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Sico opened his eyes and let the shadows lengthen across his path. He would check in again at dusk, ensure preparations for water distribution were underway, verify that communications remained flawless. And when the first convoy rolled out in the early morning light, he would be there to watch it move, steady, deliberate, unbroken.
Morning came quietly to Sanctuary, the kind of quiet that only followed exhaustion rather than peace.
The blizzard was days behind them now, but its presence still lingered everywhere: in the way snowbanks hugged the streets like walls, in the way roofs dripped steadily as ice surrendered to sunlight, in the way people moved with caution rather than urgency. Normality didn't snap back into place after something like that. It eased in slowly, step by step, breath by breath.
Sanctuary was healing.
Sico stood at the edge of the training yard, hands clasped behind his back, boots planted firmly in snow that had been packed down by dozens of footsteps before him. The yard had been cleared thoroughly that Preston had made sure of that, but patches of ice still glimmered in the corners where sunlight hadn't reached yet. Steam rose faintly from the ground where bodies moved, warmth fighting cold.
The sound hit him first.
Boots striking earth in unison. Sharp, disciplined calls cutting through the air. The dull thud of impact as fists met padded targets. Metal clinked softly where training rifles were shifted from shoulder to shoulder. Breath puffed white, rising and dissolving into the morning light.
Sanctuary was training again.
Not just surviving.
Learning. Preparing. Becoming sharper.
Sico's gaze swept across the yard slowly, deliberately. Soldiers filled the space in organized formations, rows aligned with care rather than rigidity. Some wore light armor, others only heavy jackets and padded vests. No one complained. No one lagged behind.
Preston stood near the center, his voice carrying without shouting, steady and firm.
"Again," he called. "Tighter this time. You're not marching for show, you're moving as one body. If one of you breaks, the rest feel it."
A line of soldiers adjusted their stance, shoulders squaring, grips tightening.
"Move."
They did.
Sico watched with quiet focus as they advanced, boots striking in rhythm, formation holding even as Preston deliberately stepped into their path, forcing them to adjust, to adapt without losing cohesion. It wasn't flashy training. It wasn't theatrical.
It was practical.
Real.
Nearby, Sarah oversaw another section of the yard.
Her presence was different from Preston's, but no less commanding.
She moved among her trainees with clipped precision, eyes sharp, posture straight. Where Preston focused on unity and flow, Sarah drilled reaction, awareness, and restraint. Her soldiers worked in pairs, then trios, practicing disarms, cover movements, and rapid repositioning. Every correction she gave was precise, no wasted words.
"No hero moves," Sarah snapped at one soldier who lunged too aggressively. "You push like that in the field, you die. Again."
The soldier nodded sharply, face flushed that not with embarrassment, but with determination and reset.
Sico remained still, watching both instructors without announcing himself. This was inspection, not interruption. He wanted to see what happened when they didn't know he was observing.
The answer satisfied him.
Discipline held.
Fatigue showed, yes, especially among those who had worked the hardest during the blizzard cleanup, but no one faltered. Muscles trembled under strain. Breath came fast. Gloves were stiff with dried sweat and cold.
But morale was intact.
Hope, he noted again, often lived in structure.
A shout rang out as one group finished a drill. Preston clapped his hands once, sharp and loud.
"Hydrate," he ordered. "Two minutes. Then we rotate."
Soldiers broke formation efficiently, not collapsing but easing into motion, reaching for canteens, stretching shoulders and necks. Laughter broke out near the edge of the yard with short, genuine, the kind that only came after shared effort.
Sico stepped forward then, boots crunching softly.
Preston noticed him immediately.
He straightened, instinctively, then relaxed just as quickly, giving a nod of acknowledgment. Sarah caught sight of him a moment later, her posture tightening a fraction that not in fear, but in respect.
"President," Sarah said, walking over, brushing snow from her gloves.
"Sarah," Sico replied. "Preston."
"Didn't expect you this early," Preston said, setting his hands on his hips.
"Didn't expect the yard to be this active," Sico replied mildly.
Preston snorted. "You clear roads, people want to move again. You give them structure, they want to push."
Sarah nodded once. "Some of them asked to start earlier. Said they felt restless."
"That's good," Sico said. "Restlessness means they're thinking forward."
He turned slightly, surveying the yard again. "How are they holding up?"
