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Sico let his gaze sweep over them one last time. Sarah, steel in her stance. Preston, steady as bedrock. Robert, sharp-eyed and calculating. MacCready, half-grinning but already turning the gears in his head.
The silence had stretched just long enough to be called agreement before Sico spoke again, his voice low but certain.
"There's one more thing."
The others looked up, already expecting another layer of weight.
"I don't want just one mutant." His words hung in the air like a knife left hovering between them. "I want at least three."
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then MacCready let out a rough, disbelieving laugh, almost a cough.
"Three? You've got to be kidding me." He leaned forward, his chair creaking under his weight, rifle stock knocking against the table. "Boss, dragging one of those bastards back alive is suicide. Three? That's… that's not even suicide, that's—"
"Madness," Robert finished quietly, his tone sharp but not dismissive. His mind was already running calculations. "What possible reason could justify the risk?"
Sico didn't flinch at the pushback. He expected it. Wanted it, even. These were his people—he needed them to test his resolve, to measure if he was bluffing. He wasn't.
"Virgil needs data," Sico said, his jaw tightening as he leaned over the table, planting both hands on the edge. "One mutant won't tell him enough. Three gives him comparison—different sizes, different levels of mutation, different exposure to the FEV strain. He'll know if his cure, his enhancement, works across the spectrum, or if it's just dumb luck on a single case. Without that, we're wasting our time."
Sarah's lips pressed into a thin, white line. "So you want to triple the danger for a maybe."
"For a chance," Sico countered. His eyes met hers, steady, unblinking. "And I'm not asking anyone to carry that burden for me. I'll lead the team myself. Robert, you'll be my second in command. MacCready, you'll cover the sharps. We keep it tight, we keep it controlled. No half-measures, like you said."
The room bristled with unspoken energy. Preston straightened, his hat shadowing his eyes as he studied Sico. Sarah's hand flexed near her holster, though she didn't reach for it—it was just her body's way of bracing against the weight of this new reality. Robert tilted his head slightly, a strategist's gaze measuring possibilities against probabilities. And MacCready's smirk had died into something harder, the grin gone but the steel left behind.
"Three," MacCready muttered, shaking his head. "Goddamn insane. But… alright. If you're really leading it, I'm in. Just don't expect me to pull miracles out of thin air. Bullets don't turn into ropes."
Robert exhaled, long and low, before finally nodding once. "If this is the course we're set on, then we plan it with precision. No improvisation. We'll need separate containment for each target, and redundant systems in case one breaks loose. Nets won't hold. Chains might. Sedatives—if Virgil has any—will need to be stockpiled."
Sarah finally broke the silence with a voice clipped as ever. "If you're leading it, then I want to be there too."
But Sico shook his head, his tone soft but unyielding. "No. You're needed here, Sarah. If this mission fails, someone has to hold the line. Someone has to keep Sanctuary from falling apart. That's you."
For a second, her jaw worked as though she might argue, but she didn't. She just gave a sharp nod, her armor plates shifting with the motion.
Preston finally spoke, his tone like steady stone. "Then we'll need volunteers. Men and women who know what they're stepping into, and who trust you enough to follow. You can't take anyone uncertain. One moment of doubt in the middle of this, and it'll cost lives."
"Agreed," Sico said, his voice calm but hard.
The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle, the sound against the windows softer now, but the storm inside the HQ had only just begun. They spread maps across the table, pushed markers around, argued over choke points and fallback routes. Each voice brought something vital: Robert with his precision, MacCready with his battlefield pragmatism, Sarah with her military discipline, Preston with his quiet grounding in the lives at stake.
They sketched it piece by piece.
• Scouting first: small teams would track known mutant movements, marking when and where they strayed from larger groups. Lone wanderers or patrols of two or three would be prime targets.
• The trap: chokepoints near collapsed freeways or half-collapsed buildings where mutants could be funneled and contained.
• Containment: reinforced cages built from scavenged rebar, steel doors taken from pre-war vaults, anything that could withstand brute force. Each cage separated, each guarded.
• Weapons: not just bullets. Nets weighted with steel, heavy chains with padlocks the size of fists, tranquilizers in doses so high they'd fell a pack of Brahmin.
