If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
As the gates swung wide and the morning sun poured across the road ahead, the convoy rumbled out of the Castle — bound for Minutemen Plaza, for the heart of the Republic, and whatever waited beyond the horizon.
The road into the city had grown smoother over the years — the old craters filled, the ruins along the boulevard cleared away, the walls of Minutemen Plaza now standing proud where once the Gunner base are. As the convoy drew closer, the sight was almost startling even to Sico himself — a city reborn, its stone and steel glowing warm in the early light, banners of deep blue and gold rippling from the walls.
The front gate was already open, its heavy iron frame flanked by two guard towers manned with sentries in full combat armor. The Freemasons Republic insignia gleamed on their pauldrons. When the convoy's lead vehicle rolled through, the guards snapped to attention, rifles raised in salute.
The Humvee growled as it entered the courtyard. Gravel crunched under its tires, and the echo of the engines bounced off the stone walls. Sico could see the workers already moving — engineers, patrol squads, logistics teams, each moving with the coordinated rhythm of a place that no longer merely survived, but lived.
The vehicle came to a halt near the main steps.
Sico pushed open the door and stepped out, the cool air washing over him again — though here, it carried more the scent of earth and iron than sea salt. Preston followed, squinting up at the morning light that broke over the towers.
And then came the unmistakable sound of boots striking pavement — quick, confident, unhurried but full of authority.
"'Bout damn time you showed up."
Sico turned toward the voice, and a grin cracked the edges of his expression before he even saw her fully.
Cait was striding across the courtyard, red hair tied back, a rifle slung lazily across her back, her expression a perfect mix of irritation and amusement. The morning sun caught the faint sheen of sweat on her arms, and her leather jacket — patched and reinforced with bits of combat armor — still carried the same worn character it always had, though now adorned with the Republic crest on her shoulder.
"Commander," she said, stopping just short of him, crossing her arms. "Was startin' to think you'd forgotten the Plaza existed."
Sico smirked. "I could say the same for you, Cait. Place looks different. Stronger."
She grinned, sharp and a little proud. "Yeah, well. You told me to keep it together while you were off playin' diplomat with the Brotherhood. Figured I'd do more than keep it together — I made it bloody thrive."
Preston chuckled. "That she did. You've turned this into a fortress."
Cait turned her grin toward him. "Oh, look who's still alive. Thought you'd have retired by now, Preston — maybe growin' tomatoes somewhere quiet?"
Preston laughed. "I tried once. Turns out crops don't salute when you walk by, so I gave it up."
Cait barked a laugh, then looked back to Sico. Her eyes softened slightly, the humor fading just a notch. "You look tired, boss. The road hittin' you that hard, or was it just the damn politics again?"
Sico exhaled through his nose, his voice quiet but measured. "A bit of both. The Castle's in good shape, though. Ronnie's got it under control. They've doubled field rations — enough to keep the forward camps supplied through winter."
"Good," Cait said, nodding approvingly. "We'll need it. Trade routes are stable, but the Brotherhood's makin' noise near Lexington again. Scout reports say they've been pushin' recon flights closer to our borders. So far, we've been ignored — but it's only a matter of time before they get bold."
Preston's face darkened slightly. "Then we hit them first, if it comes to that."
Sico glanced around the courtyard again — the walls, the gates, the steady rhythm of boots and work that filled the air — then turned his gaze back to Cait.
"How's the situation here?" he asked, voice low but carrying that quiet authority that seemed to belong to him as naturally as breathing. "Everything running smooth?"
Cait gave a half-snort, half-laugh — the kind that said she'd been through enough sleepless nights to earn it.
"Under control," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "Always is, long as I'm the one shoutin' orders. Nothin' major to report. Just the usual idiots who think they can take a swing at the big, shiny Plaza. Couple of scavvers tried their luck last week — thought they could slip past the west wall and nick some supplies. Didn't make it five meters before the sentries dropped 'em flat."
Preston arched a brow. "Raiders?"
Cait shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Nah, just desperate fools. Probably thought we were still runnin' on fumes like the old Minutemen days. Didn't expect to find a damn army watchin' every angle. You should've seen their faces when the turrets lit up. Priceless."
Sico's lips tugged upward — not quite a smile, but something close. "I'm glad to hear discipline hasn't slipped."
