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He moved past groups of workers still chatting after their shifts, past children chasing each other between stalls, their laughter echoing through the alleys. For all his caution and worry, it was moments like this that reminded him why the Republic existed at all.
The morning light spilled through the tall windows of the Freemasons Headquarters, casting a golden sheen across the polished table that dominated the meeting room. The walls were lined with maps — the Commonwealth, the coastal routes, trade corridors that extended all the way up toward the rebuilt ruins of Concord and beyond. Each marker represented not just a place, but people — lives rebuilt, settlements protected, trade restored. The Republic wasn't just a dream anymore. It was real. Fragile, but real.
Sico stood near the head of the table, a mug of coffee steaming quietly in his hand as the rest of the council filtered in one by one. The hum of conversation filled the air, not hurried, but familiar — the kind that came from a group of people who had fought, bled, and built something together.
Jenny entered first, a data slate tucked under her arm, her eyes sharp and alert as always. She gave Sico a quick nod before taking her seat to his right. Sarah followed soon after, crisp in her Freemasons uniform, hair tied back, the faint trace of fatigue beneath her eyes betraying the early patrol checks she must have done that morning.
Then came MacCready — rifle slung casually over his shoulder, hat tipped slightly forward as he offered a wry grin. "Hope this ain't gonna take all day," he muttered as he sat down. "Got a shooting range full of recruits who still can't hit a target the size of a brahmin."
Hancock swaggered in next, his usual air of lazy charm tempered by the faint scent of smoke and chem dust that clung to him like an old coat. He gave a low whistle as he looked around. "Damn, place gets shinier every time I walk in. You people really out here makin' government look fancy again."
Curie entered with Mel and Sturges close behind — the three of them deep in quiet discussion about generator stability and power flow regulation, hands gesturing midair as if sketching circuits from memory.
Piper brushed through the doorway last, a rolled-up holotape recorder in one hand, a few ink stains smudged on her wrist. "Sorry, folks," she said, sliding into her chair. "Was finishing up a piece about the north rail reconstruction. Didn't think the readers would appreciate me cutting it short."
And then the radio units on the table crackled to life.
"—Hello? This is Cait at Minutemen Plaza. You lot hear me alright?"
Her voice carried that familiar edge of impatience, and a few people chuckled as Sico reached forward to adjust the dial.
"Loud and clear, Cait," he replied.
Another voice followed through the second unit — firmer, older, with a hint of authority earned through years of battle. "This is Ronnie Shaw at the Castle. We're patched in as well. Let's keep this efficient, Commander — I've got artillery crews to inspect after this."
Sico smiled faintly. "Understood, Ronnie. We'll get straight to it."
He set down his mug, the soft clink against the table calling the room to quiet. One by one, the murmurs faded until only the hum of the wall lights and the faint crackle of the radios filled the air.
Sico's gaze swept across the room, lingering for a heartbeat on each face. "Thank you all for coming. I know most of you have full plates already — and I appreciate the time."
He paused, hands resting on the edge of the table.
"We've been through a lot together," he began. "Wars, famine, rebuilding. We've seen the Commonwealth rise from ashes to something that can finally call itself a home again. But I think it's time — past time, really — that we take a moment to stop fighting, and start celebrating what we've built."
Hancock leaned back in his chair, a slow grin forming. "Sounds like you're talkin' about a party, boss."
Sico chuckled softly. "In a sense, yes. I've spoken with Magnolia — as you all know, she manages the treasury and oversees trade distributions. After reviewing our reserves and projected supply reports, I'm confident that we can host a Founding Day Anniversary — a proper one — here in Sanctuary."
A murmur of approval rippled through the room. Piper's eyes brightened; Sturges let out a low whistle.
"Founding Day," MacCready repeated, tilting his head. "Like, the day we made the Republic official?"
"Exactly," Sico said. "One year ago, we stood at that very square outside this building — half the walls still half-built, mud up to our knees, and only a promise to hold onto. That promise turned into the Republic we have now. It's time we honor that — not just for ourselves, but for the people who followed us, who believed in us."
Magnolia leaned forward, her elegant voice was smooth. "I've run the numbers, Commander. Treasury's in healthy standing — we can afford supplies, decorations, and festival rations for the whole city. Even enough to extend trade vouchers for nearby settlements to attend. It'll strengthen ties, boost morale, and likely increase trade volume afterward."