"Physically?" Sarah replied. "Tired, but intact. No serious injuries. Mentally?" She paused. "They're sharper than before the storm."
Preston leaned against a crate. "Storm shook things loose. People realized how fast stability can disappear."
"Yes," Sico said quietly. "And now they're choosing to reinforce it."
A whistle blew from across the yard, signaling the end of the hydration break. Soldiers moved back into position without being prompted.
Sico observed their movements carefully.
"You adjusted the training cycle," he noted.
Preston nodded. "Shorter drills. More repetition. Focused on coordination and endurance rather than brute force."
"Good," Sico said. "Strength fades. Discipline lasts."
Sarah crossed her arms. "We've also integrated settlement-defense scenarios. Ambushes during convoy arrivals. Perimeter breaches during bad visibility."
"Raiders will exploit complacency," Sico said. "Especially now."
"They haven't moved yet," Preston said. "But they will."
"They always do," Sico replied.
He stepped closer to one of the training groups as they began a new drill. Sarah's voice cut through the yard.
"Positions!"
The soldiers moved instantly, dropping low, spreading into cover patterns marked by old barricades and stacked crates. One trainee hesitated, just a fraction of a second too long.
Sarah was already there.
"Again," she said sharply. "You saw the signal. You froze."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Second-guessed my angle."
"Don't," Sarah replied. "Decisions made late are mistakes."
The soldier nodded, jaw set.
Sico watched the exchange closely.
Sarah turned slightly, meeting his gaze. She didn't apologize. She didn't explain. She didn't soften.
She didn't need to.
"That's good leadership," Sico said when the drill resumed.
Sarah inclined her head slightly. "They deserve clarity."
"They do," he agreed. "Confusion gets people killed."
They walked slowly along the edge of the yard as drills continued, Sico's eyes never stopping, never drifting.
"How many are new?" he asked.
"About a third," Preston replied. "Settlers who volunteered after the storm."
"That many?"
"They saw supply lines hold," Preston said. "Saw water get distributed. Saw streets cleared. They want to be part of the reason it happens next time."
Sico absorbed that in silence.
"Magnolia's water distribution went smoothly," he said after a moment.
Preston smiled faintly. "I heard. Purified shipments out before sunrise."
"Every settlement on her list received their share," Sico continued. "No discrepancies. Payments accounted for."
Sarah exhaled quietly. "That'll build loyalty."
"It already has," Sico replied. "Reliability is remembered."
They paused near a group practicing coordinated shield maneuvers. One soldier stumbled slightly on a slick patch of ice but recovered without breaking formation.
Preston nodded approvingly.
"That one worked cleanup nonstop," he said. "Didn't complain once."
"Did you order him to rest?" Sico asked.
"Yes."
"And?"
"He ignored me."
Sico's mouth twitched. "Then you'll order him again."
"I will."
"And he'll listen eventually," Sico said. "Because discipline is reinforced, not assumed."
Preston smiled. "That's what you always say."
"And it keeps being true."
A sudden shout echoed across the yard as Sarah's group transitioned into close-quarters drills. Wooden practice weapons clacked sharply, movements controlled but forceful.
Sico studied their footwork.
"Spacing," he murmured.
Sarah heard him anyway.
"Pairs, widen," she called instantly. "You're crowding each other."
They adjusted immediately.
Preston raised an eyebrow. "You miss this, don't you?"
Sico didn't answer right away.
"I don't miss command," he said finally. "I miss readiness."
"You still have it," Preston said.
"Yes," Sico replied. "But it must be earned every day."
They continued walking as the sun climbed higher, warmth beginning to soften the edges of the cold. Snow melted slowly, trickling into shallow channels carved during cleanup.
Sico stopped near a group practicing perimeter defense, watching them move through a simulated breach scenario.
"Who's leading this unit?" he asked.
A young woman stepped forward instinctively, breath quick, eyes bright.
"I am, sir."
"What's your name?"
"Lena."
"How long have you been with us, Lena?"
"Three months."
"And during the storm?"
"I was on gate watch," she said. "Night shifts."
Sico nodded once. "What did you learn?"
She hesitated, then answered honestly. "That preparation matters more than strength. And that people look to whoever stays calm."
Sico studied her face.
"Good," he said. "Keep doing that."
Her shoulders squared visibly.
