If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
He rose, joints protesting now that the day was truly over, and joined Shaun at the sink, helping dry dishes while the boy chattered about robots, and grass, and how being a synth didn't actually feel any different most days. And for a little while, the war stayed where it belonged, which is outside the door.
Morning came quietly.
Not with alarms or shouted orders or the sharp snap of urgency, but with light. Pale and deliberate, slipping through the curtains in thin bands that stretched across the bedroom floor and climbed slowly up the walls like something alive.
Sico woke to the absence first.
The space beside him was cool.
Not recently disturbed, gone long enough for the warmth to fade completely.
His eyes opened fully then, adjusting to the soft glow of early morning, and he turned his head toward Nora's side of the bed. Empty. Neatly made. Her pillow undented, folded with the kind of care she only used when she knew she wouldn't be coming back for a while.
For a moment, he just lay there.
Listening.
The house was quiet in that particular way that only happened when one adult had already left and the other hadn't yet fully joined the day. No clatter from the kitchen. No Codsworth humming. No Shaun narrating his dreams at full volume.
Just stillness.
Sico exhaled slowly and sat up, running a hand over his face. He didn't feel surprised. He'd known she would leave early, she always did when the Institute called her back. Less chance of goodbyes stretching too long. Less risk of hesitation.
Still, the absence pressed gently against his ribs.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching muscles that protested faintly from yesterday's hours at the desk. The floor was cool beneath his feet as he crossed the room and pulled on a shirt, then paused near the dresser.
There, folded carefully beside his own things, was a note.
Not dramatic. Not lengthy.
Just three lines, written in Nora's familiar hand.
Gone early.
Institute needs me.
I'll be careful. See you soon.
No signature.
She never signed notes meant for him.
He folded it once and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket, the gesture instinctive, grounding. Then he stepped out into the hallway.
The smell of breakfast met him halfway down the stairs.
Toast. Something sweet. Coffee which is strong.
And underneath it all, Codsworth.
"Oh! Good morning, sir!" the robot chimed as Sico entered the kitchen. "You're just in time. Young Shaun insisted we wait."
"As if you'd let him eat without supervision," Sico replied dryly.
Codsworth whirred. "One must maintain standards."
Shaun sat at the table, already halfway through a piece of toast slathered in something that looked suspiciously like too much jam. He perked up immediately when he saw Sico.
"Morning!" he said brightly. "Mom already left."
"I know," Sico replied, taking a seat across from him. "She tell you?"
Shaun nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "She said she had to go help people underground. And that I should listen to Codsworth."
Codsworth puffed up again. "A very wise directive."
Sico smiled faintly. "Always is."
Breakfast was simple. Quiet. Comfortable.
Shaun talked between bites about a dream he'd had something involving a flying robot dog and a city made of gears. Sico listened, nodding at the right moments, occasionally asking questions that made Shaun light up like he'd just been promoted to chief engineer.
Afterward, Sico helped clear the table, ruffling Shaun's hair again as the boy darted off to fetch his boots.
"You heading out today?" Shaun asked, pulling them on with dramatic effort.
"Yeah," Sico said. "Got some things to check on."
"Check on?"
Sico replied. "Yeah, need to ask something to Preston."
Shaun shrugged. "Mom said you always go see Preston when you're thinking hard."
That earned him a soft laugh. "Guess she've got me figured out."
Shaun grinned proudly. "Mostly."
They said goodbye at the door. Not heavy. Not lingering. Just a promise to be back later and an agreement that Codsworth was in charge until then.
Outside, the day was already alive.
Sanctuary hummed with early activity from farmers heading to the fields, guards changing shifts, traders setting up stalls. People nodded as Sico passed, greetings offered without ceremony. He returned them easily.
He didn't walk like someone weighed down today.
He walked like someone with purpose.
The training yard lay just beyond the main stretch of housing, a wide open space of packed dirt, wooden barriers, and makeshift equipment that had seen better days but still held strong. The sound reached him before the sight with boots pounding in rhythm, voices calling out counts, the sharp bark of commands carried on the morning air.
Preston Garvey stood at the center of it all.
Hat off. Sleeves rolled. Musket slung across his back as he moved among the soldiers with practiced ease, correcting stances, offering encouragement, occasionally stepping in to demonstrate a maneuver himself.
"Again!" Preston called out. "And this time, don't rush it, control the movement!"