"See?" Sico said with a nod toward the others. "It's not just a celebration — it's an investment in unity. If we show people that the Republic isn't just safe but thriving, they'll want to be part of it."
Sarah crossed her arms, thoughtful. "Security will need to scale accordingly. We're already increasing patrols inside Sanctuary, but with visitors coming in from outlying areas, we'll need additional checkpoints at the gates and along the market streets. Nothing obtrusive, just… watchful."
"Already expected that," Sico replied. "Your new orders from yesterday still stand. Work with Preston when he returns from the frontier — I want his men at the outer checkpoints."
Curie, who had been quiet until now, looked up from her notepad. "And for the medical aspect? Festivals tend to… encourage minor injuries. Burns, dehydration, overindulgence in spirits."
That drew a laugh from Hancock. "Speak for yourself, doc. Some of us call that a good time."
Curie ignored him with the polite patience of someone used to his antics. "I will increase clinic staff and mobile triage stations around the plaza. And perhaps a public health booth as well — education is just as vital as cure, non?"
"Excellent," Sico said. "Coordinate with Mel for power allocation. We'll need steady current to keep those stations running through the night."
Mel nodded, adjusting her glasses. "We can do that. Sturges and I have been testing a secondary grid for emergencies — we'll wire it to the festival square. If one generator goes down, the system will automatically reroute power."
Sturges grinned. "Ain't nobody wantin' their fireworks to short out mid-show, right?"
"Fireworks?" Piper piped up, her eyebrows raised. "Please tell me you're actually planning fireworks."
Sico allowed himself a small smile. "Magnolia and I were discussing that last night. We've got the materials for a controlled display — nothing too risky, but enough to light the sky."
Across the room, Hancock gave a low whistle. "Hell, I'll drink to that."
Jenny, who had been quietly scrolling through her slate, finally spoke. "Commander, if I may — what's the broader message you want conveyed? I can prepare the public statement for the Gazette and the city networks, but I need to know the tone. Celebration? Reflection? A declaration of progress?"
Sico thought for a long moment before answering. His voice, when he spoke, carried weight. "All of that — but above all, hope. I want people to see that even after everything this world has gone through, we can build something better. We didn't just survive the wasteland — we changed it."
Piper nodded slowly, jotting notes in her pad. "Got it. Hope, unity, progress. The kind of story the old world never got right."
"Make sure the broadcasts reach all outposts," Ronnie's voice came over the radio. "If people in the Castle, Quincy, and Lexington can hear it, they'll feel like they're part of it too. We're not just rebuilding one city — we're rebuilding a nation."
"That's the idea," Sico said with a faint nod. "And Cait — how's your situation in the Plaza? Can you afford to send a detachment to help with coordination here during the festival?"
Cait's voice came through, a mix of pride and amusement. "Already ahead of you, boss. Got two squads on standby — disciplined, well-trained, and not the type to start fights at the bar. I'll send 'em two days before the event."
"Good. We'll need all the extra hands we can get."
Hancock leaned forward, elbows on the table. "And what about entertainment? You got Magnolia's voice, sure, but folks'll want more than music. Maybe games, contests, stalls — make it feel alive."
Magnolia's voice carried a smile. "Oh, don't you worry, darling. I've already started planning a stage program — music, speeches, dance, and maybe even a tribute to those we lost. It'll be beautiful."
The room fell silent for a brief, tender moment. The weight of that — those we lost — hung in the air. Faces flashed in everyone's mind. Old friends, fallen comrades, people who'd never lived to see the Republic's sunrise.
Sico exhaled quietly. "We'll honor them properly. During the ceremony, before the celebrations begin. Their names will be spoken, and remembered."
Jenny looked up from her slate, her eyes softening. "I'll prepare the memorial registry."
"Thank you," Sico said.
For a while, the meeting drifted into details — food rations, stage power needs, trade coordination for supply wagons. Curie and Mel discussed cooling units for beverage storage, Sturges promised to repair the plaza's central fountain in time, and Piper was already planning a headline: 'The Republic Turns One — A Future Forged in Unity.'
