If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
The Commonwealth had changed. He could see it even from up here — the organized roads, the patrol lights that marked Freemason outposts, the faint shimmer of civilization clawing its way back from ruin.
As Danse slowly went to Sanctuary, the scene changed to Sico — who now, at the Freemasons HQ, sat behind his desk in the late glow of evening light. His office, perched high in the restored municipal building overlooking Sanctuary's main square, was quiet except for the scratch of a pen and the soft shuffle of papers. Outside the wide windows, the settlement's lights shimmered like fireflies across the valley — lanterns and generators casting a warm, amber glow over the clean streets and rebuilt homes.
On his desk, the papers were stacked in small, uneven towers: budget revisions, new patrol routes, construction permits, agricultural reports. Somewhere among them lay the speech he'd been drafting for the upcoming celebration — the one-year anniversary of the Republic's founding. Just three days away.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long breath as he rubbed at his eyes. The leather creaked under him, and for a brief moment, the world outside his window seemed to pulse with quiet life. Children were still playing near the fountain in the square. Traders hauled crates from caravans, laughing. Soldiers of the Freemasons' militia strolled in pairs, their rifles slung casually but their posture still disciplined.
It was all so… alive.
A year ago, this had been a ruin — a tangle of scrap, mud, and burnt-out houses. Now it was a living city.
Sico smiled faintly, then returned to the report before him.
The handwriting was Sarah's — neat, firm, every letter carved with precision.
"Patrol routes around Sector D adjusted. Increased sightings of scavenger bands near the eastern perimeter. No hostile activity reported."
He tapped his pen against the edge of the page. Sarah always stayed two steps ahead. The Republic had grown fast — faster than anyone predicted. Sanctuary, Concord, and Starlight were now connected by paved roads and communication towers. The Institute was cooperating under new directives, the synth integration program had been running smoothly, and trade with Diamond City had doubled in the last quarter.
Still, he knew peace never stayed still in the Commonwealth. It had a way of shifting, like dust in the wind.
A soft knock broke his focus.
"Come in," Sico called, setting his pen down.
The door opened, and Preston Garvey stepped in. His hat was off, tucked under one arm, and his face carried the faint weariness of a man who had spent all day in the field.
"Evenin', General," Preston said, the old title still slipping through sometimes — a habit neither of them had managed to shake.
Sico gave a half-smile. "Evening, Preston. You look like you've been wrestling with a brahmin herd."
Preston chuckled, dropping a few folders onto the desk. "Pretty close. Had to mediate a dispute between the new settlers out by Tenpines. Seems one of them built his fence across another man's plot. Nearly turned into a shootout until I reminded them what Republic law says about shared land."
"Did it work?"
"Let's just say nobody's dead and the fence is gone. I'll call that a win."
Sico leaned back, glancing over the reports. "Good work. People forget sometimes — it's not the big victories that keep us alive. It's the small ones."
Preston nodded, his eyes drifting toward the window. "Hard to believe it's been a year. Feels like we blinked and suddenly… this place is shining."
Sico followed his gaze. Outside, Sanctuary's square was alive with music — someone strumming a guitar near the food stalls, laughter echoing faintly through the night air.
"It's more than shining," Sico said quietly. "It's standing. And that's something this world hasn't done in a long time."
Preston smiled, then looked back toward him. "Sarah said you've been buried in prep for the anniversary. You sure you don't want to take a break? Maybe walk the market, see how the decorations are coming along?"
Sico shook his head, though the thought tempted him. "I'll go tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to finish this speech draft before Sarah hunts me down about it."
Preston laughed. "Fair enough. You know she will." He paused, then lowered his voice. "How's Mel's team doing? I heard they've been working round the clock since the last Institute visit."
"They are," Sico said. "Mel's in his element — half the new energy systems we're using came from his lab. He and his team practically sleep there."
"I'll bet." Preston hesitated a moment. "And Shaun?"
The question hung there for a moment — soft, careful.
Sico's eyes shifted slightly, their brightness dimming with thought. "He's… adjusting. Nora's doing her best. Codsworth helps too, but it's not easy for him — or for her. He asks a lot about the world above, about the Freemasons, about the Brotherhood."
Preston frowned. "Still curious about them, huh?"
