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The Children of Atom's church lay in ruins. And the Commonwealth had just crossed another line it could never uncross.
Preston let the silence sit for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
Smoke drifted in lazy spirals through the ruined valley, carrying the sharp tang of scorched metal, burned cloth, and irradiated dust. Somewhere, something crackled as it finished collapsing in on itself. A half-melted scaffold gave a final groan and slumped sideways, settling into the earth like a body finally giving up.
The battle was over.
That didn't mean it was finished.
Preston lifted his radio again, voice steady but tired in a way no armor could hide. "All units, hold positions. Maintain perimeter. Watch for movement."
Affirmatives rolled back to him, one after another. Disciplined. Controlled. Alive.
He turned slowly, scanning the settlement with a commander's eye instead of a fighter's. The center was a cratered mess from shattered drums, scorched ground, warped air still shimmering faintly as radiation bled off into nothing. The outer rings were worse. What had once been barricades and watch posts were now twisted heaps of scrap and concrete, their careful construction erased in minutes by shells and sustained fire.
Faith reduced to rubble.
Preston felt the weight of that settle in his chest, heavy and complicated.
Sarah approached again, boots crunching softly on debris. Her helmet hung loose in her hand now, her face streaked with soot and sweat, eyes sharp despite the fatigue.
"You want us sweeping now?" she asked.
Preston nodded, then raised a hand slightly. "Yes. But we do it right."
He keyed the command channel so everyone could hear. "Listen up. We're not done yet."
The soldiers nearby instinctively straightened, attention snapping back to him even as med teams began moving among the wounded.
"There are survivors out there," Preston continued. "Some of them armed. Some of them scared. All of them irradiated."
He turned to Sarah fully. "I want you to take twenty soldiers. Sweep the area. Find any living members of the Children of Atom. Anyone who surrenders gets restrained and transported back to Sanctuary for interrogation."
Sarah nodded once, already mentally organizing squads. "Alive if possible," she said.
"Alive if possible," Preston confirmed. "But no chances."
Then he added, firmly, "Before you move, hazmat suits. Full seal."
Sarah paused, then gave a sharp nod. "Already thinking it."
Preston's expression softened just a fraction. "Good. Those drums weren't just for show. I don't want anyone glowing in the dark next week."
MacCready, standing nearby and leaning heavily on a chunk of fallen concrete, snorted. "Kinda ruins the stealth aesthetic."
Robert shot him a look. "You almost became a cautionary tale back there. Don't push it."
MacCready raised his hands. "Hey, I'm alive. That earns me at least one bad joke."
Preston allowed himself the ghost of a smile before turning back to business.
"Medics!" he called out.
A pair of combat medics jogged over immediately, their kits already open, RadAway injectors visible and ready.
"I want RadAway administered to everyone who was inside the settlement," Preston ordered. "Soldiers, commandos, vehicle crews. No exceptions. I don't care if your counter says you're fine."
One of the medics nodded briskly. "Yes, sir. We'll start immediately."
"Log dosages," Preston added. "And flag anyone with abnormal readings. I want follow-ups."
"Copy that."
The medic turned and raised his voice, already moving. "Alright, line up! If you fought, you get stabbed. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
A few soldiers chuckled weakly, tension bleeding off now that the danger had passed. They began forming loose lines, armor hissing as seals disengaged just enough for injections.
Sarah tapped her radio. "Hazmat team, gear up," she ordered. "We move in five."
Her soldiers broke off smoothly, heading back toward the Humvees where sealed suits were stored. The professionalism was automatic. No complaints. No bravado. They'd seen what this place did.
Preston watched them go, then looked back toward the center of the settlement.
Toward the body.
The leader lay where he'd fallen, robes soaked dark, eyes staring sightlessly at a sky that no longer answered him. The atom pendant rested crookedly on his chest, dulled now, just another piece of scrap.
Preston exhaled slowly.
Robert limped closer, testing his weight carefully. The radiation spike had left him pale beneath the grime, but his eyes were clear.
"You alright?" Preston asked quietly.
Robert nodded. "RadAway'll help. Armor filters took most of it."
MacCready tilted his head. "You say that like you didn't sprint into a radioactive altar to shoot a prophet."
Robert shrugged faintly. "Someone had to."
Preston studied him for a moment, then gave a small, decisive nod. "You did what you had to do."
That was all he said.
For Robert, it was enough.
The RadAway injections began in earnest.
