Sanctuary rose into view gradually, not as a sudden reveal but as an accumulation of details. Reinforced walls catching the sun. Watchtowers manned and alert. Patrols moving along the perimeter in steady patterns that spoke of discipline rather than fear.
The gate crew spotted the convoy long before it reached the outer markers.
Signals went up.
Flags shifted.
The heavy outer gate began to slide open with a deep, mechanical groan.
The convoy slowed, spacing tightening as they approached. Guards along the walls watched them pass, some offering nods of recognition, others simply observing, counting vehicles, confirming silhouettes.
The Humvees rolled through first.
Then the trucks.
Then, last and unmistakable, the Sentinel tanks, their engines rumbling low, a sound that carried authority without shouting.
As the final tank cleared the gate, it closed behind them, metal locking into place with a solid, reassuring finality.
They were home.
The parking area near the central motor pool had already been cleared. Painted lines that marked where each vehicle belonged. Ground crews moved in immediately, guiding drivers into position with sharp hand signals and shouted instructions.
"Humvees left!"
"Trucks straight through!"
"Sentinels to the far bay, slow it down!"
Engines powered down one by one, the sudden quiet almost startling after hours of constant motion. Heat ticked and popped as metal cooled. Dust settled slowly, coating boots, tires, armor.
Sico stepped out of the Humvee and took a long breath.
Sanctuary smelled different from the road. Oil and metal, yes, but also clean water, cooked food, something close to order. It wasn't perfect. It never would be. But it was theirs.
Sarah was already moving before he could even call her name, barking instructions to technicians and medics alike.
"Alright, listen up," she said. "Wounded first. Stretchers ready. Hospital intake is prepped with no bottlenecks, no delays."
She turned as Sico approached. "We're set. I've got med teams standing by."
"Good," Sico said. "Take them straight in."
She nodded sharply and pivoted back to the trucks. "You heard him! Let's move!"
The rear doors of the trucks swung open. Medics climbed inside, coordinating lifts, checking IVs, speaking softly to the wounded as they were transferred onto stretchers.
"You're back at Sanctuary," one medic told a soldier whose eyes fluttered open briefly. "You're safe."
The soldier exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders even as pain lingered.
Stretcher by stretcher, they moved, a steady line flowing from the parking area toward the hospital complex with a reinforced structure that had once been a school, now transformed into something closer to hope.
Sico watched until the last of the wounded was on their way.
Then he turned to Preston.
"Army HQ," Sico said.
Preston nodded. "Already expecting us."
They walked together through Sanctuary's inner corridors, past familiar faces and nodding guards. People paused to watch them pass that not out of fear or reverence, but awareness. Leadership mattered here. Presence mattered.
The Army HQ stood near the heart of the settlement, a squat concrete building reinforced with steel plating and sandbagged corners. Flags of the Freemasons Republic hung near the entrance, worn but cared for.
Inside, the air was cooler, filtered. The hum of generators blended with the low murmur of voices and the soft clicking of terminals.
A duty officer looked up as they entered. "Sir. Captain."
"At ease," Sico said. "Patrol reports."
"Already pulled," the officer replied, gesturing toward the central briefing room.
They stepped inside.
The room was dominated by a large table displaying a tactical map of Freemasons Republic territory. Patrol routes mark in soft lines. Icons marked outposts, supply depots, recent engagements. Reports scrolled along the side, tagged and prioritized.
Preston leaned forward immediately, scanning the data. "Any breaches?"
"No confirmed incursions," the officer said. "But there's increased movement along the northern fringe. Scavenger groups mostly, but a few unknown signatures."
Sico folded his arms. "Define unknown."
"Patterns don't match our usual contacts," the officer replied. "Could be mercenaries. Could be scouts."
Sico nodded slowly. "Increase aerial recon along that sector. Quietly."
"Yes, sir."
Preston pointed at a highlighted route. "This patrol here, why was it delayed?"
The officer hesitated. "Equipment malfunction. Vehicle overheated."
Preston's jaw tightened. "That's the third time this week."
"We're addressing it," the officer said quickly. "Maintenance has flagged the issue."
Sico spoke calmly. "Flag it higher. I don't want patterns forming because of mechanical excuses."
"Understood."
They continued through the reports, line by line. Nothing catastrophic. Nothing ignorable. The kind of information that required vigilance rather than reaction.
After nearly an hour, Sico straightened. "Alright. Keep monitoring. Update me if anything shifts."