"Wouldn't you be?" Sico replied. "He's a synth child, built in the image of Nora's real son. That kind of legacy is hard to escape. I can't blame him for wanting answers."
Preston nodded. "Still, I'm glad he's here. Better with us than with them."
Sico's gaze turned distant again. "Yeah. Better here."
For a moment, silence settled between them. Only the hum of the generator outside filled the air. Then Sico reached for another folder and flipped it open.
"These," he said, handing Preston a set of papers, "are the logistics for the celebration. We'll need militia on the perimeter, but discreetly. I don't want this to feel like a military parade."
Preston glanced through the pages. "Got it. We'll keep things low-profile. Just enough presence to make folks feel safe."
"Perfect," Sico said, signing another form with a swift motion.
When Preston left, the room fell quiet again. Sico exhaled and leaned back, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness from hours of sitting.
The clock on the wall ticked past ten. The office smelled faintly of paper, ink, and the subtle trace of oil from his sidearm resting on the desk. The faint sounds of night — laughter, footsteps, the occasional barking dog — reached him through the open window.
He glanced toward the far corner, where an old framed photo stood. It showed the early days — him, Preston, Sarah, Mel, and a dozen settlers standing among broken houses and mud. Back when Sanctuary was little more than a promise.
He smiled faintly. "We made it, didn't we?" he murmured to no one.
Then came another knock. This one sharper, lighter — deliberate.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Sarah Lyons stepped through, her uniform crisp despite the late hour. Her auburn hair was tied back, and her expression carried that familiar blend of focus and warmth that defined her.
"Working late again," she said dryly, closing the door behind her. "You're going to burn yourself out before the anniversary even starts."
Sico chuckled. "And miss all this fun paperwork? Not a chance."
Sarah smirked and crossed the room, dropping a folder onto his desk. "Then here's some more fun. Final scout reports from the northern border."
Sico flipped it open. "Anything concerning?"
"Nothing major," Sarah said. "Mostly trade caravans and scavenger movement. But…" she hesitated, "there was one odd sighting. A few of our scouts reported seeing a vertibird passing low over Lexington. No insignia, no comms signal. Could be old Enclave tech or a Brotherhood recon flight."
Sico's pen stilled mid-line.
"When?" he asked.
"About two hours ago."
He leaned back slowly. The Brotherhood hadn't made a move in months — not since their last radio silence after the failed incursion near Cambridge. But if they were flying again this deep into Republic airspace… it meant something.
"You think they're watching us?" Sarah asked, her tone even.
"They're always watching," Sico said. "The question is what they're waiting for."
Sarah crossed her arms. "You want me to increase patrols?"
"No," Sico said after a pause. "Not yet. No need to stir panic over a shadow in the sky. But keep an eye on it. If the Brotherhood is moving again, we'll know soon enough."
Sarah nodded, studying his face. "You look worried."
He smiled faintly. "That obvious?"
"Only to me."
He exhaled softly. "It's not fear. It's… awareness. The Republic's finally standing tall, and the stronger we get, the more enemies we attract. I just hope the world's ready for what comes next."
Sarah stepped closer, resting a hand on the desk. "We'll handle it, like we always do."
Sico met her gaze — steady, trusting — and nodded. "Yeah. We will."
For a moment, the tension broke, and they shared a quiet smile. Then she straightened, glancing toward the door.
"Get some rest, Sico. The people are counting on you to give a speech, not collapse onstage."
He chuckled. "No promises."
When she left, the room felt heavier — not with dread, but with weight. The kind that came from leadership, from knowing every choice rippled outward across lives.
The next morning came slowly — the kind of morning that felt like it had been waiting for him.
Sico woke to the soft hum of generators outside his window and the golden spill of sunlight creeping through the blinds. The air smelled faintly of rain and sawdust — the scent of work, of rebuilding. He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and glanced toward the clock on the wall. 07:43.
For once, he hadn't slept in his office.
He stood, stretching until his joints cracked, and moved to the small sink tucked near the corner of the room. Cold water splashed against his face, chasing away the remnants of last night's fatigue. He stared at his reflection in the mirror — the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the silver beginning to thread through his dark hair. A year of leadership had aged him, but it hadn't broken him.