As they moved on, Preston let out a quiet breath. "You didn't scare her."
"I wasn't trying to," Sico replied. "Fear teaches nothing useful."
Sarah glanced at him. "Respect does."
"Yes."
They reached the far end of the yard where older equipment was stacked neatly: spare armor plates, training dummies, salvaged targets. Everything was organized, labeled, accessible.
Sanctuary was not improvising anymore.
It was systematizing.
Sico stopped there, turning to face Preston and Sarah fully.
"You've done well," he said. "Both of you."
Neither spoke immediately.
"That doesn't mean stop," Sico added.
Preston smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Sarah nodded once. "We're just getting started."
Sico looked back at the soldiers one last time as drills continued uninterrupted.
"Good," he said. "Because normality is fragile. And what we're building here," He gestured to the yard, the people, the movement. "this is what keeps it standing when the next storm comes."
The wind shifted slightly, carrying with it the sounds of Sanctuary at work: hammers in the distance, engines starting, voices calling out names and instructions.
The wind shifted slightly, carrying with it the sounds of Sanctuary at work: hammers in the distance, engines starting, voices calling out names and instructions. Life moving forward again, not rushing, not panicking that just steady, deliberate motion.
Sico let that sound sit with him for a moment longer.
Then he spoke.
"Preston. Sarah."
Both turned toward him again, attention snapping back without tension, without strain. They were used to listening now butnot because of rank alone, but because the questions he asked tended to matter.
"I want your thoughts," Sico said. His voice was calm, even conversational, but there was weight behind it. "What do you think the soldiers need next? Not training. Not discipline. Protection. Firepower. Anything we can improve before the next escalation."
Preston blinked once, caught slightly off guard.
"What do you mean, sir?" he asked honestly.
Sico clasped his hands behind his back again, eyes drifting briefly across the yard before returning to them. "I've asked Mel to start thinking ahead. Designing, building, refining. But I don't want guesses. I don't want theory. I want what you see out there. What would actually keep these people alive."
Sarah didn't answer immediately. She folded her arms, thinking, eyes narrowing slightly as she replayed drills in her head. Preston scratched at his jaw, gaze unfocusing as his mind shifted from command to problem-solving.
Finally, Preston exhaled.
"If Mel can really build something," he said slowly, choosing his words with care, "then I know exactly what I'd ask for."
Sico's eyes returned fully to him. "Go on."
Preston glanced out at the soldiers again, at the way they moved, the way they checked corners, the way some instinctively angled their bodies as if expecting threats even in training.
"Night vision," Preston said. "Goggles. Something reliable."
Sarah turned her head toward him, interest flickering immediately. "That would change everything."
Preston nodded. "Most of our patrol losses don't happen in full daylight. They happen at dusk. Night. Bad visibility. Snow glare. Fog. Rain." He gestured vaguely. "Raiders don't fight fair. They wait until they're shadows."
Sico listened without interrupting.
"If our people can see when the enemy thinks they're blind," Preston continued, "then patrols become safer. Infiltration becomes cleaner. We stop stumbling into ambushes. We stop reacting late."
"And it reduces injuries," Sarah added, her voice firm now. "Most mistakes happen when someone panics because they can't see clearly. Night vision gives confidence. Confidence slows panic."
Sico absorbed that quietly.
"You're saying it's not about hitting harder," he said. "It's about awareness."
"Exactly," Preston replied. "Firepower doesn't matter if you never see the shot coming."
Sarah nodded. "And it keeps civilians safer too. If patrols spot threats earlier, settlements get warning sooner. Fewer firefights near homes."
Sico's gaze hardened slightly that not with anger, but with resolve.
"That aligns with Mel's strengths," he said. "Precision. Adaptation. He doesn't build brute force weapons unless necessary."
Preston's mouth twitched. "Figures."
They stood there a moment longer, the yard alive behind them. A soldier slipped slightly, caught by a partner. Someone laughed. Someone swore under their breath and reset their stance.
Human moments layered over preparation.
"If Mel can do it," Preston said again, quieter now, "it'll save lives. Not someday. Immediately."
Sico nodded once. Decisive.
"I'll speak with him today," he said. "I'll tell him exactly what you told me. Field necessity. Not theory."
Sarah let out a slow breath. "Good."