One by one, soldiers stepped forward, armor partially opened, necks and forearms exposed just long enough for the hiss of the injector and the sharp sting beneath the skin. Some winced. Some didn't react at all. The medics moved quickly, methodically, calling out names, recording readings, scanning counters.
Sarah passed one line of soldiers as she returned from issuing orders, hazmat hood tucked under her arm for now.
"Drink water after," a medic was saying. "All of it. Yes, even if you don't feel sick."
One soldier grimaced. "I hate that taste."
The medic snorted. "Better than tumors."
That shut him up.
Sarah stopped briefly to receive her own injection, jaw tightening at the sting before she replaced her helmet and continued on.
Across the settlement, the last of the tanks powered down, engines settling into a low idle. Their crews remained inside, sealed and waiting, scanning for threats even now.
Because experience had taught them better than to relax too soon.
Preston walked the perimeter as the process continued, checking in with squad leaders, listening to quick reports.
"West flank secure."
"Three wounded, stable."
"Two cultists surrendered near the north scaffolding."
Each update was another weight added to the ledger in his head.
When Sarah returned, fully suited now with hazmat armor sealed, visor darkened, radiation meter glowing faintly green as she looked almost like a ghost of herself. Twenty soldiers stood behind her, similarly sealed, weapons ready, posture disciplined.
"We're set," she said through the suit's external speaker. "Sweep pattern?"
Preston pulled up the local map on his wrist display, overlaying it with their current positions. He highlighted several zones.
"Start here," he said, indicating the outer structures. "Work inward. Check underground access points first from basements, tunnels, anything that looks reinforced. The Children of Atom love hiding holes."
Sarah nodded. "Restraints only, unless they force it."
"Exactly."
She hesitated for half a second, then added, "If we find children—"
Preston cut in gently but firmly. "They're prisoners, not targets. We bring them in. Sanctuary can figure out what comes next."
Sarah inclined her head. "Understood."
She turned, raised her hand, and the hazmat team moved out as one, disappearing into the smoke and ruins.
Preston watched them go, jaw tight.
Time stretched.
The adrenaline ebbed, leaving behind the ache.
RadAway made some soldiers nauseous. Others complained of headaches or dizziness, but the medics reassured them, monitoring vitals closely. Robert sat on the edge of a Humvee, helmet off, sipping water slowly while a medic scanned him again.
"Levels are dropping," the medic said. "You'll want rest."
Robert gave a humorless smile. "When don't I."
MacCready sat beside him, boots dangling. "You know," he said lightly, "next time you feel like charging a glowing death machine, we could talk it out first."
Robert glanced at him. "You followed me."
MacCready grinned. "I never said I was smart."
Preston overheard but didn't interrupt. Some conversations didn't need supervision.
Instead, he turned toward the settlement again, toward the hazmat team's path. The drums lay silent now, broken open, their insides exposed with coils, barrels, improvised regulators, all designed to do one thing very well.
Hurt people.
On purpose.
His radio crackled. Sarah's voice came through, filtered but clear. "Contact."
Preston straightened instantly. "Go ahead."
"We've got survivors," she said. "Six so far. Unarmed. Hiding in a maintenance tunnel under the east platform."
"Any resistance?"
"None," Sarah replied. "They're shaken. Some are irradiated pretty badly."
Preston closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. "Restrain and extract. Medics on standby."
"Copy."
Another pause.
"And Preston?" Sarah added.
"Yes."
"One of them asked if Atom abandoned them."
Preston swallowed.
"What did you tell them?" he asked quietly.
Sarah exhaled through her suit's respirator. "I told them Atom doesn't answer anyone. People do."
Preston nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "That'll do."
The sweep continued for hours.
Hazmat teams moved methodically through the ruins, uncovering hidden rooms, supply caches, sleeping quarters lined with makeshift shrines and radiation symbols scratched into metal walls. They found journals filled with scripture and madness, crates of Rad-X and homemade injectors, weapons stockpiles far larger than expected.
And people.
Men and women who dropped to their knees when discovered. Some wept. Some screamed. A few tried to fight and were subdued quickly, efficiently.
Each prisoner was restrained, scanned, tagged, and escorted back toward the convoy, where medics waited with RadAway and blankets.
By late afternoon, the valley looked different.
Not peaceful.
But quiet.
Preston stood near the center, watching the last of the prisoners loaded into armored transports. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the wreckage, painting everything in tired gold.
Sarah approached again, suit now removed, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She looked exhausted, but focused.
