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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.
The low hum of the settlement filled the morning air like a pulse — steady, alive, and full of warmth.
Sico sat behind his desk in the Freemasons HQ, the golden light of late morning spilling through the wide window behind him. Papers lay spread across the surface — reports, requisition forms, trade manifests, and the latest correspondence from outposts beyond the river. He had been trying to focus on them for the past hour, but the truth was, no one could concentrate on work today.
Even here, in the command heart of the Republic, the air itself carried the rhythm of celebration.
Outside, Sanctuary was alive — not in the usual way, not with the steady, purposeful energy of construction or patrols, but with joy. Real, unrestrained joy. The sound drifted in through the open windows: laughter, conversation, music, and the distant chime of bells. Somewhere beyond the courtyard, someone was testing fireworks early — a dull pop followed by a wave of cheers.
It had been exactly one year since the founding of the Freemasons Republic. One year since the last remnants of chaos gave way to something new — something hopeful.
Sico leaned back in his chair, letting the distant noise fill the silence of the office. He could picture it all without even looking: the wide main avenue draped with strings of colored lanterns, the children weaving through the crowd with paper flags, the smell of roasted meat and spiced brahmin stew wafting from the stalls.
Finally, he stood, setting his pen aside. The moment his boots touched the floor, he could feel the faint vibration of the music through the building — the kind that came from amplifiers and open-air speakers positioned throughout the square.
He moved toward the tall window and drew the curtain aside.
The view that met him stole his breath for a moment.
Sanctuary had transformed.
The square at the center of town — once a cracked stretch of asphalt and rubble — now bloomed with banners and color. People filled every inch of it, their clothes bright in the sunlight. A stage had been set up near the old fountain, its wooden frame decorated with garlands of flowers and strings of old-world bulbs. And standing at the center of it all, microphone in hand, was Magnolia.
Her deep-red dress shimmered under the midday sun as she stepped closer to the mic, her dark curls catching the light. The crowd's noise softened as the opening chords began — a slow, smoky rhythm that rolled out across the square like honey.
Sico couldn't help but smile.
Magnolia — once the enigmatic singer of the Third Rail in Goodneighbor — had spent years in the shadows of neon-lit bars, her voice drowned in the noise of drunken soldiers and mercenaries, and then became the Freemasons Republic Treasurer. Now, here she was again, her voice rising freely into the open sky.
Her voice carried effortlessly across the air: smooth, soulful, rich with the kind of experience that came from surviving more than her share of heartbreak.
"The world was dust and ruin,
But we found a spark to keep it warm…
Now the night's not quite so endless,
And the dawn feels like home…"
It wasn't the kind of music one expected in a rebuilt world, but maybe that was why it mattered. It wasn't just entertainment — it was remembrance, healing turned to melody.
Down below, people swayed gently to the rhythm. Traders in patched coats, soldiers off duty with cups of beer, settlers with their children perched on their shoulders. Even the guards stationed near the barricades looked a little more at ease.
For a long while, Sico just watched.
His reflection in the glass looked older somehow — the faint lines around his eyes deeper than before, the grey beginning to trace the edge of his hair. A year of leadership could do that. But there was something else, too. Something steadier.
Responsibility had a way of carving both weariness and purpose into a man's face.
A soft knock came from the door behind him.
"Come in," he said without turning.
The door opened, and Preston Garvey stepped inside, his familiar brown coat now adorned with a small Freemasons pin at the collar. He carried two steaming mugs in one hand and a folder tucked under his arm.
"Figured you could use a break," Preston said, setting one mug on the desk. "Mel says you've been in here since dawn."
Sico gave a quiet laugh. "You know me too well."
"Yeah," Preston replied with an easy smile. "That's what worries me."
He walked over to the window, standing beside Sico. Together they watched the crowd below, the music floating up between them.
"Can you believe this?" Preston said softly, his eyes scanning the square. "A year ago, this place was still half rubble. Look at it now."
Sico nodded, his gaze steady. "We built more than walls and farms. We built faith. People believe in something again."
Preston sipped his drink. "That they do. You can feel it. Folks are calling this the 'New Dawn' festival."
Sico arched a brow. "Catchy."
"Better than 'Founding Day,' if you ask me," Preston said with a grin. "Has a bit more soul to it."
