Fallout 4: Rebirth At Vault 81

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Behind them, the convoy team had already begun unloading the real shipment—carefully marked crates being slid down with chain lifts, canvas covers peeled back to reveal true purified bottles, the Sanctuary seal stamped into every label.

Albert appeared first.

He stepped up beside Sico without a word, his boots crunching softly in the snow as he flipped his clipboard closed with a small, decisive motion. The wind caught his coat as he adjusted his glasses, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but steady.

"It's done," he said. "All 7,500 bottles. We finished the last crate just before sundown. They're secured in the trucks now."

Sico turned toward him slightly.

Magnolia came up beside them a moment later, scarf tugged high against the cold, her gloved hands stuffed in the deep pockets of her long coat.

"We double-checked every seal," she added. "No leaks, no breaks. Drivers and escorts are already briefed on the new route. They're just waiting on your call."

Sico exhaled, steam curling from his lips.

That was fast. Efficient. Albert had always been the kind to get the numbers right, and Magnolia never let a transport roll without knowing every bolt and bottle had been counted and secured.

He nodded once. "Good. We'll roll within the hour."

Albert glanced toward the main motor pool where three trucks were idling—engines rumbling low, their exhaust curling in soft white trails against the snow-dusted yard. A dozen soldiers were checking undercarriages, lifting hoods, re-wrapping tie-downs on crates. Two were tightening the mount straps for the convoy's mounted rifles, fingers stiff from the cold but practiced in their movements.

Magnolia's eyes flicked toward Sico's face. "You want us to use the same escort formation as last time?"

"No," Sico said without hesitation. "We double it."

Albert raised an eyebrow. "You expecting a second ambush?"

"I'm expecting the unexpected," Sico said. "Drenner's bleeding right now. That doesn't mean he won't lash out again. If he's smart, he'll wait. If he's angry, he'll take a wild swing."

Magnolia nodded slowly. "Two squads, then? Twelve men per truck?"

"No." Sico looked past them to the garage bays. "Assign two Humvees. One in front, one tailing. I want them fully armed—turrets mounted, full suppressive kits, rations, medpaks, flares, the works."

Albert didn't question him. Just scribbled something onto his clipboard and passed it to a nearby runner—a tall, skinny boy barely out of his teens, wrapped in an oversized jacket and carrying a radio pack twice the size of his head.

The boy saluted and jogged off.

Sico turned to Preston. "You'll ride with the lead Humvee. I want your eyes on the road. No one breaks rank, no one stops. If they do—"

"They're dead," Preston finished. "Understood."

Magnolia shifted on her feet, pulling her scarf tighter against her neck. "Do you want me on overwatch again?"

Sico shook his head. "Not this time. You stay here. I need you on internal watch. Start quiet checks. Rosters. Look for inconsistencies. Travel logs. Radio taps. Anything out of place."

Magnolia's brows furrowed. "I thought we were holding off on the sweep."

"We are," Sico said. "But there's a difference between kicking down doors and paying attention. Start with comms. Then Water Division. Then logistics."

Albert cleared his throat softly. "If it's someone on my crew, I'll find them."

"I know," Sico said. "But don't let that stop you from looking."

"I won't."

The sky had gone full gray now, flat and featureless, as if the horizon itself had been erased. Snow was falling heavier, but soft, lazy flakes that drifted rather than attacked. Still, there was a pressure in the air—something building. A storm, maybe. Or just the weight of what came next.

Sico stepped forward, away from the others, and walked down the line of trucks.

Each one was marked with fresh stenciling—"SNR3-ALPHA," "SNR3-BRAVO," and so on—names for this leg of the Third Shipment. The soldiers posted beside them were young and old, men and women, different factions, different faces. But they all had the same look in their eyes: sharp, alert, focused.

They'd heard what had happened out there.

They knew the convoy returning now wasn't the same one that had left that morning.

Sico stopped at the second truck and met the eyes of the driver, a broad-shouldered woman with dark skin and a long scar running from her jaw to her collarbone. She gave a short, two-fingered salute.

"Vehicle integrity?"

"Clean," she said. "Brakes, filters, pressure valves—checked twice. Crates are locked and sealed in double rows, tied to both lateral bars. We lose power, we coast. We get hit, we crash forward."

Sico nodded. "That's the spirit."

She smiled faintly, then climbed into the cab and shut the door.

A few yards away, Preston was already briefing the Humvee squad, one boot up on the bumper, gesturing with the blunt end of his rifle as he spoke in crisp, clipped commands. Sico didn't have to listen to know what he was saying—Preston didn't miss details. He'd drill them on fallback positions, radio signals, perimeter ranges, blind spots, and delay tactics.