"That's everyone we could find," she said. "Twenty-three prisoners total. Some injured. Two in critical condition."
Preston nodded. "We'll take them all."
He glanced back toward the shattered drums one last time. "Burn what's left," he said. "After we're clear. I don't want anyone else stumbling onto this place and thinking it's sacred."
Sarah's expression hardened. "Understood."
Sarah didn't hesitate.
She never did when a decision had already been made.
She lifted her radio, thumb pressing the transmit key as she turned back toward the ruined settlement, eyes hard, posture squared. "All hazmat units, this is Sarah. We're moving to final denial. Prep incendiaries."
Acknowledgements came back one by one, calm and professional.
"Copy."
"Incendiaries ready."
"Charges standing by."
The prisoners were already gone, loaded into armored transports under guard, blankets thrown over shoulders that still shook from fear, sickness, or grief. The wounded had been stabilized as best as the field allowed. Whatever judgment waited for them now would come later, far away from this place.
This place didn't get to keep anyone anymore.
Sarah gestured forward, and the soldiers spread out through the ruins, movements deliberate and careful. They carried fuel canisters scavenged from their own supplies and from the cult's stockpiles, hoses and igniters, small charges clipped to belts. The hazmat suits made them look inhuman with faceless shapes moving through smoke and rubble, but there was nothing mechanical about the way they worked.
Some paused.
Not long. Just a second.
A glance at a scorched wall covered in hand-painted symbols. A half-burned prayer etched into metal. A child-sized bed frame tucked into a corner of a shack.
Then they moved on.
Fire came first.
Sarah oversaw it personally, walking the perimeter, checking placements, ensuring coverage. Fuel was poured over collapsed shrines, prayer halls, dormitories, stockpiles of scripture and radiation paraphernalia. Flames caught quickly, hungry and bright, devouring cloth, wood, paper, and the fragile illusions of permanence the cult had built.
Smoke thickened, black and rolling now, rising in heavy columns that twisted into the sky.
"Light it," Sarah ordered.
One by one, igniters flared.
Fire ran along the ground in sudden lines, raced up walls, leapt across debris. Heat bloomed outward, forcing soldiers to step back even through insulated suits. Structures groaned as supports failed, roofs collapsing inward with showers of sparks.
Sarah watched it all, jaw set.
This wasn't vengeance.
It was denial.
Behind her, another team moved toward the tunnel entrances from maintenance shafts, access corridors, escape routes carved beneath the settlement over years of preparation and paranoia. The Children of Atom had always believed in survival through secrecy. In burrowing. In having somewhere to run when the world tried to burn them away.
Sarah wasn't going to give them that chance again.
"Charges placed?" she asked.
A squad leader nodded. "Primary tunnels rigged. Secondary access points too. We've got shaped charges set deep enough to collapse, not crater."
"Good," Sarah replied. "I want those tunnels sealed like graves."
The soldier hesitated, then asked quietly, "Detonate now?"
Sarah looked toward the burning settlement one last time.
"Yes," she said. "Now."
The explosions were muffled compared to the battle earlier, deep concussive thumps that traveled through the ground more than the air. The earth shuddered beneath their boots. Smoke puffed up from tunnel mouths as supports gave way underground, collapsing corridors into themselves with grinding finality.
One tunnel mouth caved in entirely, stone and concrete folding inward like wet paper.
Another belched dust and debris before sealing itself shut.
Sarah felt the vibrations travel up her legs, into her bones.
Good.
Let it feel final.
As the fires continued to spread, consuming everything that could burn, she keyed her radio again. "All units, fall back to safe distance. Let it finish."
They retreated in disciplined lines, stopping well clear of the heat and smoke. The valley glowed now, lit by firelight and the dying embers of shattered radiation drums. What had once been a place of worship, however twisted, was now just another scar on the Commonwealth.
One less place for madness to grow.
While the flames worked, Robert and MacCready were already moving.
The commandos didn't stay near the fire. That wasn't their role now.
They pushed outward, spreading into the surrounding hills, ruins, and scrubland that bordered the valley. The Children of Atom had always scattered when pressed, slipping away in twos and threes, disappearing into the Commonwealth to rebuild elsewhere if allowed.
That wasn't happening today.
Robert led from the front despite the limp, despite the lingering radiation fatigue. His armor was scorched, paint blistered, but his rifle was steady in his hands. He moved with controlled urgency, eyes scanning every shadow, every outcropping, every half-buried ruin that could hide a watcher or a runner.