They both chuckled quietly, letting the music fill the pause.
Down below, Magnolia's song shifted into a brighter tempo, joined by a few musicians with salvaged instruments — a saxophone, a set of drums, even a scratchy old electric guitar hooked up to a pre-war amp.
The sound wasn't perfect — a few notes out of tune, the rhythm slightly uneven — but it was real. It was alive.
Sico rested his hands behind his back. "You know," he said softly, "I used to think rebuilding the world meant machines, weapons, structure. But it's this… this sound, this life — that's what makes it real."
Preston smiled faintly. "You're not wrong. Guess the Brotherhood never understood that part."
Sico's expression shifted slightly at the mention. His gaze lingered on the horizon, where the faint glint of the northern watchtower marked the edge of Republic territory. "No," he said finally. "They never did."
The tone in his voice was measured — calm, but thoughtful. Preston noticed it but didn't press.
Instead, he glanced toward the door. "By the way, Sarah's running the parade drills near the gate. Says everything's ready for the security sweep before the ceremony tonight. Mel's already set up his light grids, and Nora's been keeping the med tents stocked. The whole town's moving like clockwork."
Sico smiled faintly. "That's good to hear."
Preston tilted his head. "You planning to give that speech of yours from the balcony, or are you finally gonna face the crowd this time?"
Sico gave him a sideways look. "You make it sound like I'm hiding."
"You kind of are," Preston teased, grinning. "C'mon, Sico. People want to see the man who made this happen. They've been talking about you all morning."
Sico groaned softly. "That's the problem. I'd rather let the Republic speak for itself."
"Yeah," Preston said, chuckling, "but the Republic doesn't have your voice."
That earned a quiet laugh from Sico. He turned back to the window, eyes narrowing as a sudden burst of confetti exploded over the square. The wind carried the bits of colored paper through the air like shimmering snow. Children shrieked with delight.
For the first time in days, he let the tension ease from his shoulders.
The door opened again, this time with less ceremony. Sarah stepped in, helmet tucked under her arm, a thin sheen of sweat still on her brow. Her armor gleamed, freshly polished for the occasion.
"You're both hiding in here?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Figures."
Preston lifted his mug. "We're strategizing."
"Uh-huh," she said dryly. "Looks more like coffee diplomacy to me."
Sico smiled faintly. "Everything ready outside?"
Sarah nodded. "All patrols are in position. The crowd's been screened and cleared — no suspicious movements or unusual signals. Mel's drone grid is feeding data to the command room in real time. We've got a clean perimeter."
"Good work," Sico said.
She set her helmet down on his desk, letting out a short breath. "The people are happy out there. You should go see it for yourself. They're calling it a celebration of hope. You're the reason they even have something to celebrate."
Sico met her eyes — the look between them somewhere between respect and friendship, old as their shared scars. "It wasn't me," he said softly. "It was all of us."
Sarah gave a small smile. "Maybe. But someone had to light the fire."
From outside, the song shifted again. Magnolia's voice rose into a triumphant crescendo, her tone smooth and powerful. The crowd erupted in applause that rolled through the streets like thunder.
Sico walked closer to the window, his reflection caught beside the image of the crowd below.
"Look at them," he murmured. "A year ago, they were afraid to hope. Now they're building dreams."
Sarah stood beside him. "Then we did our job."
For a long moment, the three of them stood in silence — Sico, Sarah, and Preston — watching the life they'd helped build unfold below.
In that moment, it didn't feel like command or duty. It felt like purpose fulfilled.
A memory flickered at the edge of Sico's mind — the ruins, the first foundation stone laid, the cold nights when the fires barely stayed lit, the faces of those they'd lost.
He remembered the first time he'd told Nora that Sanctuary could be more than just a settlement — it could be the heart of a new world.
And now… here it was.
Sarah broke the silence first, glancing at the clock on the wall. "The opening ceremony starts in an hour. Mel's got a few last-minute calibrations for the lighting rig. He said something about 'synchronizing with the music' — which probably means something's going to blow."
Preston groaned. "Don't jinx it."
Sico smiled faintly. "Tell him to make sure the fireworks don't trigger the defense grid this time."
Sarah smirked. "Already told him twice."
The conversation faded again as the music outside swelled, the band's tempo quickening, the crowd clapping along. Magnolia's laughter echoed faintly through the loudspeakers between songs — light, joyful, human.