All the while, Sico stood at the center, listening, shaping, deciding. He didn't dictate every detail—he didn't have to. His people knew their crafts. What he gave them was certainty, a backbone to hang their fear on.
Still, every so often, his mind snagged on the image of what they were planning: dragging three roaring, thrashing monsters into cages, alive. It was lunacy. But it was the kind of lunacy survival demanded.
The planning session stretched long into the night. The oil lamps burned low, shadows climbing the walls as the rain finally eased off outside. By the time the maps were littered with marks and notes, by the time Robert's neat handwriting filled half a dozen pages, by the time MacCready had sketched out firing lanes and fallback signals, exhaustion had crept in.
And yet, no one left.
Because they knew, every one of them, that this was more than just a mission. This was a test. Not of Virgil's theories. Not even of the Freemasons' tactics. But of whether they had the will to gamble everything on the slim chance of a future where they weren't always on the back foot.
The quiet buzz of thought lingered long after the maps were marked and the arguments wound down. No one wanted to be the first to break the silence, but eventually it was Robert.
He stood just slightly straighter, his fingers tracing the edge of the map, and said, almost reluctantly, "There's still one piece you haven't explained, Sico. How exactly do you plan on capturing them alive? You can't just wrap chains around a mutant and hope it tires out. We've all seen what they can do when they're cornered."
The question wasn't a challenge so much as the precise voice of the obvious. Robert had that way about him—he didn't waste words, didn't stab unless it was to expose the flaw in the plan no one else wanted to admit. His eyes were sharp, watching Sico closely, as though trying to see whether the man in front of him really had an answer or if this was the moment he'd finally waver.
Sico didn't.
"I'll ask Virgil and Curie to cooperate," he said. His voice was steady, like he'd already carried the weight of that possibility around for hours before speaking it aloud. "Between the two of them, they've got the science to make it happen. A sedative dart strong enough to put a super mutant down without killing it."
MacCready let out a sharp breath through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. "You're betting our asses on science experiments now?" His voice wasn't mocking, though—it was tired, wary, but beneath it, maybe even a little impressed. "Hell, I've seen Curie patch up people who should've been six feet under, and Virgil… well, he's proof you can crawl out of the FEV pit and still think straight. If anyone can whip up a mutant bedtime story in a syringe, it's those two."
Robert didn't smile, but there was the barest easing in his shoulders. "Sedatives. Yes. That could work. Assuming they can formulate something with the right potency—and that we can deliver enough of it before the mutant tears someone apart."
Sico nodded. "That's why I want you and MacCready on this. Precision and fire discipline. You'll get a squad that listens and moves when you say. We'll fire volleys, hit their muscles, pump them full until they drop. Quick, clean, coordinated."
"Quick," MacCready echoed, dry as sand. "Sure. As quick as getting shot at by a walking tank can be."
But this time, there wasn't a scoff in his tone. He was already thinking through it, picturing the weight of a dart rifle in his hands, the sound of boots moving in unison, the seconds they'd have before it all turned into chaos.
Sico leaned over the table again, tapping his finger on the map as if hammering the next steps into stone. "Robert, MacCready—I want a hundred Commandos pulled from the roster. Not settlers, not green kids with rifles. Commandos. People trained to move as a unit, who won't break formation when one of those bastards roars in their face."
MacCready's eyebrows jumped. "A hundred?"
"That's overkill," Robert said, though not dismissively—more like an accountant doing the math. "But perhaps necessary. With a hundred, we can split into teams. Ambush, support, containment, reserve. Redundancy will save lives."
"Exactly." Sico's gaze swept between them, his voice tightening into command. "This isn't just a hunt. It's a full operation. I want no less than overwhelming force."
He straightened then, turning to Sarah, who was still standing stiff near the edge of the light. Her eyes had never left him, and though she said nothing, the lines around her mouth were hard.
"Sarah," Sico said. "You're not coming with us. But you'll make sure we can come back. Supplies. Ammunition, rations, stims, spare fuel cells. Enough for a week in the field if it stretches that long. And backups for everything. I want the convoys loaded before we even roll out."
Sarah's jaw worked, but in the end she gave a single sharp nod. "You'll have it. I'll oversee it myself. If anything's missing, it'll be because it doesn't exist."