"Not a chance," Cait said, her voice hardening with a hint of pride. "We've got soldiers on every wall, patrols runnin' shifts day and night, and the armory's stocked better than it's ever been. The Plaza's untouchable."
She paused, her tone softening a little as she turned her gaze toward the northern fields — visible just beyond the inner ramparts through an archway of reinforced stone. "The farms are doin' good too. We've got proper irrigation now — clean water from the east pipes, stable soil from Mel's science team. The harvest last month was our best yet. Plenty to feed the garrison, plus enough to send extra to Sanctuary and the southern settlements."
Sico followed her gaze, and for a moment his expression eased — the soldier's edge giving way to something gentler. Beyond the walls, the fields spread out in neat rows, green and alive under the early light. Settlers moved between the crops, some with baskets, some with tools, all wearing the same patchwork uniforms of the Republic's civilian corps. Laughter drifted faintly on the breeze — the simple, almost startling sound of normal life.
"The settlers?" Sico asked.
Cait nodded. "They've got it good. Real good. Nobody goes hungry here. Kids go to classes every mornin', get proper meals, learn how to read and shoot straight. Families've got roofs that don't leak, guards that give a damn, and markets that actually trade fair. I'd say it's the best I've seen since… hell, before the bombs."
Preston smiled faintly, eyes soft with something like nostalgia. "That's what we fought for, isn't it?"
Cait gave a dry laugh. "Speak for yourself. I fought 'cause I was bored and pissed off. But yeah, guess it worked out."
Sico didn't answer right away. His eyes lingered on the fields — on the people bending to their work, the faint clatter of wagons, the easy rhythm of a society slowly remembering what peace felt like.
"This place…" he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "It's proof. Proof we were right not to bow to them. The Brotherhood, the Institute, all of 'em — they thought only they could rebuild. That without their 'order' or their 'science,' the world would just rot. But look at this." He gestured around, slow and deliberate. "We built this with nothing but will and unity."
Cait's grin softened into something more genuine. "Aye, and blood. Don't forget that."
Sico nodded slightly. "No. Never."
For a few heartbeats, silence settled between them — not awkward, but full, the kind that carries weight. The plaza around them buzzed with life: the clatter of crates being hauled toward the depot, the rhythmic hammering from the forges, the low murmur of soldiers reporting for the next rotation.
Then Cait clapped her hands once, sharp enough to break the moment. "C'mon, Commander. You didn't come all this way just to stand around and admire my handiwork. I'll show you what's changed."
Sico smirked faintly. "Lead the way."
They started across the courtyard together, Cait striding ahead with that same unshakable confidence that had made her a legend among the lower ranks. Preston fell into step beside Sico, scanning their surroundings with a soldier's instinct.
The plaza had changed — drastically.
Where once there had been cracked asphalt and rusting barricades, there were now clean cobbled walkways. Solar lamps lined the paths, humming faintly in the morning light. Reclaimed concrete buildings stood proud, their windows repaired, their walls repainted in muted grays and greens. Republic banners hung from every balcony.
And everywhere, there were people.
Mechanics adjusting engines under tarp-covered trucks. Traders haggling over shipments of scrap and parts. A group of recruits marched in formation through the east corridor, boots thudding in perfect rhythm as their drill sergeant barked commands.
"Impressive," Preston murmured.
Cait flashed him a grin over her shoulder. "Told ya. I run a tight ship."
They reached a raised overlook where the old Gunner command tower once stood. Now it had been transformed into a command center — a blend of pre-war architecture and post-war ingenuity. The Republic's emblem was etched deep into the stone archway above the door, flanked by guards in heavy armor.
Cait led them inside.
The air here was cooler, the lighting dimmer. The hum of electricity and faint tapping of terminals filled the space. A handful of officers worked at long tables, poring over maps and reports. One of them stood as Cait entered, saluting sharply.
"Captain," he said. "Morning report's ready."
"Good," Cait replied, taking the folder without breaking stride. She handed it straight to Sico. "Figures you'd want to see this yourself."
Sico opened it, eyes scanning the pages. The handwriting was clean — detailed updates from every garrison across the Republic's central sector. Patrol schedules, supply shipments, casualty reports — minimal losses, steady logistics, morale high.
He closed it and gave a single nod. "Efficient work. Keep it that way."
The officer saluted again, then returned to his desk.