Sico paused at the edge of the yard, arms folding loosely across his chest as he watched.
The soldiers were a mix with veterans hardened by years of conflict, younger recruits still finding their footing, men and women from settlements all across the Commonwealth. They moved together now, not perfectly, but with cohesion. Trust.
That mattered.
Sico stepped forward without announcement and joined the outer ring, picking up a practice rifle from the rack. A few soldiers noticed him immediately, eyes widening, murmurs rippling through the group.
Preston noticed too.
He stopped mid-instruction, staring for half a second before breaking into a grin.
"Well I'll be—" He turned and raised his voice. "Alright! Veteran rotation, you're up. Jackson, take lead!"
A grizzled man with scarred hands and sharp eyes nodded once and stepped forward without question.
Preston jogged over to Sico as the training resumed behind them.
"Morning," Preston said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Didn't expect to see you out here."
Sico shrugged, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the rifle in his hands. "Figured I should see things firsthand. Plus, I needed the movement."
Preston studied him for a moment, something approving settling into his expression. "You look… steadier."
Sico smirked faintly. "That obvious?"
"To me?" Preston replied. "Yeah."
They fell into step together along the edge of the yard, watching the soldiers run drills, correcting form where needed, offering brief words of encouragement as they passed.
Sico didn't waste time.
"How's morale?" he asked.
Preston answered immediately. "High. Higher than it's been in a long time."
"Explain."
Preston leaned against a wooden barrier, arms folding loosely. "They feel seen. Heard. Not just sent out and forgotten. Your decisions from patrol changes, equipment upgrades, to rest rotations that has made a difference."
Sico nodded slowly. "Any cracks?"
"A few," Preston admitted. "There always are. Fear doesn't vanish just because morale's good. But it's managed."
"That's what I needed to hear," Sico said.
Preston hesitated, then continued. "There is something else, though."
Sico turned his full attention to him. "Go on."
"We've had increased reports of suspicious activity," Preston said. "Scouts picking up movement patterns that don't match raiders or Brotherhood."
"Where?"
Preston's jaw tightened slightly. "Near the old Railroad HQ. North Old Church."
That landed heavier.
Sico's gaze sharpened, drifting briefly toward the horizon as if he could see the place from here.
"How recent?" he asked.
"Past few days," Preston replied. "Mostly at night. Lights. Signals. No direct engagement yet."
Sico exhaled slowly. "The Railroad may be gone, but the ground remembers."
Preston nodded. "Exactly."
They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of training filling the space between them.
"I'll look into it," Sico said finally. "Increase patrols quietly. No escalation unless necessary."
Preston smiled faintly. "Already ahead of you."
"Of course you are," Sico replied, the corner of his mouth lifting.
Behind them, the soldiers completed another drill in perfect unison.
Sico let his gaze drift back to the yard.
The soldiers moved as one now with boots striking the dirt in clean rhythm, bodies turning in practiced unison, rifles raised and lowered with discipline that hadn't existed here months ago. Sweat darkened collars, breath came heavy, but no one complained. No one dragged their feet. This wasn't just training anymore. It was belief made physical.
He took it in quietly, letting the moment stretch.
Then he spoke.
"There's something else we should consider," Sico said, voice low enough that only Preston could hear.
Preston shifted his weight, sensing the change immediately. "Alright," he replied. "I'm listening."
Sico nodded once, eyes still on the soldiers. "If what we're seeing near the North Old Church isn't random, if it's not scavengers or Brotherhood probes then there's a real possibility of something reforming there."
Preston's jaw tightened slightly. He didn't interrupt.
"The Railroad may be gone," Sico continued, "but movements like that don't disappear cleanly. They fracture. They hide. They wait."
He finally turned to face Preston fully. "And if there are surviving members starting to gather again… that means planning. Retaliation. Revenge."
The word hung there.
Preston exhaled slowly through his nose. "You think they'd come after us."
"I think they'd come after you," Sico corrected. "After settlements. After supply lines. After anything that represents what replaced them."
Preston didn't argue. He didn't need to.
Sico went on, measured, deliberate. "We built the Commandos for this exact reason. Small teams. Quiet movement. Recon first, action only if necessary."
He paused. "I'm thinking Robert. And MacCready. Send them with one of the commando units to check the situation."
Preston raised a brow. "MacCready, huh?"