Sico's eyes moved then to Preston, the man who'd been silent for a while now, his hat shadowing his steady gaze. "Preston. You'll prep the convoy. Trucks, armor plating, escort vehicles. Make sure every wheel turns, every gun mounted works. If something breaks down halfway through, I don't want it being the truck carrying three angry mutants."
Preston finally allowed himself the barest ghost of a smile. "You'll have your convoy, Sico. They'll be ready to roll out the second you give the word. And I'll pick the drivers myself. People I'd trust with my life."
"Good," Sico said, and then he turned to MacCready once more, pinning him with a look that carried no room for debate. "And Mac? I need you to tell Sturges to start work on the cages. Three of them. Big enough to hold one of those bastards each, and strong enough that even if they wake up, they can't break free."
MacCready blinked. "You mean like… mutant-sized cages? On trucks?"
"Exactly."
MacCready scrubbed a hand over his face, chuckling under his breath. "Goddamn. You know, I don't think Sturges has ever built anything with the words 'super mutant prison' in mind. But alright. I'll tell him. He's a miracle worker with steel and welding torches—he'll figure it out. Just don't expect them to look pretty."
"They don't need to look pretty," Sico said flatly. "They just need to hold."
For a moment, no one spoke. The plan had grown heavier and sharper, shifting from wild theory to something that felt real, tangible. A hundred Commandos. A convoy with armored trucks. Three cages bolted into steel beds, rattling down cracked highways. Sedative darts glinting in rifle chambers.
It was madness. It was impossible. It was happening.
Sarah was the one who finally broke the silence, her voice clipped but softer than before. "You've thought this through, haven't you?"
Sico didn't answer with words. He just let his gaze linger on each of them in turn, steady and unflinching, before finally saying, "Get to work. Every hour wasted is another hour the Brotherhood tightens its grip. We move soon. And when we do, we don't stop until those three cages are full."
The oil lamps flickered, shadows stretching long across the walls, and for a brief moment, no one looked like they wanted to leave. But then, one by one, they moved. Sarah collected her notes. Preston tipped his hat and stepped toward the door. Robert lingered, already scribbling calculations in the margins of his map. And MacCready muttered something about cages and lunatics before shouldering his rifle and heading off into the night.
The room slowly emptied, the shuffle of boots against old wood fading one at a time until only the faint creak of the lantern hooks remained. Sico stayed where he was, hands braced on the edge of the table, staring at the map as though he could will the paper into showing him the future. His mind wasn't on the red markings anymore, or the pins pressed into Lexington and the Airport. It was on the weight of what he had just set into motion.
Three cages. Three living super mutants.
Madness, some would call it. Maybe even suicide. But in Sico's eyes, it wasn't madness at all. It was necessity. If they were to understand the threat the Brotherhood might unleash—or worse, the weapons hidden in the Commonwealth they didn't yet know about—they needed leverage, knowledge, and proof. And that meant capturing the beasts alive.
His jaw tightened. This wasn't going to be done with bullets and bravado. They needed science. And that meant calling in the two people who could make the impossible real.
He turned toward the door. One of the soldiers, a young Freemason guard standing at attention near the frame, snapped upright the second Sico's gaze fell on him.
"You," Sico said, his voice steady, commanding but not harsh. "Find Curie and Virgil. Tell them I want them in my office within the hour. No delays."
The soldier nodded sharply, almost relieved to have an order to act on. "Yes, sir!" He bolted out into the night, boots clattering down the hall before fading toward the yard.
Sico straightened slowly, rolling the tension out of his shoulders as he reached for his coat draped across the back of a chair. He shrugged into it, the weight of the fabric settling like armor across his broad frame. His eyes lingered one last time on the map before he turned and made his way down the narrow corridor toward his office.
The HQ was quieter now, though not silent. Outside, Sanctuary still pulsed with life—settlers calling out to one another as they loaded supplies, dogs barking somewhere near the gates, the distant metallic clang of Sturges' tools in the workshop. But in here, the thick walls muffled it to a dull hum, as though the building itself was holding its breath.
When Sico entered his office, the lanterns had already been lit. Their glow flickered across the shelves lined with scavenged tomes and handwritten ledgers, and the desk in the center was piled with more than maps—notes, diagrams, crude sketches of things imagined but not yet built.
