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And with that, the office fell into a focused quiet, each person preparing silently but deliberately for the operation that would begin as soon as the first truck rumbled out toward the hospital and Hancock's team started loading the untouched medical supplies that promised to be the lifeline Sanctuary desperately needed.
Then the scene change to the world inside the ruined hospital still stank of stale rot and old chemicals as an ugly cocktail that clung to the back of the throat no matter how many times the team breathed through scarves or filters. Hancock wiped a smear of dried blood from the edge of his coat before stepping over the mangled corpse of one of the last feral ghouls they had just put down.
"Alright," he muttered, kicking the limp hand away so he wouldn't trip on it, "that should be the last of those cranky sons of bitches."
Bones, still catching his breath, leaned against the chipped wall beside him. "Hope so. These freaks are getting faster. Nearly took Wren's damn ear off."
Wren scoffed from behind him. "Nearly. Nearly took my ear off. If it did, we'd be having a different conversation."
"Yeah," Ace chimed in, smirking as he reloaded his shotgun, "you'd be screaming instead of whining."
Hancock let out a raspy laugh, even as he raised a hand for silence. The corridor had gone still, unnervingly so. The kind of still that suggested the building itself was holding its breath.
Behind them, the ten soldiers Sico had sent stood watch in formation. Their armor was scratched, scorched, dented from earlier skirmishes, but their discipline never wavered. They waited for Hancock's command with rifles raised, eyes sharp, boots planted firmly on dirty tile.
Hancock lifted his chin, listening again. Nothing but distant wind rattling broken windows.
"Alright, boys and girls," he said, turning to the soldiers, "this floor is clear. That was the last batch. Let's move to the goods."
The soldiers nodded, and the group began making their way down the hallway and around a collapsed nurse's desk where old charts and scattered syringes littered the floor like grim confetti. Every step echoed, their boots crunching over debris, though the further they went, the lighter the air became. Less decay. Less stench.
They were approaching the wing that had remained sealed for decades.
When they reached the double doors leading into the storage wing, Marlowe who had been guarding the entrance were straightened. "Still quiet. Nothing tried to get through."
"Good," Hancock replied, pushing one of the doors open with the end of his pistol. "Let's get to it."
Inside, the hidden storage area looked almost surreal as a treasure trove frozen in time. The vast room stretched wide, shelves intact, metal untouched by rust thanks to airtight preservation. Neatly stacked boxes sat in rows as if waiting for the apocalypse to blow over.
Ace couldn't help it. "Holy shit… still looks like a pre-war clinic ran inventory yesterday."
Bones whistled. "More like Christmas. If Christmas happened in a morgue."
Hancock strode across the room, his boots tapping lightly on smooth tile instead of rough rubble. He ran a hand along one of the metal racks, brushing dust off labels.
"Sutures… Med-X… trauma kits… disinfectants…" he read softly, half in awe. "Sweet merciful Molly. Sico's gonna lose his damn mind when he sees this all stacked in Sanctuary."
He turned toward the soldiers.
"You heard the boss," Hancock declared. "Full extraction. Every box, every bottle, every goddamn paperclip. We're not leaving anything behind. Start packing and sorting. I want crates filled and ready to load."
The soldiers exchanged firm nods and got to work immediately.
Cardboard rustled. Tape ripped. Metal clanged softly as crates were pulled from corners and laid open on the floor.
Hancock surveyed the area one more time before barking additional orders.
"Four of you," he pointed at the soldiers standing closest to the exit, "outside with the truck. You're on guard duty. No one gets near that thing unless they have my voice or you see my stupid-looking hat coming around the corner."
The soldiers smirked as no one missed the joke, but their nods were sharp.
"Yes, sir," the lead one said before motioning to the others. They moved quickly, heading out through the double doors and down toward the truck parked outside the hospital entrance.
Hancock turned to the remaining soldiers.
"The rest of you, break into three patrols. Two soldiers in each. Keep moving. Keep quiet. Patrol the perimeter around this wing, not the whole building. I don't want surprises crawling out of the walls or down from the vents."
The six soldiers immediately grouped up, exchanging hand signals and checking ammunition. One trio took the left side of the corridor system, weaving between abandoned supply carts and overturned tables. Another group moved toward the far stairwell. The last duo disappeared behind a collapsed curtain wall, securing the dim hall that opened toward the lobby.