MacCready flanked him, goggles down again now, expression sharp and serious beneath the humor he usually wore like armor.
"Tracks," MacCready murmured at one point, crouching near a patch of disturbed dirt. "Fresh. Couple hours old."
Robert knelt beside him, studying the marks. "Two people. Maybe three."
MacCready nodded. "Heading northeast. Away from the fire."
"Then that's where we go," Robert said.
He raised his hand, signaling the commandos to shift direction. They moved smoothly, splitting into staggered elements, covering angles instinctively. No chatter. No wasted motion.
The Commonwealth stretched out around them with dead trees, broken highways, rusted vehicles half-swallowed by earth. The fire behind them cast long shadows ahead, turning every rock into something that might move if you stared too long.
MacCready broke the silence quietly. "You think any of them actually believed it?"
Robert didn't look at him. "Believed what?"
"That Atom was gonna save them," MacCready said. "That glowing yourself to death meant something."
Robert considered it as they walked. "Some did," he said finally. "Some needed to."
MacCready snorted softly. "That's depressing."
"It's human," Robert replied.
They crested a low ridge and spotted movement below ad three figures scrambling through the ruins of an old farmstead, moving fast, desperate. One stumbled and nearly fell before another hauled him upright.
"There," MacCready breathed.
Robert raised his rifle, then paused. He watched them for a moment through the scope.
They weren't armed.
They were running because they were afraid.
Robert lowered the rifle. "Cut them off," he said. "We take them alive."
The commandos flowed downhill, splitting to intercept. One cultist spotted them and screamed, panic breaking into full terror. They ran harder, but exhaustion and radiation sickness slowed them.
It didn't take long.
They were on their knees within minutes, hands shaking as restraints snapped closed around their wrists. One sobbed openly. Another stared at the ground, lips moving silently in prayer.
MacCready crouched in front of them. "You're done running," he said, not unkindly. "If you're smart, you stay alive now."
One of the cultists looked up, eyes red and wild. "Atom will—"
Robert interrupted quietly. "Atom didn't save your leader."
The words hit harder than a rifle butt.
The cultist deflated, shoulders sagging as the truth settled in.
They radioed the pickup coordinates and moved on.
That pattern repeated across the surrounding area.
Small groups flushed from hiding. Lone survivors trying to slip away under cover of smoke or dusk. Some surrendered immediately. A few tried to fight and were disarmed or incapacitated quickly.
None escaped.
By the time the sun dipped fully below the horizon, the valley behind them was a furnace of glowing embers and collapsing structures. The fire roared unchecked, consuming everything left standing, sending sparks swirling up into the darkening sky like dying stars.
Sarah stood with Preston at the edge of the safe perimeter, watching it burn.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Preston finally broke the silence. "How many tunnels collapsed?"
"All known ones," Sarah replied. "And a few we didn't expect. Nothing usable left."
Preston nodded. "Good."
He watched as a roof finally gave way entirely, the structure folding inward with a roar that sent a plume of sparks high into the air.
"This place won't be rebuilt," Sarah said. It wasn't a question.
"No," Preston agreed. "Not here."
A radio crackled at his hip. Robert's voice came through, slightly distorted but clear. "Perimeter patrol ongoing. We've intercepted several escapees. No sign of organized regrouping."
Preston keyed the mic. "Copy. Keep at it until full dark. I don't want stragglers."
"Understood."
MacCready's voice chimed in, dry as ever. "On the bright side, boss, I don't think they're hosting another sermon tonight."
Preston huffed quietly. "I'll take the small victories."
As darkness settled, the fire became the only light in the valley, painting faces in orange and red. Soldiers sat on the ground now, exhausted, helmets off, sharing water, murmuring quietly. The adrenaline crash hit hard after days of tension and hours of violence.
Medics continued their rounds, checking radiation levels again, administering second doses of RadAway where needed, logging symptoms. One soldier vomited and was helped gently to his feet. Another laughed shakily after realizing his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
No one judged.
Everyone understood.
Robert and MacCready returned near midnight, commandos fanning out to take up final watch positions around the convoy. Robert's limp was more pronounced now, fatigue catching up with him at last.
"You're gonna need rest," Preston told him when he approached.
Robert nodded. "I know."
MacCready clapped a hand on Robert's shoulder. "He's lying. He's gonna sit somewhere and stare at nothing for an hour first."
Robert didn't deny it.