When he finally stepped out of the HQ and into the open air, the sound hit him first — life, in all its messy, noisy, beautiful forms.
Sanctuary was awake.
The streets were alive with movement — traders rolling carts across cobblestone, children running between stalls with wooden toys, laughter echoing between the rows of homes. Banners fluttered between lamp posts, strings of lights hung overhead, and the faint notes of a harmonica drifted through the morning breeze.
It was hard not to smile.
The entire town was transforming before his eyes.
Everywhere he looked, people were preparing for the anniversary — the first Founding Day of the Freemasons Republic. Wooden scaffolds stood in the main square where workers hung garlands of wildflowers. Settlers were painting signs, hammering boards, sweeping dust from doorsteps. The colors — blue and gold, the Republic's emblem — shone proudly from every cloth and flag.
Sico walked slowly down the main road, hands tucked loosely in his coat pockets, his boots crunching against the gravel.
He passed a group of militia setting up a small stage near the fountain. One of them — a tall woman with sleeves rolled up — noticed him and straightened immediately.
"Sir!"
Sico raised a hand in a small, easy gesture. "At ease. Don't let me stop you."
The woman smiled nervously, nodding before returning to her task.
A pair of young children ran past, each clutching a paper flag painted with the Republic seal — a golden compass set over crossed hammers. Their laughter trailed after them like music.
Sico couldn't help but think of how strange — and wonderful — it was to see this much joy in a world that had forgotten how to laugh.
When he reached the market square, the air was thick with the smell of roasted maize, fresh bread, and the tang of brahmin leather. Dozens of traders were setting up makeshift stalls, their tables covered with everything from weapons to books to pre-war trinkets polished to a shine.
New faces were everywhere — wanderers from far settlements, caravans from the south, even a few Gunners who had laid down their arms and chosen to join the Republic instead of fighting it.
An official in Freemason uniform stood near the fountain with a clipboard, collecting small pouches of caps from each trader as they registered their stalls. Sico stopped nearby, watching quietly.
"Next," the official called, and a young man stepped forward, pushing a cart loaded with crates of glass bottles.
"That'll be one hundred caps for your vendor permit," the officer said briskly, pen ready.
"One hundred?" the trader asked, but not angrily — more out of disbelief. "Guess it's worth it. Never seen a crowd this big in one place." He opened a leather pouch and counted out the caps.
The officer gave him a stamped permit slip and nodded toward an empty space near the corner. "You can set up there. Republic regulations — clean your area at the end of each day, no selling unverified chems, and no trading weapons without militia oversight."
"Understood," the man said, smiling as he went off to set up.
Sico watched the interaction with quiet satisfaction. Once, this sort of structure would've been impossible in the Commonwealth — too many raiders, too much fear. But now there was law. Process. Fairness.
He approached the officer, who looked up and nearly straightened to attention when he recognized him.
"President Sico, sir!"
Sico waved a hand. "Relax. Just checking on things. Looks like you've got it handled."
The officer nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. So far, everything's smooth. We've had over sixty traders register this morning alone — all paid their hundred-cap permit fee. That'll go straight into the celebration fund and cleanup crews after."
"Good," Sico said, nodding approvingly. "Make sure the newcomers get clear instructions. We want this to feel organized, not militarized."
"Yes, sir."
Sico gave a brief smile and continued on, moving deeper into the market.
He passed a bakery stall run by an elderly woman and her granddaughter. The smell of warm bread stopped him in his tracks.
"Morning, President!" the woman called cheerfully, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're up early!"
"Morning, Mrs. Delaney," Sico replied with a grin. "Couldn't sleep with all this excitement in the air."
She laughed, handing him a small roll. "First one's on the house. For the man who made this all possible."
He accepted it, though he felt a touch of embarrassment. "I only helped light the fire. You're the ones keeping it burning."
The woman chuckled softly. "Still, thank you."
As he walked on, eating the bread, he passed rows of brightly painted stalls. One sold purified water bottled in recycled Nuka-Cola glass; another had piles of salvaged comic books and old pre-war toys. The air buzzed with the energy of trade — haggling, laughter, the sound of tools and hammering.
A man at a mechanical stand was demonstrating a small wind-powered generator. Sparks jumped as he turned the crank. A small crowd clapped, and the man grinned proudly.
