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Sico turned and headed back toward Sanctuary proper. Behind him, the scavenger HQ that stood. Then ahead of him, the Republic waited to be fed, watered, soon to be clothed against the cold as winter was coming.
The night carried Sico most of the way back to his quarters, but sleep never quite found him.
It never did after days like that.
He lay on the narrow bed with his boots still on, hands folded over his chest, listening to Sanctuary breathe. The wind crept through gaps in the old houses, rattling loose metal. Somewhere a guard coughed. Somewhere else a generator hiccupped, then steadied. Each sound threaded itself into his thoughts, looping back to the same conclusion over and over again.
Winter was no longer a future problem.
It was a present responsibility.
When dawn came, it did so quietly. Pale light seeped through cracked windows and patched curtains, softening the hard edges of the settlement. Sanctuary woke the way it always did but not all at once, but in layers. First the patrol shift change. Then the workers. Then the traders. Then the children, chasing one another through streets that had once been cul-de-sacs.
Sico was already dressed when the first bell rang.
He walked with purpose through the central square, nodding to those who greeted him, noting the tired eyes, the wrapped hands, the improvised scarves already appearing around necks despite the season not yet turning fully. People felt it. Even if they didn't name it.
The meeting was set in the meeting room at Freemasons HQ. Inside, the air was warm from a pair of salvaged heaters humming along the walls. A long table dominated the center, its surface scarred by months of use.
Sturges was already there.
He sat hunched over a spread of schematics, goggles pushed up onto his forehead, fingers stained with grease and pencil lead. Tools were scattered around him in a way that suggested he'd been there long before anyone asked him to be.
Magnolia arrived moments later, coat draped neatly over her arm, hair pulled back, slate already in hand. She paused just inside the doorway, taking in the room, the schematics, Sturges' posture.
Her eyes flicked to Sico.
"So," she said calmly, "this is one of those meetings."
"Yes," Sico replied. "It is."
She took a seat without complaint.
Sturges glanced up, grinning. "Morning, boss. You look like someone who didn't sleep."
Sico pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat. "I slept enough."
"That's never a good sign," Sturges muttered, but there was no malice in it.
Sico folded his hands on the table. He didn't waste time easing into it.
"Winter is coming harder than last year," he said. "Food is covered. Water is secure. Patrols are expanding. Scavenging teams are already rerouted."
Magnolia nodded slightly, already tracking the implications.
"But scavenging alone won't be enough," Sico continued. "Not long-term. Not at the scale we need."
Sturges leaned back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully. "You're thinking manufacturing."
"Yes."
That got Magnolia's full attention.
"Clothes," Sico said. "Warm clothes. Insulated. Durable. Something we can produce here instead of relying entirely on what we can find."
Sturges let out a low whistle. "That's ambitious."
"Necessary," Sico replied.
Magnolia tapped her slate once, then looked up. "You're talking about a factory."
"Yes."
Not a workshop. Not a side operation.
A factory.
Silence settled over the table for a moment as the weight of that word sank in.
Sturges broke it first. "Alright," he said slowly. "Let's talk reality."
He leaned forward, pulling one of the schematics toward the center. "We've got power, but not endless power. We've got space, but anything big enough for this needs reinforcement. We'd need looms, presses, cutting tables, insulation processing. Not to mention trained hands."
"We can train," Sico said.
"We can," Sturges agreed. "But it'll take time."
"We have some," Sico replied. "Not much."
Magnolia interjected, "And caps."
Both of them looked at her.
"This isn't just steel and wires," she continued. "This is labor, raw materials, trade agreements. We'll need cloth. Leather. Synthetic fibers if we can get them. Insulation materials which is pre-war stock, wool, even repurposed lining from ruined furniture."
Sico nodded. "That's why you're here."
Magnolia's mouth curved faintly. "I assumed as much."
Sturges scratched his beard. "Where were you thinking of putting this?"
Sico reached forward and tapped a marked location on one of the maps pinned to the wall behind him. "Beside the weapon and armor factory. Solid foundation. Already partially reinforced. Close enough to the power lines."
Sturges' eyes lit up despite himself. "That place? Yeah… yeah, that could work."
He stood and paced, energy building as ideas sparked. "We'd need to gut the interior, reinforce the roof, add ventilation. Cold-resistant storage rooms for materials. Heating systems strong enough to keep work going even in deep freeze."