Preston looked past them, at the fire still burning, at the smoke that would linger long after the flames died. "You both did good work today."
MacCready raised an eyebrow. "That's it? No speech?"
Preston shook his head. "No speeches."
He glanced toward the transports holding the prisoners, engines idling, guards posted. "We'll deal with the rest back home."
Sarah joined them again, helmet tucked under her arm, eyes tired but resolute. "Fire'll burn itself out by morning," she said. "Nothing left to salvage."
"Good," Preston replied.
For a moment, they all stood there together as Preston, Sarah, Robert, MacCready which four people carrying different weights from the same day.
The Commonwealth would hear about this.
There would be rumors. Fear. Anger. Relief. All of it tangled together.
Preston let the moment stretch just a few seconds longer.
The fire cracked and roared behind them, a living thing devouring the last remains of the settlement. The glow painted their armor and faces in shifting shades of orange and red, turning familiar people into silhouettes edged with flame. Ash drifted through the air like dirty snow, settling on shoulders, on boots, on the scarred ground where blood had already dried dark.
This was the pause after impact.
The breath you took when you realized you were still alive.
Then Preston straightened.
"Alright," he said, voice carrying without effort. "That's enough standing around."
Heads turned toward him. Soldiers looked up from the ground where they sat, medics glanced over their scanners, commandos shifted their weight, instinctively ready for the next order. Even exhaustion didn't dull that reflex.
"Everyone back inside the convoy," Preston continued. "We start prep for return to Sanctuary immediately."
A ripple of motion went through the perimeter. Soldiers rose, some with effort, some with quiet groans as stiff muscles protested. Helmets were lifted, reattached. Weapons were slung properly. Training took over where adrenaline had left off.
Preston turned slightly toward Sarah. "I want you on prisoner detail," he said. "Personally."
Sarah met his eyes without hesitation. "Understood."
"No rotation," Preston added. "You stay with them until we're back behind Sanctuary's walls."
Sarah nodded once, sharp and absolute. "No one slips."
"That's the idea."
She turned immediately, already moving toward the transport trucks where the prisoners were held. Her presence alone seemed to straighten the guards posted there. She was calm, composed, and utterly uncompromising—exactly what Preston wanted between frightened zealots and the open Commonwealth.
Robert watched her go, then looked back at Preston. "You expecting trouble on the ride back?"
"I expect desperation," Preston replied. "And desperation gets loud when it thinks no one's listening."
MacCready cracked his neck, wincing. "Good thing we brought a lot of people who are very good at listening for the wrong kind of noise."
Preston gave him a look. "You're riding perimeter."
MacCready grinned tiredly. "Knew you loved me."
"I trust you to shoot the right thing," Preston said.
"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day."
The convoy came alive with renewed purpose.
Engines rumbled louder as drivers performed checks. Fuel levels were verified, damage assessed. One Humvee had taken shrapnel to the side panel; another had a cracked headlight. Nothing critical. Nothing that would slow them down.
Medics finished final radiation scans, logging readings and quietly flagging names for follow-up once they returned. Rad counters ticked softly, numbers dropping but not forgotten.
Preston walked the line, checking each vehicle as he went.
He passed soldiers helping one another climb into transports, hands steadying elbows, a quiet "You good?" exchanged without ceremony. He passed a young private staring back toward the fire one last time, face pale beneath the grime.
"You alright?" Preston asked gently.
The private startled, then nodded. "Yes, sir. Just… thinking."
Preston followed his gaze to the burning valley. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too."
He moved on.
At the prisoner transports, Sarah was already in command.
The prisoners were seated along the interior benches, wrists bound, ankles restrained where necessary. Some stared at the floor. Others watched the soldiers with hollow eyes. A few whispered prayers under their breath, words slipping out automatically now that their world had burned away.
Sarah walked the aisle slowly, boots heavy against the metal floor, her presence radiating control. Guards flanked the doors, weapons ready but not raised.
"Listen carefully," Sarah said, her voice calm and clear. "No one speaks unless spoken to. No one moves without permission. Anyone who tries something will be restrained further."
She let the words sit.
"This convoy is your protection," she continued. "Not your punishment. Don't test that."
One prisoner that is a thin man with cracked lips and burn scars crawling up his neck then looked up at her. "You destroyed Atom's house," he said hoarsely.
Sarah met his gaze. "No," she replied evenly. "You destroyed it yourselves. We just made sure it stayed destroyed."
The man swallowed and looked away.