Sico stepped back from the window, turning toward his desk once more. The stack of papers waited there — unfinished, unimportant for now. He let them be.
He looked to his friends. "Let's go down there. The Republic doesn't need its leaders watching from behind glass."
Preston grinned. "Now that's the spirit."
Sarah grabbed her helmet, her eyes glinting with pride. "About time."
Together, they left the office.
As Sico stepped into the sunlight, the sound of the festival hit him full force — music, laughter, and the hum of life itself. The smell of food and gun oil and fresh bread mingled in the warm air. Children ran between stalls, soldiers stood watch with easy smiles, and traders called out their wares beneath banners fluttering high above.
The sun was climbing higher, its light spilling golden and warm across the rooftops of Sanctuary when Sico stepped out onto the main avenue beside Sarah and Preston.
The sound of the crowd washed over them like a living tide — laughter, music, the hum of voices all blending into something that felt impossibly alive. The street was packed from one end to the other, a river of people flowing between stalls and banners, the whole place blooming with color and sound.
Children darted past in bursts of motion, their laughter rising above the din. One little boy ran by with a handmade paper flag clutched tight in his fist — blue and gold, the Freemasons Republic emblem crudely painted but unmistakable. His sister chased him, hair streaming behind her, both of them weaving through the crowd like wild sparks.
Sico couldn't help but smile.
"Looks like half the Commonwealth showed up," Preston said, his tone light but his eyes sharp, scanning the street out of old habit. "Haven't seen this many people in one place since… hell, since before the war, maybe."
Sarah nodded beside him, though her hand still rested loosely on her rifle strap. "You can feel it," she said quietly. "It's not just a party. It's… relief."
Sico looked around — at the traders who'd set up their stands along the avenue, the scents of roasted brahmin meat, cooked corn, and mutfruit cider mingling in the air. Hand-painted signs swung above the stalls: "Fresh Stew — Two Caps!", "Tools & Ammo Repairs," "Chem-Free Healing Tonics!"
One stall had a line stretching down the street — a wiry man in a patched coat stirring a great bubbling pot of something fragrant and golden.
"Smells better than field rations, that's for sure," Preston said, half-joking.
The man behind the pot looked up at the sound of his voice and broke into a grin. "Commander Garvey! Commander Sico! Come on over! First bowls are on the house!"
Sico chuckled and raised a hand in greeting. "We'll hold you to that, Cal!"
The trader laughed and waved back with his ladle, splattering broth across the front of his apron. "Anytime, boss!"
As they moved further down the street, Sico noticed how the townsfolk parted slightly when they realized who was walking among them — not out of fear or formality, but respect. People smiled, offered nods or salutes. Some simply reached out to touch his arm as he passed, murmuring quiet thanks.
He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to that.
"Feels strange, doesn't it?" Sarah murmured as they walked. "All these people looking at you like you're some kind of legend."
Sico gave a faint smile. "I'm just a man trying to keep the lights on."
Preston grinned. "Yeah, but you lit the damn torch, Sico. People don't forget who gives them back the sunrise."
They turned down toward the central square, where the air grew thicker with sound and smell — the heart of the festival. Music drifted from the open stage ahead, Magnolia's sultry voice giving way now to a brass band that had clearly raided the old pre-war radio archives for inspiration. The instruments weren't perfect — a few off-notes here and there — but the joy behind them made every imperfection feel intentional, even beautiful.
Children danced near the stage, their small boots kicking up dust as the drums thudded in rhythm. Parents clapped along. Old men leaned against fences with bottles in hand, nodding to the beat.
"Reminds me of the first time I saw Diamond City after the walls went up," Preston said softly. "That sense that… maybe, just maybe, humanity could get back to something worth living for."
Sico nodded. "Except this time, it's not about walls. It's about bridges."
That earned him a small smile from Sarah. "You always did have a way with words, boss."
They passed a stand selling jewelry made from scavenged pre-war metal — bottle caps flattened into bracelets, old circuit boards turned into necklaces. A young woman behind the counter caught sight of them and waved.
"President Sico!" she called out, her eyes bright. "You remember me? You helped us get clean water running out by the west farms last year!"
Sico stopped, recognition flickering. "Marla, right?"