Wren, bending down to shove a stack of antiseptic jars into a crate, looked up at Hancock. "Think they'll run into more ferals?"
Hancock shrugged. "Always a chance, sweetheart. This world's full of disappointments and ugly surprises. But Sico sent us folks who know what they're doing. They'll be fine."
Wren nodded, though her shoulders stayed tense.
Bones and Marlowe were already stacking crates near the center of the room. Ace was ripping open a sealed metal cabinet with a crowbar, muttering curses at the stubborn lock.
Hancock stepped forward to help. "Let me show that thing some love," he said, jamming his own tool beside Ace's.
Together, they pried it open with a shrill metallic screech.
Inside were rows of untouched surgical instruments, polished and gleaming like they had been frozen in time.
Ace whistled. "These alone are worth more than half the trading routes combined."
"Yeah," Hancock agreed softly. "And in the right hands like Curie's hands, they'll save lives."
He took a breath, then raised his voice loud enough to echo across the storage room.
"Everyone! Move quick but stay smart. We ain't rushing and dropping none of this precious cargo. Sico's orders are clear: nothing goes missing, nothing breaks, nothing left behind."
The soldiers and scavengers responded with renewed focus, the tempo of their movements shifting into something swift and deliberate.
As they packed, Hancock walked the aisles, checking labels, pushing aside dust-coated tarps, peering behind boxes. Every few seconds he muttered something under his breath with comments about the supplies, jokes to keep morale high, or biting remarks about the pre-war idiots who wasted such good medicine on a world that destroyed itself.
The building groaned around them, settling with the wind. Dust danced in pale beams of sunlight cutting through cracks in boarded windows. The ambience was strangely peaceful, almost sacred.
But outside, the world remained dangerous.
And the patrols knew it.
The first group with two soldiers named Hale and Gannon now walked slowly down the west corridor. Their rifles were raised, their steps controlled and silent. The peeling wallpaper and scattered bones created a surreal, almost eerie mosaic along the walls.
"Quiet…" Hale whispered. "Too quiet."
Gannon chuckled nervously. "Why you gotta say shit like that?"
"I don't gotta," Hale whispered back. "Just feels true."
They swept rooms one by one. Some were filled with forgotten hospital beds. Others with overturned IV stands, faded curtains, and mold-stained surfaces.
Nothing moved.
No hissing. No scraping. No feral shrieks.
Just dust falling through shafts of light, the two soldiers breathing softly behind their visors.
The second team with Wheeler and Donahue, took the stairwell route. The stairwell reeked of stagnant water and rust, but it was structurally stable. Their boots echoed faintly as they descended a few steps to check the landing.
"Hallway's clear," Wheeler murmured.
"No movement. No ghouls," Donahue confirmed.
They paused only long enough to sweep the shadows beneath the stairs. A single, half-melted wheelchair sat abandoned in the corner. No signs of life, undead or otherwise.
They continued forward.
The last team with Rodriguez and Walker are moving near the lobby entrance. That area held the most risk. Open spaces, old reception desks, shattered glass everywhere.
Rodriguez crouched behind an overturned stretch of counter. Walker scanned the left side where a broken door hung crooked on its hinges.
"I don't like this place," Walker muttered.
"You don't like any place," Rodriguez answered. "You're always complaining."
"Yeah, but this place feels like it's hiding something."
Rodriguez chuckled. "Everything in the wasteland is hiding something."
Still, they stayed cautious. Their rifles never lowered.
And yet…
Nothing came.
The hospital really was cleared.
For now.
Back in the storage room, Hancock wiped sweat from his brow. It wasn't hot, Commonwealth winters rarely were but packing, lifting, organizing, and keeping watch at the same time wore on the nerves.
"Bones," Hancock called, "you done with those trauma kits?"
"Nearly. There's so damn many of them."
"Good. Don't half-ass it."
Bones chuckled. "Since when do I ever half-ass anything?"
Ace chimed in from across the room, "Since always."
"Screw you."
"Love you too."
Hancock shook his head with a grin. His crew might be a mess, but they were his mess and one hell of an efficient one.
Wren approached him with a clipboard she'd found. The edges were singed, but the pages were usable.
