If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
The sun had risen fully now, casting harsh daylight over the battered ruins of the settlement. But under that light, soldiers worked, not just to patch wounds or put out fires — but to rebuild. Hammering metal sheets into barricades. Moving bodies with solemn respect. Sorting ammunition, water, tools.
Sico moved through the remnants of the battlefield with his sleeves rolled up and boots scuffed from smoke and ash. A thin layer of soot clung to the wrinkles of his coat, and the air still carried the acrid sting of plasma discharge and melted steel. It wasn't until he rounded the back of the snack shack and caught a glimpse of the field medics working in triage, that he finally let the weight of it begin to settle in his chest.
He found Briggs seated again, propped against the side of the half-collapsed concession stand, a fresh splint wrapped around his leg and a stimpack puncture still visible near his neck. The color had returned to his face a bit, but his uniform was torn and soaked with blood, none of it dry yet. One of the medics had draped a tarp nearby to block the sun, casting a swath of shade over him.
Preston was there too, squatting on a broken crate and rubbing grit from the edge of his rifle's scope. He looked up as Sico approached, gave a quiet nod, and shifted to make room.
Briggs looked up at the President with a crooked grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Can't say I ever expected the Commander-in-Chief to pull me out of the fire himself."
"I told you," Sico said, crouching beside him, "you call for help, we come. Doesn't matter who it is."
Briggs chuckled, a dry, almost bitter sound. "You're setting a hell of a precedent."
"I'm setting the one that matters."
They were quiet for a beat. Just the murmur of triage tents, the dull thump of hammering as the wall crews began their repairs, the occasional crackle of radios dispatching orders from the gate.
Then Sico looked to both of them. "Alright. Let's talk. This wasn't a random hit."
Briggs nodded. "You're right about that. I've seen raider groups before. Even when they hit hard, it's sloppy. They push in all angles, go for loot, hostages, chaos. This wasn't that. This was a coordinated assault. Entry points, suppression fire, fallback routes — and the timing? Right as our north patrol shifted."
"They knew our schedule," Preston added, brows furrowed. "Someone tipped them, or they've been watching us a while."
Sico's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "And we missed it?"
"Not exactly," Preston said. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "One of our patrols — two days ago, near the old farmstead outside Sunshine Tidings — reported seeing a group of armed people in the woods. Said they weren't dressed like Free Men or scavvers. Looked like they had a camp going. Tents, watchposts. Organized."
"And you didn't think to escalate?"
"I did," Preston said evenly. "Report was filed, scheduled for investigation today. Problem is, we're short on long-range recon units. Half of our trained scouts are still recovering from the last skirmish down south. And until now, there was no pattern."
Briggs nodded. "But now there is."
Sico rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So what, we've got a new gang? Another Cassia lookalike playing warlord in the woods?"
"I don't think so," Preston said. "Not this time."
Briggs shifted, wincing as he moved his leg. "I was watching their formations through a scope. Saw one of their squads peel off and lay cover like they'd drilled it. Flash signaling, coordinated volleys. That's not how gangs fight. That's military."
Sico looked between them both. "You're telling me we've got former soldiers organizing in the woods?"
"Maybe not soldiers," Preston said, "but someone trained by them. Could be Gunners."
Briggs nodded grimly. "The style fits. Controlled bursts. Center mass shots. None of those idiots had spray-and-pray setups. Even their fallback was timed — synchronized withdrawal, staggered spacing. I haven't seen that kind of movement since I was on contract in the Glowing Sea."
Sico's brows furrowed. "You think we're looking at a Gunner remnant?"
Briggs gave a short, pained laugh. "I'd bet my other leg on it."
There was a silence then — one of those cold, measured silences that settled like mist after a storm. The kind that weighed more than any bomb. Because if the Gunners — even fragments of them — were regrouping out in the wilds, and they'd decided the Freemasons Republic was worth attacking…
It meant this wasn't over. It was only beginning.
Sico sat back on his haunches, brow creased. "We broke the Gunners almost 6 or 7 months ago. Drove them out, scattered their command. But we never found them all."
"Scattered's not the same as dead," Preston muttered.
"No," Sico agreed. "And if the ones who made it out are teaching new blood how to fight…"
Briggs reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a small datapad — cracked, its screen flickering, but still operational. He handed it to Sico. "One of the local militia kids picked this off a corpse. Got some internal logs. Basic, but it might help."
Sico took it, tapping through with a practiced hand. Most of the data was corrupted — random lines of code, garbled characters. But one file opened, half-readable. A name.
"Commandant Vance?" he read aloud, frowning.
Preston leaned over. "Doesn't ring a bell."
"Not from my time either," Briggs said. "But that title — 'Commandant' — that's not raider talk. That's Gunner."
Sico stared at the name a moment longer, then locked the device. "We need intel. Real intel. Patrols won't cut it."
Preston stood, brushing dust from his trousers. "Want me to pull in the Commando teams?"
Sico nodded. "Tell Lita and Hodge to go dark. Full recon detail. I want satellite eyes on that region if we've still got the relay at Echo Ridge. And if this Commandant Vance exists — I want a file by sundown."