Preston leaned closer, glancing over Sico's shoulder. "Looks like the Republic's getting its rhythm. No sign of major threats?"
Cait shook her head. "None inside our borders. They've been keepin' their distance."
"Until now," Sico said quietly.
Cait looked at him. "You think they'll move soon?"
Sico didn't answer immediately. He set the report down on the nearest table, eyes distant, thinking. "They always do. When they see something strong that isn't under their control, they call it heresy. The moment they realize the Republic isn't a band of settlers anymore — that we're a nation — they'll come for us."
"Then let 'em try," Cait said, cracking her knuckles. "We'll give 'em a welcome they won't forget."
Sico allowed himself a faint smirk. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Cait guided them down a side corridor, through a reinforced bulkhead that led to the old lower complex — the area that used to be the Gunner armory, now repurposed into an industrial workshop. The smell of hot metal and oil hit them immediately.
Rows of engineers were at work, sparks flying from welding torches. Power armor frames stood in lines along the far wall, half-assembled or undergoing maintenance. A few bore the distinct blue-and-gold trim of the Republic's elite Guard division.
Cait gestured toward them. "New models. They're not as flashy as Brotherhood suits, but they won't fry your damn spine if the coolant leaks."
Preston let out an appreciative whistle. "Not bad. Looks like you've been busy."
"Damn right I have," Cait said. "You know me — can't stand sittin' still."
Sico walked closer to one of the frames, running a gloved hand along the cold alloy. The armor gleamed faintly under the workshop lights — handmade, but precise. He could almost feel the weight of what it represented: progress without oppression. Power forged by choice, not by doctrine.
"How many units operational?" he asked.
"Thirty fully functional, ten in final testing," Cait replied. "We could field a full company within a week if you give the order."
Sico nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep them here."
Her expression sobered at his tone. "Aye, Commander. Whatever you say."
They moved on again — past the armory, the logistics depot, the barracks. The further they went, the more it became clear just how much the Plaza had changed. It wasn't just a military outpost anymore. It was a city — alive, thriving, self-sufficient.
Children ran past them in a blur, laughing, their hands clutching little wooden toys shaped like Vertibirds. A pair of old men sat by the fountain, playing chess on a board made of scavenged metal. Somewhere in the distance, a street musician strummed a guitar, the faint melody of an old pre-war song carrying softly through the air.
Preston slowed for a moment, his expression soft. "Never thought I'd see this again," he murmured.
Sico followed his gaze — the children, the people, the life — and nodded once, quietly. "This is what we're fighting for. Not power. Not revenge. Just this."
Cait folded her arms, smirking faintly. "You always were the sentimental one, Commander."
He glanced at her, that smirk of his returning just enough to answer. "And you always pretend you're not."
She laughed — a rough, genuine sound that broke through the heaviness in the air. "Fair enough."
Sico stood still for a moment longer, the laughter of the children and the faint hum of industry behind him filling the air like the sound of a living heart. Then he turned his eyes back toward Cait, who stood with her hands on her hips, squinting up at him beneath the morning light.
"I think that's enough for now," he said quietly. "You've done good here, Cait. Real good."
She gave him that crooked grin of hers, half pride, half mischief. "Damn right I have. Someone's got to keep the Republic from fallin' apart while you're off playin' statesman."
Preston chuckled softly beside him, shaking his head. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
Cait smirked. "Wouldn't be me if I did."
Sico's grin faded into something softer, more reflective. "You keep the fire burning here. But Preston and I—" He glanced toward the gates beyond the courtyard, where the convoy waited, engines idling low and steady. "—we've got to head out. There's something I need to see for myself."
Cait's brow arched. "Another inspection?"
"Something like that," Sico said. "Freedom Stronghold. The old C.I.T. ruins."
That earned a low whistle from Cait. "Haven't been out that way in a while. Last I heard, the place was crawling with Super Mutants thick enough to blot the sun."
"It was," Sico said, his tone calm but with a note of iron underneath. "Not anymore. We has cleared them out. Turned the ruins into a fortress — one of our biggest. Strategic location, strong walls, energy access from the pre-war infrastructure still buried under there. I want to see how they're holding up."
Cait folded her arms, studying him for a moment. "You sure that's not just an excuse to get away from paperwork?"
Sico smirked. "Maybe both."