"Hey," she said, "I'm keeping a rough tally so Curie won't have to guess what's coming her way. You wanna check?"
Hancock skimmed the early list she'd jotted down:
– 45 boxes of bandages
– 20 crates of medical-grade disinfectant
– 10 sealed containers of surgical kits
– 10 full racks of Med-X vials
– 20 trays of sutures
– 10 boxes of antibiotics
– 30 trauma kits
– 10 boxes of saline solution
– and dozens more categories
Hancock let out a low whistle. "Jesus… we're gonna need a damn parade to welcome this stuff home."
Wren smiled. "Sico's gonna be happy."
"He better be. I'm sweating through my coat for this."
"You always sweat through your coat," she teased.
"Yeah, well just shut up."
Outside, the four soldiers stood guard around the transport truck. The vehicle loomed like a metal beast with thick armor plates welded along the sides, tires wrapped with chains, engine still warm from the long ride.
Sergeant Reeves stood by the driver-side door, scanning the broken street for movement.
Beside him, Kessler swept the rooftops with a scope.
The other two, Morgan and Pierce now patrolled a slow circle around the truck, checking alleyways and abandoned cars.
Nothing stirred.
But the air was tense, heavy with that strange quiet that always settled in moments before a storm.
Reeves tapped his radio. "Truck guard team checking in. All clear. No movement."
Static answered him, followed by Hancock's voice: "Copy that. Keep your eyes sharp. We're making progress in here."
"Roger."
Reeves shut off the radio and adjusted his grip on his rifle.
After nearly half an hour, the first stack of packed crates sat near the door, ready to be loaded once the convoy arrived.
Hancock stretched his back with a groan. "Alright, folks, this is looking beautiful. Keep it up."
As if on cue, Marlowe emerged from behind the shelves holding something unusual.
"Hancock," he called out, "you'll wanna see this."
Hancock walked over and froze.
Marlowe held a metal case. Heavy. Locked. The pre-war government seal stamped on the front.
"Well I'll be damned," Hancock murmured. "That ain't normal hospital stock."
Bones raised an eyebrow. "Think it's something good?"
"Or something that'll explode in our faces," Ace offered.
Hancock exhaled slowly. "Alright. Set it aside. We ain't cracking that thing open here. Let Sico deal with it back home."
He patted the case gently. "Whatever's in there… it's important. Pre-war important."
Wren added it to the tally sheet with a nervous glance.
The radio crackled again.
"West hall clear. No movement."
"Stairwell clear."
"Lobby clear."
Hancock nodded each time. "Good. Keep it up. Don't get comfy yet."
But with every report, he felt tension ease a little more. Maybe, this job would go without a hitch.
He wasn't used to that feeling.
Soon, crates were neatly stacked into three sections with priority, secondary, and overflow.
Priority items would be sent first. These included:
– Surgical kits
– Trauma kits
– Antibiotics
– Med-X
– Bandages
– Disinfectants
Secondary items included organizational tools, spare IV poles, outdated but usable equipment, and various sealed chemical containers Curie would salivate over.
Overflow items as mostly things like hospital gowns, packaging materials, broken machinery parts would either be repurposed or stored for future salvage.
Hancock double-checked the map he'd sketched earlier.
"Alright. Once Sico's extra trucks show up, we'll start moving priority crates first. The rest we'll move in waves. No hauling too much at once."
Bones nodded. "Safety over speed."
"That's the damn spirit."
For a rare minute, everything went calm.
Hancock stepped aside, leaning against a metal support beam. He allowed himself a breath a real one, not the shallow, tense ones he'd been limited to.
His eyes traced the shelves one more time.
So much good. So much help. So much hope.
And for a brief moment, he pictured Sanctuary's people as kids with patched-up knees, families who had lost loved ones too early, injured settlers returning from patrol. He imagined Curie throwing herself into the supplies like an excited scientist, Preston marvelling at the unexpected fortune, and Sico standing there with that controlled fire in his eyes with the one that made people believe things could get better.
This was going to change lives.
And Hancock felt proud. Really proud.
But the Commonwealth rarely allowed peace for long.
From somewhere deep in the hospital, a faint vibration trembled through the floor.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Just enough to make everyone stop.
Wren lifted her head. "What was that?"
Bones tensed. "Structural shift?"
Marlowe shook his head. "Or something moving."
