If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
They stood there for a moment longer, not speaking, letting the decision settle into the soil of the Republic. Somewhere down the road, beyond the tree line and the broken asphalt, Sunshine Tidings Co-op waited.
The convoy's dust hadn't fully settled by the time Sico turned away from the yard.
Sanctuary absorbed change the way it always did with quietly. Space opened where people had stood only minutes before. Volunteers folded clipboards, reassigned themselves without being asked. Guards adjusted routes, already compensating for the lighter population flow near the gates. Life didn't pause to acknowledge that something significant had just happened.
That was how Sico knew it was working.
He didn't go back to HQ.
Not yet.
Instead, he angled away from the yard, following the gravel path that curved toward the agricultural perimeter as the land Sanctuary had reclaimed piece by piece over months of stubborn labor. The fencing grew more irregular the farther he walked. Less steel, more wood. Less concrete, more soil packed down by hundreds of boots and carts.
The farm always smelled different.
Earthier. Warmer. Alive.
Rows of crops stretched out in uneven but carefully tended lines from corn, mutfruit, tatos, razorgrain swaying faintly in the breeze. Irrigation lines snaked along the soil, patched and repatched, humming quietly as water flowed through them. Scarecrows stood crooked but effective, stitched together from old coats and rusted helmets.
And at the heart of it all was Jenny.
She was knee-deep in dirt, literally, boots sunk into a patch she'd clearly been reworking since early morning. Sleeves rolled up, hair tied back in a knot that was already coming loose, she barked instructions over her shoulder while hammering a stake into the ground.
"No, no, don't space them like that. You want the roots competing just enough. Makes them grow stronger."
A teenager nodded vigorously, adjusting his planting without argument.
Jenny wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, straightened, and only then noticed Sico standing a few paces away, hands in his coat pockets, watching with quiet interest.
She squinted. "You know, most leaders announce themselves."
"I didn't want to interrupt," Sico said. "You looked busy."
She snorted. "That's my secret. I'm always busy."
She motioned to the teenager. "Take a break. Drink water. Then help Mara with the irrigation check."
The kid nodded and jogged off.
Jenny turned fully toward Sico now, brushing dirt from her hands. "So. To what do I owe the pleasure? Please tell me you're not here to ask if we can double yields overnight."
"No," Sico said dryly. "I'm not that cruel."
"Good," she replied. "Because the answer would be no."
They walked together along the edge of the field, the crunch of soil underfoot grounding the conversation before it even began.
Sico didn't rush into it.
He waited until they reached a section where crops were already established that healthy, green, stable.
"How's production?" he asked.
Jenny followed his gaze. "Steady. Not miraculous. But steady." She crouched, tugged gently at a leaf to check its firmness. "We've been able to stretch rations without compromising nutrition. That's about as good as it gets without expanding land."
"And expanding land means more mouths," Sico said.
"Exactly," Jenny replied. "Everything is a loop. You pull one thread, the whole thing shifts."
Sico nodded. "That's why I'm here."
Jenny glanced at him sidelong. "I figured."
They stopped near a low fence where baskets of harvested produce waited to be sorted. A pair of volunteers worked quietly nearby, talking softly about nothing important.
"I need your help," Sico said.
Jenny straightened, crossing her arms loosely. "You usually do."
He didn't smile. Not yet.
"I want to reduce our dependency cycle," Sico continued. "Specifically, food aid."
Jenny's expression sharpened that not defensive, but focused. "That's a dangerous sentence if you don't finish it."
"I want refugees earning caps," Sico said. "Not just consuming resources."
She studied him for a long moment.
"Go on," she said.
"There are people in the camps with farming experience," Sico explained. "Pre-war, post-war, doesn't matter. They know soil. Seasons. Patience. I want to recruit them."
Jenny nodded slowly. "And put them where?"
"Here," Sico replied. "Sunshine. Starlight. Anywhere the land allows it."
Her brow furrowed. "You're talking about scaling labor."
"Yes."
"And paying them," she said.
"Yes."
Jenny let out a breath. "That changes things."
"That's the point," Sico replied.
She walked a few steps away, hands on her hips, eyes sweeping across the fields. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
"Right now," she said, "most of the refugees see food as something given. Something rationed. Something tied to permission."
Sico nodded. "I want to untie that."
"You want them producing value," Jenny said. "Not just surviving."
