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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.
The next morning arrived wrapped in cold.
Not the sharp, biting kind that made people curse under their breath, but the deeper kind with the kind that settled into joints, lingered in shadow, and reminded everyone that winter was no longer approaching.
It was here.
Sico crossed Sanctuary early, boots crunching lightly over frost-hardened ground. Smoke rose from chimneys in steady columns, and the settlement stirred with a muted, purposeful rhythm. People moved with coats pulled tighter, scarves wrapped higher. There was less idle standing around now. Less wasted motion.
Cold taught efficiency.
The factory lights were already on when he arrived.
Warmth spilled out through the open doors, fogging the air where hot met cold. Inside, the hum of machines carried with a layered sound, rhythmic and alive. Not chaotic. Not rushed.
Working.
Sico paused just inside the threshold, letting the scene settle into him.
The factory was full.
Not crowded, but occupied in a way that mattered.
Workers moved between stations with growing confidence. Hands that had been tentative days ago now worked with practiced precision. Fabric rolled smoothly across cutting tables. Looms clattered in steady cadence, no longer jerking or stalling. Insulation was layered, pressed, stitched.
The smell of warm cloth, oil, and clean heat replaced the sterile scent of new construction.
This wasn't a project anymore.
It was a place.
He walked slowly along the main aisle, nodding to those who noticed him, offering quiet words when someone caught his eye. He didn't stop the work. He didn't need to.
People were focused.
At one station, the young woman with the baby worked carefully, guiding fabric beneath the needle, foot steady on the pedal. Her child slept in a small, supervised area nearby, bundled in a coat that had come from Hancock's haul.
At another table, the older man Magnolia had hired as a floor supervisor leaned over a trainee's shoulder, correcting hand placement with patient authority.
"Don't rush it," he said. "Clean lines matter more than speed."
The trainee nodded, adjusted, tried again.
Better.
Sico felt something loosen in his chest.
Across the factory floor, Magnolia stood near the central inventory station.
She was unmistakable.
Not because she was louder than anyone else, but because the flow of work subtly oriented around her. People checked in with her. Assistants moved in and out, slates exchanged, notes updated.
She wore a heavier coat today, tailored but practical, sleeves rolled slightly as she reviewed figures on her slate. Her expression was calm, sharp, fully engaged.
She looked up as Sico approached.
"Morning," she said.
"How's it going?" he asked.
She gestured broadly. "We're running the first proper batch."
He followed her gaze.
On one side of the factory, finished coats were being stacked neatly into marked crates. Each one was stamped with a simple insignia that not a symbol of power, but origin.
Freemasons made.
On the other side, identical coats were stacked separately, tagged with trade markings instead of distribution codes.
Two streams.
Purposeful.
Deliberate.
"You split production already," Sico noted.
"Yes," Magnolia replied. "As discussed."
She tapped her slate, then turned it slightly so he could see.
"Batch A," she said. "For internal distribution. Settlers. Patrols. Farms. Priority to those still lacking adequate gear."
"And Batch B?"
"For trade," Magnolia said. "Commonwealth settlements. Fixed price."
"Ten caps," Sico said.
"Per garment," Magnolia confirmed. "Flat rate. No haggling."
Sico studied the numbers. "That's lower than market."
"Intentionally," she replied. "Low enough to move volume. High enough to sustain production."
"And keep trust," he added.
Magnolia's mouth curved slightly. "Exactly."
They walked together along the factory floor, careful to stay clear of moving carts and swinging fabric rolls.
"You're comfortable handling this?" Sico asked.
Magnolia didn't look away from the workers. "Yes."
That was all she said.
But Sico heard the weight beneath it.
"I'll oversee the factory operations," she continued after a moment. "Staffing. Output balance. Trade coordination. Sturges handles maintenance and expansion. You don't need to be here every day."
"I know," Sico replied.
She stopped walking and looked at him fully.
"This isn't me taking something from you," she said quietly. "This is me carrying it."
Sico met her gaze. "I trust you."
She held his eyes for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded once.
"Good," she said. "Because we're about to get busy."
As if summoned by the words, a runner approached.
"Magnolia," he said, slightly out of breath. "Caravan from Bunker Hill just arrived. Asking about winter trade."
Magnolia didn't hesitate. "Tell them we'll meet this afternoon. No early deals."
"Yes, ma'am."