"Yes, sir."
They stepped back into the corridor.
Preston exhaled slowly. "Starlight's not the only place being watched."
"No," Sico agreed. "It never is."
They walked in silence for a few steps before Preston spoke again. "Leaving Robert and MacCready there was the right call."
"I know," Sico said. "But it still costs."
Preston nodded. "It always does."
They parted ways near the junction as Preston heading to debrief his units, Sico turning toward the hospital.
He didn't announce himself when he entered. He didn't need to.
The hospital buzzed with controlled activity. Medics moved with quiet urgency. Nurses checked charts. The wounded were being settled into beds, pain managed, infections prevented, lives stabilized.
Sarah stood near the intake desk, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, reviewing a chart.
"All accounted for?" Sico asked.
She looked up. "Yes. No losses on the return."
He let that sink in. "Good."
She glanced at him. "You should get some rest."
He almost smiled. "Soon."
She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll hold you to that."
He left her to her work and stepped outside, standing for a moment beneath the open sky of Sanctuary.
The air outside the hospital felt cooler against Sico's skin, the kind of cool that only came when the day finally loosened its grip. Sanctuary hummed around him like a living thing that had learned how to breathe without panic.
Lights flickered on one by one along the walkways. Guards shifted into their evening rotations, voices low, movements practiced. Somewhere in the distance, metal rang as a gate mechanism settled into place. Normal sounds. Earned sounds.
Sico stood there for a moment longer than necessary, letting it all register. The wounded were inside. The patrols were active. The reports had been read, weighed, filed into that mental ledger he carried everywhere.
There was one more place he needed to be.
He turned and headed toward the purified water station.
The path took him through one of Sanctuary's busiest arteries. People moved with purpose here from workers hauling crates, traders tallying ledgers, children darting between adults with the reckless confidence that only came from growing up behind strong walls. The scent of clean water grew stronger the closer he got, sharp and unmistakable, cutting through the usual undertone of oil and dust.
The water station was already alive with activity.
Rows of reinforced tanks stood beneath a canopy of scavenged steel and solar panels, their surfaces catching the last light of day. Thick hoses ran from the purification units into sealed containers stamped with the Freemasons Republic mark. Guards stood watch while the traders queued in orderly lines, caps in hand, credits or barter ready.
And at the center of it all was Magnolia.
She stood behind a long counter made from repurposed aircraft plating, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, a data slate tucked under one arm as she spoke with a caravan leader. Her voice carried easily over the noise that not loud, but confident, with that easy authority that came from knowing exactly what she was doing.
"…same rate as last week," she was saying. "Purity verified this morning. You want bulk, you pay bulk rates. You want priority, you schedule ahead."
The caravan leader, a broad-shouldered man with sunburned skin and a scarf wrapped around his neck were grimaced. "Prices went up again?"
Magnolia didn't blink. "Quality didn't go down."
There was a beat of silence. Then the man sighed. "Alright. We'll take it."
"Good choice," Magnolia replied, already tapping the confirmation into her slate. "Dock three. My people will load you up."
He nodded and stepped away, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like respect.
Magnolia turned, and that was when she saw Sico.
Her expression shifted immediately that not surprise, but recognition, followed by a small, genuine smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She'd learned not to let herself relax too much, not here, not ever.
"You're back," she said, stepping out from behind the counter.
"Just arrived," Sico replied. "Looks like I picked a busy moment."
She snorted softly. "There's no quiet moment here anymore."
They walked together along the edge of the station, Magnolia gesturing as she spoke, already halfway into a report without needing to be asked.
"Demand's up," she said. "Word spread fast after the last caravan run. Clean water doesn't stay secret for long. We've had traders coming in from farther south, even a couple from the eastern routes I didn't expect."
Sico nodded. "Any trouble?"
"Nothing serious," Magnolia replied. "A few tried to test the pricing. One tried to test the guards."
She glanced toward a pair of armed sentries standing nearby, their posture relaxed but unmistakably ready.
"He didn't try twice."
Sico allowed himself a faint smile. "Good."
They stopped near one of the largest tanks, the faint sound of water moving within it steady and reassuring.
Magnolia leaned against the railing, folding her arms. "How was Starlight?"
"Standing," Sico said. "Learning."
Her gaze sharpened. "You left people there."
"Yes."
She nodded slowly. "That'll help."
"It will," he agreed. "But it stretches us thinner."