"Yes."
She turned back to him. "And in return, they earn caps. Which means they buy food instead of relying on handouts."
"And dignity," Sico added. "Which matters more."
Jenny was silent for a long moment.
Finally, she nodded once. "I can do that."
Sico felt something ease in his chest.
"But," she added, raising a finger, "it won't be instant. Farming isn't a switch you flip. And I won't take anyone who doesn't understand the work."
"I wouldn't ask you to," Sico said.
"I'll need tools," she continued. "Seeds. Water access. Storage expansion. And I'm not babysitting."
Sico almost smiled. "You'll have what you need."
Jenny leaned back against the fence, arms crossed again. "You know what this really does?"
"It changes the math," Sico said.
"It changes the psychology," Jenny corrected. "People stop thinking like refugees when they earn their own meals."
"That's exactly what I want," Sico replied.
She studied him again, searching for something beneath the strategy. "You're trying to minimize dependency without turning people away."
"Yes."
"And you're doing it before resentment sets in," she said.
"Yes."
Jenny huffed softly. "You really don't like waiting for problems to explode."
"I've seen enough explosions," Sico replied quietly.
That landed.
She pushed off the fence. "Alright. I'll start talking to people today. Quietly. No announcements. I'll find those who know the land or want to learn it badly enough."
"Thank you," Sico said.
Jenny waved it off. "Don't thank me yet. This is hard work."
"I know."
They began walking again, deeper into the farm this time. Jenny pointed things out as they went as not to impress him, but because it was how she thought.
"We'll start small," she said. "Rotations. Trial plots. Pair experienced hands with beginners. No one farms alone. That's how mistakes turn fatal."
Sico listened. Carefully.
"And caps," Jenny continued. "We pay fair. Not charity rates. Not exploitation."
"Agreed."
"And if they produce surplus," she added, "they sell. Sanctuary buys first, but not exclusively."
Sico nodded. "Trade builds stability."
"Trade builds leverage," Jenny corrected. "Stability follows."
She stopped near a small storage shed, peering inside to assess space. "We'll need another one of these within a month."
"You'll get it," Sico said without hesitation.
Jenny turned toward him, something like approval flickering across her face. "You know," she said, "a lot of leaders would've just ordered ration cuts."
"They would've caused riots," Sico replied.
"And blamed the people," she said.
"Yes."
Jenny shook her head slowly. "You're doing this the hard way."
"It's the only way that lasts," Sico said.
They stood there for a moment, the farm stretching out around them as proof that something sustainable could exist in the wasteland if people were willing to invest time instead of fear.
"I'll need Preston's help," Jenny said eventually. "He knows who has skills. Who's reliable."
"He'll support you," Sico said. "He already sees where this leads."
"Good," she replied. "Because once people start earning caps, they'll start making choices."
"That's the goal," Sico said.
Jenny smirked. "Careful. Choice can be messy."
"So is control," Sico replied.
She laughed then that not loud, but real. "Alright. Let's grow some damn food."
Sico left the farm shortly after, the scent of soil still clinging faintly to his coat.
As he walked back toward Sanctuary proper, he passed refugees already working with repairing fences, sorting scrap, hauling water. Soon, some of them would be planting seeds instead.
Earning their meals.
Buying their future.
The walk back toward Sanctuary proper should have been uneventful.
It almost was.
The sun had climbed higher by the time Sico left the agricultural perimeter, burning off the last traces of morning coolness. The camp was alive in the steady, unremarkable way that meant stability was holding from hammers tapping against scrap frames, voices calling measurements, children weaving between adults with practiced ease. Nothing felt brittle.
Then the sound cut through it.
It wasn't a single noise. It never was.
It was layers.
Raised voices first that sharp, strained, not yet screaming. Then the unmistakable crash of something metal hitting the ground. Someone shouting a name, not as a call, but as an accusation. A woman crying out, fear threaded through her voice like a tear in fabric. The sound of bodies colliding from boots scraping dirt, weight shifting violently.
Sico stopped mid-step.
His body reacted before his thoughts fully caught up. The easy rhythm of his walk vanished, replaced by stillness so complete it felt like the air around him had tightened.
That wasn't work noise.
That wasn't panic from an outside threat.
That was internal fracture.