Magnolia watched him with interest. "How long?"
Sturges stopped pacing. "If we move fast? First production in six weeks."
Sico exhaled slowly. "Too long."
Sturges grimaced. "I figured you'd say that."
"How fast can you make it if you push?" Sico asked.
Sturges thought hard. "Four weeks for limited output. Basic coats. Gloves. Scarves. Not pretty, but functional."
"That's enough to start," Sico said.
Magnolia was already calculating. "I can free the caps," she said. "Without pain, but I can do it."
"How much?" Sico asked.
She named a number.
Sturges whistled again. "That's a lot of caps."
"It's an investment," Magnolia said. "Warm people work. Cold people die. Dead people don't trade."
Sico met her gaze. "Do it."
She nodded once, decisive. "I'll reallocate funds. We'll cut expansion on non-essential trade routes. Water revenue can absorb some of the hit."
Sturges rubbed his hands together. "I'll need people. Builders. Mechanics. Anyone who can follow instructions and doesn't mind long hours."
"You'll have them," Sico said. "Preston will help identify volunteers. Paid. Fed. Warm."
Sturges grinned. "Now you're speaking my language."
He paused, then added, "You know this changes things, right?"
Sico looked at him. "How so?"
"This isn't just survival anymore," Sturges said. "This is industry. Once we start making clothes, we won't stop. Other settlements will want them. Trade will change."
Magnolia smiled faintly. "So will leverage."
Sico considered that. "Good."
The meeting stretched on, deep into logistics. Supply chains. Staffing rotations. Security concerns. Magnolia flagged potential trade partners for raw materials. Sturges mapped out phased construction, prioritizing heat retention and machinery placement.
By the time they stood to leave, the sun was already high.
Magnolia gathered her slate. "I'll start moving caps today."
"Thank you," Sico said.
She paused at the door. "This will save lives."
"Yes," he replied. "That's the point."
Sturges lingered behind, rolling up his schematics. "You know," he said, "most folks build walls when winter comes."
Sico looked at him.
"You're building coats," Sturges finished.
"Walls don't keep the cold out forever," Sico said.
Sturges chuckled. "Damn right."
Sturges didn't waste time.
He never did when something clicked into place in his head.
By the time Sico left the meeting room, the engineer was already barking orders into a handheld radio, his earlier fatigue replaced by the restless, almost manic focus that only appeared when he was about to build something big.
"Alright, listen up," Sturges said, voice carrying down the corridor as technicians and builders filtered in. "Drop whatever side project you're nursing and meet me by the weapon and armor factory in fifteen. Bring measuring tools, power scanners, and anything that can cut, pry, or lift."
Someone groaned. Someone else laughed.
A woman with grease streaked cheeks raised a hand. "We sleeping there tonight?"
Sturges didn't miss a beat. "If we're lucky."
That earned a round of muttered curses and determined nods. Nobody walked away.
The building beside the weapon and armor factory had once been a distribution warehouse, the kind designed to move bulk goods fast and cheap. Its bones were still strong. Thick concrete walls. Reinforced pillars. A roof that had sagged in places but never collapsed.
It had been used before for storage, briefly, then abandoned when power demands became too high and the space too cold to justify the effort.
That was about to change.
Sturges arrived with his team just after mid-morning, boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. The armor factory next door hummed with its familiar rhythm with metal on metal, hydraulic presses breathing like enormous mechanical lungs. Heat spilled from its vents, fogging the cold air.
Sturges stopped at the edge of the lot and looked at the warehouse.
"Alright," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "Let's see what we're working with."
The doors were stiff, but not locked. Years of disuse had welded hinges into stubbornness. Two workers pried them open with metal bars while a third cursed at the squeal of protesting steel.
The doors finally gave way.
Cold air rolled out like something alive.
Inside, dust coated everything in a pale film. Old shelving units stood like skeletons, warped and half-collapsed. Patches of light pierced the gloom through cracks in the roof. The floor was littered with debris from broken pallets, shredded packaging, the remnants of a time when this place had mattered for different reasons.
Sturges stepped inside and took a slow turn, eyes tracking ceiling height, wall spacing, load-bearing supports.
"This'll do," he said.
A younger mechanic frowned. "You serious? It's freezing in here."
"That's the point," Sturges replied. "If we can make this warm, we can make anything warm."