Sarah turned to the guard nearest her. "Check restraints again," she ordered. "Every stop, every time."
"Yes, ma'am."
Outside, Robert and MacCready regrouped with their commandos, taking up positions along the convoy's flanks. They moved with practiced efficiency, spacing themselves, checking fields of fire even as darkness deepened around them.
Robert climbed into the lead escort vehicle, wincing as he settled into the seat. MacCready leaned against the frame beside him.
"You should get looked at again when we're back," MacCready said quietly.
Robert smirked faintly. "You volunteering to carry me?"
MacCready snorted. "Don't push it."
The last of the fires collapsed inward with a thunderous crash as a main support finally gave way. A wave of sparks shot skyward, then faded into the night.
Preston watched it happen.
Then he turned his back on it.
"All units," he said into his radio, voice steady and controlled. "Convoy is moving. Maintain formation. Eyes open."
Engines roared in response.
The convoy rolled out slowly at first, vehicles pulling into line, tires crunching over debris as they left the valley behind. Smoke followed them for a while, clinging low to the ground, before thinning as the road bent away.
The Children of Atom's settlement disappeared behind a rise, the glow of fire fading until it was nothing more than a dull smear against the horizon.
The road home stretched ahead, broken asphalt and dirt winding through the Commonwealth's scars.
Inside one of the transport trucks, a young soldier sat with his back against the wall, helmet cradled in his hands. His knuckles were white where he gripped it.
Another soldier noticed and nudged him gently with an elbow. "First big op?"
The young man nodded. "Yeah."
The older soldier leaned back. "You did fine."
"I didn't even fire that much," the young man said.
The older soldier shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You were there. That's enough."
Silence settled between them, not awkward, just heavy.
In another vehicle, medics checked on a prisoner whose radiation levels were spiking again. They administered another dose of RadAway, murmuring reassurances that went unanswered. The man's eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion claiming him.
Sarah watched from the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
She didn't look away.
Preston rode in the lead command vehicle, staring out through the windshield as the Commonwealth slid past in darkness and ruin. His hands rested loosely on his knees, but his mind refused to be still.
They'd done it.
The Children of Atom, at least this chapter of them, were finished.
But victory never felt like the stories said it should.
He thought of the settlers back in Sanctuary with people who would wake up tomorrow, go about their routines, unaware of how close violence had crept to their doorstep. He thought of the questions that would come once word spread. Of the arguments. The fear.
And he thought of Sico.
Of the man who had made the call, knowing exactly what it would cost.
Preston keyed his radio. "HQ," he said quietly.
Static, then a familiar voice. "Go ahead."
"We're en route," Preston reported. "Operation complete. Prisoners secured. Minimal friendly casualties."
There was a pause on the line. Not silence, just the sound of someone listening very carefully.
"Understood," Sico replied. "Bring them home."
The convoy pushed on through the night.
Hours passed.
They stopped once, briefly, in a cleared stretch of road where perimeter lights could be set up. Engines idled as guards rotated, medics checked vitals again, and Sarah personally verified every restraint on every prisoner.
One prisoner tried to speak then, voice cracking as he begged to know what would happen to them.
Sarah looked at him for a long moment. "That depends on what you choose to do next," she said.
He nodded shakily, fear overtaking whatever faith he had left.
They moved again.
As dawn crept toward the horizon, the sky began to lighten, pale gray bleeding slowly into washed-out blue. The Commonwealth looked different in daylight that less monstrous, more tired.
Sanctuary's outer defenses came into view just as the sun broke fully over the horizon.
The convoy slowed.
Guards on the walls straightened as the vehicles approached, recognition dawning as silhouettes resolved into familiar shapes. Gates opened, heavy and deliberate.
Inside, settlers had begun to gather despite the early hour, drawn by the sound of engines and the sight of so many armed vehicles returning at once. Whispers spread quickly.
"What happened?"
"Is it the Child Of Atoms?"
"Why are there prisoners?"
Preston stood in the lead vehicle as it rolled to a stop, scanning the crowd. Faces were anxious, curious, afraid.
He felt the weight of all of it settle squarely on his shoulders.
"Unload prisoners first," he ordered. "Controlled. No spectacle."
Sarah was already moving.
The prisoners were escorted out one by one, guarded closely, eyes downcast or darting nervously at the crowd. Some settlers stared with open hostility. Others looked confused. A few looked… relieved.
MacCready leaned toward Robert as they watched. "This is the part I hate."