He turned toward the sound immediately, adjusting his path without hesitation, cutting through a narrow lane between shelters. People along the way were already reacting with some pulling children closer, others standing frozen, uncertain whether to intervene or retreat. A few followed him instinctively, drawn by the direction of his movement rather than his rank.
The closer he got, the clearer it became.
This wasn't one argument.
It was many, tangled together.
The refugee camp came into view in uneven segments from tents clustered too close together, makeshift lean-tos reinforced with scavenged sheet metal, cooking fires abandoned mid-use. At the center of it all, a knot of bodies surged and shifted like something alive and unstable.
People were fighting.
Not shouting from a distance.
Not threatening.
Fighting.
Hands gripping collars. Fists swinging clumsily but with intent. Someone went down hard, hit the dirt with a sound that made nearby voices spike in panic. Another person tried to pull them back up and got shoved away for the effort.
And at the edges of the chaos was Preston.
He was already there, flanked by Republic soldiers, his voice raised not in anger but in command.
"Enough!" he shouted. "Back up! Everyone take a step back, now!"
They didn't listen.
Not because they didn't respect him, but because emotion had already outrun reason. Hunger. Fear. Exhaustion. Old grudges sharpened by close quarters and uncertainty.
Two soldiers had wedged themselves between a pair of men grappling near a supply crate, forcing them apart with controlled force. Another soldier held a woman back as she screamed accusations over his shoulder, tears streaking dirt across her face.
"Get medical over here!" Preston barked, seeing blood.
Someone swung again.
Sico felt the shift in himself with the quiet calculation, the narrowing focus. His hand moved to the pistol at his hip without conscious thought, fingers resting against the grip, not drawing yet.
He stepped into the camp proper.
The crowd noticed him in fragments. A few faces turned. A few voices faltered. But the fight itself didn't stop. Momentum carried it forward, ugly and uncontrolled.
Then another voice cut in.
"Republic forces, push left! Separate them!"
Sarah.
She came in fast, her presence unmistakable. She moved like someone who had broken riots before that not charging, not hesitating, but placing herself exactly where pressure needed to be relieved. More soldiers followed her, weapons lowered but ready, forming a widening perimeter around the worst of the fighting.
"Hands down!" she commanded, grabbing one man's wrist mid-swing and twisting just enough to force compliance without breaking it. "Now!"
Someone yelled her name.
Someone else spat on the ground.
But slowly the balance began to tilt.
Still, it wasn't enough.
Too many people. Too much noise. Too many overlapping grievances pouring out at once.
Sico assessed it in seconds.
If this dragged on, someone would get seriously hurt. Or worse.
He didn't raise his voice.
He raised his pistol.
The sound of the gunshot tore through the camp like lightning.
One sharp crack into the open air as it was angled upward, deliberate, unmistakable.
Silence followed.
Not gradual.
Instant.
Every body froze. Every voice died mid-word. Even the wind through the canvas seemed to pause.
People turned as one.
Eyes locked onto Sico.
The smoke from the shot curled faintly above him, dissipating into the pale sky.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't shout.
When he spoke, his voice was level, cold in its clarity.
"That's enough."
The words didn't need force behind them. The gun had already done that work.
He lowered the pistol slowly, reholstering it with deliberate care, making sure everyone saw the motion.
"No one moves," Sico continued. "No one touches anyone else."
He stepped forward, boots crunching against dirt that moments ago had been churned by violence.
Preston turned toward him, relief and tension crossing his face in equal measure. Sarah glanced back briefly, catching Sico's eye, then returned her focus to keeping her soldiers positioned.
Sico took in the scene fully now with the bruised faces, the trembling hands, the fear disguised as anger.
"Preston," he said, not raising his voice. "Sarah."
Both of them responded instantly, attention snapping to him.
"Control the situation," Sico ordered. "Secure everyone. Separate groups. Medical to anyone hurt."
He paused, letting the authority settle.
"We investigate after," he added. "Not before."
Preston nodded sharply. "Understood."
Sarah echoed it. "Yes, sir."
They moved immediately, their commands flowing outward through the soldiers like a current. People were guided with firmly but not cruelly away from each other. Those who resisted were restrained quickly, efficiently. Those who were injured were escorted toward the edge of the camp where medics were already pushing through with supplies.
Sico remained where he was.
Still.
Watching.
People's eyes kept drifting back to him as they were moved as some was fearful, some was resentful, some was relieved. A child clung to her mother's leg, staring at him with wide eyes. An older man stared back with something like shame.