"He's good under pressure," Sico said simply. "Knows how to read terrain. Knows when not to pull the trigger."
"And Robert?" Preston asked.
Sico's mouth curved faintly. "Robert doesn't miss much."
Preston was silent for a long moment.
The training yard filled the space as Jackson calling commands now, the soldiers moving through a new drill sequence, breath fogging slightly in the cool air.
Preston rubbed a hand over his chin, eyes narrowing in thought.
"Sending Commandos that close to the Old Church sends a message," he said slowly. "Even if we don't mean it to."
Sico nodded. "That's why it has to be quiet. No banners. No public briefings. Just eyes and ears."
"And if they are regrouping?" Preston asked.
"Then we know," Sico replied. "And knowing gives us options."
Preston looked back at the soldiers again. At the people he'd fought beside. Led. Buried.
Finally, he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "I agree."
Something in his voice settled. Firm. Certain.
"We'll send Robert and MacCready with a commando team," Preston continued. "Low profile. Night insertion. No engagement unless they have to."
Sico inclined his head slightly. "Good."
Preston let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I'll brief them myself."
"I know you will."
They stood there a moment longer, the decision solidifying between them not as a plan, but as a shared responsibility.
Behind them, the drill ended. Jackson barked an order to stand down, and the soldiers relaxed slightly, some wiping sweat from their brows, others rolling their shoulders or exchanging quiet comments.
Preston turned toward the yard, raising his voice. "Alright! Break for water. Five minutes."
A collective exhale rolled through the group.
Sico handed the practice rifle back to the rack and stepped aside with Preston as the soldiers dispersed.
"You going to talk to Robert and MacCready yourself?" Preston asked.
"MacCready, yes," Sico replied. "Robert already knows what this kind of movement means."
Preston nodded. "They'll do the job right."
"I trust them," Sico said.
That wasn't something he said lightly.
They started walking toward the edge of the yard, where a rough wooden bench sat beneath the shade of a patched-together awning. Preston dropped onto it with a quiet grunt, stretching his legs out in front of him. Sico remained standing for a moment before sitting beside him.
"You know," Preston said after a beat, "there was a time when I'd have handled this differently."
Sico glanced at him. "How so?"
"I'd have sent a full patrol. Made a show of force," Preston admitted. "Scared whoever was there into scattering."
"And now?" Sico asked.
Preston smiled faintly. "Now I know that fear doesn't end problems. It just teaches them how to hide better."
Sico nodded slowly. "Experience is expensive."
Preston let out a quiet laugh. "That's one way to put it."
They sat in companionable silence for a bit, watching the soldiers hydrate, joke, lean against barriers. This was what they were protecting. Not abstract ideals. Not flags or titles.
People.
Eventually, Sico rose. "I should let you get back to it."
Preston stood as well. "I'll send word once the team's moving."
"Appreciated."
They clasped forearms briefly, a gesture born of mutual respect rather than rank, then parted ways.
Sico walked back through Sanctuary slower than he had earlier.
The sun had climbed higher now, warmth settling into the bones of the place. Children ran between buildings, laughter echoing off walls that had once known only gunfire. Someone played music near the market with an old, crackling tune that still managed to feel hopeful.
He nodded to people as he passed. Some smiled. Some just dipped their heads. All of them looked… steady.
That mattered more than any report.
He stopped briefly near a guard post, exchanging a few quiet words, then continued on toward the administrative wing. There was more work waiting. There always was.
But the decision he'd made with Preston stayed with him.
Old ghosts didn't stay buried forever.
And if the Railroad's remnants were stirring, they wouldn't be acting out of ideology anymore.
They'd be acting out of pain.
Revenge.
That made them unpredictable.
By the time Sico reached his office, the day had fully shifted into motion around him. Messages were already waiting. Reports flagged for review. Requests queued neatly, as if the building itself had been holding its breath until he returned.
He took off his coat, draped it over the back of his chair, and sat.
But before he reached for the first file, his hand drifted briefly to his jacket pocket instead.
The folded note from Nora.
He didn't open it again. He didn't need to.
Just knowing it was there was enough.
He straightened, picked up his pen, and got to work.
The briefing room was dim, lit mostly by a single overhead lamp and a map was layed across the center table.
MacCready leaned back in his chair, boots propped up casually on the edge of the table despite the glares he was getting from one of the commandos. His rifle rested against the wall beside him, meticulously cleaned and ready.