Robert nodded. "Yeah."
"Everyone thinks the fight's over," MacCready said. "It's just changing shape."
Inside the walls, Sanctuary hummed with restrained tension.
Sico was waiting.
He stood near the central hall, posture straight, expression composed, but his eyes told the truth of a man who hadn't slept. He watched the convoy arrive, watched the prisoners, watched Sarah's tight control over every movement.
When Preston approached, they met in silence first.
Then Sico nodded. "You're back."
"Yes," Preston said. "As ordered."
Sico glanced toward the prisoners being led away. "Any escapes?"
"No," Preston replied. "And there won't be."
Sico held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded again. "Good."
Around them, Sanctuary began to wake fully, the reality of what had happened settling in like a low, constant hum. Questions would come. Accusations too. Doubt always followed smoke.
Sico knew that.
He stood there a moment longer after Preston left, watching Sanctuary move around him with the guards escorting prisoners, settlers whispering behind hands, children peeking from doorways before being pulled back inside. This was the cost of decisive action: safety bought with uncertainty. Order bought with fear that hadn't yet decided where to settle.
He didn't speak then. There would be time for that.
Everyone at Sanctuary didn't truly sleep that night.
Lights stayed on longer than usual. Patrol routes doubled, then doubled again. The walls hummed softly with generators and watchful tension, rifles resting on parapets as guards scanned the dark Commonwealth beyond.
Inside the central hall, prisoners were processed quietly.
Names that real or assumed were logged. Radiation levels recorded. Personal effects cataloged and sealed. Some prisoners resisted at first, clinging to scraps of belief like life rafts. Others broke down almost immediately, faith collapsing the moment it was no longer reinforced by ritual, chanting, or the illusion of Atom's protection.
Sarah oversaw all of it.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't threaten. She didn't need to.
She watched.
That was enough.
One prisoner with a woman with shaved hair and burn-mottled arms that refused water until near dawn. When she finally took the canteen offered to her, she drank like she was afraid it might be taken away.
Sarah noticed.
She noticed everything.
By the time the sun climbed higher, the prisoners were secured in reinforced holding areas, guarded around the clock. Sanctuary had become something else overnight that not just a settlement, but a center of authority. A place where decisions were made and enforced.
And everyone felt it.
The next morning arrived quietly.
No alarms. No attacks. Just the soft sounds of people waking after a night that never fully let them rest.
The smell of smoke still clung to armor and clothes. It lingered in hair, in fabric, in memory. Fires burned far away now, but their presence had followed the convoy home.
Sico stood on the balcony overlooking the square, a mug of bitter coffee cooling in his hands. Below, Sanctuary slowly came back to life. Traders set up stalls with careful movements. Farmers checked crops, eyes flicking toward the holding buildings where guards stood watch.
Word had already spread.
It always did.
The Children of Atom were no longer just rumors or distant threats. They were prisoners behind Sanctuary's walls. Proof that the danger had been real and that it had been confronted head-on.
That was why Sico couldn't stay silent.
He turned as footsteps approached.
Piper Wright didn't bother knocking. She never had.
She leaned against the doorway, notebook tucked under one arm, pen already in hand. Her eyes were sharp despite the early hour, curiosity burning behind fatigue.
"Let me guess," she said. "You're about to ask me for a another favor."
Sico took a sip of coffee and grimaced. "You're predictable."
"And you're terrible at small talk," Piper shot back. "So what's going on?"
He set the mug aside and faced her fully. "I need you on the radio again today."
That got her attention.
"Another Freemasons Radio?" she asked.
"Yes."
Piper straightened slightly. "You know that's not just a 'hey folks, weather's nice' broadcast."
"I know," Sico said calmly. "That's why I want you."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded once. "Alright. What do you want the people to hear?"
Sico didn't hesitate.
"Tell them the mission was a success," he said. "Tell them the Children of Atom's settlement has been neutralized. Tell them we captured survivors."
Piper's pen paused mid-air. "Survivors."
"Yes."
"And you want that public?" she pressed.
"I do."
She frowned slightly. "You know what that means, right? People are going to ask what you're doing with them."
"They should ask," Sico replied. "We're not hiding anything."
Piper tapped her pen against the notebook. "And the interrogation part?"
Sico met her eyes. "Tell them the truth. The prisoners will be questioned to locate any remaining bases or hideouts. We won't pretend this threat was isolated if it wasn't."
Piper let out a slow breath. "That's going to stir people up."