He lowered himself into the heavy chair behind the desk, the leather creaking under his weight. For a few moments, he allowed himself the quiet. His fingers drummed lightly against the wood, the rhythm slow, measured. His eyes were distant, but his mind was sharpening, drawing lines between what he needed and what he could ask of the people who followed him.
Curie. Virgil. The scientist who had begun as a machine, now driven by compassion as much as curiosity. And the man who had walked out of the Institute a monster, only to claw back his humanity piece by piece. Both of them knew more about the science of mutation than anyone in the Republic. And both of them owed him something—not out of debt, but out of belief. They believed in what they were building here, in this fragile chance to carve order out of chaos.
The door creaked open after a time, the soldier returning with a soft knock. "Sir. They're here."
"Send them in," Sico said.
The soldier stepped aside, and Curie was the first to enter. She moved with that brisk efficiency she never seemed to lose, though now that she had flesh and blood instead of steel and circuits, there was a softness to her as well. Her dark hair was tied back, and she carried a small satchel of notes and vials, as though she'd anticipated this wasn't a social call.
Behind her came Virgil, broad-shouldered and stooped, his mutated frame still imposing despite the effort he made to carry himself less like a beast and more like the man he once was. His yellowed eyes flicked toward Sico with a mixture of respect and wariness.
"Commander," Virgil rumbled, his voice low, gravelly. "The soldier said it was urgent."
"It is," Sico said, gesturing toward the chairs opposite his desk. "Sit."
Curie slipped into the seat with an attentive poise, already reaching for a notebook. Virgil lowered himself carefully, the chair groaning under his weight, his massive hands folding together on the desk in front of him.
For a moment, Sico studied them both, letting the silence settle so they would know the weight of what he was about to say. Then he leaned forward, voice steady, deliberate.
"I need the two of you to do something no one else can. I need you to make a sedative strong enough to bring down a super mutant. Strong enough to put them out, but not kill them. And stable enough that we can deliver it in the field, in combat."
Curie blinked, her lips parting as though to protest, but no words came at first. Then, after a beat, she leaned in, pen poised above her notebook. "Mon dieu… that is not a simple request. The physiology of ze super mutants—how you say—resists much of what we use on humans. Their metabolism burns fast, their circulation is… different. What would tranquilize a man may not even slow one of them."
Virgil gave a grim nod. "She's right. The FEV doesn't just change their size and strength. It rewires their entire biochemistry. Their tolerance is… extreme. I should know." His gaze drifted downward briefly, a flicker of old shame in his eyes. "You'd need something concentrated, a compound that overwhelms their system without shutting it down completely."
Sico didn't waver. "Can you do it?"
Curie tapped her pen against the page, already sketching out equations, chemical structures, little notations in French that only she could read at speed. Her brow furrowed, but there was a glint in her eyes too—the spark of challenge.
Virgil rubbed his chin, the sound of rough skin against rougher stubble filling the pause. "It's possible. Difficult. Dangerous. But possible. We'd need facilities. Equipment. And… test subjects."
At that, Curie stiffened, her eyes darting up sharply. "Test subjects? We cannot—"
"I don't mean people," Virgil interrupted, his tone heavy but firm. "Mutated tissue samples. There are remains scattered across the Commonwealth. Dead mutants, scraps left behind after battles. If we can gather enough, I can simulate reactions in a controlled environment. No live testing until we know it's safe."
Curie relaxed slightly, though her pen hovered uncertainly. "Even still, ze margin for error… so narrow. Too strong, and we kill them. Too weak, and they crush ze men trying to capture them."
Sico's eyes locked on both of them, unflinching. "That's why I'm coming to you. You understand this better than anyone. I don't care how much time it takes, how many nights you spend awake at the workbench. We need this. If we can capture even one mutant alive, it could change everything. Three of them… it could give us leverage the Brotherhood can't ignore."
Virgil leaned back slowly, the chair groaning again, his eyes narrowing as though he were weighing more than just the science—he was weighing the morality, the risk, the ghosts of what he had already done with the FEV. But at last, he gave a low nod.
"I'll do it," he said.