Sico looked at her. "Anything else?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "Armor upgrades are always welcome. Better plates, lighter materials. But that takes time. Night vision?" She gave a small, rare smile. "That changes the field overnight."
Sico acknowledged that with a slight inclination of his head.
"Then that's where we start."
He turned his gaze back to the soldiers one last time. The drills continued uninterrupted. Sweat darkened jackets. Breath steamed. Focus held.
"These people trust us," Sico said quietly. "Not just to lead them, but to think ahead for them."
Preston followed his gaze. "They've earned that much."
"Yes," Sico replied. "They have."
Sico let the moment linger just a fraction longer, eyes still on the training yard, on the people moving with purpose behind Preston and Sarah. The rhythm of boots and shouted commands felt steadier now, less like preparation born from fear and more like confidence built from repetition.
"Keep it up," he said finally.
Preston gave a short nod. "We will."
Sarah met his eyes. "We won't waste the window you're giving us."
"I know," Sico replied.
There was no ceremony to the goodbye. There never was with them. Just understanding. He turned away from the yard, boots crunching over packed snow, and began the walk toward the Science building.
The path cut through the heart of Sanctuary. Morning had fully taken hold now. The pale sunlight reflected off snowbanks, making the air look brighter than it felt. People were out in greater numbers than they had been a few days earlier. Doors stood open longer. Conversations lingered instead of ending quickly. Someone dragged a crate across a cleared path, humming softly to themselves. Another pair argued amiably over the best way to fix a damaged fence post.
Recovery didn't arrive all at once. It arrived in small, stubborn decisions to keep going.
The Science building stood a little apart from the rest of the settlement, its exterior reinforced with mismatched plating and scavenged supports. It had taken less visible damage during the blizzard than most structures, mostly because Mel and his team had anticipated it. Extra braces. Reinforced seals. Backup power rerouted twice before the storm even hit.
Sico slowed slightly as he approached, eyes tracking the familiar details: the reinforced door hinges, the jury-rigged insulation packed along the foundation, the faint vibration of generators humming beneath the structure. This place was never quiet. Even when no one was speaking, something was always running.
He stepped inside.
Warmth hit him first, not comfortingly hot, but functional. The air smelled of metal, oil, old circuitry, and ozone. Lights flickered softly overhead, stabilized but never fully steady. The low hum of machines blended into a constant background noise that had become as familiar to him as his own breathing.
Voices echoed faintly from deeper inside the building. Someone laughed. Someone cursed when a tool clattered to the floor. A generator spooled up and then settled again.
Sico didn't stop to check in at the front desk. He didn't need to. The guards stationed there recognized him immediately and stepped aside without a word. He moved with quiet purpose down the main corridor, past rooms filled with half-assembled devices, past workstations layered with notes, schematics, and parts salvaged from a hundred different pre-war origins.
At the far end of the hall, light spilled from Mel's lab.
The door was open.
Inside, Mel stood hunched over a workbench, his back to the door, sleeves rolled up, hands moving with intense focus. The bench itself was cluttered in a way only Mel's could be: not chaotic, but dense. Every inch of surface space was occupied by something useful. Lenses, circuit boards, old military optics, wiring bundles, power cells, handwritten notes pinned to corkboard and metal alike.
A magnifying visor was strapped to his head, flipped down over one eye. He held a small component between tweezers, adjusting it with painstaking care. A faint blue glow pulsed from the device on the bench, casting light across his hands.
Sico stopped just inside the doorway and watched for a moment.
Mel didn't notice him at first. He was murmuring under his breath, not words exactly, more like fragments of thought made audible.
"…no, that draw's too high… if I reroute it here… damn it…"
A tool slipped from his fingers and clinked against the bench.
Mel sighed, straightened slightly, and finally sensed another presence in the room. He glanced up, visor still half-lowered, and froze for a heartbeat when he recognized who was standing there.
"Oh," he said, pushing the visor up onto his forehead. "Hey. Didn't hear you come in."
"I wasn't trying to," Sico replied.
Mel wiped his hands on a rag hanging from the bench and turned fully now, posture relaxing just a little. "Everything alright?"
"Yes," Sico said. "But I need your time."
Mel's eyebrows lifted slightly. "That sounds ominous."
"It's not," Sico said. "It's practical."