Then Sarah spoke again, her voice level but serious. "Commander, one more thing. With all this attention — civilians, caravans, maybe even outsiders coming to see the Republic firsthand — there's always a chance of infiltration. We can't ignore that."
Sico nodded slowly. "You're right. Assign discreet observation teams. Blend them with the crowd, keep the peace, and identify any potential threats before they escalate."
MacCready smirked faintly. "Guess I'll have to put my snipers on rooftops for something other than target practice."
"Just make sure they're looking through scopes, not scopes on triggers," Sico said lightly.
That earned a few chuckles — but beneath it all, everyone understood the unspoken truth. Even in peace, vigilance was the price they still had to pay.
After nearly two hours, the meeting began to wind down. Reports were finalized, tasks delegated, and the hum of activity filled the room as chairs scraped back and datapads clicked shut.
Sico remained standing, watching as one by one, his council filed out — some with laughter, others deep in thought, but all carrying purpose. The kind of purpose that had built the Republic itself.
Magnolia's then said. "You've done well, Commander. This celebration… it isn't just about the Republic. It's about faith. The kind that holds a world together."
Sico smiled faintly, gazing at the flag on the far wall — blue and gold, stitched by hand, now fluttering gently from the air vent's breeze. "That's the plan, Magnolia," he said quietly. "Let's give them something worth believing in."
The afternoon light poured gently through the slatted windows of Sico's office, long bars of gold cutting across the dark wood of his desk. The hum of Sanctuary outside — the clatter of hammers, the faint laughter of workers, the distant murmur of engines — was muffled here, replaced by the steady rhythm of pen on paper and the occasional rustle of a document being turned over.
Stacks of folders, maps, and requisition slips were scattered across the surface — neatly organized, yet threatening to spill into controlled chaos. Each one bore the crest of the Freemasons Republic: the compass and gear intertwined, symbolizing unity between builders, soldiers, and thinkers. And on almost every page, there was a small box marked Authorization Required.
Sico leaned over the desk, sleeves rolled up, the pen gliding with practiced precision as he signed yet another form. His name — Commander Sico Lee — appeared again and again, each stroke deliberate. Approval for the festival's logistics, clearance for trade caravans entering Sanctuary, funding for market stalls, lighting, security posts, sanitation units, even Magnolia's musical stage equipment. Every piece needed his mark before it could move forward.
He paused briefly, flexing his hand to ease the faint ache in his wrist. There had been a time, not too long ago, when paperwork like this seemed a luxury — when all that mattered were bullets, rations, and the next battle line. Now, this — the ink, the structure, the administration — was the new battlefield. One built not of destruction, but creation.
His gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, the sky had softened to a pale amber hue, dust particles catching in the light like drifting motes of gold. Down below, the heart of Sanctuary was alive with movement. Construction teams were busy setting up wooden frameworks where banners would hang. Sturges' engineering crews were testing the plaza's power conduits, bright arcs of blue occasionally flashing as circuits connected. And through it all, people — settlers, soldiers, merchants — moved with an energy he hadn't seen since the Republic's first day.
A soft chime interrupted his thoughts. His desk terminal flashed a brief notification: INCOMING MESSAGE: OFFICE OF THE TREASURY.
He tapped the screen. Magnolia's voice filled the room, clear and composed, though there was a trace of warmth beneath the professional tone.
"Commander, this is Magnolia. I've finalized the updated budget for Founding Day expenditures. The allocation will hold, provided we keep the hospitality limits under twenty percent of total expenditure. I've already adjusted the festival vendors' credit tokens to reflect that. Sending over the approval forms now — you'll need to sign the authorization for the disbursement before sunset if we want to release payments by tomorrow."
Sico smirked faintly. "Of course she'd make me sign half the Treasury in one afternoon," he muttered under his breath.
Another soft ping. A new stack of digital forms appeared on his screen, neatly categorized and color-coded — the kind of efficiency only Magnolia could manage. He scrolled through them quickly: Stage construction contract. Food vendor approval. Power grid maintenance fees. Musician requisitions. Festival material shipment authorization.
He chuckled quietly as he reached one labeled Founding Day Wine Allocation. Underneath it, in parentheses, Magnolia had typed: (Moderation advised — last thing we need is Hancock setting the plaza on fire again.)
He shook his head, amused, and signed it with a quick flick of his stylus.
