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Sico placed a heavy hand on her shoulder—not pushing, not pulling, just steadying. His gaze stayed locked on the pod, his jaw set in that way that made it impossible to know whether he felt triumph, sorrow, or both.
Sico's hand lingered on Nora's shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding her even as her body trembled against the cold surface of the cryopod. For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the machine and the faint hiss of its cooling systems settling into equilibrium. The frost on the glass had stilled, frozen into a delicate, almost beautiful pattern that looked out of place against the heaviness of what they'd just done.
Sico finally broke the silence. His voice was deep but careful, as though afraid that speaking too loudly might disturb the fragile balance in the room.
"Curie," he said, his eyes not leaving the pod. "How's his condition now?"
Curie blinked, startled by the question, as though she had forgotten for a moment that the cryopod came with its own array of diagnostics. She straightened, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, and moved toward the console. Her hands, though tired, moved with practiced precision across the controls. The monitors flickered to life, streams of numbers, graphs, and soft blips filling the silence with a rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat.
Nora lifted her head, her tear-streaked face turning toward Curie with desperate hope.
The doctor leaned closer to the screen, her brows knitting together as she scrolled through the data. Her lips moved silently as she read—oxygen saturation, blood pressure stabilization, cellular activity levels. Then her eyes widened, and for the first time since the ordeal began, her expression shifted from clinical restraint to something radiant, alive, and almost incredulous.
"Oh, mon dieu…" she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.
Sico's head turned, his gaze sharp. "What is it?"
Curie pressed her hand to her chest, steadying herself before answering. When she finally spoke, her French accent carried a tremor of awe.
"The cancer," she said slowly, savoring the words as though afraid they would vanish if she rushed them. "It has… stopped. Completely. The spread is no more."
The words seemed to hang in the air, suspended in disbelief.
Nora blinked, shaking her head as if she hadn't heard correctly. "What do you mean, stopped? You mean—it's… it's gone?" Her voice cracked between the edges of hope and fear, the kind of fear that comes from having had it ripped away before.
Curie raised her hands gently, as if calming not just Nora but the room itself. "Non, not gone. Not yet. But…" She gestured toward the screen, pointing at the cellular graphs. "The cryogenic induction—it has slowed his biological processes so thoroughly that the malignant cells are frozen in place. They cannot divide, they cannot spread. For the first time, his body is free of the progression."
Her eyes softened as she turned back to Nora. "Your boy… he has been given back time."
Nora staggered a half step, her hand gripping the edge of the pod to steady herself. Relief burst inside her like a flood, mixing with exhaustion and grief until she didn't know whether to sob or laugh. She pressed her forehead harder against the glass, whispering through trembling lips. "Time… God, Shaun, you've got more time…"
Sico let out a long breath, a sound that was more like a growl of relief than anything else. His broad shoulders seemed to sag, as though a weight had lifted from them. For hours, for days even, he had carried the silent burden of what failure would mean—what it would do to Nora, to Sanctuary, to the fragile hope that bound their people together. Now, for the first time, there was light on the other side of it.
He turned to Curie, his voice low but steady. "So he's safe now?"
Curie nodded firmly. "Oui. As safe as he can be. His body is in perfect stasis. No deterioration, no pain. He is… how do you say… held in a moment."
Watson, who had been standing stiff and silent at the edge of the room, finally stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "So you've bought him a reprieve," he said coolly. "Interesting. Though it's hardly a cure."
Nora's head snapped up, her eyes blazing. "Don't you dare diminish this," she spat. "Don't you dare. He's alive. He's safe. That's more than we've had for weeks." Her voice trembled with the kind of ferocity only a mother could summon.
Watson met her glare with detached calm. "I didn't say it was nothing. I said it was not everything. Cryogenic stasis buys time. Nothing more. The question is what you intend to do with that time."
Sico shifted, stepping slightly in front of Nora, his towering frame casting a shadow over Watson. "That's not your concern tonight. Tonight, the boy breathes. And that's victory enough." His tone carried finality, like the closing of a steel door.
For once, Watson didn't argue. He inclined his head ever so slightly, the closest thing he ever gave to concession, and stepped back.
Nora exhaled shakily, her hand still pressed to the pod. Her body trembled, but this time from the release of tension rather than its build. She whispered again, mostly to herself, "He's safe. He's safe…"
Curie, ever the bridge between science and compassion, stepped close to Nora and touched her arm gently. "We cannot yet cure him, but we have taken away the urgency. There is no clock ticking against his life anymore. That is a gift not to be wasted."
Nora turned, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet Curie's. The gratitude there was raw, unvarnished. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Thank you for giving me my son back… even if just for more time."