And if it came to a firefight, they wouldn't fold.

Sico walked back to Magnolia and Albert.

"They'll move at first light," he said. "No radio until they're within five clicks of Graygarden. After that, we'll check in hourly."

Magnolia's eyes were still on the convoy, her expression unreadable. "What about the backup column?"

"They'll follow tomorrow, different route. Split by ten hours and two miles. If this one gets hit, the second reroutes to Finch Farm and holds until we sweep clear."

Albert clicked his pen once, then again. "And if neither make it?"

Sico's jaw tightened. "They will."

There was a long silence between them then, one made heavier by the falling snow and the thick, slow rumble of the truck engines waiting for movement.

Magnolia finally spoke. "You're doing the right thing."

Sico didn't answer immediately. His eyes swept the horizon—beyond the fences, past the gates, toward the blurred shape of the trees that ringed the east and north like ghost sentries. Somewhere out there, someone had whispered the wrong words into the wrong ears. Someone inside Sanctuary had fed Drenner the schedule, the route, the volume.

And someone had to pay for that.

Eventually.

But not tonight.

Tonight was about water. And survival.

And making damn sure the next caravan didn't ride into another grave.

He turned back to his people.

"Get some rest," he said. "You've both earned it."

Albert nodded and turned away, already flipping through the next page on his clipboard. The paper was curled from the cold, the ink smudged in places, but his notes were meticulous.

Magnolia lingered a moment longer.

"Do you ever sleep?" she asked softly.

"Only when the fires go out," Sico replied.

She didn't press him.

Just gave a small smile and walked away.

The night was coming on fast now. Lanterns flickered to life along the perimeter fences, casting long yellow bars of light over the snow-packed dirt. Somewhere near the chapel, a soft bell rang twice—the final work call of the evening.

The soft bell near the chapel echoed once more before fading into the hush of the falling snow. As the last hum of the day wound down across Sanctuary, Sico turned away from the convoy yard and began his slow walk toward the heart of the eastern complex—the old Freemasons HQ. His boots crunched across packed snow and frostbitten gravel, the night pulling in around him like a cold curtain. Every breath he took rose in visible curls, vanishing quickly into the sharp air.

The Freemasons building loomed ahead—its blackened brick facade partially covered in metal scaffolding and long rows of salvaged spotlights. The upper windows still bore the arched shapes of a forgotten era, though most of them were now reinforced with thick panes of shatterproof resin. The great seal on the double doors had long since faded, but the weight of the building—its shape, its silence—still carried the gravity of old secrets.

Sico entered through the east stair, shoulders hunched against the wind, and climbed the three narrow flights in silence. Each step creaked softly beneath his weight—wood over concrete, remnants of the old world wedged into the bones of the new. By the time he reached the upper corridor, the only sound was the muffled drone of the backup generator humming down below, and the occasional pop of thermal vents keeping the waterlines from freezing.

He reached his office—a narrow room with reinforced walls, a steel-framed desk, two worn leather chairs, and a rust-stained map of the Commonwealth pinned across the back wall. It was warm, faintly. Someone had left the floor heater on low. The overhead light buzzed gently as it flickered to life.

Sico shut the door behind him and peeled off his gloves, dropping them beside the old military-issue radio set that sat against the far corner of the desk. It was a boxy, matte-black beast, more wire than metal now, half-rebuilt from three different models. The tuner dial clicked softly as he twisted it, bringing the radio to life with a muted hiss of static.

He pressed the transmitter button, leaned in close, and spoke low.

"MacCready. You there?"

A pause.

Then, through the fuzz of bad reception and distant wind, came the reply.

"About time you called."

Sico cracked a faint smile and sat down.

"Had a bit of a mess to clean up."

MacCready's voice was dry, with the kind of worn edge that came from a long day watching shadows. "Yeah. I heard. Word got to County Crossings about the ambush. Heard you walked out of it with your boots clean and your enemies bleeding."

"Mostly," Sico replied. "But that's not why I'm calling."

"Let me guess," MacCready said, his voice sharpening. "Drenner."

Sico nodded, even though the other man couldn't see him. "I need to know if you've picked up a trail. Anything."

There was a brief crackle of static as MacCready adjusted something on his end. A short whistle blew faintly in the background, like a kettle going off.

"I've been digging," he said. "Following crumbs. It's slow. Drenner's got people who know how to cover a trail. But…"

"But what?"

MacCready let out a breath. "I think I've got something."

Sico leaned in. "Talk."

