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Sico allowed himself a single nod, eyes drifting briefly to the horizon where night wrapped the world in black, and yet, thanks to the prototype, they could now see what had once been unseen when it's dark at night.
The night did not immediately loosen its grip on Sanctuary after Hancock's words. It lingered, heavy and watchful, as if the dark itself were listening now, aware that something fundamental had shifted. The operators began to cycle back toward the Science Building in small groups, their movements calm, assured, unhurried. The green glow from the goggles flickered and dimmed as units powered down, one by one, returning the compound to its natural low-light state.
Mel's team moved with quiet efficiency, collecting equipment, disconnecting battery packs, carefully placing each unit back into padded cases. There was a subdued energy in the air that not celebration, not relief, but the steady satisfaction of work done correctly. Of a system tested honestly and found worthy.
Sico stood near the edge of the courtyard for a moment longer, watching the last operator remove the goggles and blink as their eyes readjusted to normal darkness. He saw the subtle smile tug at the corner of the soldier's mouth before it disappeared again beneath discipline. That smile mattered more to Sico than any technical readout.
He turned back toward the Science Building.
Inside, the lab lights came back on in stages. Not all at once as Mel preferred it that way. A controlled return to brightness, letting eyes and minds adjust gradually. The hum of generators, monitors, and diagnostic equipment resumed, layering sound back into the space like a heartbeat returning after held breath.
Mel stood at the central workbench, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled, a stylus still tucked behind one ear. His eyes were red with fatigue, but sharp. Alert. Alive with thought. He was already reviewing logs, scrolling through layered data projections that hovered above the bench, replaying feeds, tagging timestamps, muttering adjustments under his breath.
Sico approached without hurry.
He didn't speak at first. He simply stood beside Mel, close enough to see the fine details in the holographic schematics rotating slowly in the air from the optical pathways, sensor arrays, power distribution lines, housing tolerances measured down to fractions that would have seemed absurd to anyone outside the lab.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the faint whir of equipment and the distant night wind brushing against the shutters.
Then Sico spoke.
"Are the schematics complete?" he asked quietly.
It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't pressure. It was a question that carried weight because it mattered what the answer was.
Mel didn't look up immediately. His fingers moved through the projections, isolating a layer, then another. He cross-checked two values, nodded to himself, and only then turned his head toward Sico.
"Yes," Mel said. "They're complete."
He paused, then added, more carefully, "Not just functional-complete. Refined. Stress-tested on paper and in the field. What we ran tonight matches the finalized design. No placeholders. No assumptions."
Sico studied his face, searching not for confidence, but for honesty. He found it.
"No hidden variables?" Sico asked.
Mel shook his head. "Nothing that hasn't already been accounted for. There are things we can improve later with lighter materials, longer battery life, modular enhancements, but as it stands?" He gestured toward the hovering schematic. "This version is stable. Reproducible. Reliable."
Sico nodded once.
"That's what I needed to hear."
He took a step back, folding his hands behind his back again, gaze drifting across the lab. Mel's team moved around them, some leaning against benches as they caught their breath, others already disassembling test units for inspection. There was exhaustion there, but also pride. Earned pride.
"How many can you build?" Sico asked.
Mel didn't hesitate this time. "With current resources? Ten units in two days."
Sico turned back to him. "Ten."
"Yes," Mel said. "Fully assembled, calibrated, field-ready. That includes housing, optics, sensor integration, and battery packs. No shortcuts."
"And after that?"
Mel exhaled slowly. "We'd need more materials to scale beyond that. Optics-grade components aren't infinite down here. But the process itself is solid."
Sico absorbed that, already running numbers in his head. Patrol rotations. Squad assignments. Priority units. Ten goggles wouldn't equip everyone, but they would equip the right people. Enough to change outcomes. Enough to save lives.
Then Mel hesitated.
It was subtle. A fraction of a second too long before he spoke again. Sico noticed immediately.
"There is," Mel said carefully, "another option."
Sico didn't respond right away. He simply waited.