The camp settled into an uneasy quiet, the aftermath of violence heavier than the violence itself.
When the immediate danger had passed, when shouting had been replaced by murmurs, when soldiers stood at measured intervals instead of forming wedges as Preston approached Sico again.
"We've got them separated," Preston said quietly. "No fatalities. A few injuries. Mostly bruises. One broken nose."
Sico nodded. "Good."
Sarah joined them, helmet tucked under her arm, jaw tight. "We've secured the area. No weapons involved beyond fists. Doesn't look premeditated."
"Nothing ever does," Sico replied.
He scanned the camp once more, eyes narrowing slightly. "We don't start questioning yet."
Preston frowned. "Sir?"
"Let them breathe," Sico said. "Right now they're raw. If you push, you'll only get lies or escalation."
Sarah considered that, then nodded. "We can hold them separately until tempers cool."
"Do that," Sico said. "Post extra guards. Visible, not aggressive."
Preston exhaled slowly. "This was bound to happen eventually."
"Yes," Sico said. "But how we respond decides whether it happens again."
He turned slightly, addressing both of them fully now.
"This camp is under strain," he continued. "Relocations. Ration adjustments. Uncertainty. People feel like ground is shifting under them."
Sarah crossed her arms. "They're scared."
"They're human," Sico corrected gently. "Fear just gives it direction."
Preston nodded. "We'll keep things contained."
"Good," Sico said. "Once things are stable, then we find out why it started. Not just who threw the first punch, but what lit the fuse."
A shout echoed from the far side of the camp as someone protesting restraint, but it was quickly quieted.
Sico looked toward the sound, then back at Preston.
"No punishment without understanding," Sico said. "But no tolerance for violence either."
Preston straightened. "Understood."
Sarah glanced back toward the soldiers. "I'll make sure they keep things calm."
Sico finally allowed himself to breathe a little deeper.
He turned, slowly, addressing the refugees who could hear him. Not shouting. Not performing. Just speaking.
"This camp exists because Sanctuary chose to protect you," he said. "That protection doesn't disappear when things get hard."
He paused.
"But it does require order," he added. "We don't solve fear by turning on each other."
No one interrupted.
No one argued.
They listened.
"We will figure out what happened here," Sico said. "We will address it. But understand this, violence inside our walls weakens everyone."
His gaze swept across the crowd.
"We build futures here," he said. "Or we destroy them. The choice is collective."
Silence held.
Then, slowly, people began to look away that not in defiance, but in reflection.
Sico turned back to Preston and Sarah.
"Keep me informed," he said. "I'll want full reports."
"Yes, sir," they replied together.
The camp did not return to normal all at once.
It never did after moments like this.
What settled instead was a fragile imitation of calm that people standing where they were told, soldiers positioned with deliberate visibility, voices lowered not because fear had vanished, but because exhaustion had replaced anger. The air itself felt heavier, as if it remembered the violence and refused to let it evaporate too quickly.
Preston moved first.
He always did.
With practiced efficiency, he began directing soldiers to escort small groups away from the central area with no shouting, no dragging, just firm hands on shoulders and clear instructions. Those who had been directly involved in the fighting were separated from those who had only been caught in the spillover. Families were guided toward the edges of the camp. Children were ushered behind temporary barriers, shielded from the worst of the aftermath.
Sarah coordinated the perimeter, her voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.
"Two here. Space them out. No one alone," she ordered. "I want clear lanes between groups. We don't need another spark."
The soldiers responded immediately, adjusting positions, spreading the crowd into manageable pockets rather than a single volatile mass. It wasn't just crowd control as it was psychological containment.
People could breathe again when they weren't pressed shoulder to shoulder with strangers whose anger they didn't understand.
Only once that structure was in place did Curie arrive.
She came quickly, white coat already streaked with dust before she'd taken five steps into the camp, her medical team fanning out behind her with practiced urgency. The sight of her alone shifted something in the crowd. Fear softened into relief. Injuries, no matter how small, suddenly felt survivable.
"Please remain still," Curie said gently, kneeling beside a man holding his arm at an awkward angle. "I am here to assist."
Her tone was calm, almost soothing, but her eyes were sharp, assessing damage, cataloging risks. She signaled for a medic to bring splints, then moved on, already scanning for the next person who needed attention.