Hancock held up a hand. "Everyone freeze."
The room fell silent.
No breathing.
No shuffling.
Nothing.
Just the moan of the wind.
Hancock narrowed his eyes.
"…Could've been settling. Old building like this moves all the damn time."
Ace nodded reluctantly. "Yeah… yeah, probably."
Still, the patrol teams were instructed to sweep slower, sharper, more alert than ever.
The vibration had barely faded from the cracked tile floor when the radio on Hancock's belt hissed to life.
"Gate team to interior team… Hancock, come in. You're gonna want to hear this."
Hancock straightened immediately, one hand lifting the radio closer to his ear while the other instinctively rested on the grip of his pistol. His eyes were already scanning the room with checking the crates, checking his crew, checking the soldiers on perimeter duty. Even the smallest shift in tone could mean trouble.
"Go ahead," Hancock answered, voice low but steady.
Static crackled, followed by the unmistakable murmur of engines rumbling in the background with heavy, powerful engines.
"Three extra trucks just rolled up the front," Reeves reported. "Big ones. Thirty soldiers dismounting now. Looks like Sico's reinforcements."
Hancock blinked once, then let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Copy, he thought. Finally.
"Copy that," he replied into the radio. "Send ten of 'em down here to help start loading crates. The rest keep watch topside. I don't want anyone sneaking up on us while we're hauling precious cargo."
"Roger," Reeves replied. "Ten volunteers already moving."
The radio clicked off.
The whole storage room breathed again.
Ace whistled. "Reinforcements, huh? That's our ticket to getting this mountain of goodies back home before nightfall."
Wren grinned through her exhaustion. "About damn time."
Bones rolled his shoulders with a groan that came from somewhere deep in the soul. "Ten soldiers? Hell, we might actually finish before we collapse."
Hancock smirked at all of them, but inside he felt something heavier than humor with relief, sure, but also responsibility pressing down like a hand on his spine. Reinforcements meant progress. Progress meant moving fast. Moving fast meant risk.
And risk, in the Commonwealth, was always lurking just out of sight.
"Alright," Hancock said, clapping his hands twice to rally the room. "You heard the man. Ten soldiers coming to help with heavy lifting. Let's get ready to make this run smooth and clean."
They worked faster, but not sloppy as every box lifted with care, every crate sealed tightly. Soldiers reorganized the stacks to be closer to the door, Ace began double-checking latch straps, and Wren walked her tally sheet over to a makeshift loading area so she could update things on the fly.
Then—
Footsteps.
Lots of them.
Boots clattering down the main corridor like a controlled thunder. Voices murmuring, rifles clinking, armor plates shifting under steady movements.
The first of the reinforcements appeared at the double doors with a tall soldier with a shaved head and a scar tracing down his left jawline. His expression was unreadably stern, but his posture was respectful.
"Hancock?" he asked.
"That's me, sweetheart," Hancock answered with a two-fingered salute and a smirk. "You must be Sico's backup dancers."
The soldier didn't laugh, but the corner of his lip twitched. "Lieutenant Harrow," he introduced. "Ten of us assigned to assist with transport. Others are securing the perimeter."
Behind him, nine more soldiers stepped into the room as some broad-shouldered, some wiry and quick, all well-armed and well-trained. Their armor was newer than the first group's, and their movements were synchronized with practiced efficiency.
Hancock's grin widened. "Hot damn. You folks look like you actually know which end of a crate goes up."
Harrow gave a curt nod. "Orders?"
Hancock pointed toward the towering stacks of meticulously packed supplies. "Simple. Move these out to the trucks without dropping, kicking, losing, mislabeling, or accidentally eating anything inside."
One of the younger soldiers cracked a smile. "Can't promise that last one."
Hancock raised a brow. "Son, if you get hungry enough to eat Med-X vials, that's between you and God."
The squad chuckled lightly, easing the tension hanging in the air.
The room shifted instantly into controlled chaos.
Soldiers formed two lines with one to carry crates from the far shelves to the door, another to move stacked crates down the hall and toward the hospital entrance. The sound of boots thudding on tile echoed rhythmically through the wing.
Hancock, still moving among them, supervising and helping where needed, felt the tempo of the mission change. Quick. Efficient. Dangerous.
Because fast movement in a ruin was always risky.