He snapped his fingers. "Alright. First things first. Structural survey. I want to know exactly how much weight the roof can handle and where we reinforce without bringing the whole damn thing down."
People broke off into groups immediately. Measuring tapes snapped open. Power scanners hummed. Chalk lines appeared on the floor as zones were marked and re-marked.
Sturges moved through it all, stopping to peer up at beams, tapping concrete with a practiced ear.
"We'll gut the shelving," he said to no one in particular. "Need open space for looms and cutting lines. Storage goes along the north wall that closest to the armor factory heat output. We'll piggyback off their exhaust systems."
A woman with short hair scribbled notes. "Shared heat exchangers?"
"Exactly," Sturges said. "We're not reinventing the wheel. We're stealing warmth wherever we can."
Someone else called out, "Power grid here's weak."
Sturges nodded. "I know. We'll run new lines. Heavy draw only during peak production hours. Night shift handles finishing and assembly."
He paused, looking around. "This isn't just a build, folks. This is survival. If we mess this up, people freeze."
That quieted the room in a way no shouting ever could.
"Let's get to work," he finished.
Within an hour, sparks flew.
Cutting torches screamed as old shelving came down. Forklifts groaned under the weight of salvaged metal being hauled outside. Dust rose in choking clouds, only to be sucked away by temporary ventilation rigs rigged up with scavenged fans and ducting.
The cold inside the warehouse was relentless. Breath fogged. Fingers stiffened. Someone passed around thermoses of bitter coffee and something stronger.
By midday, the place already looked different.
Open.
Purposeful.
Across Sanctuary, Magnolia was waging her own campaign.
Where Sturges worked with sparks and steel, she worked with numbers, words, and reputation.
She stood at the central trade exchange, slate in hand, posture composed as traders rotated in and out of her office space. The room smelled faintly of ink, oil, and clean water—a reminder of where the Republic's leverage truly lay.
"Textiles," she said calmly to a caravan leader from the south. "Bulk."
The man scratched his chin. "That's not our usual run."
"I know," Magnolia replied. "That's why I'm paying above market."
That got his attention.
"How above?" he asked.
She named a figure.
He blinked. "You planning on opening a tailor shop?"
"I'm planning on people surviving winter," Magnolia said. "You can help with that. Or someone else will."
He laughed, but it was nervous. "Alright. Cloth, wool, anything we can find?"
"Anything clean," Magnolia said. "Anything that can be cleaned."
She leaned forward slightly. "No mold. No rot. No contamination."
The man nodded. "We'll screen it."
"Good," Magnolia said. "Delivery schedule?"
"Two weeks."
"Make it ten days," Magnolia replied.
He hesitated.
She raised the offer by a fraction.
"Ten days," he agreed quickly.
That was the pattern.
Magnolia moved from one negotiation to the next without pause. Leather from a western ranching settlement. Synthetic fiber rolls salvaged from an old industrial plant. Insulation foam stripped from ruined office towers. Even wool that itchy, imperfect, but warm.
She coordinated with the water station to trade purified water at favorable rates, leveraging Magnolia's existing network.
At one point, a trader frowned at her slate. "You're buying a lot."
"Yes," Magnolia said.
"Something coming?" he asked.
She met his eyes. "Winter."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. That tracks."
By late afternoon, Magnolia's slate was full of confirmations, deposits sent, routes planned. Caps flowed out of Republic coffers in controlled streams, not reckless, but deliberate.
She paused only once, standing near the water station, watching containers being loaded for trade.
Warm clothes.
It wasn't glamorous. It wouldn't make headlines. But she knew what it meant.
People lived or died on margins like this.
She keyed another message.
Priority shipment. Insulation material. Any quantity. Premium rates.
Send.
Back at the warehouse, Sturges' team worked through pain and exhaustion.
By the end of the first day, the interior was stripped bare. Exposed concrete walls loomed, marked with chalk notes and measurements. Temporary heaters glowed red in corners, fighting a losing battle against the cold.
Sturges wiped sweat from his brow, smearing grease across his face.
"Alright," he said, voice hoarse. "Good progress. Tomorrow we reinforce the roof and start laying power lines."
A builder leaned on a pry bar. "We sleeping here?"
Sturges glanced around at the cleared floor, the half-installed lights, the piles of salvaged metal.
"…Yeah," he said. "Might as well."
They laughed tiredly.