Curie hesitated, her pen trembling faintly above the paper. Then she drew a deep breath and set her jaw. "And I as well. But you must understand, monsieur… zis will not be fast. Nor easy. I will need ze laboratory cleared. Supplies. Precise instruments."
"You'll have them," Sico said immediately. His voice carried no doubt, only resolve. "Whatever you need, tell Sarah. She'll see it's brought to you. Sturges can reinforce the lab if it needs it. I'll post guards to make sure you aren't interrupted. You'll have everything."
Curie's eyes softened just a little, touched by the sheer certainty in his tone. "Très bien. Then we begin at once."
Virgil grunted, almost a laugh but too heavy to carry humor. "You're asking us to put a monster to sleep without killing it. I hope you realize just how insane that sounds."
Sico leaned back, his gaze steady, hard as steel. "I know. But insane or not, it's the only path forward."
For a while, the only sound was the scratch of Curie's pen against paper, the low rasp of Virgil's breathing, and the muffled noises of Sanctuary beyond the walls. The office felt smaller than before, tighter, the air dense with the enormity of the task laid out on that desk.
The air in the office grew heavy with thought, but there was nothing more to say. Curie's pen slowed, Virgil's massive frame sagged slightly back into his chair, and Sico finally pushed himself to his feet. The leather groaned as he rose, the sound sharp in the small room.
"Then it's settled," he said. "Curie, Virgil — you've got your work. I'll make sure Sarah gets you what you need. Don't waste time."
Curie closed her notebook with a soft snap, already lost in numbers and compounds only she could see. "Oui. We begin zis night."
Virgil rose with a lumbering motion, his shadow blotting out the lanternlight for a moment. "If we pull this off… it'll be one hell of a thing."
Sico gave no answer but a curt nod, the closest he came to acknowledging hope without putting it into words. When they left, the silence returned. This time, he didn't linger. He stepped out into the corridor, the air cool against his face, and began his rounds.
The path to the workshop was alive with noise. Sparks hissed in the night air, steel rang under hammer blows, and men shouted orders above the clamor. Even before he reached the open bay where Sturges worked, Sico could smell it — the sharp tang of molten metal, the acrid sting of burning oil.
Inside, the place looked like chaos at first glance. Piles of scrap, lengths of rebar, sheets of rusted plating scavenged from old cars and buildings — all stacked and sorted in rough order. But amid the chaos, Sturges was a storm with purpose. Welding mask down, torch blazing, he bent arcs of metal into shape while a half-dozen assistants held frames steady.
The skeleton of one cage already loomed in the center of the room, welded bars thick as a man's arm rising from a reinforced base. Chains rattled as workers shifted them into place, bolting them along the frame.
Sico stepped forward, his boots crunching over scattered screws and filings. He didn't speak at first, just watched.
"Boss," one of the assistants called over, spotting him. Sturges lifted his mask, sweat streaking down his face despite the cool night air.
"Well, I'll be damned," Sturges said, grinning that wide, crooked grin of his. "You weren't kidding about 'mutant-sized cages.' Thought you were pullin' my leg when MacCready first came hollerin' about it."
"I don't joke about missions," Sico said evenly.
"Yeah, I know," Sturges said, chuckling as he wiped his forehead with a rag. He gestured toward the towering frame. "This here's the first. Ain't pretty, but she'll hold. Reinforced base plate, bars scavenged from old highway guardrails. I'm welding in cross-bracing so even if one of those bastards slams against it, it won't buckle. Figured we'd mount it on a flatbed truck. Strap it down with chains thicker than your wrist."
"Will it hold a super mutant?"
Sturges leaned on his torch, giving a lopsided shrug. "Boss, I can build the strongest cage in the world, but you throw one of them mean greens in there, and it's still a gamble. But I'll tell ya this — if it breaks out, it ain't because I cut corners."
Sico's gaze lingered on the half-built cage. Weld seams glowed faintly where fresh metal had cooled, sharp and strong. He pictured a mutant thrashing inside, fists pounding, chains rattling. For a moment, even he felt the edge of doubt. But he shoved it aside.
"Good," he said finally. "I want three of them. Ready before we move."
Sturges let out a low whistle. "Three, huh? Guess I better stop wastin' time flappin' my gums then. Alright. You'll have 'em. Just don't ask me to paint 'em nice."