He hurried off.
Sico watched him go. "It's starting."
"It already started," Magnolia corrected.
They resumed walking.
At the far end of the factory, Sturges stood with a small group of technicians, arguing about throughput rates and machine wear.
"No, you push it that hard, you'll burn the motor in a week," Sturges said.
A tech crossed his arms. "But we need the output."
"And you'll get it," Sturges shot back. "By not breaking the damn thing."
Sico smiled faintly and kept moving.
The system was finding its balance.
That afternoon, the first distribution from the factory itself took place.
Not with fanfare.
Just with crates opened and names called.
Workers paused as coats were handed out. Some recognized the stitching as their own. Others ran fingers over seams with quiet pride.
A man pulled on a coat and laughed softly. "Feels like armor."
A woman wrapped a scarf around her neck and closed her eyes. "I forgot what this felt like."
Magnolia oversaw it all with the same measured focus she brought to everything else. She checked names off lists, adjusted counts, redirected overflow.
"No one leaves without," she said. "Not today."
On the trade side, crates were sealed and loaded carefully onto carts. Each was marked clearly with pricing and origin.
SANCTUARY WINTER GOODS
10 CAPS PER ITEM
No embellishment.
No threats.
Just value.
Sico stood off to the side, watching the dual process unfold with care and commerce, balanced deliberately.
That balance mattered.
He felt it again later, when the first Commonwealth traders were allowed into the factory's outer office.
They didn't step onto the floor. Magnolia made sure of that.
She met them in a heated annex, table between them, guards discreet but present.
"Ten caps," she repeated calmly when one man tried to negotiate. "Per item."
"That's cheap," the man said, suspicious.
"Yes," Magnolia replied. "And firm."
"And the quality?"
She gestured toward a sample coat draped over a chair. "Test it."
The man lifted it, rubbed the lining, weighed it.
"…Damn," he muttered.
"Volume discounts?" another trader asked.
"No," Magnolia said. "But consistent supply."
The room quieted.
Consistency was rare.
"We'll take fifty," the first man said.
"Paid up front," Magnolia replied.
"Of course."
As they finalized the deal, Sico stood near the door, silent, unnoticed by most of them.
He preferred it that way.
When the traders left, Magnolia leaned back slightly, exhaling.
"One deal done," she said. "Many more coming."
"You're sure this won't strain internal supply?" Sico asked.
"I've accounted for it," Magnolia said. "Internal needs are protected. Production scales upward next week."
"And if winter worsens?"
"Then we adjust," she replied. "Trade slows. Internal increases."
Sico nodded. "Good."
Sico nodded once. "Good."
The word settled between them, solid and final.
For a moment neither of them spoke. The hum of the factory filtered through the walls that steady, constant, alive. Somewhere beyond the annex, fabric slid beneath needles, presses hissed softly, boots crossed concrete in measured rhythms.
Magnolia closed her slate, resting it against the edge of the table.
"Then say it," she said.
Sico turned slightly, leaning his shoulder against the wall, eyes drifting toward the narrow window that looked back into the factory floor. Workers moved there like parts of a larger machine, each motion purposeful, each task feeding the next.
"The winter we've known so far isn't the worst of it," he said. "You know that."
Magnolia nodded. "I do."
"The cold deepens," Sico continued. "Snow locks roads. Raiders get desperate. Settlements that could scrape by in autumn won't make it through what's coming."
She watched him carefully now. "You want more than steady output."
"Yes," Sico said simply.
He turned to face her fully.
"I want us to ramp up production."
Magnolia didn't react immediately. No sharp inhale. No sudden objection. Just a slow, thoughtful stillness.
"How much?" she asked.
"Enough," Sico replied, "that at least half of the Freemasons Republic has proper winter clothing before the worst hits."
She was already calculating. He could see it in her eyes.
"And the Commonwealth?" she asked.
He didn't hesitate.
"And the Commonwealth," he said. "At least half of it."
That earned a pause.
Not disbelief.
Respect for the scale.
Magnolia exhaled slowly through her nose and looked back through the window, eyes tracing the lines of the factory, the machines, the people.
"That's not a small ask," she said.
"I know."
"That's thousands of garments," she continued. "Coats. Gloves. Insulation layers. Scarves. That's materials, labor, time."
"I know," Sico repeated.