He turned back to Briggs. "We'll rotate your men out. Get them north to Red Rocket. You need recovery time."
"I'm not abandoning this post," Briggs said flatly.
"You're not abandoning anything. But you're not leading on a half-ruined leg either."
Briggs grunted, reluctantly. "Fine. But you make sure whoever replaces me knows that wall better than their own name."
Sico smiled faintly. "They will."
He stood, clapped Briggs lightly on the shoulder, and turned back toward the convoy, Preston following close behind.
The walk back to the convoy was slow, deliberate. Sico's boots crunched softly over cinders and gravel as he moved, the heat of the sun finally starting to pierce through the veil of cloud and smoke hanging above the horizon. Behind him, the sounds of the wounded and the rebuilding effort began to fade — not into silence, but into the background hum of necessity. A broken world trying to pull itself back together.
Preston walked a half-step behind, as he often did when they needed to talk without a crowd. His rifle was slung now, the barrel swaying gently with each pace, and though his face was composed, Sico could see the tension behind his eyes. The kind that came from too many days without real rest, too many fights that weren't supposed to happen anymore.
When they reached the armored personnel truck idling by the north gate, Sico stopped short. The wind caught the edge of his coat, flaring it slightly behind him as he turned.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, glancing sidelong at Preston. "If Lita and Hodge confirm the location… I want the Commandos to move in. Don't wait for authorization once the target's verified."
Preston lifted a brow. "Engagement rules?"
"Disruption and destabilization," Sico said. "Break their chain of command. Cause panic, disarray. Hit their radios, logistics — make them feel the ground move under them before we roll in."
Preston folded his arms. "And the follow-up?"
"I want you leading the Convoy."
Preston straightened, just slightly, eyes sharpening. "Alright."
"Six trucks. Four Humvees. Two Sentinels. One hundred soldiers. Ten in power armor. Enough firepower to level whatever they're hiding out there and make sure nothing grows back."
There was a long pause.
"You sure?" Preston asked, his voice low but steady. "We roll that deep, it's war. No pretending otherwise."
Sico nodded once. "It's already war, Preston. We just didn't want to admit it yet."
He turned toward the west, where the afternoon sun had begun to set the smoke haze aglow with amber light, and for a long moment, said nothing.
"I thought we'd have more time," he murmured eventually. "To build. Stabilize. Give people something real to believe in."
Preston followed his gaze. "You did give them something. You gave them a future."
"And now I've got to defend it."
Preston gave a quiet grunt of agreement. "I'll start prepping the column tonight. Hodge and Lita will want satellite map prints and terrain scans. You'll have your confirmation before dawn."
Sico nodded, but didn't move right away. His jaw worked slowly, grinding thoughts like millstones. He could already see it — the two Sentinels rolling through the treeline like mechanical beasts, the whine of hydraulics rising over the thunder of boots and gunfire. Not a surgical strike. Not a warning shot.
A message.
That the Freemasons Republic wasn't a provisional ideal, but a reality — and any force, Gunner or otherwise, that tried to unmake it would be buried in its foundation.
Then they hop into the Humvee and the Humvee rumbled to life with a low, gravelly growl as Sico and Preston climbed inside. The interior was still warm from the afternoon sun, the leather seats faintly creaking as the doors slammed shut behind them. The engine's vibration thrummed through the floor as the driver glanced back for confirmation. Sico gave a short nod. "Sanctuary," he said, and the vehicle lurched forward, tires crunching over the debris-strewn road as they began the long drive back.
Outside the reinforced windows, the ruins of the Commonwealth slipped past — scorched hedgerows, blackened patches where fighting had torn the earth open, and small clusters of weary civilians dragging salvaged supplies to safety. It was a land still clawing its way toward hope, and now once more under threat.
Preston sat quietly beside him, legs spread slightly, rifle resting against his knee. His fingers moved without thought — checking the safety, adjusting the strap — a soldier's unconscious rituals. But Sico saw the focus in his eyes. Preston wasn't just thinking about supply lines or movement orders. He was mapping it out. Imagining the route, the timing, the way the Sentinels would punch through tree lines, where snipers might set up nests, how to coordinate the first volley from the Humvees. It wasn't just planning. It was instinct.
"You'll have what you need?" Sico asked.
Preston looked up. "We've got the manpower. And if I get the final word from Hodge or Lita tonight…" He gave a slow breath. "We'll be ready."
Sico nodded. "Good. I'll handle the politics."
Preston let out a short, humorless breath. "That's the real hard part."
Neither of them laughed.
By the time they rolled through the barricade at Sanctuary, the sky was a burnished steel color streaked with copper. Evening had arrived, and with it, the faint glow of oil lanterns flickering along the streets. The once-crumbling houses were now half-rebuilt, walls reinforced with salvaged sheet metal and heavy timber, roofs patched and windows shuttered. It was still rough, still a work in progress — but it was home.
And tonight, it was uneasy.
As the Humvee pulled into the central compound, Sico could see the crowd gathering outside the town hall — not a protest, not quite, but an anxious cluster of voices, murmuring and tense. Word had traveled fast. Maybe too fast.