Always.
But they had no choice. Sunset wasn't far off, and night in the Commonwealth brought out things the day kept hidden.
Outside, the three new trucks idled beside Hancock's original transport. The engines rumbled like metallic beasts hungry for the road. Their armored hulls were thicker, the plating darker, the wheels reinforced with extra steel. These trucks were built for hauling treasure through hell.
Reeves, Kessler, Morgan, and Pierce had taken up new positions as the reinforcements arrived. Now they stood in a half-circle formation, rifles raised, scanning alleys, rooftops, shattered storefronts—anything that could hide a threat.
Morgan nudged Reeves. "Never thought I'd say this, but seeing thirty extra guns show up outta nowhere feels like Christmas."
Reeves huffed. "Nothing in the Commonwealth is Christmas."
"True," Pierce added. "Christmas has family and presents. The Commonwealth has mutants and bullets."
Kessler didn't join the joke. He kept his eye pressed against the scope, scanning a distant rooftop. "Stay sharp. More bodies outside just means more noise. More noise means more unwanted attention."
Reeves nodded. "Amen."
The reinforcements outside were forming tight perimeter rings with fifteen soldiers on outer defense, five controlling the trucks, ten stationed near the hospital entrance to assist incoming crates.
Voices barked orders, boots thumped against cracked pavement, and the smell of diesel mixed with the stale hospital air.
Inside…
The operation was accelerating.
Harrow and his team moved with ruthless coordination—lifting crates three times heavier than they looked, weaving through narrow aisles, passing boxes down the line like well-trained machinists.
Ace stared at them with genuine admiration. "Damn… Sico sure knows how to pick 'em. These folks move like ants on Jet."
Wren smirked from behind him. "Ants on Jet? Really?"
"You got a better analogy?"
"Yeah. Competent people doing competent things."
Ace rolled his eyes. "Boring."
Bones, carrying two crates on his shoulder, chimed in, "Better than saying they move like a pack of deathclaws."
Hancock, nearby, laughed sharply. "Fuck no. Nothing moves like a pack of deathclaws except a pack of deathclaws. And if those things show up, we're tossing the crates at 'em and running the other way."
Even Harrow cracked a smile at that.
Crates slid across the floor. Paper rustled. Tape ripped. Metal clasps clicked shut.
Every sound melded into a symphony of survival.
Hours of work had led to this moment—the extraction phase, the real test of their planning.
And for a short while…
Everything went right.
Crate after crate moved from storage to hall.
Hall to entrance.
Entrance to trucks.
Soldiers lifted, carried, unloaded, stacked, secured.
Wren stood by the tally sheet, scribbling furiously every time a crate passed her.
"We're halfway through priority," she called out. "Keep it up!"
"Copy that!" one of the reinforcements answered as he heaved a crate labeled Surgical Kits - Sterile onto his shoulder.
Hancock paced back and forth, guiding traffic with precise movements.
"You two, take that route! Don't block the hall!"
"Watch that corner, sweetheart as it turns tighter than a raider's pockets!"
"Stack those ones bottom-heavy! They slide like drunks if you don't!"
His voice carried authority, humor, and the sharp edge of a man who'd survived too much to risk complacency.
Ace and Bones carried crates together, muttering sarcastic commentary every step of the way.
Marlowe pried open two forgotten cabinets near the far shelves, pulling out boxes sealed so tight they hissed with released pressure.
Wren updated numbers, occasionally brushing sweat from her brow with her sleeve.
Everything was moving.
Everything was working.
Everything was—
Another vibration.
This one stronger.
Enough to make dust fall from the ceiling in a soft gray rain.
Enough to make every soldier in the room freeze mid-step.
Enough to make Hancock slowly turn his head, eyes narrowing in instinctive suspicion.
"…That wasn't the wind," Wren murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
No one disagreed.
Because they all felt it.
A deep, slow, heavy thud—like something massive had shifted in the bowels of the hospital.
Harrow immediately lifted his rifle.
"Patrol teams. Report," he said into his radio.
Three seconds passed.
Five.
Seven.
Static.
Then—
"West team," Hale's voice crackled through. "We felt it too. No visual on movement yet."
"Stairwell team here," Wheeler added. "Nothing on our end."