Magnolia turned back to him. "You're talking about pushing this place beyond 'successful.' You're talking about making it essential."
"Yes."
"And if we fail?" she asked. "If machines break, if workers burn out, if supply chains snap?"
"Then we adjust," Sico said calmly. "But we don't aim low because we're afraid of failure."
She studied him for a long moment.
"You're not doing this for trade dominance," Magnolia said.
"No."
"Or leverage."
"No."
She tilted her head slightly. "You're doing this because you're worried people will freeze."
"Yes."
That was the truth of it. Plain. Unadorned.
Magnolia looked back into the factory again, watching a cart loaded with finished coats roll past, a worker guiding it carefully, as if it were fragile cargo.
"Alright," she said at last.
Sico didn't smile. He didn't thank her. He simply waited.
"We'll need to restructure shifts," Magnolia continued. "Add a third production block. Not longer hours and rotations. People don't work well when they're exhausted."
"Agreed."
"We'll need more raw materials," she said. "Fabric, insulation, thread. That means trade runs sooner than planned."
"I'll authorize it," Sico replied. "And I'll make sure escorts are available."
"We'll need people," Magnolia added. "More people capable of running multiple stations. Redundancy."
"Do it."
"And we'll need to be careful," she said, finally meeting his eyes again. "Because if we scale too fast without structure, we'll lose quality."
Sico nodded. "Warmth that falls apart isn't warmth."
Magnolia allowed herself a faint smile at that.
"I'll draw up a revised production plan," she said. "By tonight."
"Good."
She hesitated, then added, "You should know that once word gets out that we're increasing output like this, expectations will rise."
"They already are," Sico said.
"Yes," Magnolia replied. "But this will be different. People will start counting on us."
Sico's expression didn't change. "Then we won't let them down."
Magnolia watched him for a moment longer, then picked up her slate.
"Alright," she said, tone shifting back into motion. "Let's get to work."
The changes began that same day.
Not loudly.
Not chaotically.
But deliberately.
Magnolia gathered supervisors in the late afternoon, spreading plans across a long table in the factory's upper office. Sturges joined them, grease still on his hands, eyes already scanning diagrams.
"You want to push output by how much?" he asked, squinting.
"Gradually," Magnolia said. "But significantly."
Sturges scratched his chin. "Machines can handle it if we're smart. No constant redlining. We rotate maintenance windows, keep parts ready."
"We'll need more hands trained on diagnostics," Magnolia said.
"I'll handle that," Sturges replied. "Won't have green folks touching the guts without supervision."
Below them, workers finished their shifts, unaware yet of the scale of what was coming. They knew winter was harsh. They knew demand was growing.
They didn't yet know they were about to become the backbone of something much larger.
By the next morning, notices went up inside the factory.
Not orders.
Not demands.
Information.
SHIFT ROTATION UPDATE
OPTIONAL ADDITIONAL SHIFTS AVAILABLE
INCREASED PAY FOR TRAINED MULTI-STATION WORKERS
Magnolia stood near the board as people gathered to read.
There was murmuring.
Questions.
No panic.
A man raised his hand slightly. "This isn't mandatory, right?"
"No," Magnolia said. "No one is being forced into longer hours."
A woman beside him frowned thoughtfully. "But the work matters."
"Yes," Magnolia replied. "It does."
Silence followed that.
Then another voice. "What about childcare coverage?"
"Expanded," Magnolia said without hesitation. "Already planned."
A few nods.
Someone else spoke. "If we do this, who's it for?"
Magnolia didn't sugarcoat it.
"For us," she said. "And for people who won't make it through winter without help."
That settled it more than any speech could have.
Hands went up.
Names were added.
By midday, the new shift roster was nearly full.
Sico watched it from a distance, leaning against a support pillar near the factory entrance. He didn't intervene. He didn't direct.
He simply observed.
People chose to step forward.
That mattered.
Over the next several days, the factory's rhythm deepened.
Morning, afternoon, night.
Three steady pulses.
Machines rested when they needed to. People rested when they needed to. No one was run into the ground.
Magnolia walked the floor constantly, adjusting assignments, checking on workers, stepping in when something faltered.
She spoke quietly to a young man whose hands shook from nerves, moved him to a station better suited to his pace.
She reassigned an older worker to training after noticing the strain in his shoulders.
She caught a small tear in a seam before it passed inspection and used it as a teaching moment, not a reprimand.