"We could hand the schematics over to the factory," Mel continued. "They have better throughput. Automated assembly lines. With proper oversight, they could produce dozens in the same timeframe. We'd lose some direct control, but the scale would—"
"No," Sico said.
The word was not sharp. It wasn't raised. But it landed with finality.
Mel stopped mid-sentence.
Sico turned fully toward him now. His expression was calm, composed, but firm in a way that left no doubt.
"I don't want these schematics known by many people," Sico said.
Mel studied him, reading not just the words, but the reasoning beneath them. "Security concerns?"
"Yes," Sico replied. "But not only that."
He moved a few steps closer to the bench, resting one hand lightly against its edge. "Factories mean more eyes. More hands. More chances for information to spread, intentionally or not. Even within our own structure, knowledge has a way of leaking."
Mel nodded slowly. He had lived that reality. Knowledge was power. And power, once shared, was never truly contained.
"These goggles," Sico continued, "aren't just equipment. They're an advantage. A quiet one. I want it to stay that way."
Mel considered that. "So you want—"
"I want you and your team to build them," Sico said. "Here. Under your supervision. Limited access. Limited awareness. If someone asks, these are experimental units. Nothing more."
Mel's lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. "That does make my life harder."
Sico allowed a faint hint of amusement. "You're good at hard."
Mel huffed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. "All right. Then that's how we'll do it."
He straightened, posture shifting that not into deference, but into resolve. "Ten units in two days. I'll assign my best people. We'll run staggered shifts, keep the lab closed to nonessential personnel. No copies of the schematics leave this room."
Sico nodded. "Good."
Mel glanced at the hovering projections, then with a subtle gesture, collapsed them inward, encrypting the data stream. The schematics vanished, replaced by a simple access lock.
"You're right," Mel said quietly. "If the wrong people got hold of this, it wouldn't just level the field. It would twist it."
Sico met his gaze. "Darkness is a weapon. We just learned how to see through it. I don't intend to hand that ability to anyone who hasn't earned it."
Mel let out a slow breath. "Then we're aligned."
They stood there for a moment longer, the weight of the decision settling in. Outside, the night pressed against the walls of Sanctuary, unaware that its advantage had been quietly diminished.
In the distance, a patrol moved along the perimeter, now without goggles, but soon, very soon, with eyes that would pierce the dark.
Mel broke the silence first.
"I'll need priority access to certain materials," he said. "High-grade lenses. Sensor substrates. Battery casings."
"You'll have it," Sico replied. "Preston will handle logistics. Sarah will decide deployment."
Mel nodded. "Then I'd better get some sleep."
Sico raised an eyebrow. "You?"
Mel smiled tiredly. "An hour. Maybe two. Then we start."
Sico turned toward the lab exit, pausing at the threshold. He looked back once more at Mel, at the benches, at the quiet hum of a place where the future was being built in careful, deliberate pieces.
"Thank you," he said.
Mel inclined his head. "For trusting us."
Sico stepped out into the corridor, letting the lab door slide shut behind him with a soft hydraulic hiss. The sound lingered longer than it should have, echoing faintly through the Science Building's bones. The air out here was cooler, quieter, stripped of the constant hum of creation that lived inside Mel's workspace. For a moment, Sico stood still, one hand resting lightly against the wall, grounding himself.
Trust was never light. It always carried weight.
And tonight, he had placed a great deal of it into a very small group of hands.
Two days later, the Science Building never truly slept, but two days later it felt different with charged, taut, like a drawn bowstring held just shy of release.
Sico approached it in the early hours of the morning, when Sanctuary itself was still shaking off the last traces of night. The sky above was pale, washed with that soft gray-blue that came before sunrise fully committed to the day. Frost clung to metal railings and window frames, thin as breath. Somewhere in the distance, a generator coughed to life, followed by another, and then another, as the settlement slowly woke.
He passed a pair of guards at the entrance. They straightened instinctively, hands brushing their rifles, eyes sharp but respectful.