The door opened a moment later, and Mel peeked in, carrying a slim datapad and a half-empty mug of coffee that looked as though it had survived several hours of tinkering. His hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a faint streak of soot along his left cheek.
"Commander, got a minute?"
Sico gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. "Always for you, Mel. Sit down. What's the situation?"
He dropped into the seat with a quiet sigh. "Power relays are stable for now, but Sturges found a few voltage inconsistencies in the backup grid lines we installed near the west end of the plaza. Nothing dangerous, but if we want the festival lights to run through the night, we'll need an extra set of fusion cells. I already sent requisition requests to the armory."
Sico reached for a nearby folder. "How many?"
"Six, minimum," Mel said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Eight if you want to play it safe."
"Take eight," Sico said without hesitation. "Tell Robert to approve the pull when he's back from his mission."
Mel nodded, visibly relieved. "Appreciate it. I'll make sure we get everything wired up before the weekend."
As he stood to go, Sico's tone softened. "Mel — good work. I know you've been running yourself thin lately."
He blinked, surprised, then smiled faintly. "Just doing my part, Commander."
He watched him leave, then turned his attention back to the desk. Another file lay waiting — this one marked Public Address Draft. Jenny's name was listed as the preparer. He flipped it open and read the opening lines aloud quietly:
One year ago, the Freemasons Republic rose from the ruins of a world that had forgotten what unity meant. Today, we stand not as survivors, but as builders — of peace, of hope, and of a home that will endure.
Sico's eyes lingered on the words. He could almost hear the crowd in the plaza, the hum of anticipation, the silence just before he'd take the podium. His speeches had always carried weight — not because of grandeur, but because the people knew he meant every word. And this time, it wouldn't be about victory or sacrifice. It would be about belonging.
He signed off the draft with a simple note in the margin: Approved. Schedule final edit with Piper.
Another knock came at the door — sharper this time, more deliberate.
"Come in," he called.
Sarah stepped in, her armor now replaced by the lighter tactical vest she wore when off-duty but still on call. The faint smell of oil and steel clung to her, a sign she'd been in the field not long ago.
"Commander," she greeted, her tone calm but alert. "Just came from the western perimeter. Everything's secure. Patrols have been doubled in the market sectors like you ordered."
"Good," Sico said. "Any trouble?"
"None. A few traders complaining about having to register their caravans twice, but nothing serious." She stepped closer, placing a small stack of printed reports on his desk. "Surveillance sweeps picked up increased movement near the old highway, though. Could be scavengers. Could be Brotherhood stragglers."
Sico's expression tightened slightly. "Keep eyes on it. If they come closer than the checkpoint at Tenpines Bluff, I want immediate notice."
Sarah nodded. "Understood. Preston's team is due back in forty-eight hours; they'll reinforce the area once they return."
Sico leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "How's morale among the troops?"
Sarah smiled faintly. "Honestly? Better than I've seen in a long time. Founding Day's giving them something to look forward to. Even the rookies are volunteering for extra shifts just to keep the city running smooth."
"Good," Sico said quietly. "They've earned it."
Sarah's gaze lingered on him for a moment. "And you, Commander? You've barely left this office all day. When was the last time you actually got some rest?"
He gave a small, humorless smile. "Rest doesn't rebuild a nation, Sarah."
"No," she said, crossing her arms. "But a dead commander doesn't lead one either."
Sico's brows rose slightly — he wasn't used to being scolded, least of all by his field commander. But he knew she wasn't wrong. Still, he smirked. "Noted, Captain. I'll make sure to survive at least until after the festival."
Sarah rolled her eyes but smiled back. "Good enough."
She turned to leave, but before she reached the door, she hesitated. "You know, sir… I think this Founding Day's going to be something special. Not just for the Republic — for you too."
He tilted his head slightly. "Me?"
She nodded. "You've spent a year leading, fighting, fixing… maybe it's time people saw the man behind the title. The one who made this all possible."
Sico's response came softly. "The man behind the title isn't what matters, Sarah. It's the people who carried it with him."
She studied him for a long moment, then gave a short, respectful nod. "Still. I think you deserve to stand in that square and see what you've built. You've earned that much."
Then she was gone — leaving behind the faint sound of her boots fading down the hall.