"It already has," Sico said. "This just gives it direction."
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Then Piper smiled faintly. Not amused or resolved.
"Alright," she said. "I'll do it. But I'm saying it my way."
Sico nodded. "I wouldn't want it any other way."
By midday, word had spread that Piper was going on air.
People gathered around radios across Sanctuary and beyond in settlements patched together from scrap, in trading posts along broken highways, in quiet homes where fear had learned how to wait patiently.
Freemasons Radio crackled to life.
Piper's voice came through clear, steady, unmistakably hers.
"Hey, Commonwealth. Piper Wright here, coming to you live from Sanctuary."
A pause. Just long enough to make people lean in.
"I'm not going to dress this up, and I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Yesterday, a Freemasons task force carried out a major operation against the Children of Atom."
Murmurs spread wherever radios played.
"For a long time, we've all heard stories. Some of you have seen the signs yourselves with glowing symbols, armed patrols, people disappearing."
Her voice didn't waver.
"The mission was a success. The settlement has been destroyed, and several members of the Children of Atom were captured alive."
Somewhere, someone cursed. Somewhere else, someone exhaled in relief.
Piper continued.
"These prisoners are being held securely. They will be interrogated that not for punishment, but for information. The goal is simple: to find out if there are any remaining bases or hideouts out there that could threaten the Commonwealth again."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"This isn't about revenge. It's about making sure what happened doesn't happen twice."
The radio crackled softly.
"I know some of you are scared. Some of you are angry. Some of you are probably asking whether this makes Sanctuary a target."
Her tone softened slightly then that not weak, but human.
"Here's what I can tell you. The Freemasons didn't act lightly. And they didn't act alone. This wasn't a power grab. It was a response."
A beat.
"If you have questions, ask them. If you have concerns, voice them. That's how this works."
Her voice sharpened again.
"But don't pretend doing nothing was an option."
The broadcast wound down shortly after, Piper signing off with a promise to keep people informed as more details became available.
Radios clicked off one by one.
Silence followed.
Then the Commonwealth began to talk.
In Sanctuary, reactions came in waves.
Some settlers approached guards with cautious gratitude. Others kept their distance, watching with narrowed eyes. A few argued openly in the square, debating whether this would bring more danger or finally push it back.
Preston stood near the notice board, arms crossed, listening without interrupting. He didn't step in unless voices rose too high. Let them talk. Let them process.
Robert sat on a crate nearby, leg stretched out, cleaning his rifle slowly. MacCready lounged beside him, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening to everything.
"You hear that?" MacCready muttered under his breath. "That's the sound of everyone realizing the world didn't end overnight."
Robert glanced at him. "Yet."
MacCready smirked. "Optimist."
Sarah remained near the holding area.
She watched the prisoners react to the broadcast, too.
Some looked terrified. Others angry. A few stared at the walls in silence, as if listening to something only they could hear.
One prisoner which a young man with shaking hands finally spoke. "They're telling everyone about us."
"Yes," Sarah replied evenly.
"They'll hate us."
Sarah met his gaze. "They already feared you."
He swallowed hard.
"That's the difference between myth and reality," she continued. "You're reality now."
By afternoon, preparations for interrogation were underway.
Not brutality. Not cruelty.
Precision.
Sico oversaw the framework personally. Questions were structured. Information cross-checked. Patterns mapped across old sightings, supply routes, intercepted messages.
They weren't just looking for locations.
They were looking for fractures.
Some prisoners resisted completely, clinging to Atom as the last thing that gave their suffering meaning. Others cracked quickly once they realized no divine intervention was coming.
One spoke of a coastal outpost. Another mentioned an underground refuge near an old reactor. A third contradicted both, claiming those places had already been abandoned.
Truth hid somewhere in the overlap.
Sico watched from behind reinforced glass as one interrogation unfolded.
The prisoner that older, with deeply scarred hands that sat slumped in the chair, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
"You're not going to kill us," the man said suddenly.
Sico tilted his head slightly. "Why do you think that?"
"Because if you wanted us dead," the man replied, "we wouldn't be here."
Sico said nothing.
The man laughed weakly. "Atom always said the world would burn us away. Turns out it was people."
"People build," Sico said quietly. "And people destroy. That's always been true."
The man looked at him for a long moment. Then he sighed.
"There are others," he said. "Not many. But they're out there."
That was enough.
And for the first time in a long while, the Children of Atom weren't shadows in the dark.
______________________________________________
• 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:-