"Morning," Sico said quietly.
"Morning, sir," one replied.
No alarms. No tension. Just readiness.
Inside, the Science Building smelled faintly of ozone, warm metal, and something else which is coffee, strong and bitter, brewed hours ago and reheated more times than was healthy. Sico followed the familiar corridors, boots echoing softly against polished concrete. The lighting was low but functional, strips along the ceiling guiding the way without glare. Every few steps, he passed sealed doors marked with restricted access symbols, some old, some newly painted.
When he reached Mel's lab, the door was already open.
And the sound hit him first.
Not chaos. Not noise. But motion.
Voices layered over one another in controlled bursts. The soft clack of tools against metal. The whine of precision cutters. The rhythmic tap of someone calibrating lenses against a padded surface. It was the sound of people deep in work—past the point of excitement, past the rush, into the quiet determination that came when deadlines were real and mattered.
Sico stopped just inside the doorway.
Mel and his team were everywhere.
Two scientists worked at the far bench, heads bent close together as they aligned optical components under a magnifier, their hands steady despite the fatigue etched into their faces. Another pair handled battery assemblies, carefully slotting power cells into reinforced casings, sealing them with practiced ease. A third group worked on housing frames, smoothing edges, checking seals, testing fit and weight distribution.
And Mel himself.
Mel stood at the central workstation, exactly where Sico had last seen him.
Sleeves rolled up. Stylus gone, replaced by a pair of thin, reinforced gloves. His hair was more disheveled now, dark circles etched beneath his eyes, but his posture was straight, his movements precise. He moved between stations like a conductor, pausing to correct a grip here, adjust a calibration there, murmur a suggestion, offer a quiet word of encouragement.
This was not frantic work.
This was disciplined creation.
Sico let the moment breathe.
Then his eyes caught something else.
A table, positioned just off to the side of the main work area.
And on it was ten night vision goggles.
They were laid out in two neat rows of five, each resting in a foam-lined cradle. Finished. Complete. No exposed wiring. No temporary markings. Each unit was identical, matte black housing absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. The lenses were capped, protective covers locked in place. Power indicators glowed faintly that steady, reassuring.
They didn't look experimental.
They looked ready.
Sico felt something shift in his chest. Not surprise. Not relief.
Respect.
Mel noticed him a moment later.
He straightened slightly, pushing his gloves off with a practiced tug, and turned toward the doorway. When he saw Sico, a tired smile crossed his face that not wide, not dramatic, but real.
"Morning," Mel said.
Sico stepped fully into the lab. "You don't sleep, do you?"
Mel snorted softly. "That's a myth scientists like to spread. Makes us sound more impressive."
Sico's gaze flicked back to the table. "You've been busy."
Mel followed his line of sight. "We don't like wasting time."
Sico walked closer, slow, deliberate. He stopped beside the table, hands clasped behind his back, eyes moving from one unit to the next. He didn't touch them yet. He simply looked.
"They're all finished," Mel said. "Assembly-wise."
Sico nodded once. Then he looked up. "Have you finished testing them?"
The lab didn't go silent. but something shifted. A subtle pause rippled through the team. Not tension. Awareness.
Mel didn't answer immediately.
He gestured with his chin toward a nearby monitor. "Walk with me."
Sico did.
They stopped in front of a large display mounted to the wall. Mel tapped a command, and the screen came alive with data—graphs, timestamps, video feeds, environmental overlays. Footage from the night before. And the night before that.
"Each unit went through a full test cycle," Mel said. "Individually. Not batch testing. Individually."
He brought up a split-screen view. Ten feeds, each labeled.
"Optical clarity," Mel continued. "No deviation beyond acceptable margins. Sensor alignment is consistent across all units. Thermal overlays calibrated within tolerance. Battery endurance tested under continuous operation and intermittent activation."
He tapped again, pulling up a time-lapse graph. "All ten exceeded projected battery life by eight percent. Not enough to advertise, but enough to matter in the field."