Sico visited daily, but briefly.
He checked supply levels.
Security rotations.
Trade schedules.
He spoke with Preston about escorting caravans carrying raw materials.
He coordinated with Sarah to identify settlements most at risk.
Lists formed.
Names.
Places.
Numbers.
By the end of the week, the first expanded batch rolled out.
Crates stacked higher.
Carts moved faster.
Distribution maps grew more complex.
Some goods stayed within Freemasons territory, moving outward in careful arcs from Sanctuary, then nearby farms, then outlying settlements tied loosely to the Republic.
Other crates were marked for trade.
Ten caps per garment.
No exceptions.
Caravans began to arrive more frequently.
Bunker Hill.
Goodneighbor.
Smaller, nameless stops that barely counted as settlements.
They came wary.
They left heavier.
Word spread faster than Sico had anticipated.
Not because of advertising.
Because people talked.
"They don't gouge you."
"The coats actually last."
"They don't care who you are, caps are caps."
"They told us straight up which batch was for their people."
That last part mattered.
Trust grew not from generosity alone, but from honesty.
One evening, as snow began to fall in earnest, Magnolia joined Sico outside the factory again.
The flakes were thick, slow, already beginning to blanket the ground.
"We're pushing near capacity," she said quietly.
"And holding," Sico replied.
"Yes," she agreed. "For now."
She glanced toward the factory windows, glowing warm against the dark.
"We've covered a third of the Freemasons Republic already," she said. "And Commonwealth trade is accelerating."
"That's faster than projected."
Magnolia nodded. "Demand is higher than projected."
"Can we reach half?" Sico asked.
She didn't answer immediately.
Snow gathered on her coat, melting slowly.
"Yes," she said at last. "If nothing catastrophic happens."
"And if it does?"
"Then we adapt," Magnolia replied. "Like always."
Sico allowed himself a small breath then. Not relief. Not celebration.
Resolve.
"This will change how people see us," Magnolia added.
"Yes."
"And how they see you."
Sico shook his head. "No. How they see what's possible."
Magnolia looked at him sidelong. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"Yes," he said simply.
The word had barely left his mouth when it happened.
The sound came first.
Not a crack.
Not a sharp bang.
But a thud that deep, concussive, then followed by a metallic scream that cut straight through the steady rhythm of the factory. For half a heartbeat, the world seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether to continue.
Then came the shout.
And the hiss.
And the smell.
Magnolia's head snapped toward the factory doors at the same moment Sico pushed off the wall.
Inside, the hum of machinery fractured into chaos.
A plume of smoke rolled upward from the far end of the floor, thick and gray, carrying the unmistakable tang of burned oil and scorched insulation. Sparks spat briefly, then died, clattering uselessly against concrete.
"Move," Sico said, already striding forward.
Magnolia was beside him instantly, boots crunching as they crossed the threshold into heat and noise and shouting voices.
"Kill the power on Line Three!"
"Someone get water! No, not water, sand!"
"Easy, easy, don't move him yet!"
Workers clustered near one of the larger pressing machines, the one that handled insulation bonding at scale. Its casing was blackened now, one side warped outward like a broken rib. A panel hung loose, wires inside still twitching faintly before someone yanked the emergency cutoff.
The machine was dead.
The damage was not.
Two workers were down.
One sat slumped against a crate, face pale beneath soot, clutching his forearm where the fabric of his sleeve had been torn and burned. Another lay on his back on the floor, breathing shallow but conscious, eyes wide with shock as two coworkers knelt beside him, hands hovering uncertainly, afraid to make it worse.
Others stood nearby, stunned, some frozen in place, some shaking.
"Clear space," Sico ordered, voice cutting through the noise without rising. "Give them air."
People moved. Instinctively. Relieved to have direction.
Magnolia dropped to one knee beside the injured man on the floor, eyes scanning him quickly.
"Can you hear me?" she asked.
He nodded, teeth clenched. "Yeah."
"Don't try to get up," she said gently. "You're okay. You're okay."
Sico turned to the workers holding the man with the burned arm.
"You," he said, pointing. "And you. Get him to the clinic. Now. Slowly."
"We've got him," one of them said, already adjusting his grip.
"Good," Sico replied. "Careful with the arm."
He turned back to the second injured worker.