Magnolia exhaled. "Everything worth building does."
She tapped her slate, pulling up figures. "The water trade's covering more than its share. Repairs. Ammunition. Medical supplies. Even helped fund the new patrol towers on the western edge."
She looked up at him. "This station isn't just keeping people alive anymore. It's keeping the Republic moving."
Sico met her gaze. "That's why I wanted to check in personally."
Magnolia studied him for a moment, then sighed. "You look tired."
"So do you."
She laughed quietly. "Fair."
A pair of workers passed by carrying sealed water containers, nodding respectfully to both of them. Magnolia waited until they were out of earshot before speaking again, her tone lowering.
"There's pressure," she said. "More than before. When you become reliable, people start depending on you. When people depend on you, they start watching you."
"I know," Sico said. "That's why we guard this place the way we do."
"It's not just raiders," Magnolia replied. "Some traders are asking questions. Not hostile ones. Curious ones. Who runs this place. How far your reach goes. What happens if something disrupts supply."
Sico's expression didn't change, but something tightened behind his eyes. "And what do you tell them?"
"The truth," Magnolia said. "That the Freemasons Republic protects its own, honors its contracts, and doesn't tolerate interference."
She paused. "And that we don't advertise our weaknesses."
"Good," Sico said.
They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, watching as another caravan was loaded, hoses clicking into place, seals locking with a hiss.
Magnolia broke the quiet. "You know, when we first set this up, I thought it would just be another resource. Useful, sure. But manageable."
"And now?" Sico asked.
"And now it feels like a heartbeat," she replied. "If it stops, everything feels it."
Sico looked out across the station. "Then we protect it like one."
She nodded. "Already do."
A runner approached, breathless but controlled. "Magnolia? Quality check on tank seven came back perfect. Ready for release."
Magnolia smiled. "Good. Authorize it."
The runner nodded and hurried off.
She turned back to Sico. "Walk with me?"
He did.
They moved along the perimeter of the station, Magnolia pointing out upgrades as they went with new filtration layers, reinforced piping, a backup generator installed just last week.
"We've got redundancy now," she said. "If one system fails, another takes over. Learned that lesson the hard way."
Sico remembered. A long night. Contaminated output. Panic narrowly avoided.
"Smart," he said.
They reached a quieter corner where the noise of trade faded slightly, replaced by the soft hum of machinery.
Magnolia leaned against the railing again. "How bad are things out there?" she asked.
Sico didn't answer immediately. "Bad enough to stay alert. Not bad enough to stop building."
She nodded. "That's about what I expected."
She hesitated, then added, "You made the right call at Starlight."
Sico glanced at her. "You heard."
"News travels," she said. "Especially when hope's involved."
He considered that. "Hope can be dangerous."
"So can despair," Magnolia replied. "At least hope gives people something to stand on."
They watched as a child filled a small canteen at the public spigot nearby, carefully sealing it before running back toward a waiting parent. The water sloshed inside, clear and clean.
Magnolia's voice softened. "This matters."
Sico followed her gaze. "I know."
A commotion rose briefly near the entrance as a trader argued about allocation limits. Magnolia straightened immediately.
"Duty calls," she said.
"I won't keep you," Sico replied.
She paused, then said, "You should check on the eastern storage next. I've got a feeling we'll need to expand again soon."
Sico nodded. "We'll plan for it."
Magnolia smiled, genuine this time. "Good."
She turned and walked back into the flow of work, her voice already cutting through the noise, directing, negotiating, anchoring the station with her presence.
Sico watched Magnolia disappear back into the controlled chaos of the water station for a few seconds longer than necessary.
She didn't look back.
She never did when there was work to be done.
That, more than anything, told him the Republic was still standing on solid ground.
He turned away from the station and followed the main thoroughfare as it bent gently westward, away from the industrial heart of Sanctuary and toward the land that actually fed it. The sounds changed as he walked. The metallic clatter and raised voices of trade faded, replaced by softer rhythms: wind brushing against crops, the low murmur of irrigation pumps, the occasional laugh carried across open space.
The farm sat on what had once been a stretch of suburban greenbelt with backyards and empty lots reclaimed, soil tested and retested, every usable inch pressed into service. It wasn't pretty in the old-world sense. Rows were uneven in places, fences patched with scrap and wire. But it was alive. And alive mattered more than symmetry.
The smell of damp earth reached him before he saw Jenny.