Sico paused, intrigued. "That looks new."
The man looked up, recognizing him instantly. "President! Yes, sir — made it from scavenged car alternators and some Institute coils. Runs small appliances or lights without fuel. I was hoping to get Mel's team to look at it after the festival."
Sico nodded, clearly impressed. "I'll tell him myself. Innovation like that belongs in the labs, not gathering dust in a stall."
The man beamed. "Thank you, sir."
Sico moved on, weaving through the stalls until he reached the fountain at the heart of the square. Workers were still polishing its stone edges, the water glistening in the morning sun. Children threw bottle caps into the pool, making wishes.
He looked around — really looked — and the weight of it struck him again.
One year.
One year ago, this had been a battlefield. The sound of gunfire had echoed off these same walls. People had hidden in basements, terrified. Now there was laughter. Music.
A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Admiring your empire?"
He turned — Mel stood there, smirking, a coffee mug in one hand and a grease stain across his cheek. His lab coat was unbuttoned over a dark shirt, the collar crooked as usual.
Sico chuckled. "Empire? Hardly. More like a miracle held together by duct tape and good intentions."
Mel laughed, sipping his coffee. "Still standing, though. I'd call that progress." He glanced around at the crowd. "Hard to believe this was all rubble a year ago."
"It's the people," Sico said. "They finally had something worth believing in."
Mel nodded, watching a group of kids chase each other past. "You did good, Sico. We all did. Hell, even Preston smiled when I passed him this morning. That's how you know things are going right."
Sico smiled faintly. "Don't jinx it."
Mel grinned. "Too late. Besides, I've got bigger problems. Sarah's been hounding me for the final power grid diagnostics before the festival. If one of those generators fails mid-speech, she'll have my head."
"She's not wrong," Sico said with a small laugh. "You're the only man crazy enough to run three experimental systems at once."
"That's called genius," Mel replied, feigning offense.
"Or madness," Sico teased.
Mel shrugged. "Same thing, sometimes."
They both laughed, the easy kind of laughter that came from years of shared struggle.
Then Mel's tone softened. "You ever think about what's next? After all this?"
Sico tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… we've built a Republic out of ashes. We've got laws, farms, power, even schools now. The Commonwealth's finally breathing again. So what happens when it stops needing us?"
Sico was silent for a long moment. The sound of the market filled the pause — the murmur of trade, the hiss of frying food, the bark of a vendor calling out prices.
Finally, he said, "That's the point, Mel. One day, they shouldn't need us. That's how we'll know we've done our job right."
Mel nodded slowly. "You always were the idealist."
"And you always were the realist," Sico said, smiling. "Guess that's why this works."
They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the market come alive. Then Mel glanced toward the HQ tower in the distance.
"You know Sarah's going to drag you into another meeting before noon, right?"
Sico sighed. "Of course she is."
"Then I'll see you there," Mel said, giving a mock salute before heading off toward his lab district.
Sico lingered by the fountain a little longer, watching the people pass.
A young couple walked by, hands intertwined, their clothes freshly washed. A man pushed a cart filled with flowers — real flowers, grown in the new greenhouses outside Concord. And somewhere, near the north gate, he saw a group of newly arrived settlers entering the city — tired, cautious, but hopeful.
The sun had risen higher by the time Sico left the heart of the market, its light spilling across the rooftops like a soft flame. The air was warmer now, thick with the scent of grilled meat and baked bread from the festival stalls, and the murmur of voices carried through the streets in a steady hum. He took one last glance over his shoulder at the fountain — children still laughing, vendors still haggling — before turning toward the main road that led to the Freemasons Army Headquarters on the western end of Sanctuary.
The HQ stood proudly near the fortified wall that ringed the settlement — a two-story structure of reinforced concrete and salvaged steel, its flag snapping crisply in the wind. Once, it had been an abandoned factory. Now, it was the heartbeat of Sanctuary's defense network, where orders became action and security became certainty.
As Sico approached, he noticed the bustle immediately. Militia officers moved in and out of the main entrance, their boots striking hard against the metal steps. The sound of distant drills echoed from the yard — rhythmic, sharp, confident. Patrol trucks lined the perimeter, freshly painted with the Republic's insignia, while a few vertibirds rested on the landing pads above, their rotors still gleaming with dew.