Blood was cleaned. Cuts were bandaged. A broken nose was set with quiet professionalism. Bruises were examined not just for pain, but for what they revealed with where someone had been struck, how hard, from which direction.
Sico watched from the edge of the camp.
He didn't interfere.
This part wasn't his role.
Leadership, he knew, wasn't about being present at every step as it was about trusting the people you had put in place to do their jobs. And Preston, Sarah, and Curie were doing exactly that.
Only when the injured were stabilized and the camp had settled into a wary, watchful quiet did Preston approach Sarah again, lowering his voice.
"We're clear to start asking questions," he said.
Sarah nodded once. "Let's do it right."
They didn't interrogate.
They talked.
That distinction mattered.
Preston started with those who had been in the middle of the fight that not the loudest, not the angriest, but the ones who looked shaken now that adrenaline had faded. He crouched to eye level when he spoke, clipboard forgotten at his side.
"Tell me what happened," he said to a man with a fresh bandage above his brow. "Not what you think should've happened. What actually did."
The man hesitated, eyes darting toward a group of refugees standing several meters away, guarded but visible.
"They took it," he muttered finally.
"Took what?" Preston asked calmly.
"The food," the man replied, jaw tightening. "The free rations. The ones for everyone."
Sarah approached a woman sitting nearby, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
"You weren't fighting," Sarah observed gently. "But you were close."
The woman nodded, swallowing hard. "I saw it start."
"What did you see?" Sarah asked.
The woman hesitated, then glanced around before speaking in a whisper. "They've been doing it for days."
Sarah's expression didn't change. "Who's 'they'?"
The woman shifted uncomfortably. "A group. Maybe six, seven people. They stick together. They say they're organizing distribution. Helping."
"And were they?" Sarah asked.
The woman shook her head slowly. "At first, maybe. But then they started telling people there wasn't enough. That supplies were running low."
Sarah nodded, letting the woman continue.
"They'd tell us to wait. Come back later," she said. "But later never came. We'd see them carrying crates into their tents. More than anyone else had."
Preston was hearing a similar story across the camp.
A teenager with dirt-streaked cheeks explained how he'd been turned away twice from the ration station by the same men. An older couple described how their weekly allocation had mysteriously shrunk, while certain tents always seemed well-stocked. A man who hadn't fought at all admitted he'd been afraid to say anything.
"They told us they were protecting the food," he said quietly. "That if we complained, the Republic would cut us off."
That made Preston stiffen.
Sarah, hearing it from her side as well, exchanged a glance with him across the camp. They didn't need words.
This wasn't random violence.
This was exploitation.
They reconvened near the edge of the camp, out of earshot of most refugees but still within sight. Curie joined them briefly, wiping her hands on a clean cloth.
"No life-threatening injuries," she reported. "Some trauma. Physical and psychological."
"Thank you," Preston said. "We'll keep things calm."
Curie studied their faces. "This was not spontaneous," she said. "There is pattern here."
Sarah nodded. "We're seeing the same."
Preston took a slow breath. "Looks like a group's been stockpiling food. Controlling distribution."
Curie's eyes sharpened. "That is… dangerous."
"It gets worse," Sarah added. "They've been spreading fear. Telling people aid would stop if they didn't cooperate."
Curie straightened. "Then this was inevitable."
Sico approached then, silent as ever, but his presence drew their focus immediately.
"You've found the cause," he said, not as a question.
Preston nodded. "Yes."
Sarah spoke next. "There's a gang operating inside the camp. Small, but organized. They took advantage of the free food distribution. Started controlling it. Hoarding most of it for themselves."
"And when people pushed back," Sico said quietly.
"They fought," Preston finished. "Today was the breaking point."
Sico closed his eyes briefly that not in frustration, but in calculation. When he opened them again, his expression was steady.
"How many?" he asked.
"Six core members," Sarah replied. "A couple of hangers-on. The rest were victims."
"And they're separated now?" Sico asked.
"Yes," Preston said. "Under guard."
Sico nodded once. "Good."
He didn't react the way some leaders would have with visible anger, or dramatic condemnation. Instead, he turned his gaze back toward the camp, where refugees stood watching from a distance, tension etched into their faces.
"This is why systems matter," Sico said quietly. "And why we don't delay reform."
Preston understood immediately. "The food program."
"Yes," Sico replied. "Free aid without structure creates power vacuums. Someone always fills them."