"So," he said, arms crossed, smirk already in place, "let me guess. Quiet recon. Creepy old building. Possible people who don't want to be found."
Robert stood opposite him, arms folded, expression unreadable. "If you're done joking."
MacCready grinned wider. "I'm never done joking. It's a coping mechanism."
Sico stood at the head of the table, watching them both.
"This isn't a joke," he said calmly.
MacCready straightened immediately, boots dropping to the floor. "Yeah. I know."
Sico point at the map, on the familiar shape of the North Old Church, and with the map of the underground tunnels branching outward like veins.
"Scouts have reported activity here," he said. "Lights. Signals. Movement patterns inconsistent with scavengers or Brotherhood patrols."
Robert's eyes narrowed slightly. "Railroad tactics."
"Possibly," Sico replied. "We don't know yet. That's why you're going."
One of the commandos shifted forward. "Rules of engagement?"
"Observe first," Sico said. "Confirm presence. Identify numbers. Withdraw if compromised. No engagement unless unavoidable."
MacCready nodded. "Got it. Sneak, peek, don't start a war."
Robert glanced at Sico. "And if we confirm it is Railroad?"
Sico met his gaze evenly. "Then you come back. And we decide the next move together."
Robert inclined his head. "Understood."
The briefing wrapped quickly after that. They didn't need speeches. They didn't need dramatics. Everyone in that room understood what this meant.
As they filed out, MacCready paused beside Sico.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Just so you know, we'll be careful."
Sico gave a faint smile. "I know."
MacCready hesitated, then added, "And… good call. Sending us instead of a patrol."
"Sometimes," Sico replied, "less noise saves more lives."
MacCready nodded once, serious now, and followed the others out.
Sico remained behind, staring at the map as it dimmed and shut itself down.
The Old Church.
A place that had once represented hope for some. Fear for others.
Now?
Now it was just another crossroads.
He turned away, heading back toward his office, mind already shifting to contingency plans, resource allocations, possible fallout.
Sico didn't leave the briefing room right away.
He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, hands resting on the edge of the table where the map had been, eyes unfocused as his mind moved several steps ahead of where his body still stood. The room felt quieter now, emptied of voices and movement, the faint hum of the overhead lamp the only reminder that time hadn't paused just because a decision had been made.
Then he straightened.
"Robert," he called.
Robert had been halfway through the doorway. He stopped immediately and turned back, posture straight, attention sharp. MacCready, already a step ahead, paused too, one brow lifting with curiosity.
"Yes, sir?" Robert asked.
Sico walked toward them, measured steps, expression composed but intent. "I want this handled carefully. Not just quietly, believably."
Robert nodded once. "Understood."
"I want you to take twenty Commandos," Sico continued. "No more. No less."
MacCready's brow rose a fraction. "That's a decent-sized group for 'quiet.'"
"That's why you'll be using five Humvees," Sico replied evenly. "Standard Freemasons configuration. Markings intact. Rotational patrol loadout."
Robert's eyes sharpened slightly now. He saw it immediately.
"Make it look like a routine patrol," Robert said.
"Exactly," Sico replied. "If anyone's watching from Railroad remnants, Brotherhood scouts, independent eyes as I want them to see nothing out of the ordinary. Just another patrol moving through old ground."
MacCready let out a low whistle. "Hide the knife in plain sight."
Sico glanced at him. "You still good with that approach?"
MacCready grinned faintly, but there was steel beneath it. "It's my favorite."
Robert inclined his head. "Five Humvees. Twenty Commandos. Standard patrol formation. We leave no signature."
"You leave at dusk," Sico added. "That gives you cover without raising questions. Too early looks deliberate. Too late looks suspicious."
Robert nodded again. "We'll be ready."
Sico held his gaze a second longer. "I don't want heroics. If something feels wrong, you pull back."
Robert didn't bristle. Didn't argue.
"Yes, sir," he said simply.
Sico turned his attention to MacCready. "You're eyes and instincts on this one. I trust them."
MacCready straightened a little at that. "Won't let you down."
"I know," Sico said.
That was all.
Robert turned crisply and headed down the corridor. MacCready followed, already rolling his shoulders like his body had slipped into a familiar rhythm. Preparation mode. Focus narrowing.
Sico watched them go until they disappeared around the bend.
Only then did he exhale.