"Lobby team reporting…" Rodriguez began, breath heavy. "Wait, hold on… Walker thinks he hears… shit, give us a sec—"
Silence.
Then.
Walker's voice cut in, urgent and tight:
"Something's moving. East side of the lobby. Can't see it yet, but it's, hold up…. Rodriguez, lights!"
A muffled clatter echoed through the radio, followed by sharp swearing and boots scraping tile.
Hancock's eyes widened.
"Rodriguez? Walker? Report!"
Rodriguez's voice exploded back through the radio before Hancock could try him again with loud, ragged, breathless, the kind of breathing that came from sprinting for your life.
"Hancock! Hancock, fuck! Big one! It's a super mutant, a big super mutant, Walker's down! Walker's dead! It… dammit… it tore him in half!"
The room froze.
Not figuratively. Not poetically.
Literally.
Crates hung suspended in mid-air where soldiers held them. Wren's pencil stopped mid-stroke. Bones froze with his foot halfway over a fallen paper scrap. Time itself seemed to seize.
Hancock's eyes went wide, the smirk dying on his face so fast it was like someone had cut it off with a blade.
A super mutant was bad.
A big super mutant was worse.
A big super mutant inside a confined building was nightmare fuel.
"Rodriguez," Hancock said, snapping instantly into command mode, every fiber of his body tightening. "Listen carefully. You run. You run your ass outside right now. Do not stop. Do not look back. Just haul your fucking feet out the front door."
Rodriguez didn't argue.
His panting grew louder through the line, the echo of pounding boots stronger.
"I'm… already… on it!" he gasped. "It's right…. behind me!"
"Good," Hancock barked. "Keep running, sweetheart. Don't you dare slow down."
Then Hancock switched frequencies with a sharp twist of the dial and growled into the radio:
"Reeves, you hearing this?"
A beat.
Then Reeves' voice came through with steady, controlled, fierce.
"Loud and clear."
"We've got a big super mutant loose in the east lobby. Walker's gone. Rodriguez is running your way."
Reeves didn't waste a second.
"Copy that," he said. "We're setting up a firing line now."
Outside, Reeves whirled around to his perimeter crew, voice booming like an officer in a war zone.
"Everyone form up! Tight line facing the front doors! Aim high and be ready to fire the second something ugly shows its face!"
Kessler, Morgan, Pierce, and nearly two dozen reinforcement soldiers snapped into position without hesitation. Boots scraped the asphalt. Cartridges slid into chambers. Rifles snapped up in synchronized motion.
The air outside went thick, like the world was sucking in a lungful of tension and holding it.
Inside the hospital, Hancock could hear the distant pounding with Rodriguez's footsteps, frantic and unpatterned. And underneath them…
A deeper sound.
A heavier sound.
A floor-shaking thud with each step.
Wren's eyes lifted toward the ceiling where dust sifted down like faint, restless snow.
"Jesus," she whispered. "It's huge."
Hancock didn't look at her. His gaze was locked on the corridor, his jaw clenched.
"Harrow!" Hancock barked. "Get your team to defensive positions around the crates! Nothing gets near them!"
"Yes, sir!" Harrow snapped, raising his fist and motioning sharply. Reinforcement soldiers dropped the crates they were lifting, rifles snapping up into ready positions as they moved into layered defensive arcs around the stash.
Ace, Bones, and the rest of Hancock's original crew grabbed their weapons without needing to be told. The casual, joking atmosphere from earlier evaporated like smoke in a storm.
Inside, they braced.
Outside, they aimed.
Rodriguez ran.
And behind him, something massive roared.
The sound wasn't human.
Wasn't animal.
It was deep, guttural, vibrating the walls like metal tearing mixed with something ancient and furious crawling out of hell.
Then.
Rodriguez burst through the front doors like a man thrown from a cannon.
He didn't so much run as practically fly out, stumbling down the steps, hitting the cracked pavement with a heavy roll, and scrambling upright again with fear wide in his eyes.
"OPEN FIRE!" Reeves bellowed.
Because right behind Rodriguez…
The front doors exploded open.
Shattered.
Torn off their hinges like they were made of cardboard.
A hulking silhouette filled the entrance that eight feet of muscle, bone, and rage. Its skin was mottled green and yellow, scarred and pulsing. Its jaw hung slightly open, showing cracked teeth, tusks glistening with saliva. Blood of Walker's, no doubt dripped from its claws.