Sico stepped out first, his boots landing heavily on the packed dirt, coat fluttering behind him. Preston gave a sharp nod and turned away, heading straight for the barracks without another word. The planning had already begun.
Sico, meanwhile, moved through the courtyard at a brisk pace, eyes sweeping the crowd. Some of the delegates were already gathered on the steps outside the hall, their expressions tight and unreadable in the fading light. The delegate from Oberland stood near the rail, arms crossed; Tenpines Bluff's man was pacing slightly; and by the door, leaning heavily on a cane, was Marla Beckett — the Starlight Drive In representative.
Sico made straight for her.
She looked up as he approached, and though she kept her spine straight, he could see the storm in her eyes. Marla had always been proud — fiercely protective of her people, quick to call out injustice or inefficiency. But tonight, her strength looked brittle. Strained.
"Sico," she said, voice clipped. "Tell me they're alright."
He didn't speak right away. The others were quiet too, their attention zeroed in on him, each waiting for confirmation, for denial — for some version of the truth.
He met Marla's gaze. "We were too late to stop the attack, but we got there fast enough to push them back."
Her jaw clenched. "How many?"
"Four dead. Three dozen wounded, some serious. Briggs took a shot to the leg. They'll recover — most of them."
Her eyes closed for a moment. The lines in her face deepened, and when she opened them again, they were hard with grief she hadn't yet had time to feel.
"And my people?"
Sico softened. "Some of the wounded are Starlight. No fatalities. They held their ground, Marla. Held it long enough for the reinforcements to get in. You'd be proud."
She didn't answer right away. Just nodded once, sharply, the way someone does when they're trying not to crumble. Sico placed a gentle hand on her arm, just for a second, and then turned to face the rest of the delegates.
"We need to talk," he said. "Inside."
They followed him into the hall, where a large map of the Commonwealth still hung over the far wall, dotted with pins and scribbled notes. The big table at the center of the room had been cleared, and within moments, the delegates took their seats, waiting, watching.
Sico didn't stand at the head. He stood beside the table, one hand resting on its edge, his voice low but firm.
"This wasn't just a raid," he began. "We've confirmed the enemy used coordinated assault patterns. Suppression fire, tactical fallback routes, synchronized movement. These weren't scavvers or raiders. They knew what they were doing."
"That's not good," muttered Malcolm from Finch Farm.
"It's worse than that," Sico continued. "We believe it's a Gunner remnant. Possibly trained. Possibly led. We found data logs. One name stood out — 'Commandant Vance.'"
The room murmured, the name unfamiliar but heavy with implication.
"They're operating like a military unit," Sico said. "They knew our patrol schedule. Knew when to hit. This wasn't a random strike — it was a message."
"What message?" asked Oberland's rep.
Sico met his eyes. "That they're not gone. And that they're watching us."
He stepped back and pointed to the northern section of the map, near Sunshine Tidings.
"We've had reports of a camp out here. Scouts saw movement. Organized layout. Possible staging ground. Commando teams are already moving to confirm the location."
"And if it is them?" Marla asked.
Sico didn't hesitate. "We hit them. Hard. Before they can hit us again."
He outlined it, clean and precise: the Commando infiltration to break their command structure, then a full assault convoy — six trucks, four Humvees, two Sentinels, a hundred soldiers, and ten power armor units.
The room went silent again.
"You're declaring war," said the Tenpines delegate.
"I'm responding to one," Sico answered. "We didn't choose this fight. But we're not walking away from it either. Not while they're a threat to the Republic."
"But what about the settlements near that area?" Malcolm said. "You send that kind of force through, you're gonna scare people. Might even draw fire."
"We'll coordinate evacuation routes," Sico said. "Early warning systems. No one gets caught in the crossfire."
Marla looked up again. "And you'll make sure Starlight is reinforced?"
"I already have. Briggs is being rotated out for recovery. His second-in-command is stepping in, I'm sending a backup team from Graygarden to hold the line, and I've also let a convoy of 5 Truck, 2 Humvee, and 1 Sentinels with 50 soldiers led by Daniel stay there."
The room sat with it for a moment longer. Then, slowly, the nods came. Tired, reluctant, but real.
"We'll back the operation," said Oberland.
"Tenpines too," added their man. "Just… keep us updated."
"I will," Sico said. "You'll get regular reports."
The meeting wound down shortly after, and the delegates began filtering out, each one burdened with the knowledge that peace had always been fragile — and now, perhaps, slipping through their fingers. But there was also something else in the air: not just fear, but resolve. If they'd been sleeping before, this had woken them.
Marla lingered by the door.
"I want to go back tomorrow," she said quietly.
"To Starlight?" Sico asked.
She nodded. "They need to see me. After something like this… leaders need to be seen."
He didn't argue. Just nodded, and said, "I'll have a transport arranged. You'll go with escort."
And with that, she left.
Sico stood alone in the hall for a long while after. The map loomed behind him, the pins marking places where people lived, laughed, bled — and now, perhaps, died. This was the burden of it
________________________________________________
• 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:-