She nodded eagerly. "That's right! We've tripled the crop yield since then. My dad says we might even have enough surplus to send to the outposts next month."
Sico smiled, genuinely pleased. "That's what I like to hear. Keep that up — the Republic's only as strong as the people feeding it."
Marla laughed shyly. "You sound like my dad."
As they moved on, Preston leaned in, voice low. "You know, that's what makes it work. You remember people's names."
"Names are history," Sico replied quietly. "And history's what keeps us from going back to the ruins."
They passed a trio of young mechanics tuning a salvaged motorcycle near the curb. One of them — a boy no older than eighteen — revved the engine proudly as Sico passed, the roar echoing off the stone walls.
"Sounds like you got her running clean," Sico said.
The boy beamed. "Used parts from that old vertibird wreck we found near the river. She's not much to look at, but she'll move."
"Good work," Sico said. "Might need engineers like you down at the armory one day."
The kid's eyes went wide. "You mean it?"
"Keep this up," Sico said with a small grin, "and you'll make sure we never lose another engine to rust again."
As they turned the next corner, a small group of children ran up — one holding a hand-painted sign that read in uneven letters: "Happy Republic Day!"
The smallest girl, her hair tied with scraps of ribbon, handed Sico a small, crooked flower made from old cloth. "Mama said you made the bad men go away," she said shyly.
Sico crouched down, taking the flower carefully. "Your mama's half-right," he said gently. "We all did it — together."
The girl nodded solemnly, as if she understood every word, then grinned and ran back toward her friends, the laughter of childhood trailing behind her.
Sarah's voice softened. "That right there… that's why we fight."
Sico looked down at the small flower in his hand — rough, simple, imperfect — and tucked it carefully into the pocket of his coat. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."
The street opened up into the heart of the square. The crowd was even thicker here — hundreds gathered around the stage, where Magnolia had finished her set and now a group of Republic drummers were performing a rhythmic, thunderous beat that shook the air.
Flags fluttered from the rooftops, painted murals depicting the Freemasons insignia — the compass and sword crossed beneath a rising sun — hanging from balconies. The air shimmered with heat and excitement.
Preston pointed toward the far end, where tables were being set up beneath the shade of an old pre-war canopy. "Looks like Nora's got the crew turned into cooks today."
Sico chuckled. "She always finds a way to organize chaos."
They made their way toward the canopy, weaving through the crush of people. The smell of grilled meat and spices thickened, mingled with the tang of cold cider being poured into tin cups. Nora herself stood behind one of the long tables, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled to her elbows as she barked orders to a group of younger settlers helping her.
When she saw Sico, she straightened and grinned. "Well, look who finally came out of that office."
Sico spread his arms slightly, smiling. "Couldn't let everyone else have all the fun."
"You better not," she said, handing a tray of food to one of her assistants. "Sit down somewhere before I assign you to dish duty."
Sarah smirked. "Don't tempt her. She'll do it."
Preston laughed. "Yeah, I've seen her throw a ladle like a grenade."
Nora rolled her eyes but smiled. "You three want a plate before the crowd eats everything?"
Sico nodded. "Only if you're joining us."
"I might," she said with a grin. "But only after I make sure the stew doesn't burn again."
They took their plates — roasted brahmin, mashed tatos, and a thick, savory stew that smelled like heaven after months of rations — and found a spot at one of the wooden benches near the edge of the square. The music rolled over them, the steady rhythm of drums and laughter.
Sico took a slow breath, tasting not just the food, but the air — clean, alive, full of stories.
"This," Preston said between bites, "is the best damn day since the Minuteme rebuild."
Sarah nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "You can feel it — that… hum. It's not fear anymore. It's pride."
Sico watched the people around them — soldiers sharing drinks with settlers, children climbing onto their parents' laps, Magnolia chatting with the band while tuning a mic. Even the sky seemed brighter somehow.
He thought of what this place had been — ruins, ghosts, broken hopes. And now, one year later, it had become a beacon.
He turned to his friends, his voice low but sure. "This is what we're fighting for — not to destroy the Brotherhood, not to prove we're better than anyone else. Just so people can laugh like this again."
Preston raised his cup. "Then here's to that — to the Freemasons Republic, and to the people who believed."
Sarah clinked her tin mug against his. "And to those who didn't make it here to see this."