Sico watched the data scroll, his mind tracking implications rather than numbers. Eight percent meant minutes. Minutes meant distance. Distance meant survival.
"And stress testing?" Sico asked.
Mel nodded. "Drop tests. Moisture exposure. Cold cycling. Dust ingress. We simulated snow glare, fog interference, low-contrast terrain."
He paused, then added, "And operator error."
Sico's lips twitched. "That's usually the real test."
"Exactly," Mel said. "We had different people run them. Experienced patrol leaders. Newer recruits. People who are careful. People who are less so."
Sico glanced back toward the table. "Any failures?"
Mel shook his head. "No critical failures. Minor adjustments on two units on seal reinforcement and lens alignment, but those were caught early and corrected."
He folded his arms, leaning back against the bench. "They're ready, Sico."
Sico let that settle.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
He stepped closer to the table and finally reached out, lifting one of the goggles from its cradle. The weight was solid in his hands that balanced, deliberate. He turned it slightly, inspecting the housing, the seams, the lens caps.
He didn't put them on.
Not yet.
"You kept this contained," Sico said quietly.
Mel nodded. "Only my core team. No one else."
"And the schematics?"
Mel tapped his wrist. "Encrypted. Offline backups only. Physical access required."
Sico inclined his head. "Good."
He set the goggles back down with care.
Behind them, Mel's team continued working on the next batch. Half-assembled units lined another bench, wires exposed, housings open, lenses waiting to be seated. The process was already repeating, refined by repetition.
"You're ahead of schedule," Sico observed.
Mel shrugged slightly. "When people believe in what they're building, they move faster."
Sico turned, studying the team more closely now. He saw exhaustion, yes, but also focus. Commitment. The quiet intensity of people who understood the stakes without needing them explained.
"These ten," Sico said, "will go to patrol leaders first."
Mel nodded. "That makes sense."
"Then recon teams. Border watch."
Mel hesitated, then spoke carefully. "We can start integrating feedback immediately. Field data will help refine the next batch."
Sico met his gaze. "You'll get it."
A beat.
"You did well," Sico said.
Mel exhaled, some tension finally bleeding from his shoulders. "So did you."
Sico raised an eyebrow.
"You trusted us," Mel said simply. "That matters."
Sico looked down at the goggles again. Ten small pieces of equipment. Ten quiet advantages. Ten ways to turn darkness from threat into terrain.
"Get some rest when you can," Sico said. "I'll have Preston coordinate pickup and deployment by nightfall."
Mel smiled, tired but satisfied. "We'll be ready."
Sico turned toward the door, then paused.
"Mel."
"Yes?"
"When this escalates and it will, remember this moment. Remember that you gave people a way to come home alive."
Mel didn't answer right away. He just nodded, once.
Night came the way it always did in Sanctuary with quietly, deliberately, without ceremony.
The sun slipped behind the broken skyline, light draining from the world in slow increments rather than all at once. Shadows thickened in alleyways and between structures, stretching long fingers across the ground. The temperature dipped just enough to make breath visible again, faint clouds blooming and vanishing in the air.
From the elevated platform near the central watchtower, Sico stood with his hands resting on the cold metal railing, eyes fixed on the yard below.
Tonight was different.
Below him, ten soldiers stood in a loose formation, their silhouettes dark against the muted lantern light. They weren't standing stiffly at attention. They were relaxed, but alert. The kind of posture that came not from drill alone, but from knowing something mattered.
Preston moved among them, clipboard tucked under one arm, radio clipped to his vest. He wasn't lecturing. He was checking with adjusting straps here, confirming channel assignments there, asking short questions and listening carefully to the answers. His voice was calm, steady, carrying just enough authority to keep things focused without turning rigid.
Sarah stood a few paces away, arms folded, eyes sharp. She watched not just the soldiers, but the spaces between them. How they shifted their weight. How they angled their bodies toward potential approaches. How naturally or unnaturally that the new equipment sat on them.
And on every one of those ten soldiers' faces was the night vision goggles.