And the moment its eyes adjusted to the sunlight and the line of thirty guns trained on it…
It roared again.
A sound that shook dust from the rooftops.
"FIRE!" Reeves shouted.
The Commonwealth lit up.
Bullets tore through the air in a deafening storm. The line of soldiers unleashed everything from rifles, shotguns, energy weapons. Sparks exploded off the mutant's armor plates. Greenish blood sprayed from its chest and shoulders as rounds punched through thick flesh.
Kessler's sniper rifle cracked once with clean, precise, ripping through the mutant's right eye in a burst of gore.
Morgan and Pierce fired in tight bursts, aiming center mass.
Five more reinforcements flanked wide, using the broken ambulances as semi-cover while they peppered it with suppressive fire.
Rodriguez dove behind a fallen mailbox, gasping and trembling, still half-in shock but alive.
The mutant staggered back… one step, two step…
But it didn't fall.
It roared again, angrier this time, lifting its massive arm and lurching forward like it still intended to charge.
Reeves snarled.
"KEEP FIRING! BRING IT DOWN!"
And they did.
Thirty rifles became one collective roar. Brass casings rained down like metallic confetti. The air turned into a vibrating haze of smoke, light, and gunfire.
The super mutant took another hit to the chest.
A burst of laser fire burned a hole through its shoulder.
Another sniper shot tore through its jaw.
Then.
Kessler fired the killing round.
A perfect shot.
Straight through the skull.
The mutant's head snapped backward as its whole body swaying for a moment like a falling tree that had forgotten which direction gravity pulled.
Then it collapsed.
Face-first.
The pavement cracked under the weight with a loud, thunderous WHUMP.
Everything went still.
No one spoke.
No one exhaled.
It was Kessler who finally broke the silence.
"…That was a big son of a bitch."
Morgan let out a shaky laugh. "No shit."
Pierce nudged Rodriguez's shoulder. "You alive, man?"
Rodriguez nodded shakily, sweat dripping down his face. "I… I think so."
Reeves lowered his rifle but didn't sling it, eyes still sharp, scanning the hospital entrance.
"Everyone stay alert," he ordered. "One big bastard like that rarely comes alone."
Inside the hospital…
The echo of gunfire vibrated through the walls.
Hancock listened, eyes narrowed, every muscle in his frame wound tight. When the final thunderous collapse sounded with the mutant hitting pavement, he finally allowed himself a small exhale.
But only a small one.
Because if there was one thing Hancock knew, it was that peace after chaos was often a lie. A trick. A pause before the next hit.
He clicked the radio again.
"Reeves, status."
Reeves replied immediately. "Target down. One super mutant eliminated. Rodriguez alive. Walker… we'll confirm later."
Hancock closed his eyes for half a second.
Walker was a good soldier.
A good man.
But grieving came later.
Right now, survival came first.
"Copy. Keep your perimeter tight," Hancock said. "We're not done yet, not even close."
Wren stepped closer, voice shaking slightly despite her best effort to hide it.
"Hancock… if that thing got inside… does that mean there's a hole somewhere we haven't found yet?"
He looked at her.
Not with fear, Hancock didn't show fear.
But with truth.
"It means," he said quietly, "that whatever path it took… something else could take it too."
Ace let out a low whistle. "Well, shit. That's comforting."
Bones shook his head. "We need to move faster. Load everything we can and get the hell out."
Harrow approached, armor still tightened, rifle still raised.
"What are your orders now?"
Hancock took in the room with the crates, the soldiers, the exhaustion, the fear, the determination. The mission was still too important to abandon.
He straightened.
"We keep loading. But now we do it twice as fast."
Harrow nodded, relaying the order instantly.
Soldiers moved.
Crates lifted.
The room surged back into motion, but this time the tension hung over every movement, every breath, every sound.
Because everyone knew:
One super mutant showing up was bad.
One super mutant sneaking inside a fortified perimeter was worse.
And super mutants?
They almost never traveled alone.
Outside…
Reeves paced along the firing line, adrenaline still pulsing in his fists.
"Kessler," he called.
"Yeah?"
"You see anything else?"
Kessler peered through his scope. "Not yet."
"Keep looking."