"You," he said to another pair nearby. "Same thing. Hospital. Tell them it's factory-related. Burns and possible concussion."
They nodded, faces tight, and carefully lifted their coworker.
As they moved, Sico caught the eye of a young woman standing a few steps back, hands trembling.
"Stay here," he told her. "Help keep people clear."
She swallowed and nodded, grounding herself in the task.
Magnolia rose to her feet, eyes still scanning, checking faces, counting heads.
"Anyone else hurt?" she asked.
A few heads shook. Someone spoke up. "Just them."
Sico exhaled once, controlled.
"Good," he said. "Everyone else, shut down stations. Controlled stop. No panic."
The words rippled outward, carried by supervisors, by people who had already learned to trust his tone. Machines wound down one by one, their voices fading into uneasy silence.
The factory, moments ago alive with motion, now stood hushed except for the hiss of cooling metal and the low murmur of shaken voices.
Sturges burst through the side door at a near run, wiping his hands on a rag that was already filthy.
"What the hell happened?" he demanded, eyes already locking onto the damaged machine.
"That one blew," Magnolia said, pointing. "Two injured. They're on their way to the hospital."
Sturges swore under his breath and was moving before she finished speaking. He crouched beside the machine, peering into its exposed side, fingers hovering just short of touching anything.
"Damn it," he muttered. "Damn it."
He glanced back over his shoulder. "How hard were you pushing this line?"
One of the supervisors stepped forward, voice tight. "Within the new parameters. We didn't override anything."
Sturges nodded once, already back to inspecting. "Yeah. I believe you."
He leaned closer, nose wrinkling at the smell. "This isn't negligence. This is fatigue."
He straightened slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
Sico approached, stopping just short of the wreckage.
"How bad?" he asked.
Sturges looked at him, expression grim but controlled.
"She's done for the day," he said. "Maybe longer."
"How long to fix it?" Sico asked.
Sturges didn't sugarcoat it.
"A day," he said. "Maybe a little more if I find hairline damage deeper in. We pushed it hard. Harder than she liked."
Magnolia absorbed that, already recalculating. "Can we reroute production?"
"Partially," Sturges replied. "Other machines can cover some load, but not all. Output's gonna dip."
Sico nodded once.
"Alright," he said.
He turned to Magnolia. "Spread the word."
She met his eyes. "That production will slow."
"Yes," Sico said. "Be honest. One machine down. Injuries. Repairs underway."
"No spin," she said.
"No spin," he agreed.
Magnolia turned and moved immediately, already calling for runners, for notices, for supervisors to gather.
Sturges exhaled sharply and crouched again beside the machine, hands finally moving now, methodical, precise.
"Anyone hurt bad?" he asked without looking up.
"Alive," Sico replied. "Getting treatment."
Sturges nodded, jaw tight. "Good."
The injured workers were already halfway across Sanctuary when Sico caught up briefly with the escorting guards.
"Stay with them," he said. "Whatever they need."
"Yes, sir."
He watched them disappear into the morning haze, then turned back toward the factory.
The air felt different now.
Not broken.
But bruised.
Inside, workers stood in small clusters, voices low, eyes darting toward the damaged machine like it might lunge at them again.
Magnolia returned to the floor, climbing onto a crate to be seen without shouting.
"Listen up," she said, voice steady.
The room quieted.
"One of our machines failed," she continued. "Two people were injured. They're being treated."
A ripple of concern moved through the crowd.
"They're alive," Magnolia added firmly. "And they'll get care."
That steadied things.
"We're slowing production today," she went on. "Not stopping. Slowing. Repairs are underway. No one is being blamed."
She let that sit.
"This doesn't erase what we've done," she said. "And it doesn't change why we're here. But we don't push broken tools. We fix them."
A murmur of agreement followed.
"We'll post updated schedules within the hour," Magnolia concluded. "For now, supervisors! Check your teams. Take a breath."
She stepped down.
Sico watched the workers disperse, some visibly shaken, others already settling into revised tasks, redirecting energy rather than losing it.
He moved through the space quietly, stopping near a young man who stood staring at the damaged machine, fists clenched.
"You okay?" Sico asked.
The man swallowed. "Yeah. Just, never heard anything like that."
Sico nodded. "That's fair."
He paused, then added, "You did everything right."
The man looked at him, surprised. "We did?"
"Yes," Sico said. "You reacted. You helped. That matters."