They were powered down for the moment, lenses dark and opaque, blending seamlessly with their helmets. No glowing green yet. No advantage activated.
Not until Preston gave the word.
Sico remained silent, observing.
This wasn't a demonstration. It wasn't a parade.
This was a patrol.
A real one.
The kind where mistakes didn't stay theoretical.
Preston stopped in front of the group and raised his voice just enough to carry.
"All right," he said. "This isn't about showing off new gear. It's about seeing how it actually changes the way you move, communicate, and think. Treat this like any other perimeter patrol."
He looked around the line, meeting eyes.
"You see something odd, you report it. You feel disoriented, you say it. If something doesn't feel right, that matters just as much as what the goggles show you."
A few nods rippled through the group.
Sarah stepped forward then, her tone direct, grounded.
"We're running standard routes first. North and west perimeter. Then we'll introduce deviations from low ground, cluttered zones, blind corners. Don't rush. Let the equipment work, but don't trust it blindly."
She paused, letting that land.
"Your instincts still matter."
One of the soldiers shifted slightly. "Yes, ma'am."
Preston glanced at Sarah, then lifted his radio.
"Command," he said. "Patrol team is ready."
Sico keyed his own radio, voice steady in his ear. "Proceed."
There was a moment of stillness.
Then Preston gave the signal.
"Activate."
Ten hands moved almost in unison.
The faint electronic hum was barely audible, but Sico saw the immediate effect. Postures changed. Heads lifted slightly. Movements slowed, then smoothed out, as if the world had suddenly come into sharper focus.
Green light bloomed behind lenses that no one else could see.
The darkness lost its edge.
From his vantage point, Sico watched the patrol begin to move.
They didn't bunch up. They didn't hesitate. Spacing adjusted naturally as soldiers took in terrain that had once been guesswork. Feet found firmer ground. Steps avoided loose debris without conscious effort.
Sarah spoke quietly into her radio. "Spacing looks good. No collisions."
Preston's reply came back just as calm. "Copy. Visibility seems clean. No lag reported yet."
Sico's gaze followed them as they passed beyond the central lights, slipping into the deeper shadows near the perimeter fence.
That was where Sanctuary usually felt blind.
Tonight, it wasn't.
The first radio report came less than five minutes later.
"Patrol One to Command," a voice said. Steady. Controlled. "We've reached the north access path. Visibility is clear. I mean, really clear. We can see the ground slope before it drops. Normally that's a hazard point."
Sico keyed his mic. "Acknowledged. Continue."
From beside him, Hancock shifted his weight slightly, arms folded, watching the same route through binoculars that showed far less detail than the patrol now had.
"Hell of a thing," Hancock muttered quietly. "They're walking like it's midday."
Sico didn't respond. He was listening.
Another voice came in.
"Patrol Two reporting," a female soldier this time. "Picking up movement beyond the fence line. Small animals. Probably radstags or dogs. Thermal overlay makes it obvious. No hostile signatures."
Sarah spoke immediately. "Good. Log it. That's exactly the kind of false positive we want to filter early."
Sico closed his eyes for a brief second.
This was working.
Not just the equipment.
The integration.
The patrol reached the western perimeter, where ruined structures and uneven ground made visibility a constant problem. In the past, this was where patrols slowed to a crawl, tension rising with every step.
Tonight.
"Commander," Preston's voice came through, low but unmistakably impressed, "they're navigating debris without stopping. They're reading elevation changes like they've walked this route a hundred times in daylight."
Sico watched as one soldier raised a fist, the signal crisp and confident. The group halted instantly, each person covering a different angle without being told.
"What do you see?" Sarah asked.
The reply came back measured. "Heat signature behind collapsed wall. Stationary. Cold relative to surroundings. Looks like scrap metal retaining residual warmth, not a person."
There was a pause.
"Confirm," Preston said.
"Confirmed," another voice added. "No movement. No human profile."
Sico exhaled slowly.