She laughed, short and sharp. "Figures. Fine, Commander. Go play soldier again. I'll keep things runnin' here while you're gone — and maybe make sure your office doesn't collect too much dust."
He extended a hand, and she clasped it firmly — not as commander and subordinate, but as comrades who'd walked through hell together and come out the other side still standing.
"Stay safe, Cait," he said quietly.
"You too," she replied, her grin softening just a little. "And if those mutants somehow crawl back outta the sewers, make sure you save one for me."
Sico chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."
Preston offered her a warm nod. "Good seeing you again, Cait. You've made this place something special."
She rolled her eyes but the faint pink on her cheeks betrayed her pride. "Don't go gettin' sentimental on me, Garvey. I'll start thinkin' you've gone soft."
He smiled. "Not a chance."
They turned toward the gates, the hum of the engines growing louder as they approached. Soldiers along the walls saluted as the Commander passed, their armor catching the sun in brief flashes of gold and blue.
Cait stood by the courtyard's edge, watching as the pair climbed into the Humvee. The vehicle's door slammed shut with a heavy thud, the sound echoing against the stone walls.
For a brief moment, Sico looked back through the open window. Cait stood tall, wind tugging at her hair, rifle slung across her shoulder, her grin still lingering like the promise of fire.
He raised a gloved hand.
She waved back — quick, sharp, unpretentious — then turned away, already barking new orders at a group of engineers hauling equipment toward the depot.
The convoy began to roll.
The hum of the engines became the soundtrack of the road.
Dust swirled in pale spirals behind the lead Humvee as it moved down the newly paved stretch of road that wound northward, away from Minutemen Plaza and deeper into what had once been the broken heart of Boston.
Sico sat in the passenger seat, one arm resting against the open window, the other draped casually across his lap. Preston drove, his eyes on the horizon, where the faint outline of Freedom Stronghold rose like a memory out of smoke.
The road stretched long and winding, threading through the skeleton of the old city. Towering ruins stood like monuments to the past, their glassless windows glinting in the sunlight. Some of them had been fortified — turned into watchtowers or supply depots by the Republic. Others were left alone, swallowed by creeping vines and silence.
As the convoy moved deeper into the outskirts, the atmosphere shifted. The hum of life faded, replaced by the hollow whisper of wind through concrete. The buildings here bore older scars — scorch marks, bullet holes, collapsed facades where the Super Mutants once fought tooth and nail to hold territory.
Preston adjusted his grip on the wheel, slowing slightly as they passed the remnants of an old battle site — rusted shell casings scattered across the cracked road, half-buried under dust and time.
"I was here," he murmured. "When we cleared this stretch. The mutants… they didn't go down easy."
Sico's gaze flicked toward him. "They never do. They're the last echoes of humanity's anger. Strong, mindless, relentless. The worst of what the old world left behind."
Preston exhaled through his nose. "And we keep cleaning up its mess."
"Someone has to," Sico said simply.
The convoy pressed on, engines rumbling low as the sun climbed higher, painting the ruins in a harsh gold light.
Then, as the road curved around the remnants of the old Charles River bridge, the shape of Freedom Stronghold finally came into full view.
Even after all this time, it was breathtaking.
Where the C.I.T. campus had once stood in crumbling decay, there now rose a fortress — colossal walls of reinforced concrete and steel, braced with salvaged Brotherhood plating and Republic insignias etched across the gates.
Massive watchtowers stood at each corner, manned by guards in heavy armor, their silhouettes sharp against the sky. The old dome of the C.I.T. main hall had been rebuilt — repaired with a lattice of shining metal and solar glass, giving it an almost cathedral-like shimmer under the sun.
Beyond the outer wall, faint shapes moved — workers, patrols, machines. The hum of generators and the rhythmic clang of forges reached them even from this distance.
Preston let out a low whistle. "Hard to believe this was once crawling with mutants."
Sico nodded slowly. "That's the beauty of it. Every ruin can be rebuilt. Every monster can be driven out."
The convoy slowed as it approached the gates.
The guards on the tower above moved quickly — signals flashed, gears turned, and the great iron doors began to shift. The sound was deep and metallic, a slow grinding that carried over the entire valley.
The gates opened.
Inside, the yard of the stronghold unfolded like a living machine — lines of soldiers drilling in the central courtyard, engineers tending to supply trucks, and settlers unloading crates from caravans that had come in from the southern trade routes.