She was kneeling between two rows of winter greens, gloves caked with soil, dark hair pulled back beneath a scarf. A clipboard lay abandoned nearby, forgotten in favor of hands-on work. She was talking to one of the farmhands with an older man with a limp as her tone calm, instructive, patient.
"No, don't pull it yet," she was saying. "See the color at the base? It needs another week. Cold slows it down, but it also sweetens it. Trust the process."
The man nodded. "Alright. You're the boss."
Jenny snorted. "Only because someone has to be."
She stood, stretching her back, and that was when she saw Sico approaching along the dirt path.
Her expression changed immediately.
Relief first.
Then concern.
Then a smile that carried more weight than it let on.
"You're back," she said, brushing dirt from her gloves as she walked toward him.
"Just arrived," Sico replied. "Thought I'd check in."
Jenny nodded. "You picked a good time. We just finished the afternoon rounds."
They walked together between the rows, boots sinking slightly into the softened soil. Around them, crops pushed stubbornly upward from greens, tubers, hardy grains bred and selected season after season to survive conditions that would've killed anything weaker.
Sico took it all in. He always did.
"How are the crops?" he asked. "Be honest."
Jenny didn't hesitate. "Better than last year."
She gestured with one hand. "The early harvest went well. We stored more than projected. Loss rates were lower too."
"That's good," Sico said.
"It is," she agreed. "But winter's the real test."
He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. "That's why I'm here. Will they survive the cold?"
Jenny exhaled slowly, considering her words carefully.
"Yes," she said finally. "Most of them will."
Sico waited.
She continued. "We adjusted planting schedules after the first frost warning. Cold frames are reinforced. The new windbreaks made a bigger difference than I expected. We're still vulnerable to deep freezes, but if the weather stays within projections… we'll make it."
Sico nodded once. "And if it doesn't?"
Jenny's jaw tightened. "Then we ration smarter, rotate fields harder, and lean on reserves."
She met his gaze. "We won't starve."
That mattered more than almost anything else.
They resumed walking, passing a group of workers laying additional insulation along the base of a greenhouse wall. Steam fogged the plastic panels from the warmth inside.
Jenny pointed. "Those are the experimental beds. Cold-resistant strains. Still temperamental, but promising."
"Risky," Sico said.
"Yes," she replied. "Necessary."
They reached the edge of the fields where the land sloped gently downward toward a small irrigation reservoir. Water glinted faintly in the fading light.
Jenny leaned against the fence there, arms resting on the top rail. "You were at Starlight," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"How bad was it?"
"Bad enough," he replied. "Not bad enough to break them."
She nodded slowly. "That's been happening more often."
"Attacks?"
"Tests," Jenny corrected. "People probing. Seeing what holds."
Sico looked out over the fields. "That's what happens when you succeed."
Jenny let out a dry laugh. "Funny. Success used to mean something else."
She glanced back at the farm. "This place didn't exist a few years ago. Not like this. Now people depend on it."
"Yes," Sico said. "They depend on you."
She shook her head. "They depend on the soil. I just listen to it."
Sico smiled faintly. "That's more than most do."
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind moving gently through the crops, leaves whispering against one another.
Jenny broke it. "How many mouths are we feeding now?"
"More than before," Sico said. "Starlight included."
She closed her eyes briefly. "Alright."
That was it. No complaint. No hesitation.
"When do you need projections?" she asked.
"Within the week," Sico replied. "Patrol expansion and trade routes will depend on it."
"I'll have them," she said. "I'll adjust for worst-case scenarios too."
"Thank you."
She waved a hand dismissively. "It's what I do."
They walked toward the main barn, its doors reinforced with steel plating and heavy locks. Inside, the air was warmer, the scent of stored grain thick and reassuring. Rows of sealed containers lined the walls, carefully labeled and dated.
Jenny ran her hand along one of them. "We learned from the famine year. Diversified storage. Rotated stock. Nothing sits too long."
Sico remembered that year. The hunger. The quiet arguments. The way people had started counting meals instead of days.
"Losses?" he asked.
"Minimal," Jenny replied. "Rodents got into one batch early on. We corrected. Nothing systemic."
Good.
A young woman approached hesitantly. "Jenny? The heaters in greenhouse three are reading low."
Jenny sighed. "Of course they are."
She turned to Sico. "You see?"
He nodded. "Go."
She hesitated, then said, "Walk with me?"
"I was already planning to," he replied.
They crossed the farm together, Jenny issuing instructions as they went, stopping briefly to check gauges, adjust valves, reassure workers.