In the past, that would have been a tense standoff. Weapons raised. Heart rates spiking. Fingers too close to triggers.
Tonight, it was data.
Understanding.
Decision.
They moved on.
An hour passed.
Then another.
Sico remained at his post the entire time, occasionally shifting his stance, sometimes leaning forward, sometimes resting his forearms on the railing. He didn't speak unless necessary. He didn't interrupt unless something required command input.
He watched.
And he listened.
Reports continued to come in.
"Reduced fatigue already noticeable. Not straining to see."
"Peripheral detection is strong. Picking up motion without turning my head."
"Depth perception took a minute to adjust, but it feels natural now."
"Coordination is smoother. We're not bumping into each other."
Mel wasn't there physically, but his presence was felt in every word. Each observation was being logged, timestamped, mentally tagged for refinement.
Sico imagined him back in the lab later, replaying feeds, scribbling notes, already thinking about improvements.
Sarah's voice came through again, sharper now. "Contact drill. Simulated threat."
Sico straightened slightly.
The patrol shifted instantly.
Two soldiers took cover behind low barriers. Another flanked left, moving with confidence through uneven ground that would have been treacherous without visual aid. A fourth scanned high angles, catching heat signatures in upper windows that no one else could see.
"Target acquired," someone reported. "Clear silhouette. No ambiguity."
"Engagement?" Preston asked.
"Negative," came the reply. "Confirmed training marker."
The drill ended as quickly as it began.
Sarah exhaled audibly. "That would've been messy without the goggles."
Preston didn't disagree. "Yeah. That would've turned into guesswork."
Sico closed his eyes for a moment longer this time.
This was the difference between reacting and controlling.
Between fear and awareness.
As the patrol looped back toward Sanctuary's inner perimeter, fatigue began to show, but less than usual. The soldiers' movements remained steady. Communication stayed clear.
When they finally returned to the yard, goggles powered down one by one, the shift was immediate.
Blinking.
Adjusting.
A few quiet laughs of disbelief.
One soldier shook his head slowly. "I don't ever want to go back."
Preston allowed himself a small smile. "You won't, if we can help it."
Sarah approached the group, eyes scanning faces. "Any nausea? Disorientation? Headaches?"
A few shakes of the head. One soldier shrugged. "Took a minute at first. After that? Felt normal."
Sarah nodded, satisfied. "Good."
Sico descended from the platform then, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. The soldiers straightened instinctively, but he lifted a hand.
"At ease," he said quietly.
They relaxed.
He walked among them, not inspecting, not looming. Just present.
"How was it?" he asked.
There was a beat.
Then someone answered honestly. "Sir? It felt like we finally had the upper hand."
Sico nodded once.
"That's the point."
He turned to Preston and Sarah.
"Full debrief tomorrow," Sico said. "Tonight, log everything. Send the data to Mel."
Preston nodded. "Already queued."
Sarah added, "This changes how we plan patrols. Routes. Timing. Everything."
Sico looked out toward the dark beyond the walls.
"Yes," he said. "It does."
The night didn't end with celebration.
It never did.
By the time the patrol dispersed and the yard returned to its quieter rhythms, Sanctuary settled back into itself the way it always had that guarded, wary, alive in that careful way that came from surviving too long in a broken world. The lanterns were dimmed. Gates re-secured. Watch rotations adjusted without fanfare.
Sico remained outside long after most had gone, standing near the edge of the yard, watching soldiers peel off in small groups, murmuring to one another, hands gesturing as they replayed moments from the patrol in low voices. He caught fragments from surprise, relief, disbelief that nothing exaggerated, nothing loud. Just people realizing that for once, the night hadn't owned them.
Sarah passed by him once, pausing just long enough to meet his eyes.
"This changes things," she said quietly.
"Yes," Sico replied. "It already has."
She nodded, then continued on, her steps purposeful, already planning tomorrow.
Preston lingered longer. He approached Sico with his clipboard tucked under his arm, the same one he'd carried all evening, now thick with notes and quick sketches.