The afternoon passed in a blur of logistics, coordination, and quiet adjustments.
Orders went out through channels that didn't draw attention. Fuel allocations rerouted under routine maintenance justifications. Armory access approved under patrol resupply codes. Nothing flashy. Nothing that would ripple outward and raise eyebrows.
By the time the sun began its slow descent, Sanctuary shifted again.
The heat softened. Shadows stretched longer between buildings. People wrapped up their work for the day, laughter drifting more freely now that the edge of urgency had dulled. Guards rotated shifts. Lights flickered on one by one.
And near the motor pool, the Commandos gathered.
Twenty of them.
Men and women who didn't talk much when they were focused, who checked their gear with practiced hands and steady expressions. Their armor was standard Freemasons issue that scuffed, practical, familiar. No custom markings. No personal flair beyond the subtle wear that came from use.
Five Humvees stood in a neat line, engines idling low, paintwork dusty but intact. From a distance, it looked exactly like what it was meant to look like.
Just another patrol.
Robert moved among the squad, quiet words exchanged here and there. A nod. A hand on a shoulder. A reminder murmured low enough that only the intended ear caught it.
MacCready leaned against one of the vehicles, rifle slung easily across his back as he watched the scene with a sharp, assessing gaze. He wasn't joking now. The humor had been folded away, saved for later or if later came.
He caught Robert's eye and jerked his chin toward the lead Humvee. "We taking point?"
Robert nodded. "You and me."
"Figures," MacCready replied, pushing off the vehicle and rolling his neck once. "I'll try not to crash us into anything ancient and cursed."
"Try harder than that," Robert said dryly.
They shared a brief look. No words needed.
Across the yard, Sico stood just inside the shadow of a building, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he watched the final preparations. He didn't hover. He didn't insert himself into their process.
He trusted them.
Still, when Robert approached him a few minutes later, Sico turned fully to face him.
"Squad's ready," Robert said. "Supplies loaded. Routes planned."
Sico nodded. "Remind them, this isn't about proving anything."
Robert's mouth tightened slightly. "They know."
"Good."
A brief pause.
"If you find something," Sico added quietly, "anything at all, don't push. Information is the win."
Robert met his gaze steadily. "We'll bring back what we can."
Sico extended his hand. Robert clasped it firmly.
"Safe return," Sico said.
"Yes, sir."
Robert turned and headed back toward the Humvees.
MacCready lingered a second longer.
"You'll hold the fort," he said, tone lighter than his eyes. "Try not to miss me too much."
Sico huffed a faint breath of amusement. "Just come back alive."
MacCready's grin softened. "Working on it."
Then he was gone too.
Engines revved slightly higher as the Humvees pulled out in sequence, tires crunching against gravel. The convoy rolled through Sanctuary at a steady, unhurried pace, guards along the route barely glancing twice.
Routine.
Normal.
The gates opened. Closed.
And just like that, they were gone.
Sico stood there until the dust settled.
Night came fully by the time he returned home.
The house glowed softly against the dark, windows lit warm and inviting. Inside, Codsworth hovered near the kitchen, humming as he finished tidying up. Shaun sat cross-legged on the floor with a scattering of parts around him, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration as he worked on something that clicked and whirred when he nudged it.
"You're back," Shaun said without looking up.
"I am," Sico replied, setting his coat aside. "What've you got there?"
Shaun held it up proudly. "It's a thing. It's supposed to roll and then open."
Sico crouched beside him, studying the mess of parts with genuine interest. "Does it do that?"
"Not yet," Shaun admitted. "But it will."
Sico smiled. "I believe you."
They spent a while like that as Shaun explaining his design with great seriousness, Sico listening, asking questions, offering suggestions that Shaun considered deeply before either accepting or rejecting with dramatic flair.
Eventually, Codsworth cleared his throat. "Ahem. Bedtime approaches, sir."
Shaun groaned. "Already?"
"You've got a big day of thinking ahead of you," Sico said gently.
Shaun considered that, then nodded. "Okay."
After the lights were dimmed and Shaun settled into bed, Sico lingered in the doorway a moment, watching the boy drift off.
Sico lingered in the doorway a moment longer than necessary.
Shaun's breathing evened out quickly, small chest rising and falling beneath the blanket, one hand curled loosely around the edge like he was holding onto the day even as sleep took him. The soft glow of the nightlight painted the room in warm amber, catching on half-finished drawings taped to the wall and the little mechanical odds and ends scattered neatly on a shelf as projects paused, not abandoned.