Sico nodded, lifting his drink with quiet reverence. "To the ones who lit the first fires when the world was still dark."
They drank, the moment heavy with memory and meaning.
Around them, the music swelled again — and above the rooftops, fireworks streaked through the blue sky, bursting into shimmering trails of gold and crimson. The crowd cheered, the sound rolling like thunder across Sanctuary Hills.
The cheering still echoed through the square when the music softened again — a gentle lull between the bright bursts of laughter and the distant crackle of fireworks. The sky above Sanctuary was streaked with fading gold, the sun slipping low behind the rebuilt houses, its last light setting the river aglow like molten amber.
Sico stood slowly, brushing dust from his coat, his eyes lifting toward the stage where Magnolia was waving to the crowd, her crimson dress catching the sunset like a living flame. Around her, the band was rearranging instruments, tuning strings, and wiping sweat from their brows. The celebration had begun to mellow, shifting from wild energy into something more reflective, more intimate — the kind of calm that always came when the day began to fold into evening.
"Come on," Sico said quietly to Sarah and Preston. "Let's go see the star of the show."
Preston grinned, rising with a stretch. "After the way she sang earlier, I wouldn't miss it. Think she'll do another upbeat tune?"
Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Knowing Magnolia? Not this time. Look at her — she's got that faraway look again. She's about to make the whole square go quiet."
They began to move through the crowd, the sea of people parting just enough to let them pass. Settlers nodded, some offering salutes, others just smiles. The air smelled of warm bread, smoke, and the faint sweetness of cider. Firelight from dozens of lanterns shimmered across faces — old and young, scarred and smooth, every one of them carrying that same unmistakable glow of belonging.
When they reached the edge of the stage, Magnolia spotted them. Her lips curved into that familiar slow smile — the one that had graced countless nights in Goodneighbor's Third Rail, long before the Republic had even been a dream.
"Well, look what the wind blew in," she purred into the mic, her voice smooth as aged whiskey. "The big man himself — the founder of the Freemasons Republic. You finally decided to step out of that office, huh, Sico?"
The crowd laughed, a few voices shouting playful cheers.
Sico raised a hand in mock surrender. "I was promised stew and fireworks, Magnolia. You can't expect me to resist that."
She chuckled softly, her voice carrying through the square like velvet over glass. "Mmm. Well, you picked the right time. Because for this next one, I want every single person here — from the newest settler to the President himself — to remember where we came from. What we lost. And what we found again."
The noise began to fade as people turned toward her. Even the children stilled, drawn by that magnetic pull in her tone.
Magnolia looked out over the crowd — over the rebuilt town that had once been nothing but shattered concrete and ghosts — and something in her eyes softened.
"This song," she said, her voice lowering, "is an old one. Older than any of us. Back before the bombs, back before the world fell apart. But somehow… it always finds its way back. It's called 'The End of the World' — by Skeeter Davis."
A hush fell across Sanctuary.
The band behind her shifted, the drummer resting his sticks, the guitarist brushing his thumb across the strings until a soft, haunting melody filled the air. The first notes trembled like memory itself — fragile, beautiful, aching.
Sico felt it immediately — that quiet ache that reached deeper than words.
Magnolia closed her eyes, drew a slow breath, and began to sing.
"Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world —
'Cause you don't love me anymore…"
Her voice drifted across the square like smoke through dawn — warm and clear, yet threaded with sorrow. It carried something ancient, something that reached beyond the ruins and the wars and the scars.
Sarah's gaze softened as she listened, her usually steady expression breaking into something fragile. "God… I used to hear this one on the old radio back when I was a kid," she whispered. "My mom loved it."
Preston stood silently beside her, his hat low over his brow, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. "It sounds different now," he murmured. "Like she's singing it for the world that ended, not just for a lover."
Sico said nothing. He couldn't.
The song wound through him like a river — each note stirring ghosts that had never really left. The ruins he'd walked through, the friends buried beneath twisted metal, the long nights wondering if rebuilding was even worth it. But here, surrounded by laughter, light, and life, Magnolia's voice turned sorrow into something else — not despair, but remembrance. A way of saying we survived.
"Why do the birds go on singing?
Why do the stars glow above?
Don't they know it's the end of the world —
It ended when I lost your love…"
The music swelled, and so did the murmuring wind. The banners along the rooftops fluttered gently, catching the glow of the lanterns like living flames. People held one another — friends, lovers, families — all sharing that same quiet stillness.