"There's been movement between the old ruins north of Breakheart Banks and the waterway near Lynn Woods. Nothing obvious—no supply trains, no heavy foot traffic. But I spotted a relay system tucked into the trees about two days ago. Brand new tech. No way it's just some settler trying to boost a signal."

Sico's eyes narrowed. "You think it's Drenner?"

"Could be," MacCready said. "Or one of his top captains. They're smart enough to use blind signal hops and decoys. But if he's operating that close to Lynn Woods, it's a gamble. That's Brotherhood borderland now."

Sico tapped his fingers against the desk. "And the Brotherhood hasn't picked up on it?"

"If they have, they're not saying. But my guess? They haven't looked close. Too busy with recon over the Glowing Sea."

That matched what Preston had said earlier in the week—quiet Brotherhood repositioning, most of their scouting teams pulling south. If Drenner had noticed the same pattern, it would make sense to move north. Set up shop in someone else's blind spot.

Sico ran a hand through his hair. "How close can you get without tipping your hand?"

"I already did," MacCready replied. "Last night. I got within three hundred yards of the signal relay and found a drop cache. Ammo, some rations, and—get this—a Sanctuary-issued radio slate."

Sico went still.

"Was it active?"

"No. But it was configured with our encryption key."

His knuckles tightened against the desk.

"That confirms it. We've got a leak."

"Yeah," MacCready muttered. "One that's feeding Drenner Sanctuary gear."

"Anything else in the cache?"

"Yeah. A coded datapad—one of the old pre-War ones, modified for encrypted burst transmission. I haven't cracked it yet. Too risky without knowing the fail protocol. If it's got a self-wipe trigger, I'd rather not fry it."

"Can you get it here?"

"I can try," MacCready said. "But I'd have to move fast and quiet. If someone's monitoring that relay, they'll know the cache was hit by morning."

"Then don't bring it here," Sico said. "Go dark for twenty-four hours. Disappear."

MacCready hesitated. "You think they're watching me?"

"I think they're watching everyone."

There was a long pause.

Then MacCready said, "Copy that."

Sico stood slowly from his chair and crossed the room, staring at the massive map on the wall. His eyes scanned past the faded blue lines of old highways and rail lines, up toward the cluster of green ink he'd used to mark known enemy activity.

Breakheart Banks. Lynn Woods. Signal Hill.

That whole sector had gone quiet over the last month.

Too quiet.

"You said the relay was new," Sico said.

"Yeah," MacCready replied. "Wired with synth-grade repeaters and stabilized with scavenged solar rigs. Not Brotherhood gear. Definitely not Minutemen."

"That's Drenner, then," Sico said. "He's setting up comm nodes. Planning something bigger."

"Looks like it."

Sico turned back to the desk.

"I need you to stay near that area. Track anything that moves—pack animals, foot patrols, even birds. I want to know if so much as a radroach crosses that perimeter."

"Copy that."

Sico let the radio stay alive a moment longer after MacCready's last words. Just in case. The static hissed like distant rain, empty and restless. Then, slowly, he reached out and turned the dial back to zero. The receiver's low glow dimmed, and the room sank into silence again—thick, palpable silence, the kind that settled when you learned just enough to know you were still two steps behind.

He leaned back in the worn leather chair, fingers laced loosely behind his head as he stared at the cracked ceiling tiles. His breath came slow and even, but his mind raced in a dozen directions.

A leak.

Inside Sanctuary.

The words looped through him like a quiet drumbeat. He'd suspected it from the beginning. Drenner's ambush had been too precise—timed to the hour, coordinated to strike just as the convoy rounded the eastern bend. But now it wasn't just suspicion. It was fact. Cold, blunt, and sharp enough to bleed.

Someone had given Drenner one of their encrypted slates.

And that meant someone within their walls had betrayed them.

Eventually, he sat up and reached for the small thermos tucked beneath the desk. He twisted it open, poured a thin stream of black chicory tea into a rust-stained mug, and took a slow sip. It was lukewarm, but it grounded him.

He set the mug down and pressed the radio transmitter again—this time, cycling through the local channels, switching to the internal security frequency.

"Tower One, this is Sico. Is Magnolia still at base?"

A brief pause, then the voice of a young sentry—Evans, he thought—came through.

"Yes, sir. She's just leaving the outer admin wing. I see her heading toward the barracks."

"Intercept her," Sico said. "Tell her I need her in my office. Now."

"Yes, Commander."

He switched channels again.

"Albert, you awake?"

There was a short burst of static, then Albert's familiar voice came through—groggy, as if he'd just pulled himself out of a data dream.

"I am now."

"Freemasons HQ. Ten minutes."

Albert didn't even ask why. "Understood."