Sico eased the door closed with care, the click barely audible.
The house settled around him.
Codsworth hovered in the hallway, lowering his voice automatically. "He's out cold, sir. Growing minds require rest, after all."
"I know," Sico murmured. "Thanks."
He poured himself a glass of water instead of anything stronger tonight and stood by the window again, staring out at Sanctuary under the stars. Somewhere beyond the tree line, beyond the roads and broken landmarks, five Humvees were rolling through the dark.
Routine patrol.
He stayed there until the glass fogged faintly beneath his breath, until the house felt too quiet to stand anymore. Then he turned off the lights and let the night take him.
The convoy slowed long before the Old North Church came into view.
Robert raised a hand from the lead Humvee, two fingers extended, then closed his fist. The signal passed down the line smoothly as engines dropped to a low growl, headlights dimmed to slits. Tires crunched over broken pavement and dirt as the vehicles crept forward.
MacCready leaned slightly out the passenger side, scanning the tree line with practiced ease. His eyes didn't linger anywhere for too long. Old habit. Old survival instinct.
"There she is," he muttered.
The Old North Church rose out of the dark like a scar that never quite healed.
Moonlight caught on its broken steeple, the jagged silhouette cutting into the night sky. The stone walls bore the marks of their assault months ago with blackened scorch marks, pockmarks where bullets had chewed into old masonry, sections hastily repaired and then abandoned again. Nature had already started reclaiming it: vines creeping along the lower walls, weeds pushing through cracks in the steps.
Robert studied it in silence.
"This place always gave me a bad feeling," MacCready said. "Even before we shot it up."
Robert didn't disagree. "Everyone says that."
The convoy came to a full stop just outside the church grounds. Engines idled, then cut one by one until the night rushed in to fill the space they left behind.
Robert stepped out first, boots hitting the ground softly. He raised a hand again, and the Commandos disembarked in practiced sequence with no shouting, no clatter. Just quiet movement, weapons slung, eyes alert.
"Perimeter first," Robert said quietly. "Same as any patrol."
They spread out, forming a loose but effective ring around the church. Flashlights stayed off. Night optics flickered on with soft clicks, green glows reflecting faintly in lenses.
MacCready moved alongside Robert toward the main entrance, rifle in hand but lowered.
"Looks dead," MacCready said.
Robert didn't answer immediately. He studied the front doors that once grand, now warped and cracked, one hanging slightly askew on its hinges.
"Dead doesn't mean empty," he replied.
They reached the steps.
MacCready nudged something with his boot. A rusted shell casing rolled across the stone with a quiet scrape.
"Still finding these," MacCready muttered. "Like the place remembers."
Robert crouched, running gloved fingers over a dark stain on the stone. Old blood. Long dried.
"We didn't just destroy a base here," he said quietly. "We shattered a belief."
MacCready glanced at him. "Beliefs have a way of splintering, not disappearing."
Robert nodded once. "Exactly."
They pushed the doors open carefully.
The interior of the church was worse than the outside.
Pews lay overturned, some burned, others smashed beyond recognition. The altar had been reduced to rubble, religious iconography shattered and scattered across the floor. Moonlight streamed through broken stained glass, casting fractured colors across dust and debris.
The air smelled stale. Old smoke. Damp stone.
"No recent fires," MacCready said after a quick glance around. "No fresh footprints either."
Robert listened.
The building answered with silence.
"Split into pairs," he ordered softly. "Sweep the ground floor."
They moved with efficiency, boots avoiding loose debris where possible. Radios stayed silent with hand signals only. Every corner checked. Every shadow acknowledged.
Minutes passed.
"All clear," came the quiet signals one by one.
MacCready rejoined Robert near the old freedom trail marker.
"That symbol still creeps me out," MacCready said, eyeing the faded red line embedded in the floor. "You'd think smashing the Railroad would've taken some of the mystique with it."
Robert knelt, brushing dust from the marker. "Mystique's hard to kill."
He traced the familiar pattern, then stood.
"Catacombs," he said.
MacCready exhaled slowly. "Of course."
They moved the old mechanism aside and revealed the stairs descending into darkness.
The underground swallowed sound.