Someone lit a small stove. Food was passed around that simple, filling. They sat on crates, backs against concrete, sharing stories and complaints.
One of the younger workers asked quietly, "You really think this'll work?"
Sturges looked around at his people. "I think if we don't try, it definitely won't."
That seemed to be enough.
Over the next days, Sanctuary shifted around the project.
Power crews ran new lines under cover of night to avoid straining the grid. Guards increased patrols around the construction site, not because of fear, but because people were starting to notice.
A factory.
A clothing factory.
Word spread anyway.
Sico didn't discourage it, but he didn't announce it either. He walked the site daily, checking progress, speaking quietly with workers.
"Thank you," he said often.
People straightened when he passed, not out of fear, but pride.
Magnolia continued her work, coordinating deliveries, arranging storage, rerouting trade caravans through Sanctuary to ensure materials arrived safely.
At one point, she stood beside Sico overlooking the construction site.
"Sturges is pushing them hard," she said.
"He knows the stakes," Sico replied.
She nodded. "So do they."
A truck rumbled in nearby, unloaded with bales of rough wool. Workers immediately moved to cover it, protecting it from moisture.
Magnolia watched. "This is going to change us."
"Yes," Sico said.
"For better or worse," she added.
"That depends on how we use it," he replied.
Sico stayed on the edge of the construction site longer than most leaders would have.
He didn't hover.
He didn't interfere.
But he was there.
Every morning before the crews rotated in, and every evening when the last of the sparks dimmed and the generators settled into their low, steady hum, Sico walked the perimeter. He checked supports with his hands, not because he didn't trust Sturges, but because he needed to feel the place becoming real. He listened to the sounds from the scrape of steel, the whine of saws, the dull thud of reinforced beams settling into their mounts.
A factory wasn't just walls and machines.
It was commitment made solid.
On the fourth day, the roof reinforcement began in earnest. Massive steel trusses were hauled into place with a groaning crane salvaged and rebuilt by Sturges' people. Each lift felt like a held breath. Workers shouted measurements back and forth, boots slipping on frost-slick metal as the early cold crept in faster than expected.
Sico stood with Preston near the taped-off boundary line, both men wearing heavy coats, collars turned up.
"They're pushing themselves," Preston said quietly.
"Yes," Sico replied.
"Too hard?"
Sico watched as one of the builders paused, hands on his knees, breath fogging, before straightening and waving the crane operator forward again.
"No," he said. "Hard enough."
Preston nodded. He understood that tone. The one that carried the weight of knowing the cost, and accepting it anyway.
Inside the warehouse, the transformation was undeniable. Power lines snaked along reinforced walls, neatly secured. Heat exchangers were half-installed, their vents already drawing faint warmth from the neighboring armor factory. Chalk markings gave way to permanent fixtures with cutting tables bolted into place, loom frames assembled in careful rows.
It smelled different now.
Not just dust and cold concrete, but oil, warm metal, and something else that is anticipation.
Sturges caught Sico near the central support pillar, hands blackened, eyes bloodshot, grin intact.
"Roof's holding better than I hoped," he said. "We overbuilt. Just how I like it."
"When do you start test runs?" Sico asked.
"Two weeks if the materials keep coming," Sturges replied. "One if we get lucky."
Sico inclined his head. "Good."
Sturges hesitated, then added, "People keep asking who the coats are for first."
Sico didn't hesitate. "Those who need them most."
Sturges smiled, tired but satisfied. "Thought you'd say that."
Outside, Magnolia's network was paying off. Caravans rolled in almost daily now, each arrival carefully scheduled to avoid congestion and theft. Guards inspected shipments thoroughly, not out of suspicion, but necessity. Contamination could ruin everything.
Bales of cloth were moved into temporary storage. Leather hides were cured and sorted. Insulation material was sealed against moisture and vermin.
Magnolia oversaw it all with quiet efficiency, adjusting routes on the fly, smoothing frayed tempers when delays happened, applying pressure where needed.
She stood beside Sico one evening as a shipment of synthetic fiber was unloaded.
"This one came from farther than I like," she said.
"But it came," Sico replied.
"Yes," Magnolia agreed. "That's becoming the theme."
They watched workers haul the material inside, laughing despite the cold, joking about who would be first to wear the new coats.
Magnolia spoke softly. "You know they already believe in this place more than they did a month ago."