Curie's eyes shone, and she shook her head softly. "Non, chère amie. It was not only me. It was all of us."
Her gaze flicked briefly to Sico, and for a moment, unspoken understanding passed between them. He had been the anchor, the unyielding force that steadied the storm.
Sturges, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout, finally cleared his throat, his cap tugged low over his eyes. "Well, hell," he said, his voice rough with emotion he tried to mask with humor. "Guess that's the first damn machine in this place that's done somethin' good without blowin' up in our faces."
A soft ripple of laughter spread through the tension, small but genuine. Even Nora let out a watery chuckle, shaking her head.
Sico didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. He turned his gaze back to the pod, his voice steady. "Then it's settled. Shaun's fight isn't over. We've bought him time. Now we use it wisely."
His eyes hardened, not in cruelty, but in resolve. "Because I'll be damned if all we've done tonight is delay the inevitable."
Sico stood with his hand still on Nora's shoulder, feeling the trembling beneath her skin. For a moment longer, he let her have that closeness with the cryopod, the relief of knowing Shaun's fragile body was no longer slipping away by the minute. But as the seconds stretched, the weight of command returned to him like armor settling onto his frame. There was no space for him to falter now, not when so many eyes were on him, not when the next steps mattered just as much as the last.
He drew in a slow breath, then exhaled. His gaze shifted from Nora to the others in the room, finally landing on Watson and Filmore, who lingered a little apart, half-shadows against the cold glow of the monitors. Their postures were tense—Watson's rigid as ever, Filmore's restless hands betraying her irritation with the long silence.
"Watson. Filmore," Sico said at last, his voice firm but not sharp. "You and your teams have seen enough for tonight. Take the Institute scientists back below."
Watson's mouth curved faintly, the closest he ever came to a smile, though it was more a reflection of self-satisfaction than warmth. He gave a slight bow of his head. "As you wish. Though I'll remind you—we are not your foot soldiers. Our presence here is a courtesy, nothing more."
Sico's jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, letting his sheer size and the weight of his gaze do the talking. "And that courtesy is being returned by letting you walk out of here without a scratch, Watson. Don't mistake survival for independence. You'll continue your work—under our terms."
For a fraction of a second, silence hung like a blade between them. Watson's eyes, cold and calculating, flicked toward Nora, still clinging to the pod, before returning to Sico. Then, with that infuriating air of detachment, he simply nodded once. "Very well. We'll return to the Institute."
Filmore, who had been fidgeting with the hem of her lab coat, gave a small huff. "And what exactly are we supposed to tell the others when they ask why we're dragged out here in the middle of the night?"
Sico turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Tell them the truth. You've witnessed a breakthrough. You've seen what cooperation can buy us. If they can't stomach that, they'll have to learn."
Filmore frowned, opening her mouth to argue, but Sico's stare silenced her before she could. Instead, she gave a curt nod, turning on her heel and moving toward the door with quick, sharp steps.
The Institute scientists began to file out, some whispering quietly to each other, their faces pale from exhaustion and awe. Sico tracked them with his eyes until the last white coat disappeared down the hall, leaving only the faint echo of their steps.
When the room settled into quiet again, he turned back to Curie. She still stood by the console, her eyes darting over Shaun's vital signs as though afraid they might vanish if she looked away. Her hand rested against the monitor like it was a tether.
"Curie," Sico said, his voice softer now.
She looked up quickly, almost guiltily, like a student caught daydreaming. "Oui?"
"You've done more tonight than any of us could have hoped," he said. "But this isn't the end. It's the beginning. I want you to start your research immediately—everything you can muster. Use what's in the Institute, use what's in Sanctuary, hell, use whatever resources you need. Shaun doesn't just need stasis. He needs a cure."
Curie's lips parted, and for the briefest moment, a flicker of fear crossed her features. She looked back at the pod, her brow knitting. "A cure…" she echoed softly. Her voice trembled, not from lack of confidence in herself, but from the sheer weight of the task.
Sico stepped closer, his tone unyielding. "You told us we bought time. Now we use it. You're the one who can do this, Curie. I know you can."
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she pressed her palm flat against her chest, just over her heart. "I will not fail him," she whispered. "I swear it."
Sico nodded once, sharply. That was enough for now.
At last, his gaze returned to Nora. She hadn't moved from the pod, her forehead still pressed against the glass, as if by sheer proximity she could shield Shaun from the cold. Her shoulders shook, not with sobs but with the tremors of someone holding back everything inside her.
Sico walked to her, standing so close that his shadow merged with hers on the floor. He lowered his voice, meant for her ears alone.
"Nora," he said, his tone carrying both the gravity of command and the softness of a comrade. "Listen to me."