And there, near the central platform, stood Sarah Lyons — her voice cutting through the clamor like a blade through cloth.
She wore her modified combat armor — a mix of Minutemen and Brotherhood design, her command insignia etched onto the shoulder plate. Her auburn hair was tied back into a tight braid, and a tactical headset sat just above her ear. Around her, several sergeants stood at attention as she spoke, her tone brisk and unwavering.
"I want increased patrol rotations on the southern wall," Sarah said, her voice firm but calm. "Double up the guard towers by dusk, and make sure every sentry has a working radio and at least one backup mag. I don't care if the festival's tomorrow — nobody gets complacent."
"Yes, ma'am!" the soldiers answered in unison.
"Good," Sarah continued. "This is Sanctuary's biggest event since the Republic's founding. People from every settlement in the region are coming here, and that means we can't afford a single crack in our defense grid. Raiders, scavvers, even rogue synths — if they're out there, they'll see the crowd as a target. I don't intend to let that happen."
She gestured toward a large tactical board showing the city's sectors and patrol routes. Colored pins marked the checkpoints, and red lines traced the paths of each patrol squad. Her finger tapped the map near the eastern entrance.
"Sector D's wall cameras have been showing strange heat signatures at night," she said. "Could be stray brahmin, but we're not taking chances. I want night-vision spotters posted there — two per tower. If anything moves that shouldn't, report it immediately. No engagement unless it's confirmed hostile."
"Understood," said one of the sergeants, jotting down notes on a clipboard.
Sarah looked around at her team, her expression softening just slightly. "This isn't just about holding a line anymore. It's about protecting what we've built — the families, the traders, the kids playing in those streets. You've all seen what it took to get here. Let's make sure nothing threatens it."
The soldiers nodded, their faces solemn but proud.
"Dismissed," she said finally, stepping back.
As the group broke apart to relay her orders, Sarah turned — and caught sight of Sico approaching across the yard.
For a brief second, her expression flickered from command mode to something warmer, something more human. She brushed a bit of dust from her armor and met him halfway, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel.
"You're up early for once," she said with a teasing smirk. "Don't tell me the paperwork finally scared you off."
Sico chuckled, shaking his head. "More like the smell of the market dragged me out of the office. Hard to stay buried in reports when the whole city's buzzing like that."
Sarah folded her arms, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Yeah, it's something, isn't it? Can't walk five steps without bumping into someone stringing up lights or selling sweetbread. I swear, half the Republic's already here."
"That's good," Sico said. "They need this. A celebration that reminds everyone why we built all this in the first place."
Her eyes softened briefly before her voice settled back into its sharper tone. "They'll get their celebration — but only if it's safe. That's what I'm making sure of." She turned slightly, gesturing to the soldiers now hauling crates of ammo and adjusting barricades near the gate. "We've got new traders coming in every hour. Most are honest folks, but I'm not naive. All it takes is one person with bad intentions."
Sico glanced around, noting the level of coordination. "Looks like you've already got things under control."
"Mostly," she said. "Still, I'm tightening the net. Patrols around the walls are doubled. Each tower has a sniper with long-range optics. We've got spotlights running through the night now, and I've ordered random ID checks on incoming caravans. I don't want a single unwanted visitor slipping through."
Sico raised a brow. "Expecting trouble?"
Sarah sighed, lowering her voice. "Not expecting — just preparing. You saw the report last night, didn't you? The unmarked vertibird over Lexington?"
"I did," he said quietly. "Still no sign of who it belonged to?"
"Nothing concrete," she replied. "Scouts tracked the flight path until it vanished over the hills east of the river. Could've been a Brotherhood recon run, could've been a rogue Enclave model. Either way, it was too close for comfort."
Sico's jaw tightened. "And with this many civilians gathered for the anniversary…"
"Exactly," Sarah finished. "We can't risk it. I've already ordered the outer wall turrets recalibrated and the drone relays synced to Mel's monitoring systems. If anything flies within range, we'll know."
Sico gave a small nod of approval. "Efficient as always."
She smirked slightly. "You didn't put me in charge of defense for my charming personality."