Sarah folded her arms. "They filled it fast."
"And brutally," Curie added.
Sico was silent for a moment longer, then spoke again.
"We proceed carefully," he said. "No public punishment yet."
Sarah frowned slightly. "Sir, they—"
"I know what they did," Sico interrupted gently. "But if we act without transparency, we confirm every fear they planted."
Preston nodded slowly. "So we explain."
"Yes," Sico said. "We expose the truth. To everyone."
He looked at Sarah. "I want those responsible captured."
Sarah straightened. "Understood."
"Then," Sico continued, "we restructure distribution immediately."
Preston's eyes lit with understanding. "Tie it into the work programs."
"Yes," Sico said. "Food through contribution where possible. Caps where earned. No one controls supply except the Republic and even that is temporary."
Curie nodded. "This will also reduce desperation."
"And gangs," Sarah added.
Sico looked at each of them in turn. "This riot wasn't just violence," he said. "It was a warning."
"A warning about what?" Preston asked.
"About what happens when people feel powerless," Sico replied. "And what others will do to take advantage of that."
He took a step toward the camp again, voice firm but calm.
"We fix this," he said.
Morning did not bring relief.
It brought resolve.
The camp woke under a different weight than it had known before, not the raw panic of the riot, but the heavy awareness that something was about to change. Whispers traveled faster than footsteps. People spoke in low voices as fires were lit and water was fetched, eyes flicking toward the perimeter more often than usual.
They knew.
Even if no announcement had been made, the refugees could feel it in the air. The Republic did not ignore fractures. It sealed them.
Sico stood at the edge of Sanctuary as dawn stretched thin gold across the horizon. The sky was clear, almost cruelly beautiful for a morning that promised confrontation. Fifty soldiers stood in loose formation behind him, weapons checked, armor secured, faces composed but alert. This was not a show of force meant to intimidate indiscriminately. It was precision.
Preston stood at Sico's right, a folded slate in his hand, jaw set. He hadn't slept much. None of them had. He'd spent the night cross-referencing names, movements, testimonies. Patterns had emerged that clearer than he'd hoped, uglier than he'd wanted.
Sarah stood to Sico's left, helmet clipped to her belt, rifle slung but ready. Her posture was relaxed in the way only veterans managed before violence as it was not careless, not tense, just prepared. She'd already briefed squad leaders twice. She trusted her people, but repetition saved lives.
"Everyone knows their assignments," she said quietly, more statement than question.
"They do," Preston replied. "Entry teams, perimeter teams, detainment teams. No overlap."
Sico nodded once. "Rules are clear," he said. "We move fast. We isolate targets. We avoid collateral."
He looked at the soldiers then, letting his gaze pass over them without ceremony.
"This is not a punishment raid," Sico continued. "This is enforcement of order. Anyone not involved is not our enemy."
A few heads nodded subtly.
"And if they resist?" one soldier asked.
"We restrain," Sarah answered calmly. "We don't escalate unless forced."
Sico's voice followed. "And we document everything."
That mattered.
They moved out as the sun fully cleared the horizon.
The refugee camp was quieter than usual when they arrived. Not empty. Just… cautious. People watched from tent flaps and doorways as the soldiers spread out with deliberate calm, taking positions at key intersections, blocking exits without sealing the camp entirely. This wasn't a siege. It was containment.
Preston raised his voice that not shouting, but projecting.
"This is a Republic operation," he announced. "Remain where you are. Do not interfere, and you will not be harmed."
No one ran.
That alone told them a great deal.
Teams moved in, guided by the intelligence Preston had gathered overnight. Tents that had appeared unremarkable before were now points of focus. Soldiers approached them in pairs, weapons lowered but ready, hands signaling silently.
The first arrest happened without incident.
A man was pulled from his tent still half-asleep, confusion turning to fear when he saw the insignia on the soldiers' armor. He protested, loudly, claiming innocence, but he didn't resist. Zip restraints clicked into place. He was escorted away, documented, and seated under guard.
The second resisted.
He bolted the moment a soldier pulled back the tent flap, sprinting between shelters with surprising speed. He didn't make it far. Sarah herself intercepted him, hooking his leg and bringing him down hard but controlled. He cursed, thrashed, but was quickly restrained.
Word spread then.
Not panic, but alarm.