As the lead Humvee rolled to a stop, soldiers moved to attention along the perimeter, saluting as the Commander stepped out.
Sico pushed open the door and stepped into the light, the wind carrying with it the mingled scent of metal, dust, and oil.
He took in the scene before him — the vast walls, the bustle of life, the faint echo of hammers from the nearby foundry. It was different from Minutemen Plaza — rougher, younger, still scarred from the war that had forged it. But there was strength here. Determination.
Freedom Stronghold.
Once the center of human innovation. Now, the beating heart of the Republic's frontier.
Sico's boots met the ground with a heavy thud, and Preston joined him a moment later. The soldiers in front of them stood tall, rifles at the ready, armor gleaming beneath the midday sun.
The moment Sico and Preston stepped down from the Humvee, the warm, dusty air of the Freedom Stronghold wrapped around them like the breath of a forge. The hum of the engines began to die behind them, replaced by the sounds of motion — boots, voices, machinery. The whole stronghold moved with the rhythm of purpose, steady and alive.
A group of soldiers nearby had paused their drills to salute, fists to chests, eyes bright with something that went beyond discipline — respect, maybe, or loyalty that ran deep. Sico gave a brief nod in return, his eyes sweeping across the courtyard. He'd been here before, back when the air still reeked of gunpowder and burnt flesh, when mutant corpses still lay in the streets and the C.I.T. dome was half-collapsed. Back then, the idea of this place being livable had seemed almost foolish.
Now, it was thriving.
The yard was a mix of order and movement — engineers in stained fatigues unloading crates from trucks, guards patrolling along the battlements, workers tending to crops in the terraced farms that had been carved into the stronghold's outer perimeter. From somewhere nearby, the rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed, punctuated by the hiss of steam — the foundry, no doubt, where the stronghold's machines were maintained and weapons forged.
Preston stepped up beside him, letting out a low whistle. "Hard to believe it's the same place," he murmured.
Sico gave a small, satisfied nod. "It's not," he said simply. "It's better."
And then — cutting through the layered noise of work and life — came a familiar voice.
"Commander!"
Sico turned, his expression softening as he spotted the figure striding toward him from across the courtyard.
James Hart.
Sico smiled faintly. "Hart."
"Sir," Hart said, coming to a halt in front of him and saluting with crisp precision before extending his hand. "Damn good to see you back here. Been a while."
Sico clasped his forearm firmly — not a politician's handshake, but a soldier's. "Too long," he admitted. "You've kept the place standing, I see."
Hart gave a dry chuckle. "Standing, breathing, and growing. You'd be proud."
"I am," Sico said quietly.
Preston stepped forward with a warm nod. "James. Place looks better every time I see it."
Hart grinned, scratching at his jaw. "Well, when you've got settlers coming in every week and a Commander who actually gives a damn about infrastructure, things tend to move fast."
He gestured toward the wide yard, inviting them to walk with him. "Come on, I'll show you around. There's a lot to see since you last visited."
As they walked, Hart's stride was steady, confident. He waved occasionally to passing soldiers or engineers, most of whom straightened at his presence — not out of fear, but respect. Sico noticed that immediately. Hart had built something solid here, not just walls and machines, but trust.
"So," Sico said after a moment, his voice carrying over the low hum of activity. "How's the situation here?"
Hart nodded once, exhaling as though the question was expected. "Steady," he said. "Better than I could've hoped, honestly. The farms are producing a good amount of crops — enough to feed the entire garrison and still have surplus for trade convoys heading south."
He gestured off toward the right, where the terraced farms sloped down along the wall. Even from here, Sico could see rows of green — corn, mutfruit, tarberries — and the glint of sunlight off irrigation channels. Settlers worked the fields, some in patched clothes, others wearing the simple olive fatigues of the Republic's civilian corps.
"That's good," Sico said, the faintest hint of pride threading through his voice. "How's the labor situation? Enough hands to keep it running?"
Hart nodded. "We've started receiving an influx of settlers over the last month. Some from the north, a few from the Glowing Sea region — refugees mostly. They come looking for work, safety, a fresh start. We put them through the intake process, get 'em registered, tested, then assigned where they're needed. Most of them end up in the fields or workshops. A few've got military experience — they'll be ready for basic training next cycle."
Preston smiled faintly. "Sounds like the Republic's growing faster than we thought."