Sico sat there for a moment longer, staring at the door after her. Then he exhaled, a low, tired sigh that seemed to carry the weight of every brick, every decision, every loss that had built the Freemasons Republic.
He looked down at the last document on the desk. It was a requisition order from the Cultural Division — the final approval for Magnolia's performance. A small note from her was scribbled in the corner in looping handwriting:
"Don't forget to save me a front-row seat for you, Commander. — M."
Sico smiled faintly, signing his name at the bottom.
The light outside had shifted again, deepening into the warm amber of late afternoon. The sound of Sanctuary's life drifted faintly through the open window — laughter, the rhythm of hammers, the call of merchants setting up evening stalls. He set the pen down at last, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
The air outside Sico's office was cooler now, tinged with that gentle hush that always came before dusk in Sanctuary. The long day was slowly yielding to evening — the light dimming to bronze, the voices outside mellowing into a softer hum.
Sico closed the last folder, locked it in the cabinet, and stood. His muscles protested slightly at the stretch — the quiet ache of too many hours spent sitting, signing, and thinking. He glanced once more toward the window. Beyond the headquarters courtyard, he could see the silhouettes of people moving about — traders closing their stalls, guards beginning their evening rotations, a pair of children chasing each other down the stone path that led toward the housing district.
It was moments like this — ordinary, human moments — that reminded him why the Republic existed in the first place.
He grabbed his coat from the rack and slung it over his shoulder before stepping out of the office. The hallways of HQ were quieter now, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns set along the walls. A few passing officers gave quick salutes as he made his way through, though he returned each with a nod rather than ceremony. Leadership had long since taught him that respect wasn't something you commanded by force — it was something you earned by standing beside your people, not above them.
Outside, the air smelled faintly of metal and fresh soil. Work crews were still busy at the plaza, the rhythmic clack-clack of hammers echoing faintly through the square as they erected more stands for the festival. Banners of blue and gold — the Freemasons Republic colors — fluttered from lampposts and rooftops, catching the fading light. It wasn't grand yet, not in the way the old world's celebrations might have been, but it was theirs — hand-built, purposeful, full of meaning.
Sico walked down the path that led through the plaza and out toward the northern residential blocks — a part of Sanctuary that had once been rows of crumbling pre-war houses, now rebuilt with wood and steel frames, painted in simple but warm colors. People had made homes here again. Smoke curled gently from chimneys, the smell of cooked stew drifted through open windows, and laughter — real laughter — carried faintly on the breeze.
He stopped once to speak briefly with a patrol unit, checking on their schedule and ensuring that perimeter coverage was being maintained properly. The guards — young but disciplined — nodded sharply, grateful for his attention. When he finally moved on, the sun had slipped lower, its light brushing the rooftops in gold and rose.
Nora's house wasn't far. It sat near the edge of the settlement, just close enough to overlook the river that wound beyond the walls. Her home always looked lived-in — not just orderly, but alive. The front porch light was on, a soft amber glow casting long shadows across the wooden steps.
He could hear faint sounds inside as he approached — the quiet murmur of voices, the faint clatter of dishes, and the hum of Codsworth's polished mechanical voice.
Sico smiled faintly before knocking.
The door opened after a moment, and Nora appeared, wiping her hands on a towel. She was still in her work clothes — a sleeveless canvas shirt and worn leather trousers smudged with dirt and grease, probably from helping repair something again. Her hair was pulled back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
"Sico," she said, surprised but not unwelcome. "Didn't expect to see you this late. Everything alright?"
He nodded lightly, offering a small, weary smile. "Everything's fine. I was finishing paperwork most of the afternoon. Thought I'd stop by."
Her brow arched slightly, amused. "Paperwork? That's dangerous territory. You sure you don't need a medic for that?"
He chuckled under his breath. "Might, if Magnolia sends me another budget revision."
That earned a laugh from her — the kind that started small but warmed the air between them. "Come on in," she said, stepping aside.
The inside of Nora's house was cozy, simple but full of small personal touches — framed sketches on the walls, a few pre-war trinkets salvaged from her travels, and the faint scent of tea and old wood. Codsworth hovered by the kitchen counter, his optics lighting up as he spotted Sico.
"Ah! Commander Lee, sir! A most pleasant evening to see you again. Might I offer you some tea? Or perhaps a bit of that stew the Madam has prepared?"