"I'll have the full report by morning," Preston said. "Initial impressions are strong. Stronger than I expected, if I'm being honest."
Sico looked at him. "You expected it to work."
"I did," Preston admitted. "I just didn't expect it to change how fast it did."
Sico nodded. "That's usually how real improvements behave."
Preston hesitated, then added, "Morale's up too. That matters."
"It always does," Sico said.
They parted without ceremony. No handshake. No speech. Just an understanding carried forward.
And when Sico finally turned in for the night, it wasn't with ease, but with something close to quiet confidence.
The next two days passed with the kind of intensity that didn't look dramatic from the outside, but reshaped everything beneath the surface.
At the Freemasons Headquarters, the building woke early and slept late. Couriers moved through the halls with datapads and folders tucked under their arms. Radios crackled softly in offices and corridors. Maps were updated. Schedules rewritten. Patrol rosters adjusted again and again as new information flowed in.
Sico's office became a hub.
Not a loud one.
A steady one.
The space itself was sparse by design. A solid desk scarred with old marks from past conflicts. A wall-mounted map of the Commonwealth with colored pins marking patrol zones, trade routes, known hostile territories. Shelves lined with binders form operations, logistics, diplomacy as each worn from use rather than neglect.
Morning light filtered through the narrow window, casting long rectangles across the floor. By the time Sico arrived on the first of those two days, coffee already cooling in a mug at the edge of his desk, there were three reports waiting for him.
All from Preston.
He didn't open them right away.
He read the headers first. Dates. Patrol identifiers. Areas covered.
Then he sat.
And read.
The first report was thorough, written in Preston's steady, methodical hand. No embellishment. No unnecessary language. Just facts, observations, comparisons to previous patrol data.
Patrol Efficiency Analysis On Night Cycle One
Visibility: Increased significantly across all terrain types. Average hazard identification time reduced by 62%.
Movement Speed: Patrol movement increased by approximately 48% without corresponding increase in fatigue indicators.
Communication: Improved clarity and reduced reactive calls. Fewer false alerts.
Threat Identification: Heat signatures allowed earlier differentiation between hostile and non-hostile movement.
Conclusion: Night vision equipment provided substantial tactical advantage. Recommend immediate expansion to additional patrol units.
Sico leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.
That was one patrol.
He opened the second report.
This one included side by side comparisons. Charts. Route overlays. Before and after snapshots that told a story numbers alone couldn't.
Patrol Efficiency Analysis On Night Cycle Two
Overall Efficiency Increase: 53%
Fatigue Levels: Lower than baseline night patrols despite extended route coverage.
Incident Rate: Zero weapon escalations. Zero near-miss incidents.
Soldier Feedback: Overwhelmingly positive. Increased confidence reported across all roles.
Fifty-three percent.
Sico let that number settle.
Not an estimate. Not a projection.
Observed.
Measured.
He reached for the third report, already knowing what it would say.
It confirmed it.
By the end of the second night, patrol coverage had expanded without additional manpower. Routes that once required overlapping teams could now be handled by fewer people, freeing others for rest, training, or reassignment. Blind spots shrank. Reaction times improved.
And perhaps most importantly with something Preston had noted in the margins, almost as an aside with the decision making under stress improved.
People weren't panicking.
They were thinking.
Sico closed the folder and sat quietly for a moment, eyes drifting to the map on the wall.
Pins began to shift in his mind.
Plans adjusted themselves.
This wasn't just better patrols.
This was leverage.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in," Sico said.
The door opened and a runner stepped inside, young, breath steady but quick. "Sir. Preston on the line."
Sico nodded. "Patch him through."
The radio on his desk crackled to life.
"Morning, Sico," Preston said. There was fatigue in his voice, but also something else that contained excitement, tempered by responsibility.
"Morning," Sico replied. "I've read the reports."
There was a brief pause. "Then you've seen it."
"I have," Sico said. "Over fifty percent."
"Fifty-three point one, to be precise," Preston said, almost apologetically.