The man nodded slowly, shoulders loosening a fraction.
Near the entrance, Magnolia coordinated with messengers, dispatching them across Sanctuary and beyond. Notices would go up. Caravans would be informed. No surprises.
By midday, word had spread.
Production slowed.
Not halted.
Traders grumbled, but accepted it.
Settlers worried, but understood.
Trust held, precisely because the truth had been told quickly.
Sico stood with Sturges later that afternoon, watching him work.
"You warned me this could happen," Sico said.
Sturges snorted. "I warned everyone."
"And we did it anyway."
"Yeah," Sturges replied. "Because sometimes you gotta push. Just not past breaking."
He tapped the machine's casing. "This one crossed the line."
Sico studied the warped metal, the scar left behind.
"Will it run again?" he asked.
"Oh yeah," Sturges said. "She'll forgive us. Eventually."
Sico nodded. "Take the time you need."
Sturges looked at him sharply. "You sure?"
"Yes."
Sturges' shoulders eased slightly. "Alright then."
That night, Sanctuary felt quieter.
Not fearful.
Reflective.
Lights still burned.
Fires still crackled.
The factory stood partially silent, one line dark, others humming softly.
Magnolia joined Sico again outside, breath fogging in the cold.
"They're shaken," she said.
"Yes," Sico replied. "But they're still standing."
"We'll lose some output targets," she added.
"We'll make them up later," he said.
She looked at him. "You're not worried this will undo what we've built?"
Sico shook his head.
"No," he said. "This is part of it."
She considered that, then nodded.
"Alright," she said. "Tomorrow we adjust."
"Yes," Sico replied. "Tomorrow we continue."
The next day dawned gray and heavy, the kind of sky that pressed low over Sanctuary and made every sound feel muted. Snow from the night before lay undisturbed in the corners of streets and along fence lines, packed hard where boots had passed, soft and untouched where no one had bothered to walk.
The factory district was already awake.
Not fully alive the way it had been at peak output, but stirring. Careful. Measured.
Sico arrived in the early afternoon, long after the morning checks, long after Magnolia had already walked the floor twice and Sturges had disappeared into the machine bay with tools, spare parts, and a focus that bordered on obsession.
The damaged line was still quiet when Sico stepped inside.
The smell of burned oil had faded, replaced by the familiar warmth of cloth and metal. The machine that had failed sat open like a patient mid-surgery, panels removed, components laid out neatly on tarps beside it. Sturges was half inside its housing, boots sticking out, muttering to himself.
"Talk to me," Sico said, stopping a few paces back.
Sturges' voice came from inside the machine, muffled but sharp. "Give me five minutes."
Sico waited.
He watched the workers on the other lines. They moved with caution now, not fear, but awareness. No one rushed. No one pushed a machine past its rhythm. Supervisors hovered just a bit closer than before, eyes sharper, hands ready.
The factory had learned something.
After a few minutes, Sturges slid out from under the machine, grease smeared across his cheek, eyes bloodshot but alive with satisfaction.
"She's good," he said.
Sico studied him. "Good enough?"
"Better than before," Sturges replied. "Reinforced the weak points. Replaced the fatigued couplings. Adjusted the pressure tolerance."
He wiped his hands on a rag. "She won't like being abused, but she'll sing if you treat her right."
Sico nodded. "You finished faster than expected."
Sturges shrugged. "Didn't sleep."
"That was implied."
Sturges huffed a laugh, then grew more serious. "I want it said out loud. That failure? That was on me too. I signed off on pushing her."
Sico didn't let the weight of that linger too long.
"We learn," he said. "We adjust."
"Yeah," Sturges replied. "We don't break our tools or our people."
Sico looked at the machine one last time, then turned.
"Bring her back online," he said. "Slow."
Sturges grinned. "Already planned."
The line restart was deliberate.
Power flowed in stages. Lights blinked on. Motors hummed softly before settling into their proper pitch. Workers watched with careful attention, fingers hovering near emergency cutoffs, muscles tense but ready.
The machine held.
No scream.
No shudder.
Just motion.
A quiet exhale rippled through the floor.
Magnolia stood near the central station, slate tucked against her chest, eyes never leaving the line. She didn't smile, not yet, but her shoulders eased just a fraction.
Sico joined her.
"It's stable," he said.