Sico nodded. "Belief grows when people see effort."
"And when they feel protected," she added.
That night, Sico stayed later than usual. The construction lights cast long shadows across the yard, turning workers into silhouettes against the glow. He walked the line where the new factory would soon hum with life, boots crunching over frost-hardened gravel.
The radio on his belt crackled.
He stopped.
"—come in, Sanctuary command."
Sico lifted the radio. "This is Sico."
There was a pause, then a familiar, unmistakably amused voice broke through the static.
"Well hey there, big guy. Miss me?"
Sico's mouth twitched before he could stop it. "Hancock."
"Guilty as charged," Hancock said. In the background, voices laughed, metal clanged. "Good news for once. Me and my merry band just hit a pre-war textile warehouse down south. Jackpot."
Sico straightened slightly. "Define jackpot."
"Coats," Hancock said. "Gloves. Thermal liners. Scarves. Some ugly sweaters that should've stayed dead, but hey, warm is warm."
Sico closed his eyes briefly. Relief cut through the constant tension like a blade through cloth.
"How many?" he asked.
"Enough to make a dent," Hancock replied. "Not enough for everyone, but enough for the folks who'll feel winter first."
Sico didn't need to think about it. "Distribute them."
There was a beat of silence on the line.
"…Distribute?" Hancock repeated.
"Yes," Sico said. "To settlers who need them. Elderly. Children. Those working outdoors. Anyone without adequate gear."
Hancock chuckled softly. "You know, most bosses would've told me to stash 'em. Save 'em for leverage."
"I'm not most bosses," Sico replied.
"No kidding," Hancock said. His tone shifted from casual, but something steadier underneath. "Alright. We'll start handing them out as soon as we get back. Might cause a scene."
"Let it," Sico said. "Make sure it's fair."
"Always do," Hancock replied. "You want the leftovers sent your way?"
"Yes," Sico said. "But only after distribution."
"Got it," Hancock said. "Oh and Sico?"
"Yes?"
"…You're doing good work."
The radio clicked off.
Sico stood there for a moment longer, the cold biting at his cheeks, the noise of construction behind him grounding him in the present.
Then he exhaled.
The next morning, Sanctuary woke to something new.
Not an announcement.
Not a decree.
But movement.
Hancock's scavenger teams rolled in with carts and trucks loaded high with bundled clothing. Word spread faster than any bell could have rung. People gathered, cautious at first, then curious, then quietly hopeful.
Distribution points were set up near the water station and the central square. Hancock himself leaned against a crate, coat collar popped, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the weak sun.
"Alright, listen up," he called out. "No pushing. No hoarding. If you already got something warm, step aside. This is for folks who don't."
A woman hesitated near the front. "I have a coat, but it's thin."
Hancock looked her up and down, then tossed her a heavier one. "Now you don't."
A man tried to argue that his brother deserved two sets.
Hancock shut that down with a raised eyebrow and a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
Sico watched from a distance, arms crossed, saying nothing.
Children were wrapped in oversized jackets, sleeves rolled up. Elderly settlers clutched scarves like treasures. Workers who'd spent nights on the walls or days in the fields pulled on gloves and flexed their fingers, relief plain on their faces.
Magnolia stood beside Sico, quiet.
"This will ripple," she said.
"Yes," Sico replied. "It already is."
Across the square, Hancock caught Sico's eye and gave him a lazy salute before turning back to the crowd.
By afternoon, the carts were empty.
Not completely as some items were set aside for transport to outlying farms and patrol posts, but enough had gone out that the mood of the settlement shifted.
It wasn't joy.
It was steadiness.
That evening, Sico returned to the construction site. Sturges met him near the entrance, chewing on a piece of dried meat.
"Heard about the coats," Sturges said.
"Yes."
"Good timing," Sturges replied. "Morale's up. People are working harder."
Sico looked around at the half-finished factory, at the lights burning against the encroaching dark. "We'll need more."
"We'll make more," Sturges said. "Soon."
As the days passed, the cold deepened.
Frost lingered longer each morning. Breath hung thicker in the air. The fields hardened, growth slowing but holding.
Inside the warehouse, the first test loom ran.
It was loud. Awkward. Slow.
But it worked.
Cloth moved through the machine, guided by careful hands. Insulation was layered. Seams were stitched.
The first coat came off the line crooked and ugly.
Sturges held it up like a trophy.