"They don't need to look nice," Sico said, turning to leave. "They need to hold."
Outside, the night was darker now, lanterns casting halos across the square. Toward the training yard, Sico found Robert and MacCready already at work. The yard was alive with motion: squads of men and women drilling under the pale glow of floodlamps, rifles snapping to shoulders, boots pounding in rhythm.
Robert moved among them like a hawk, sharp eyes catching the smallest break in formation. His voice cut through the air, crisp and precise: "Hold formation! Discipline will keep you alive! Reset — again!"
Nearby, MacCready barked orders of his own, though his style was rougher, more sardonic. "Keep that rifle up, Jenkins! You think a mutant's gonna wait for you to scratch your ass before it smashes your skull in? Focus!"
Sico watched for a time, silent. The squads were raw, but the discipline was coming. Each repetition tightened them, shaved away hesitation. Robert spotted him first, snapping a sharp salute before striding over. MacCready followed, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Commander," Robert said. "We've pulled ninety-seven so far. All experienced. I'm still vetting the last few to make it a clean hundred."
"They're green in some places," MacCready admitted, "but they listen. And listening's half the battle. I drilled 'em on volley fire. If Curie and Virgil whip up their miracle juice, we'll be ready to pump it into those bastards in coordinated shots. Should keep the chaos down."
Sico nodded once. "Good. I want them ready at a moment's notice. Keep drilling. Test them until there's no hesitation left. When the time comes, I won't tolerate mistakes."
Robert's jaw set firmly. "Understood."
MacCready gave a half-grin, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You know, boss, when you first said 'capture super mutants alive,' I thought you'd lost your damn mind. But seeing this? Seeing them?" He jerked a thumb toward the drilling squads. "Almost makes me think we might pull it off."
"Almost," Robert muttered.
"That's all I need," Sico said, and with that, he left them to their work.
From the yard, he made his way to the storage depot. The smell hit him first — wood, canvas, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang of ammunition. Inside, it was a storm of movement. Crates were being dragged into stacks, lists checked off, rations divided into piles.
Sarah stood at the center of it all, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp as she directed workers like a general on the battlefield.
"No, not there — that crate's for stimpaks, not ammo. Put it by the medical supplies. And double-check the count — I don't want to hear we're short when the convoy's halfway across the damn Commonwealth!"
Preston was nearby, his hat tipped low as he inspected a line of armored trucks. His voice carried steady assurance as he spoke with the mechanics, checking fuel lines, tires, mounted guns.
When Sico stepped in, both of them turned almost at once.
"Commander," Sarah said, her tone clipped but respectful. "We're stockpiling for a week in the field, as ordered. Ammunition, rations, fuel cells. I've already set aside separate supplies for Curie and Virgil. Some of what they asked for isn't exactly easy to come by, but I'll make sure it's found. If it exists out there, I'll have it here."
Preston added, "Convoy's shaping up. Every truck will be reinforced with plating. Guns mounted and tested. I've handpicked drivers myself — no green hands. If a truck's carrying a cage with one of those things inside, I want the driver calm enough not to piss himself."
Sico took it all in — the hum of effort, the sweat on brows, the stacks of crates growing taller by the minute. For a moment, he let himself feel the weight of it: an entire settlement moving like a machine, gears grinding toward one goal.
"Good," he said. "Don't slow down. Every detail matters. If we fail, people die. If we succeed… everything changes."
Sarah's gaze lingered on him, searching, maybe for some crack in the armor. She didn't find one. Instead, she gave a sharp nod. "We'll be ready."
Preston tipped his hat, a small smile ghosting his lips. "You've set the course. We'll keep it steady."
By the time Sico stepped back out into the night, Sanctuary was alive in a way he hadn't seen before. The clang of hammers, the bark of drill sergeants, the rumble of engines tested under torchlight — all of it wove into one sound: purpose.
Curie and Virgil in the lab, piecing together the sedative that would make or break the mission. Sturges bending steel into cages no one had ever dreamed of building. Robert and MacCready grinding raw recruits into a hundred-man commando force. Sarah and Preston weaving the lifeline of supplies and vehicles that would carry it all.
________________________________________________
• 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:-