That got Mel's attention in a different way. He gestured vaguely toward the bench. "Give me a second." He carefully set the component down, adjusted a dial, and powered down the device he'd been working on. Only then did he turn back to Sico fully.
"Alright," Mel said. "What's on your mind?"
Sico stepped further into the lab, eyes scanning the workbench. "What are you working on?"
Mel glanced back at it. "Prototype stabilizer. Old military optics don't like our power cells. I'm trying to reduce flicker and heat output without losing clarity."
Sico absorbed that silently.
"Good timing, then," he said.
Mel tilted his head. "That's interesting."
Sico folded his hands behind his back again, a familiar stance when he was about to deliver something important.
"I just came from the training yard," he said. "Preston and Sarah are pushing the soldiers hard. They're ready. Disciplined. Focused."
Mel nodded. "That tracks. I've seen more movement outside lately."
"I asked them what they needed next," Sico continued. "Not training. Not orders. Something tangible. Something that would keep them alive."
Mel's posture shifted subtly. He leaned back against the bench, arms crossing loosely, already thinking ahead.
"And?" he asked.
"Preston didn't hesitate," Sico said. "He asked for night vision goggles."
There it was.
Mel's eyes sharpened instantly.
"Night vision," he repeated, more to himself than to Sico. "Actual field-ready units?"
"Yes."
Mel let out a slow breath, not dismissive, not doubtful. Calculating.
"That's… ambitious," he said finally. "Not impossible. But ambitious."
"I expected as much," Sico replied. "That's why I came to you."
Mel uncrossed his arms and turned back toward the bench, scanning the scattered components with a new lens now.
"Preston's right," Mel said slowly. "Most casualties happen in low visibility. If we can give them an edge at night…" He trailed off, then shook his head slightly. "The tech exists. Or existed. The problem is power efficiency, durability, and scale."
"Explain," Sico said.
Mel picked up one of the lenses from the bench, holding it up to the light. "Old pre-war night vision goggles were bulky. Fragile. They burned through power cells like nothing. And they weren't designed for the kind of conditions we operate in now. Snow glare, dust, moisture, EMP interference…"
"But," Sico said calmly, "you're already working with optics."
Mel glanced at him, then smiled faintly. "Yeah. I am."
He set the lens down and began pacing slowly, hands moving as he spoke.
"If I build this," Mel continued, "I don't want it to be a novelty. I want it to be reliable. Something a soldier can trust in the dark. That means modular units. Swappable lenses. Power cells that last at least a full patrol cycle."
"How long is that?" Sico asked.
"Six to eight hours minimum," Mel replied immediately. "Preferably more."
"And the risk?" Sico asked.
Mel stopped pacing.
"The risk," he said honestly, "is that I rush it and someone dies because it fails when they need it most. I won't do that."
Sico met his eyes. "I wouldn't ask you to."
Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the faint hum of equipment.
"Preston believes this will reduce deaths immediately," Sico said quietly. "Not someday. Now."
Mel nodded slowly. "He's not wrong."
"Can you do it?" Sico asked.
Mel looked back at the bench, at the components already laid out. Then at the shelves lining the walls, stacked with salvaged tech, old military gear, civilian electronics, half-finished ideas.
"Yes," he said. "I can."
Sico didn't react outwardly. He'd learned not to. But something eased in his chest.
"What do you need?" he asked.
"Time," Mel replied. "Not a lot, but enough to prototype properly. And access."
"To what?"
"Old military depots," Mel said. "Anything optics-related. Even broken units. I don't need them intact. I need parts."
"You'll have them," Sico said immediately.
"And I'll need field input," Mel added. "From Preston's people. I want soldiers to test early versions. Give feedback."
"They'll cooperate," Sico said. "They asked for this."
Mel nodded. "Good. Because I'm not building this in isolation."
He paused, then added, "If this works… we can expand later. Thermal overlays. Range enhancement. Even low-light civilian variants for settlements."
Sico considered that. "One step at a time."
"Always," Mel said with a faint smile.
Sico stepped closer to the bench now, picking up one of the discarded lenses, turning it carefully between his fingers.
"Preston said firepower doesn't matter if you never see the shot coming," Sico said.
Mel huffed softly. "Smart man."
"He wants patrols to move with confidence," Sico continued. "To reduce panic. Reduce mistakes."
"That's achievable," Mel said. "Vision changes behavior. People move differently when they're not afraid of what they can't see."