At greenhouse three, the issue turned out to be a clogged intake. Jenny handled it herself, hands steady, movements efficient.
"There," she said, straightening. "Problem solved."
The young woman smiled. "Thanks."
Jenny nodded. "Anytime."
As they walked back out, dusk settling fully now, Sico asked, "How are the people?"
Jenny considered. "Tired. Proud. Afraid, sometimes."
She looked at him. "But not hopeless."
"That matters," he said.
"It does," she agreed. "Food does that. Gives people a reason to believe tomorrow exists."
They reached the edge of the farm again, where the lights of Sanctuary glowed softly in the distance.
Jenny leaned against the fence once more. "You're carrying a lot," she said quietly.
"So are you."
She smiled sadly. "I suppose we all are."
A pause.
"Winter's coming," she said.
"I know."
"But we're ready," she added.
Sico nodded. "That's all anyone can be."
Sico nodded once more to Jenny, committing her words to memory the same way he did everything that mattered.
Ready.
It wasn't a boast. It wasn't optimism. It was a statement built from soil under fingernails, from grain measured and stored, from people who understood that survival wasn't dramatic as it was repetitive, careful, and unglamorous.
He left the farm as night fully claimed the sky.
The lights of Sanctuary stretched out ahead of him, warm and steady, not the harsh glare of spotlights but the lived-in glow of homes, workshops, and shared spaces. Somewhere a generator hummed. Somewhere someone laughed. Somewhere someone argued quietly over dinner.
This was what he protected.
The scavenger HQ sat closer to the old district that once three level house, now a fortress of repurposed concrete, collapsed awnings, and welded steel. What had been glass storefronts were now thick barricades layered with scrap and warning paint. Scavenger banners hung from the upper levels, faded but recognizable, stitched together from old tarps and road signs.
The closer Sico got, the more the atmosphere shifted.
The farm had smelled of earth and water.
The scavenger HQ smelled of oil, rust, old fabric, and ozone with the sharp tang of powered tools working long after sunset.
Music thumped faintly from inside. Not loud, but insistent. The kind of rhythm that kept people awake through long nights of sorting and repair.
Two guards stood at the entrance, weapons slung casually but eyes sharp. They straightened when they recognized him.
"Evening, Director," one said.
"Evening," Sico replied. "Hancock in?"
The guard smirked. "Always."
They opened the gate.
Inside, the HQ was a controlled mess.
Stacks of scavenged goods rose in organized chaos with crates labeled in chalk, piles of scrap sorted by type, racks of weapons awaiting refurbishment. Tables were covered in half-disassembled electronics, stripped down to their bones. People moved everywhere, some working alone, some in groups, voices overlapping in a constant low roar of activity.
And in the middle of it all, leaning against a crate like the place personally belonged to him, was Hancock.
He wore a long coat stitched together from at least three different sources, fur lining visible at the collar. A cigar smoldered between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward as he laughed at something one of his people had said.
"—I'm telling you," Hancock was saying, "if it still smells like death, it ain't worth the trouble. We leave those for the next poor bastard."
Laughter rippled around him.
Then he saw Sico.
Hancock's grin widened, sharp and unmistakable. He straightened, pushing himself off the crate.
"Well I'll be damned," he drawled. "If it isn't the man who never shows up unless something important's about to happen."
Sico stepped fully into the light. "Good to see you too."
Hancock spread his arms theatrically. "You here to yell at me, ask for favors, or pretend you're just 'checking in'?"
"Yes," Sico replied.
That earned him another laugh.
"Alright, alright," Hancock said, flicking his cigar aside into a nearby tin. "You heard him, folks. Big man's got business. Back to work."
The scavengers dispersed easily, clearly used to this routine.
Hancock gestured toward a side office cobbled together from old shipping containers. "Walk with me."
They moved through the HQ, Hancock greeting people by name as they passed, tossing out comments, jokes, the occasional sharp correction.
"Hey, don't stack that like that, you'll warp the frame."
"Who told you to scrap that? That's pre-war insulation, keep it."
"And for the love of whatever's left holy, stop using duct tape on power couplings."
He ducked into the office, pushing aside a hanging tarp.
Inside was surprisingly orderly.
Maps covered one wall, marked with routes, danger zones, and locations crossed out in red. Another wall was stacked with folded clothing, armor pieces, and sealed supply bundles. A desk sat in the middle, cluttered but intentional.