As they descended, the air cooled noticeably, carrying the faint metallic tang of old blood and gun oil. Their lights flicked on now, narrow beams cutting through dust motes that danced lazily in the dark.
The catacombs stretched out before them with rows of old burial alcoves, stone floors etched with time and neglect.
"Still creepy," MacCready whispered.
Robert raised a hand. Halt.
They listened.
Nothing.
No voices. No movement. No hum of generators.
Just the faint drip of water somewhere deep in the tunnels.
They advanced slowly, clearing the catacombs methodically. Old skeletons lay undisturbed in their niches, wrapped in crumbling cloth. The dead had not been bothered.
"That's a good sign," MacCready said under his breath. "Grave robbers would've made a mess."
"Or desperate people," Robert replied.
They reached the familiar tunnel with the one that led to the Railroad HQ.
The entrance was partially collapsed from their last assault, concrete and stone blocking much of the path. But someone had cleared enough to pass through.
MacCready's jaw tightened. "Someone's been here."
"Maybe," Robert said. "Or it was never fully sealed."
They ducked through one by one, weapons ready.
The tunnel opened into the remains of the Railroad headquarters.
The room was a shell of what it once was.
Desks overturned and smashed. Terminals gutted, screens shattered. Filing cabinets burst open, their contents scattered across the floor with papers yellowed with age, maps torn and trampled, code sheets half-burned but still legible in places.
Bullet casings littered the ground like brass confetti, glinting in the flashlight beams. Blood stains marked the walls and floor, some dark and old, others lighter where attempts had been made to clean them long ago.
MacCready stepped carefully around a collapsed support beam. "Looks like a bomb went off in a filing cabinet."
Robert crouched, lifting a scrap of paper.
"Railroad ciphers," he said. "Old ones."
MacCready scanned the room, heart rate steady but alert. "No footprints in the dust. No fresh trash. No heat."
"No signs of habitation," Robert agreed.
They moved deeper.
The old command room was worse.
Chairs lay broken, the main table split cleanly down the middle. The wall where the Railroad emblem once hung was blackened, the symbol barely visible beneath soot and scorch marks.
MacCready swallowed. "Hard to believe people planned a revolution in here."
Robert's voice was quiet. "Harder to believe some of them survived it."
They completed a full sweep.
Every room. Every side passage.
Nothing.
No living presence.
No supplies staged. No signs of recent occupation beyond the cleared tunnel and faint disturbances that could've been months old.
The Commandos regrouped in the main chamber.
Robert straightened. "Report."
One by one, heads shook.
"Nothing."
"Clear."
"No contacts."
MacCready leaned against a cracked pillar, exhaling. "Either we're early… or we're chasing ghosts."
Robert didn't look convinced.
"Ghosts don't clear tunnels," he said.
MacCready grimaced. "Fair point."
Robert activated his radio quietly. "Mark the site as clear but compromised. Document everything."
They took photos. Logged evidence. Collected a few papers that looked important enough to review later.
Still, the emptiness pressed in.
MacCready crouched near a pile of papers, flipping one over with his glove. "You know what bothers me?"
Robert glanced at him. "You're about to tell me anyway."
MacCready huffed. "This place is too clean. Not tidy, clean of life. If someone was regrouping here, they'd leave something behind. Food wrappers. Power lines. A mattress."
Robert nodded slowly. "Which means if there are remnants…"
"They're meeting somewhere else," MacCready finished. "And using this place as a decoy. Or a memory."
Robert straightened. "Or they haven't committed yet."
The thought settled uneasily.
They made their way back toward the catacombs, senses still sharp.
On the ascent, MacCready glanced back one last time at the ruined HQ.
"Whatever they believed in," he said quietly, "it died here."
Robert paused beside him. "Beliefs don't always die. Sometimes they just change shape."
They climbed the stairs in silence.
Back above ground, the night felt warmer somehow.
The Commandos regrouped near the Humvees, movements smooth, efficient. No alarms raised. No contact made.
Robert gave the final hand signal.
Convoy ready.
As engines turned over, MacCready climbed back into the lead vehicle, glancing once more at the silhouette of the Old North Church in the rearview mirror.
"Nothing there," he said softly.
Robert's hands tightened on the wheel. "Which means something's coming."
The Humvees rolled out, disappearing back into the dark.
And behind them, the ruins of the Old North Church stood silent that holding its secrets close, waiting for whatever came next.
______________________________________________
• 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:-