Sico set the lens back down carefully.
"When can you start?" he asked.
Mel glanced at the bench. "I already have."
Sico looked at him.
Mel gestured to the device he'd been working on earlier. "That stabilizer? It wasn't just theoretical. I've been thinking about this for a while. The storm just delayed things."
Sico allowed himself a small nod. "Then you were already ahead."
Mel shrugged. "Someone has to be."
Sico stayed a moment longer in Mel's lab, letting the weight of the conversation settle properly instead of rushing past it. He had learned through losses, through mistakes that decisions like this deserved a breath afterward. Not doubt. Just respect.
Mel had already turned back to his bench, fingers moving again, scribbling notes, rearranging components with renewed intent. The conversation hadn't slowed him down; it had focused him. That, more than any promise, told Sico he'd made the right call.
"I'll leave you to it," Sico said at last.
Mel didn't look up immediately. "You know where to find me."
"I do," Sico replied.
Mel finally glanced over his shoulder. "I'll start drafting a list. Specific optics, mounts, housings. Even broken units that look useless and tell Hancock not to leave them behind."
"I'll make that clear."
Mel nodded once, already half-lost in thought again. "This is going to take time. But when it's ready, it'll matter."
Sico held his gaze. "That's why I came to you."
There was no handshake. No ceremony. Just a shared understanding that something important had just been set in motion.
Sico turned and left the lab.
The warmth of the Science building faded as he stepped back into the cold air of Sanctuary, the sharp bite of winter reminding him where they were and what they were up against. The sky had shifted slightly while he'd been inside with clouds moving, light changing, the day inching forward whether they were ready or not.
He pulled his coat tighter and headed toward the scavenger building.
The scavenger hub sat closer to the outer edge of Sanctuary, near where the walls thickened and watchtowers loomed. It was a noisy place by design. Movement was constant as teams coming and going, gear being checked, arguments breaking out over loadouts and routes and priorities. It smelled like oil, sweat, gunpowder, and dust carried in from the wastes.
If the Science building was the mind of Sanctuary, the scavenger building was its hands.
As Sico approached, he could already hear Hancock's voice cutting through the noise, sharp and unmistakable.
"No, I don't care if it's ugly," Hancock was saying, somewhere inside. "If it keeps you alive, you strap it on and you thank it later!"
Sico stepped through the wide entrance.
Inside, the place was alive with motion. Crates stacked along the walls bore handwritten labels: AMMO, MEDICAL, MECHANICAL, MISC. Soldiers and scavengers moved between them, checking lists, tightening straps, swapping out gear. A pair of guards were arguing over the merits of one rifle sight versus another while a third leaned against the wall cleaning blood from his boots with grim patience.
Hancock stood near the center of it all, coat thrown over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up, a map spread across a battered table. He was pointing at something with a gloved finger, barking instructions to two squad leaders who listened with serious expressions.
Sico didn't interrupt immediately. He waited at the edge of the space, letting Hancock finish.
"and if the weather turns, you abort," Hancock finished sharply. "I don't care how close you are to the objective. We don't need heroes. We need bodies that come back."
"Yes, sir," one of the squad leaders replied.
They moved off, already calling out to their teams.
Hancock straightened and finally noticed Sico. His expression shifted, tension easing just a notch.
"Well," Hancock said, wiping his hands on his pants, "if it isn't the man of the hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Your time," Sico replied.
Hancock snorted. "You always owe me that."
He waved a hand toward a quieter corner near the back, away from the heaviest traffic. "Walk with me."
They moved together through the building, stepping around crates and ducking under a dangling cable. A few people glanced their way, curiosity flickering, but no one interrupted. When Sico and Hancock talked, it usually meant something was about to change.
They stopped near a workbench piled with salvaged parts from binoculars, cracked scopes, old cameras, a pair of shattered goggles missing lenses.
Hancock followed Sico's gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Funny you look at that stuff."
"That's why I'm here," Sico said.
Hancock crossed his arms, leaning back against the bench. "Alright. Hit me."
"I just came from the Science building," Sico said. "Mel is starting a new project."
Hancock's expression sharpened. "That alone already makes me nervous."
"He asked for resources," Sico continued. "Specifically optics. Anything optic-related. Military depots. Old installations. Even broken gear."