"Warm?" someone asked.
Sturges shrugged into it, then grinned. "Warm."
The laughter that followed Sturges' declaration didn't last long.
Not because the moment soured, but because work resumed almost immediately.
Someone clapped Sturges on the shoulder. Someone else reached out to touch the fabric, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger like they were trying to convince themselves it was real. Then the loom was shut down, adjustments discussed, notes scribbled, arguments started and resolved in quick, practiced bursts.
The first coat was proof of concept.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And proof, Sico knew, had a way of changing how people moved.
The week that followed felt longer than the ones before it.
Winter leaned closer every day. Frost didn't just linger now as it stayed. Mornings came brittle and white, roofs edged with ice, puddles frozen hard enough to crack under careless boots. Smoke from chimneys rose straighter, heavier, as if even the air had grown tired.
The factory became the heartbeat of that tension.
Sturges barely left it.
He slept there three nights out of seven, curled up on a cot shoved between stacks of insulation material and crates of spare parts. When he wasn't yelling instructions, he was muttering calculations under his breath, fingers tracing imaginary lines in the air.
Every system had to work.
Heating. Ventilation. Power draw. Workflow.
There was no margin for failure, not when people were counting days by the cold.
Sico continued his quiet oversight. He never announced himself, never interrupted unless necessary. He spoke with welders about their families, with electricians about burned-out tools, with guards about patrol rotations around the site.
He listened more than he talked.
Magnolia watched from her own angle.
Where Sturges wrestled steel into obedience, Magnolia wrestled uncertainty.
She spent her days preparing for the next phase, because building a factory was only half the battle.
Running it was something else entirely.
The final day of construction didn't come with ceremony.
It came with exhaustion.
Sturges' team stood scattered inside the warehouse, the factory now from boots planted on clean concrete floors, shoulders slumped, faces smeared with grease and dust. Overhead lights burned steady and warm. The heating system hummed like a living thing, balanced and efficient.
Rows of machines stood ready.
Looms aligned with cutting tables.
Presses bolted down.
Storage racks labeled and stocked.
Insulation chambers sealed tight.
The smell was different again that not anticipation this time, but readiness.
Sturges climbed down from a ladder after tightening the last bolt on a ventilation brace. He dropped the wrench into a crate with a clatter that echoed louder than it should have.
He straightened slowly, rolled his shoulders, and looked around.
"…That's it," he said.
No one spoke at first.
Then someone laughed that short, breathless.
Someone else leaned against a wall and slid down until they were sitting on the floor, head tipped back, eyes closed.
A woman wiped her hands on her pants and whispered, "Holy hell."
Sico stood near the entrance, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the room.
"You did it," he said simply.
Sturges snorted. "Damn right we did."
He looked around at his people. "You all did."
There was a quiet pride in the room that not loud, not boastful. The kind that settled into bones.
Preston clapped once, sharp and decisive. "I'll inform patrol command. We'll keep a permanent detail here."
"Good," Sico replied.
Sturges turned to him. "She coming?"
Sico nodded. "She already knows."
As if summoned, Magnolia appeared in the doorway moments later, coat pulled tight against the cold, slate tucked under one arm.
She stopped just inside, eyes scanning the space.
Her expression didn't change much, but Sico knew her well enough now to recognize the weight behind her stillness.
"It's done," she said.
"Yes," Sturges replied. "Faster then the schedule."
Magnolia walked slowly between the machines, fingers brushing against metal frames, fabric rollers, labeled crates.
"This changes everything," she said softly.
Sturges shrugged. "No pressure."
She smiled faintly.
Then her posture shifted.
Purpose replaced awe.
"Alright," Magnolia said. "Next step."
By the following morning, notices were up across Sanctuary.
Not flashy.
Not dramatic.
Handwritten, clear, and direct.
CLOTHING FACTORY — NOW HIRING
PAID POSITIONS
TRAINING PROVIDED
PRIORITY FOR SETTLERS IN NEED OF STABLE WORK
The boards filled quickly.
Magnolia stood at a long table set up near the factory entrance, slate in hand, two assistants beside her. The cold bit at exposed skin, but the factory doors were open behind them, warmth spilling out in steady waves.
People lined up.
Not rushing.
Waiting.
Some came with confidence as workers from other trades, used to schedules and supervisors. Others came hesitantly, hands tucked into sleeves, eyes darting as if afraid they didn't belong.