Hancock dropped into a chair and kicked his boots up onto the desk. "Alright. Out with it."
Sico remained standing. "Winter's coming."
Hancock raised an eyebrow. "You don't say."
"Harder than last year," Sico continued. "Longer. Colder."
Hancock's posture shifted subtly. The joking ease didn't vanish, but something sharper slid underneath it.
"Jenny already give you the bad news?" he asked.
"She gave me the truth," Sico replied. "Now I need your help."
Hancock leaned forward, boots thumping back to the floor. "You want supplies."
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"Warm clothes," Sico said. "Anything insulated. Coats, boots, gloves, scarves. Linings. Blankets if you can find them. Pre-war thermal gear especially."
Hancock whistled softly. "That's a tall order."
"It is," Sico agreed. "That's why I'm asking you."
Hancock grinned. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
He stood and walked to the map wall, studying it.
"Alright," he said slowly. "Let's talk logistics. The easy stuff's already been picked clean near Sanctuary area. We've been pulling farther out lately. Old factories, abandoned military depots, frozen suburbs."
He tapped a spot on the map. "There's an old distribution center north of here. Pre-war clothing stock. We hit it once months ago, but not thoroughly. Place was crawling with ferals back then."
"And now?" Sico asked.
Hancock shrugged. "Ferals don't like the cold any more than we do. Might be quieter."
"Might," Sico echoed.
"That's scavenging," Hancock said. "Might live. Might die. Might get lucky."
He turned back to Sico. "How bad you expecting it to get?"
"Bad enough that exposure becomes a bigger killer than bullets," Sico said. "Bad enough that anyone without proper clothing is at risk."
Hancock nodded slowly. "Alright."
Just like that.
No argument. No bargaining.
"I'll reroute teams," Hancock said. "Focus less on tech, more on textiles. We'll hit residential zones too. Closets are gold mines this time of year."
"Good," Sico said.
Hancock smirked. "You planning on telling people this is coming, or we keeping it quiet?"
"We prepare quietly," Sico replied. "No panic."
"Smart," Hancock said. "Panic wastes resources."
He paused, then added, "And it gets people killed."
Sico met his gaze. "Exactly."
Hancock walked over to one of the storage racks and pulled down a heavy coat, running his fingers over the lining.
"Funny thing," he said. "Most folks don't think about clothes until it's too late. They worry about guns, ammo, walls. Forget that the cold doesn't care how tough you are."
Sico thought of the child at the water station, carefully sealing a canteen.
"I won't forget," he said.
Hancock looked at him. "I know."
He turned and shouted through the open doorway. "Hey! Everyone listen up!"
The noise in the HQ dimmed slightly as scavengers looked their way.
"Winter run's officially on," Hancock called. "Shift priorities. I want warm clothes, insulation, bedding. If it keeps heat in, we grab it. If it doesn't, we leave it."
A few people nodded. Someone raised a fist.
Hancock continued. "Double-check for mold and contamination. We don't need sickness on top of frostbite."
That got murmurs of agreement.
He looked back at Sico. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Sico said. "Move fast. Before the first real freeze."
Hancock grinned. "We live fast."
Then his expression softened slightly. "You doing alright?"
It wasn't a casual question.
Sico considered it. "I'm functioning."
"That's not what I asked," Hancock said.
Sico exhaled. "I'm still here."
Hancock nodded. "That'll do."
They walked back toward the entrance together. As they passed through the HQ, scavengers were already reorganizing piles, pulling out clothing, checking fabric, sorting by size and condition.
Hancock stopped near the door. "You know," he said, "people think scavengers are just vultures. Picking over bones."
Sico glanced at him.
"But this?" Hancock gestured to the activity behind them. "This is care. Ugly, rough care. But care."
"I know," Sico said. "That's why I trust you."
Hancock chuckled. "Careful. You keep saying things like that, I might get sentimental."
Sico allowed himself a faint smile. "Don't ruin your reputation."
They stepped outside.
The night air was colder now. Sharper.
Hancock pulled his coat tighter. "I'll have updates for you within a few days."
"Thank you," Sico said. "For everything."
Hancock waved him off. "Go do your brooding leader thing. We'll handle the rest."
Sico turned and headed back toward Sanctuary proper. Behind him, the scavenger HQ that stood. Then ahead of him, the Republic waited to be fed, watered, soon to be clothed against the cold as winter was coming.
________________________________________________
• 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:-