Hancock blinked once. "That's specific."
"It is," Sico agreed. "Because the project is specific."
He paused, making sure he had Hancock's full attention.
"We're building night vision," Sico said. "For the soldiers."
Hancock stared at him for a heartbeat longer than usual.
"Night vision," he repeated slowly.
"Yes."
Hancock let out a low whistle. "Well, damn."
"That was Preston's request," Sico added. "Field-driven. Not theoretical."
Hancock's mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Can't argue with that. Half the shit that kills people out there happens when you can't see it coming."
"Exactly," Sico said.
Hancock pushed off the bench, pacing a short line back and forth as his mind immediately shifted into logistics.
"You want us to hit depots," he said, thinking aloud. "That means old military zones. That means turrets, mines, maybe synth patrols depending how far out we go. But it's doable."
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't," Sico replied.
Hancock stopped pacing and looked at him. "How much?"
"As much as you can carry," Sico said. "Anything optic-related. Goggles. Scopes. Binoculars. Cameras. Lenses. Mounts. Wiring. Even stuff that looks like scrap."
Hancock chuckled. "You just described my favorite kind of haul."
"This isn't a scav run for profit," Sico said evenly. "This is priority."
Hancock met his gaze, seriousness returning. "I know. You don't come down here personally unless it is."
They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the building flowing around them like a river.
"When do you want us rolling?" Hancock asked.
"As soon as you can safely assemble a team," Sico replied. "I won't rush you into something sloppy."
Hancock nodded. "I've got people who know how to move quiet. Ace, Bones, Wren if she's up for it. A couple newer faces to rotate in."
"Wren's been through a lot," Sico said carefully.
Hancock's eyes softened just a fraction. "She's tougher than she thinks. But I'll give her the choice."
"Good."
Hancock scratched at his jaw. "Any particular depot in mind?"
"There's an old National Guard logistics site west of here," Sico said. "Pre-war storage. High chance of optics."
Hancock grimaced. "High chance of shit that doesn't want to be disturbed, too."
"I know," Sico said. "That's why I trust you with it."
Hancock snorted. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
He turned and shouted across the room. "Ace! Bones! You two got a minute?"
The response was immediate. Ace looked up from tightening a strap, Bones from arguing with someone over ammo counts.
They jogged over.
"What's up?" Ace asked.
"We've got a new job," Hancock said. "Specialty run."
Bones' eyes flicked to Sico. "That explains his face."
Sico inclined his head slightly. "You're being tasked with retrieving optic-related equipment from an old military depot. Priority salvage."
Ace's grin widened. "Night vision?"
Hancock shot him a look. "How the hell—"
Ace shrugged. "Lucky guess."
Sico didn't correct him.
"Any rules?" Bones asked.
"Yes," Sico said. "You come back alive. Everything else is secondary."
Bones nodded once. "Understood."
Hancock clapped his hands together. "Alright. You heard the man. Start prepping. Quiet loadouts. No heroics."
Ace saluted mockingly. "Perish the thought."
They dispersed, already calling out to others.
Hancock turned back to Sico. "You'll want updates."
"Yes," Sico said. "And when you return, you go straight to the storage. I will inventory everything with Mel's list."
He paused, then added more quietly, "This'll help morale."
Sico met his eyes. "That matters."
Hancock exhaled slowly. "Alright then. I'll get it done."
"I know you will," Sico said.
There was a moment that brief, unspoken where both men understood the risk. Old military depots were never empty. Not really. They were graves for old wars, filled with traps and ghosts and things that had survived long enough to claim them as territory.
But they also knew the cost of not trying.
Sico turned to leave.
"Hancock," he said, stopping just short of the exit.
Hancock looked up. "Yeah?"
"Be careful," Sico said simply.
Hancock gave a crooked smile. "Always am. That's why I'm still here."
Sico left the scavenger building and stepped back into the open air of Sanctuary.
Behind him, preparations were already underway with voices raised, engines checked, weapons inspected. Ahead of him, the settlement continued its steady work: people building, repairing, surviving.
He walked slowly, letting the sounds wash over him.
Night vision. Optics. Awareness instead of brute force.
It wasn't a single decision that would save them. It never was. It was dozens of small, deliberate choices layered together, each one buying them a little more time, a little more safety, a little more hope.
________________________________________________
• 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:-