"It is," Hart said. "But it's a good kind of growth. Controlled. We're not stretching ourselves thin — not yet."
Sico stopped for a moment, his gaze sweeping the stronghold's interior. He could see the people — dozens of them — moving with purpose, but also with something rarer: calm. No panic, no chaos, no sense of being trapped behind walls waiting for death. These people were building a life.
"What about morale?" Sico asked finally.
Hart smiled, almost proudly. "High. Stronghold's stable, supply lines are secure, and the settlers trust the Republic. We've had a few… disagreements, sure — people always bring their old habits with them — but nothing serious. The garrison keeps order, the settlers do their part, and for the first time in a long time, people actually believe we're going to make it."
Sico gave a single approving nod. "That's the foundation we need. Faith."
Hart's expression softened at that. "Aye, Commander. It's what keeps the fires burning when the nights get long."
They continued toward the main courtyard, where the rebuilt C.I.T. dome rose above them — half pre-war, half post-war design. The glass panels glimmered faintly, interlaced with steel ribs and solar collectors. The closer they got, the more the hum of machinery filled the air.
Hart gestured upward. "We got the power grid fully functional last month. We manage to reroute the old conduits, and able to get a stable fusion generator running beneath the lower levels. That dome up there — it's not just for show anymore. It's our energy hub, command post, and research bay all rolled into one."
"Efficient," Sico murmured.
Preston craned his neck, looking up at the vast structure. "Never thought I'd see this place glowing again."
Hart chuckled. "Neither did I. You should've seen it the first night we powered it up. Scared the hell out of the wildlife for miles."
Sico smiled faintly at that. "You did well, Hart."
"Thank you, sir," Hart said, and there was no false modesty in his tone — just a soldier's quiet satisfaction. "But it's not just me. Every man and woman here put their backs into this. Some of 'em still have nightmares from when we cleared this place, but they stayed. Said they'd rather die building something new than running from what's left."
There was pride in his voice, and Sico felt it too. Freedom Stronghold wasn't just a name; it was a promise carved out of the bones of the old world.
They reached the base of the dome where a squad of guards stood watch beside the heavy blast doors that led into the command wing. One of them stepped forward and saluted sharply.
"Commander Lee, sir! Welcome back to Freedom Stronghold."
"At ease," Sico said, his tone calm but commanding. "Carry on."
The guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing them through.
Inside, the air was cooler — filtered, humming faintly with the energy of the generators buried below. The hallways had been reinforced with new steel plating, and the walls bore the Republic's emblem: a compass and torch crossed over a rising sun. Officers moved briskly between rooms, carrying datapads and reports, their voices low but purposeful.
Hart led them up a short flight of stairs into what had once been a lecture hall but was now the command center. The massive windows looked out over the courtyard below, and a detailed map of the Republic's territory dominated the central table — dotted with small holographic markers indicating patrols, supply lines, and settlements.
"Welcome to our nerve center," Hart said with a touch of pride. "We've got communications with Minutemen Plaza, Sanctuary, The Castle, and the southern outposts running full-time. Elene's team in the relay station keeps transmissions clear and encrypted."
Sico ran a hand along the edge of the table, eyes scanning the glowing map. "Looks stable. What about threats?"
"Nothing major," Hart replied. "Raiders steer clear these days — word's gotten around about what happens when you cross the Republic. Mutant activity's dropped since we cleared the subway tunnels, though we still run recon sweeps every week. As for the Brotherhood… they've been quiet. Too quiet, maybe. But we're keeping eyes on their movements north of the city."
Preston leaned over the map. "Quiet doesn't mean harmless."
"Exactly," Sico said, his tone cooling slightly. "When the Brotherhood goes silent, it means they're planning something. Make sure your scouts stay sharp."
"They always are," Hart said.
Sico looked at him — steady, direct. "Good. Because when they come, this place will be the first line they test."
There was a beat of silence — heavy, but not fearful. Just the shared understanding between soldiers who'd seen what the world could throw at them and lived to face it again.
Then Hart broke it with a faint smile. "They'll regret it if they do."
Sico gave a short, approving nod. "That's the spirit."
He turned back to the window, watching the courtyard far below — the farmers, the engineers, the guards. The sunlight slanted across the dome's glass, scattering gold across the metal floor. It was a picture of what they were fighting to preserve.
________________________________________________
• 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:-