He chuckled under his breath. "That's debatable."
For a moment, they stood in quiet companionship, watching the soldiers move like clockwork across the yard. The sound of boots, metal, and shouted orders filled the air — not chaotic, but purposeful.
A young lieutenant approached and saluted sharply. "Commander Lyons, sir — perimeter teams are ready for your inspection."
Sarah nodded. "Good. Tell them I'll be there in five."
The officer saluted again and hurried off.
Sico glanced at her. "Still doing inspections personally?"
"Always," she said. "If I start leading from behind a desk, you can shoot me."
Sico laughed softly. "Duly noted."
They walked together toward the western wall — the heart of Sanctuary's outer defenses. From here, the view stretched over the valley: fields of crops swaying in the light breeze, distant wind turbines turning lazily, and beyond that, the faint glimmer of the old river winding through the ruins.
As they climbed the metal stairs to the rampart, the wind picked up — carrying the hum of the settlement below and the faint echo of a guitar somewhere in the distance. The city looked alive, breathing in rhythm with the people.
Sarah stopped at the top, looking out over it all. Her gaze was steady, but there was something wistful behind it.
"Hard to believe this used to be all dust and skeletons," she said quietly.
Sico stood beside her, resting his hands against the railing. "We've come a long way."
She nodded, then motioned toward the guards stationed along the wall — men and women in reinforced combat gear, rifles slung across their chests, scanning the horizon through binoculars. "They know what's at stake. Every one of them's lost someone. That's why they take their jobs seriously."
Sico watched as a patrol moved along the path below, their shadows stretching long in the sunlight. "It's strange, isn't it?" he said. "For years, we fought just to survive — to make it through another day. Now, we're fighting to preserve something. To make sure this… peace doesn't fade."
Sarah exhaled slowly. "And it's harder in some ways. You can see the danger coming in a war. But peace? Peace makes people forget how fragile it is."
He looked at her, studying the faint lines of fatigue around her eyes. "You haven't forgotten."
"Not a chance," she said. "Not after everything we've seen."
A long pause followed — comfortable, familiar. The kind of silence that carried respect instead of emptiness.
Finally, Sico spoke again. "You've done good work here, Sarah. Better than anyone could've asked for."
She glanced at him, and for a heartbeat, her expression softened. "Coming from you, that means something."
He smiled faintly. "It should. I don't give out compliments often."
"Tell me about it," she said with a dry laugh.
Down below, a column of militia vehicles rolled past the main gate — a routine patrol heading toward the Concord outpost. Dust rose behind them, catching the sunlight. Civilians nearby waved as they passed, a small but powerful gesture of trust.
Sico's gaze lingered on that sight. "They believe in this," he said softly. "In the Republic. In us."
Sarah followed his gaze, then nodded. "Then we can't let them down."
Another soldier jogged up the steps, saluting sharply. "Commander — reports just came in from Sector F. No sign of hostiles, but the outer watch spotted a group of settlers approaching from the west road. Should we clear them for entry?"
Sarah turned to Sico, a silent question in her eyes.
He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. Standard entry checks. Make sure they're logged and escorted in safely."
"Yes, sir," the soldier said before hurrying off.
Sarah leaned on the railing again, exhaling. "You see? Never a dull moment."
Sico smirked. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
They stood there a moment longer, the sun warm against their faces, the city below pulsing with life and purpose. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang — the workers' signal that midday preparations were underway.
The festival would be tomorrow, but the spirit of it was already alive. You could feel it in every hammer strike, every laugh, every hopeful glance exchanged between people who had once known only fear.
Sico turned to Sarah. "Once the patrols are settled, come by the square tonight. Mel's planning to test the lighting grid for the ceremony. I could use your opinion."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You mean you want me to make sure he doesn't blow the place up."
Sico grinned. "That too."
She chuckled and gave him a half-salute. "Alright, I'll be there. But only if you promise to get some food first. You skipped breakfast again, didn't you?"
He hesitated, caught. "Maybe."
She sighed. "You lead a Republic, Sico. Try leading your stomach once in a while."
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. "I'll consider it an executive order."
With that, she smiled — a real one this time — before turning to oversee her troops again, barking crisp orders that carried easily on the wind.
________________________________________________
• 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:-