Sico allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile. "Precision matters."
"It does," Preston agreed. "Listen, we've already started adjusting patrol assignments based on the new capabilities. Sarah's running simulations for expanded night coverage."
"Good," Sico said. "Keep refining."
There was another pause. Then Preston spoke more carefully.
"We're going to need more units."
Sico didn't hesitate. "I know."
"I don't want to rush Mel's team," Preston added. "They're already pushing hard."
"They'll set the pace," Sico said. "We'll match it."
He reached for his datapad, already bringing up a secure channel.
"I want a pickup scheduled," Sico continued. "Next batch. As soon as it's ready."
Preston exhaled. "Understood. I'll assign soldiers."
"Choose people who've already run night patrols," Sico said. "They'll appreciate the difference immediately. And they'll know how to give useful feedback."
"Copy that," Preston replied.
They ended the call without further discussion.
Decisions made.
Actions set in motion.
By midday, the headquarters hummed with quiet momentum.
Sico spent the next several hours in meetings with some planned, some impromptu. Patrol commanders. Logistics officers. Training leads.
He didn't announce the results dramatically.
He didn't need to.
Numbers spoke.
Stories followed.
One patrol leader described spotting movement near a collapsed overpass that would've gone unnoticed before. Another talked about navigating uneven ground without stopping, trusting their footing for the first time in years. A third mentioned something smaller, but no less important—how his team came back less drained, less on edge.
Sico listened to all of it.
He asked questions.
He took notes.
He adjusted priorities.
By the time afternoon bled into evening, he had already authorized redistribution of resources. Training schedules were updated to include night-vision acclimatization. Patrol doctrine drafts were revised. Future route planning showed fewer redundancies, tighter coverage.
The goggles weren't just equipment anymore.
They were doctrine.
That night, Sico stayed late in his office.
The building around him quieted gradually, footsteps fading, lights dimming one corridor at a time. He remained seated at his desk, reading through one final report Preston had sent as this one less formal, more reflective.
Additional Observation:
There's a noticeable shift in how soldiers talk about the night now. Less like something to endure. More like something we can work within. That's new.
Sico set the datapad down and stared at the wall for a long moment.
He thought of the first night patrol.
The green glow behind lenses.
The way people had moved with confidence instead of caution.
This wasn't about domination.
It was about balance.
On the second day, the order went out.
Not broadcast loudly.
Quietly.
Efficiently.
A small squad of six soldiers this time was selected for pickup duty. Experienced. Disciplined. Trusted.
They were briefed in the early hours, standing in a side room at HQ while Preston spoke plainly.
"You're heading to the Science Building," he told them. "Mel's team has the next batch ready. Handle the equipment like it's irreplaceable because for now, it is."
One of the soldiers nodded. "Understood."
"You'll escort it back," Preston continued. "No detours. No unnecessary stops."
"Yes, sir."
"And listen," Preston added, his tone shifting just slightly. "When you're there, watch how they work. They're the reason you've been coming home easier these last two nights."
The soldiers exchanged glances, then nodded again, more solemnly this time.
They departed shortly after.
Sico watched them leave from his office window, their figures moving through the yard below, purposeful, unhurried. He trusted them.
He trusted Mel too.
Trust, he'd learned, wasn't blind.
It was earned.
And reinforced.
Later that evening, another report arrived.
Shorter.
More direct.
Pickup Confirmed.
Next batch secured.
No issues at Science Building.
Mel sends his regards. Says he's already reviewing first patrol data.
Sico allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction.
Not pride.
Satisfaction.
Things were moving.
The world outside Sanctuary hadn't changed. The dangers were still there. The nights were still cold, still dark, still unforgiving.
But inside the walls, something had shifted.
The night no longer belonged solely to what lurked in it.
It was becoming terrain.
And terrain could be mastered.
Sico leaned back in his chair, the low hum of headquarters settling around him, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to think not just about surviving the next night, but shaping the ones that followed.
________________________________________________
• 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:-