Magnolia greeted each of them the same way.
Name.
Background.
Skills.
Availability.
She didn't rush.
She didn't soften questions either.
"What kind of work have you done?" she asked an older man with scarred hands.
"Farming. Before that… factory work. Long time ago."
"What kind of factory?"
"Textiles," he said, almost shy. "Before the bombs."
Magnolia's eyes lifted sharply. "You're hired."
The man blinked. "I… what?"
"You'll start as a floor supervisor," she continued calmly. "Training others. Pay reflects that."
He swallowed hard. "Thank you."
Next came a young woman with a baby strapped to her chest.
"I can sew," she said quietly. "Not fast. But clean."
Magnolia considered her. "Hours?"
"Shorter," the woman admitted. "I can't—"
"We'll schedule around it," Magnolia said. "We need quality as much as speed."
The woman's shoulders sagged with relief.
Others followed.
A former guard with an injured leg, suited for cutting tables and quality checks.
A pair of teenagers eager for steady pay, placed in material handling and inventory.
A woman who'd lost her husband the previous winter, hands steady despite grief, assigned to finishing and inspection.
Magnolia balanced need with necessity, compassion with structure.
By midday, the first shift was full.
By dusk, so was the second.
The factory came alive in stages.
Sturges oversaw training alongside a handful of his most trusted technicians, explaining machines in blunt, practical terms.
"This'll bite you if you get careless."
"This one overheats if you push it."
"That noise means stop."
Hands learned patterns.
Feet learned rhythms.
Mistakes happened from threads snapped, seams skewed, insulation packed too tight or too loose, but nothing catastrophic.
Sico walked the floor during the first full training day, watching people settle into roles. There was nervous laughter, furrowed brows, moments of quiet triumph when something finally clicked.
He stopped beside the woman with the baby, now her child bundled up and sleeping in a nearby supervised space.
"You're doing well," he said.
She startled slightly. "I am?"
"Yes," Sico replied. "Your stitching is consistent."
She smiled, small but genuine. "Thank you."
Across the room, Sturges raised his voice. "Alright, listen up! First production run tomorrow. No heroics. We do it clean, we do it right."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the workers.
Magnolia watched from the upper walkway, slate tucked under her arm, eyes sharp.
She leaned toward Sico when he joined her. "We're at capacity."
"For now," Sico said.
She nodded. "Trade interest is already coming in."
"We'll meet it later," he replied. "First priority stays internal."
"Of course," Magnolia said. "But know this, once people hear we're producing at scale, they'll come."
Sico looked down at the floor, at the workers learning to make something that mattered.
"Let them," he said. "As long as our people are warm."
The first full production day was quieter than anyone expected.
Focused.
Machines ran steady. Workers moved with care. Supervisors corrected gently, hands-on, patient.
By the end of the shift, the output wasn't impressive by old-world standards.
But it was real.
Stacks of coats that simple, sturdy, but warm.
Gloves bundled in pairs.
Scarves folded neatly.
Magnolia oversaw inventory personally, marking each item with destination tags.
Sturges leaned against a machine, arms crossed, watching the last crate get sealed.
"Well," he said. "We're officially in the clothing business."
Sico stood beside him. "You've done well."
Sturges snorted. "You sound like you're saying goodbye."
"I'm not," Sico replied. "But this won't need me hovering anymore."
Sturges glanced at him. "You were never hovering."
Sico smiled faintly.
Distribution resumed but this time, the clothes came from Sanctuary itself.
There was something different about that.
People recognized the stitching.
The fabric.
They knew who'd made them.
A woman hugged the coat she received and whispered, "My neighbor made this."
A guard adjusted his gloves and nodded toward the factory. "Feels different wearing something your people built."
It wasn't pride exactly.
It was ownership.
At night, lights burned longer in the factory district. Not harsh, not frantic but steady and reliable.
Warmth bled into the surrounding streets.
Sico stood at the edge of the factory one evening, watching workers file out, tired but smiling. Magnolia joined him, hands tucked into her coat pockets.
"You could've taken credit," she said.
"For what?" he asked.
"For all of this."
Sico shook his head. "Credit doesn't keep people warm."
She studied him. "You're not wrong."
They stood in silence, the hum of the factory behind them, the cold night ahead. A week ago, this place hadn't existed. Now it stood solid and bright against 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:-