"Thank you, Codsworth," Sico said, setting his coat aside. "Tea would be fine."
Nora gestured toward the small living room. "Take a seat. I'll join you in a minute."
He sat on the worn leather couch, his eyes wandering across the room. On a small table by the window sat a half-finished mechanical project — some kind of sensor array, probably something Mel or Sturges had been helping her with. A few feet away, near the stairs, a small toy sat abandoned — one of Shaun's old synth models, the kind Nora had quietly customized to look a little more… human.
When she returned, she carried two cups of tea and a faint smile. "So," she said, setting them down. "What brings the great Commander Lee to my humble home tonight? Don't tell me you came just to talk paperwork."
He shook his head. "No. I came to tell you about the Founding Day celebration."
Her expression softened immediately. "Ah. I've been hearing whispers about that all week. Magnolia, Piper, even Sarah seemed excited. It's really happening, then?"
"It is," he said with quiet conviction. "Everything's approved. We're turning the main square into a festival ground — music, food, lights, the works. Magnolia's performing, and Curie's organizing the medical teams. Even Hancock's getting involved with entertainment planning, though I'll probably regret that part."
Nora laughed, shaking her head. "Sounds like chaos waiting to happen. But… good chaos."
Sico smiled faintly. "That's one way to put it."
She sipped her tea, studying him. "You seem different tonight. Lighter, maybe. Like you actually believe this will work."
He leaned back slightly, fingers wrapped loosely around the warm cup. "Because it will. For once, we're not planning a defense or a mission. We're just… living. Celebrating the fact that we made it this far."
Her eyes softened. "That's a rare thing in our world."
"It is," he agreed quietly. Then, after a pause, his tone shifted slightly — still calm, but more serious. "That's partly why I came, actually. I wanted to make sure you'd be there. The people… they'd want to see you. You've done as much for this Republic as anyone."
Nora tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You make it sound like I did something extraordinary. I just did what needed to be done."
Sico's gaze was steady. "Sometimes, that's what makes it extraordinary."
The quiet lingered for a moment — a comfortable silence filled only by the faint hum of Codsworth in the kitchen. Then Sico set his cup down and added, "There's something else. About the Institute."
Her expression shifted slightly, wary now. "Go on."
"I can't invite them," Sico said. "Not to the Founding Day. Not yet."
Her brows drew together. "Because of the Brotherhood."
He nodded. "Exactly. The war's still fresh, and the Brotherhood has eyes everywhere. If they get even a hint that the Institute's under our control — that it's part of the Republic now — they'll see it as a threat. A reason to attack again."
Nora leaned back, the weight of his words settling in. "You're right. They wouldn't hesitate."
"I know it's not ideal," he continued, his tone soft but firm. "There are good people down there — Evan, Allie, Holdren — they've done their part. But for now, their safety depends on staying unseen. The Founding Day will be broadcast across the Commonwealth. Too many eyes, too many risks."
Nora was quiet for a long moment, staring into her tea. When she finally spoke, her voice was thoughtful, steady. "You're making the right call. They're scientists, not politicians. They'll understand, even if it stings a little."
Sico nodded. "I'll visit them personally after the celebration. Let them know we haven't forgotten them."
Her gaze flicked back to him — something warm and understanding in her eyes. "You carry too much on your shoulders, you know that?"
He smiled faintly. "Comes with the job."
She reached forward and lightly tapped her finger against his cup. "Still, you should let yourself enjoy it too. The festival, I mean. For once, it doesn't have to be about orders or diplomacy. Just… let yourself breathe, Sico."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You sound like Sarah."
"Good," Nora said with a grin. "Maybe one of us will get through that thick armor of yours."
For a while, they just sat there — the two of them, the quiet hum of the house around them, the world outside settling into dusk.
Then Sico glanced toward the window, where the last light of day shimmered over the horizon. "You'll come, then? To the Founding Day?"
Nora's smile softened. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
He rose slowly, setting his cup down. "Good. It wouldn't feel right without you there."
She walked him to the door, the faint warmth of lamplight spilling out onto the porch as he stepped outside. The evening air was cooler now, carrying the distant scent of pine and the soft hum of the city settling down.
________________________________________________
• 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:-