Rodriguez sat on the pavement, elbows on his knees, hands still trembling. Morgan crouched beside him.
"You did good getting out," Morgan said.
Rodriguez shook his head slowly. "Walker didn't."
Morgan didn't sugarcoat it. "No. But you did. And now you can help us keep the rest of us alive. That's how it works."
Rodriguez swallowed thickly and nodded.
For a while, the world existed only in the rhythm of lifting and hauling as boots scuffing against tile, the grunt of strain as soldiers pushed themselves harder than their bodies wanted, the scrape of wooden crate edges against metal rails. The tension never left the room, not even for a heartbeat. Every muffled thump from the deeper wing of the hospital made heads jerk, eyes dart, fingers flex tighter on rifle grips. Even the air seemed to hold its breath with them.
But they kept moving.
They had to.
Every crate mattered. Every second mattered more.
Hancock stayed in motion the entire time, a pacing storm in his coat, barking orders sharp and fast, pushing the tempo like he was trying to outrun whatever unseen threat might already be tracking them. Sweat darkened the collar of his coat, but his voice never wavered.
"Double-time it!" he shouted, ushering two reinforcements past him as they struggled with a refrigerator-sized container of antibiotics. "Pretend the fucking floor's on fire!"
The soldiers didn't complain. They didn't slow. Fear was a better motivator than caffeine ever could be, and the memory of that super mutant roar was still echoing in everyone's bones.
Ace and Bones worked side-by-side with a grim kind of focus, grabbing crates stacked nearly above their heads and hauling them toward Harrow's designated loading zone. Bones muttered under his breath with half prayer, half profanity as he passed one crate off to a younger soldier who'd gone pale hours ago but kept moving anyway.
Wren wiped sweat and dust off her forehead with her sleeve, her pencil long abandoned on the floor behind her. Every time she moved, she shot a glance toward the hall ceiling like she expected another giant to punch straight through.
Hancock noticed, but didn't blame her.
Inside the loading bay, the heavy rumble of diesel engines coughing awake was the first comforting sound they'd heard since the fighting started. Reeves' voice crackled through the radio again, steady as bedrock:
"Perimeter holding. No new contacts."
Hancock breathed out slowly. Not fully relieved as he wasn't suicidal, but relieved enough to shove aside the flicker of dread in his belly.
"Copy," he said into the radio. "We're finishing up now."
Minutes stretched like hours.
Then finally, the last crate thudded onto the metal truck ramp. The last latch snapped shut. The last soldier stepped back, panting, covered in dirt and sweat and adrenaline.
"We're done," Harrow reported, voice rough.
Hancock nodded once.
Everyone felt it: that thin, trembling line where accomplishment met exhaustion and fear still gnawed at the edges.
"Alright," Hancock said, raising his voice so it carried across the entire loading bay. "Mount up! Everyone into the trucks! Move like you still want to see tomorrow!"
No one needed to be told twice.
The soldiers surged toward the vehicles as the four big military cargo trucks already rumbling, engines shaking the ground beneath their wheels. Rodriguez climbed up first with Morgan steadying him, his hands still trembling faintly but his eyes sharper now. Ace slapped the side of the first truck as he climbed on, shouting for the last two stragglers to hurry up. Bones swung himself into the back of the second truck, offering a hand to Wren, who accepted it with a shaky nod.
Hancock did one more sweep of the hospital entrance with checking shadows, broken doorframes, the corners where something green and monstrous could be lurking. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. The breeze carrying through the empty lobby was clean.
Still, he didn't trust it.
He jogged up the metal ramp, boots hitting the truck bed with a hollow thud. He slapped the side panel twice.
"Let's roll!"
Reeves relayed it instantly.
Engines roared.
Gears clanked.
And with a heavy lurch forward, the convoy began to pull away from the ruined hospital away from blood and broken doors and the corpse of something too big, too wrong to ever make sense.
Back toward Sanctuary.
Back toward safety.
Back toward home.
Dust kicked up behind the tires, curling into the air like ghosts fading.
No one spoke for a long stretch of road. The adrenaline crash was hitting, leaving everyone drained, slumped against crates or leaning their heads back with eyes half-shut. The sound of the engine was almost soothing, almost enough to fool them into thinking the danger was behind them.
________________________________________________
• 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:-