Sico clicked the radio off again and rubbed his eyes.

He didn't know if it would be one of them—Albert or Magnolia. He didn't want to believe it could be. But the reality was harsher than trust. Everyone was a suspect until proven otherwise. And the more he let sentiment cloud his judgment, the more people would die on the road.

He stared back at the Commonwealth map.

Lynn Woods.

Breakheart.

Drenner's not just poking anymore. He's moving.

Which meant Sico had to move faster.

Footsteps echoed down the hall twenty minutes later—measured, fast, but not frantic. Magnolia entered first, scarf pulled down and eyes sharp. She didn't speak until the door closed behind her.

"What's happened?"

Sico gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. You're not gonna like it."

She didn't sit. Just crossed her arms and waited.

Albert arrived seconds later, out of breath, coat only half-buttoned. He still had his clipboard in hand.

"Didn't expect to be called back this soon," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "Something's wrong."

Sico nodded.

"We have confirmation. Drenner has Sanctuary tech. A radio slate—ours—configured with our encryption key. MacCready found it two nights ago in a supply cache near a relay station north of Breakheart Banks."

Both Albert and Magnolia went still.

Magnolia's lips parted slightly, but no sound came. Her brow tightened.

Albert's mouth was a line of disbelief. "A slate? Are you sure?"

"I trust MacCready's eyes more than most men's scopes," Sico said. "And he found more. A datapad. Pre-War tech. Burst-transmission capable. Someone's sending real-time updates. That's how Drenner got the convoy schedule."

Silence settled again, heavy and uneasy.

It was Albert who broke it first.

"We've always had a blind spot in distribution," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "The Water Division runs long hours. Most of our logistics passes through three hands max before final sorting. But encryption keys? Those are air-gapped. We store them inside locked terminals and rotate passwords weekly."

"Which means the leak has access to classified logs," Magnolia said, voice low. "Military access or internal admin."

Sico nodded. "That narrows the list."

Albert swallowed. "Narrow, yes—but still longer than we'd like."

Magnolia turned to Sico. "You calling for a sweep?"

"Not yet," he replied. "We spook the rat, we lose the trail. Right now, they still think we're reeling from the ambush. Let's keep it that way."

She paced once, slow, deliberate.

"You want us to start digging quietly."

"Exactly," Sico said. "No raids. No accusations. Just eyes. I want internal logs checked against physical supply movements. Radio chatter from the last six weeks. Guard rosters. Access logs to my office, to the convoy manifests, to the archive server."

Albert was already scribbling notes. "I'll cross-check inventory with maintenance reports. Look for anomalies—missing components, corrupted entries, last-minute manifest edits."

Magnolia's voice was colder. "And I'll start with the comm logs. Anyone who's requested long-range channel boosts, tech access to towers, or recorded off-hours use of the uplink relay gets flagged."

"Good," Sico said.

Then he leaned forward, voice quieting to something razor-thin.

"And if either of you finds something—anything—don't tell anyone else. Not even me. Not over comms. Not in writing."

Albert blinked. "What are you saying?"

Sico stared at him evenly. "I'm saying I don't know who to trust yet. I want face-to-face only. Every update, every detail. That's the only way we stay ahead."

Magnolia met his eyes for a long time.

Then she nodded. "Alright."

Albert hesitated—but then nodded too.

Sico stood and moved to the map again, dragging a thick red marker down the center of the northeast quadrant. "MacCready's staying on the Lynn Woods relay. He's going dark for twenty-four hours. If he finds another node—or if that datapad gets cracked—we'll get a lead on Drenner's exact location."

Albert joined him at the wall, his eyes scanning the inked notations. "You think Drenner's nesting there?"

"No," Sico said. "I think it's a shell. He's smarter than that. But the relay's real. The cache is real. And whoever's leaking from Sanctuary was meant to find it."

Magnolia frowned. "So it's a drop zone. Not a base."

"Exactly."

Sico turned to face them both.

"This is what we do next: the convoy rolls at dawn. We keep public focus on the delivery. Internally, we track the mole. Quietly. Thoroughly. And when we find them…"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

Albert swallowed hard. "What about the people? If word gets out, this could break morale."

"Then don't let it get out," Sico said.

Magnolia gave him a long look. "And if it's someone high-ranking?"

Sico didn't blink.

"Then they fall even harder."

Later that night, when the Freemasons HQ had gone quiet and the wind had softened outside, Sico sat alone in the dim orange glow of his office heater, staring at the terminal screen. He'd pulled up the archived radio encryption logs from a month back to search a suspicious log.

________________________________________________

• 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:-