People began pointing. Whispering names. A woman tugged her child back inside a tent as soldiers passed. A man raised his hands instinctively when he saw a patrol approaching, only to be waved on when his name wasn't on the list.
They weren't arresting at random.
That realization calmed the camp even as tension rose.
By mid-morning, they had twelve.
By noon, twenty-one.
The gang was larger than expected.
Sico observed it all from the periphery, moving only when necessary, his presence a constant reminder that this operation had weight behind it. He watched how soldiers handled detainees with firm but not cruel. He noted which refugees looked relieved, which looked afraid, which looked angry for reasons that had nothing to do with guilt.
At one tent near the far edge of the camp, resistance escalated.
Three men inside had barricaded the entrance with crates that, once broken open, revealed stockpiled food. More than any single family could consume. More than coincidence allowed.
"Clear confirmation," Preston muttered as he stepped up beside Sico.
Sarah gestured, and soldiers moved in.
The barricade came down under controlled force. One man swung wildly with a pipe before being disarmed. Another tried to destroy evidence, tearing open packages, spilling grain into the dirt in a futile attempt at denial.
They were restrained within minutes.
By early afternoon, the count reached thirty-five.
Thirty-five people pulled from the camp, seated under guard, separated but visible. Thirty-five faces reflecting a spectrum of emotions with defiance, fear, anger, hollow resignation.
And then there was the leader.
They found him where Preston had suspected they would that not in the largest tent, not at the center of the camp, but tucked away near the perimeter, close to an access route leading out. His tent was reinforced, better constructed than most. Inside, they found ledgers.
Actual ledgers.
Trade tallies. Names. Quantities. Dates.
Sico picked one up, flipping through pages slowly.
"Outside settlements," he said quietly.
"Yes," Preston replied. "He's been planning this for a while."
The leader didn't resist arrest.
That worried Sarah more than any fight would have.
He walked calmly between two soldiers, chin lifted, eyes scanning the camp not with fear, but calculation. When his gaze met Sico's, something like recognition flickered there.
They didn't question him immediately.
They waited.
Night fell before the interrogation began.
The leader sat in a reinforced holding structure, hands bound, posture relaxed in a way that spoke of false confidence. He smiled faintly when Sico entered, escorted by Sarah and Preston.
"You made quite a mess," the man said lightly.
"You exploited desperate people," Sico replied, voice flat.
"Everyone exploits something," the man said. "I just did it better."
Sico didn't respond.
He gestured, and Sarah stepped forward, expression unreadable.
The interrogation was not theatrical.
It was methodical.
Questions asked calmly. Evidence placed on the table piece by piece. Names spoken aloud. Routes identified. Markets confirmed.
The man deflected at first. Lied. Smirked.
Then pressure was applied.
Not mindless brutality but with controlled pain, measured, purposeful. Enough to strip away bravado without crossing into chaos. Enough to remind him that the Republic did not negotiate from weakness.
Eventually, the man broke.
Sweat beaded on his brow. His breathing grew uneven.
"Alright," he rasped. "Alright, fine."
He laughed weakly. "It was business."
Sico leaned forward slightly. "Explain."
"I sold it," the man said. "The food. To outside settlements. Raiders. Traders. Anyone with caps." He coughed. "You give it away for free. I saw opportunity."
"You starved people," Preston said quietly.
"They would've been hungry anyway," the man snapped, then winced. "This way, at least someone profited."
Sico's eyes were cold.
"How long?" he asked.
"Four days," the man admitted. "It was easy. You people are generous. Too generous."
Sico straightened.
"That generosity ends today," he said.
The man sagged then, realization finally dawning.
When Sico left the holding structure, night had fully claimed the sky. The camp was quiet that not sleeping, but waiting.
Preston joined him outside. "Thirty-five in total," he said. "All confirmed."
Sarah added, "The rest of the camp is calmer already. People are talking. Sharing information."
Sico nodded. "Good."
He looked out over the camp one last time.
"This wasn't about food," he said. "It was about power."
"And now?" Preston asked.
"Now we show them what real structure looks like," Sico replied. "Work programs. Transparent distribution. No shadows."
Sarah nodded. "They'll feel safer."
"They'll feel responsible," Sico corrected.
The Republic had drawn a line.
Not in blood.
In clarity.
And for the first time since the riot, the camp now can breathed easily, which was how real stability always began.
______________________________________________
• 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:-