Even the guards along the rooftops had stopped their patrols, standing motionless, rifles slung across their backs as they listened.
Sico's mind drifted to those who weren't here — those long gone — the fallen Freemasons, the settlers who hadn't lived to see this day.
He could almost see their faces in the flicker of firelight.
Sarah reached over and rested a hand on his arm. "You okay?"
He looked at her and nodded once. "Yeah," he said softly. "Just thinking… how lucky we are. How fragile it all is."
She gave a small, sad smile. "That's what makes it beautiful."
"I wake up in the morning, and I wonder —
Why everything's the same as it was.
I can't understand, no, I can't understand
How life goes on the way it does…"
The last verse rose slow and aching, Magnolia's voice trembling on the final note like the breath of someone remembering love after loss.
When the music faded, silence lingered — the kind of silence that didn't demand applause. It just was. A moment of shared humanity.
Then, as if the whole crowd had exhaled at once, the square erupted into applause — not the wild cheering from before, but a deep, heartfelt sound that carried gratitude, memory, and unity all at once.
Magnolia smiled, bowing her head slightly. "Thank you," she said softly. "For remembering that even when the world ends… life keeps singing."
Sico stepped forward as the clapping continued, his boots echoing on the wooden steps as he climbed up to the stage. Sarah and Preston followed, staying a few steps behind.
Magnolia turned as he approached, that teasing glint back in her eyes, though her expression still carried the weight of the song she'd just sung. "Didn't expect to make the President cry, did I?" she murmured under her breath.
Sico smiled faintly. "You didn't. But you made me remember why we built this place."
Her gaze softened. "Then I did my job."
Sico turned toward the crowd. The square stretched before him — a living sea of faces, lanterns flickering like stars among them. He could see the flags waving gently in the breeze, the rebuilt homes standing proud against the twilight. It hit him then — the sheer magnitude of what they had done. What humanity had done.
He raised his hand for quiet, and slowly, the applause died down.
"Brothers and sisters," he began, his voice steady but warm, "a year ago, this was rubble. These streets —" he gestured around them "— were filled with broken glass and dust. No power. No clean water. Just ghosts and silence."
The crowd was still, listening.
"But we didn't give up," Sico continued. "We didn't wait for someone else to save us. We built, and we bled, and we believed. And because of that — because you refused to let the fire die — we stand here today, not just alive, but free."
A low murmur of pride rippled through the people.
Sico looked toward the horizon, where the last light of day bled into night. "The old world ended once," he said quietly. "And maybe it deserved to. But this world — our world — is just beginning. And as long as there's a child laughing in the streets of Sanctuary… the end of the world will never come again."
For a moment, the square was silent again — not from sadness this time, but awe. Then the applause came once more, louder, rising like thunder against the sky.
Sarah and Preston exchanged looks — that shared understanding between old soldiers who'd seen too much and yet found something worth fighting for again.
Magnolia stepped closer to Sico, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "You've got a poet's heart, Mr. President."
Sico chuckled softly. "Just a man who's seen too many endings to stop believing in beginnings."
She smiled — that small, wistful smile of hers. "Then promise me something. Promise you'll keep the music playing. Even when the drums of war start again."
His expression sobered. "That's a promise I'll keep — for as long as there's a world left to sing in."
Behind them, the band struck up a lighter tune — a slow, easy rhythm that invited laughter back into the square. People began to dance again, the spell of silence lifting into joy once more. The night lights shimmered brighter, and somewhere down the street, a group of settlers began setting off more fireworks — bursts of gold and green that painted the faces of children with wonder.
Sarah nudged him gently. "You should go down there and dance, you know. Show them their president can still move."
Preston grinned. "Yeah, boss — prove you're not just paperwork and speeches."
Sico shook his head, laughing quietly. "Maybe later. For now… let them have the floor."
He looked out once more at the people — his people — swaying, laughing, alive. Magnolia's voice began again, this time light and playful, wrapping around the melody like silk.
And for that one perfect moment, beneath a sky streaked with color and fire, Sico let himself believe — truly believe — that maybe the end of the world had already passed, and what came after was something brighter, something worth every scar they carried.
________________________________________________
• 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:-