"Yes," Magnolia replied. "For now."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I want to ramp production back up."
She turned to him immediately, sharp-eyed. "Not like before."
"No," Sico agreed. "Controlled. Sustainable. No redlining."
Magnolia nodded once. "I already adjusted the output curve."
She turned her slate so he could see, rows of figures neatly aligned. "Incremental increases. Maintenance windows baked in. Mandatory cooldown cycles."
Sico scanned it. "Slower than yesterday."
"Slower than yesterday," Magnolia confirmed. "Faster than last week. This keeps the machines stable."
"And the people?" he asked.
She met his gaze. "Protected."
"Good," Sico said.
They watched as the repaired line began to feed material into the workflow, seamlessly integrating with the others. Production resumed not with a roar, but with confidence.
Magnolia closed her slate and exhaled.
"There's something else," she said.
Sico turned slightly toward her. "Go on."
She didn't raise her voice. Didn't dramatize it.
"I've finished tallying the trade revenue," Magnolia said. "From the warm clothes we've sold so far."
Sico waited.
"Ten thousand caps," she said.
The number settled between them, heavy.
Sico didn't react immediately. No widened eyes. No visible satisfaction. Just a slow breath.
"Net," he asked.
"Yes," Magnolia replied. "After logistics. After escorts. After material costs."
Sico nodded once. "Good work."
"It's more than good," Magnolia said quietly. "It's substantial."
"It's warmth converted into stability," Sico replied.
Magnolia studied him. "You realize what this means."
"Yes," he said. "We can fund the next phase without draining reserves."
"And reinforce patrol routes," she added.
"And stockpile medical supplies," he said.
"And prepare for shortages," she finished.
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of possibility hanging in the warm air.
"I won't let this become a justification to squeeze people," Magnolia said suddenly.
Sico turned to her. "I wouldn't ask you to."
"I know," she replied. "But others might."
"Then they'll answer to me," Sico said calmly.
Magnolia searched his face, then nodded.
"Good," she said.
The afternoon passed in steady motion.
Workers returned to full engagement, confidence slowly rebuilding. Supervisors checked gauges obsessively at first, then less so as the numbers stayed within acceptable ranges. The repaired machine ran smoothly, its rhythm even, cooperative.
Sturges hovered for the first hour, then finally allowed himself to step back, arms crossed, watching with the satisfaction of someone who had wrestled chaos into submission.
Sico walked the floor again, stopping here and there.
At one station, he checked in with a woman whose hands still bore faint tremors from the previous day.
"How are you holding up?" he asked.
She hesitated, then answered honestly. "Better. Still jumpy."
"That's normal," Sico said. "Take breaks when you need them."
She nodded. "Thank you."
At another station, the young man who'd stared at the broken machine the day before now worked carefully, eyes focused, movements precise.
"You okay?" Sico asked again.
The man nodded. "Yeah. I am."
"Good," Sico replied.
The clinic report came in before evening.
Both injured workers were stable.
Burns treated. No permanent damage expected. One would need a few weeks before returning to full duty.
Sico read the report once, then handed it to Magnolia.
"Make sure their families are covered," he said. "Pay continues."
"Already arranged," Magnolia replied.
That evening, as the sky darkened early and the snow began again, Sanctuary felt different.
Not fragile.
Resilient.
The factory lights burned steadily, every line now active but disciplined. Output climbed gradually, exactly as planned.
Outside, settlers passed the factory and slowed, peering through the windows. Some nodded. Some smiled faintly. Some simply kept walking, reassured by the sound of work continuing.
Magnolia joined Sico on the upper walkway overlooking the floor.
"We're back on track," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "But we remember yesterday."
"Always," she said.
She glanced down at her slate again. "Ten thousand caps is just the beginning."
"I know," Sico said.
"And expectations will grow with that number."
"They already have," he replied.
Magnolia looked at him. "What do you want to do with it?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He watched the workers below. The machines. The careful balance of heat and motion.
"Invest it back into people," Sico said finally. "And into winter."
Magnolia nodded slowly. "Then this factory isn't just a success."
"No," Sico said. "It's a promise."
She closed her slate. "Then I'll treat it like one."
They stood together as the machines hummed, as cloth became coats, as warmth took shape one careful seam at a time. The factory had stumbled. And now, steadier than before, it moved forward again.
________________________________________________
• 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:-