She turned her head slightly, her eyes swollen and raw from tears, but she didn't speak.
"You can't let them see you like this," he said, his hand brushing gently against her arm. "Not the scientists. Not the settlers. Not anyone. You're one of the pillars holding this place together. If you crumble, the others will too. They need to see strength in you, even when you don't feel it inside."
Her lips trembled, and she shook her head faintly. "He's my son, Sico… I can't just—turn it off. I can't pretend."
"I'm not asking you to pretend," Sico said firmly, though his voice never lost its gentleness. "I'm asking you to control it. Keep it close, keep it here—" he tapped lightly against her chest "—but don't let it spill in front of them. You've carried worse before. You can carry this."
Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes, pressing them tight as fresh tears threatened. For a moment, she looked like she might break anyway. But then, slowly, she straightened her back. Her hand slid from the glass of the cryopod and came to rest at her side. She wiped at her face with her sleeve, not enough to erase the redness, but enough to steel her features into something stronger.
When she opened her eyes again, there was still pain in them, but it was layered beneath something harder, something unyielding.
"I'll do it," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "For Shaun."
Sico gave a single approving nod. "That's what I needed to hear."
Sico didn't linger once Nora steadied herself. He gave her shoulder one last squeeze—firm, grounding, a soldier's promise that even if he wasn't standing right at her side, she wasn't carrying the weight alone. Then he stepped back, letting the silence of the cryo room settle behind him. The hiss of the pod, the soft hum of monitors, Curie's scribbling notes—all of it followed him as he pulled the heavy door shut.
The corridor outside was colder, emptier. His boots struck the polished floor in a rhythm that seemed to echo further than it should, bouncing off the concrete and steel like he was marching through the hollow chest of some great machine. For a long stretch, he said nothing to the guards posted at intervals along the hall; they stiffened when he passed, nodding, but he didn't break stride. His mind was already somewhere else.
The cryopod had been one kind of battlefield—fragile lives, fragile hearts. The science building was another. There, it was about weapons, tools, firepower. There, survival was hammered into steel and wired into circuits. Both mattered. Both were his responsibility.
By the time he pushed through the Institute's reinforced doors and stepped back into the Commonwealth night, he could already feel the shift in his chest. His breath misted in the cool air. Somewhere beyond the walls, a distant gunshot cracked, then another—Brotherhood scouts testing their luck in the dark. The sound was faint, but it sharpened him like a whetstone against the edge of his thoughts.
He crossed Sanctuary's courtyard quickly, the lanterns hung between buildings swaying in the breeze, throwing restless shadows across the ground. Settlers moved about even at this late hour, hauling crates, reinforcing barricades, patching holes in roofs. Some paused to glance at him, murmuring to each other, their voices carrying that low tone of respect mixed with unease. He was a commander, yes—but to many, he was still something more dangerous. A figure they didn't quite know how to place.
He ignored the whispers. His eyes were fixed on the tall outline of the science building at the far end of the compound. Its windows glowed with a pale, steady light—unnatural compared to the flickering oil lamps outside. Inside, he knew, Mel and his team would be bent over blueprints and workbenches, probably arguing over whether a capacitor could handle one more volt before it cooked itself to slag.
By the time he reached the front steps, he could already hear it: the muffled voices, the clang of tools against metal, the whir of some jury-rigged device powering up and then dying with a sharp pop. Sico pushed the door open without knocking.
The smell hit him first—hot iron, oil, the faint tang of burned circuits. The place was alive with motion. Tables were covered with schematics, half-assembled gun barrels, coils of wiring. Sparks jumped as a settler with welding goggles leaned over a frame, the light painting the walls with momentary stars.
And in the middle of it all, pacing with his usual manic energy, was Mel. His sleeves were rolled up, grease streaked across his face, and he had that look of someone who'd had too much coffee and not enough sleep—eyes wide, hands moving almost faster than his words.
"—No, no, if you tighten that coil any further you're going to melt the damn housing! Give it some slack! Christ, how many times do I—" He cut himself off when he noticed Sico standing there. The manic rhythm paused, but only for a beat. Then Mel grinned, sharp and quick. "Well, look who finally decided to check in. You here to chew my ass out, or are you actually interested in seeing genius at work?"
Sico didn't smile, but there was the faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth. He stepped further inside, boots ringing on the concrete floor. "I'm here to see progress. The Brotherhood's birds won't wait for you to perfect your masterpiece."
Mel barked a laugh. "Masterpiece takes time. But progress? Yeah, we've got plenty of that."
He waved Sico over, weaving through the clutter of tools and parts. At the far end of the room, near the biggest workbench, stood the beginnings of something formidable. The prototype.
It wasn't beautiful—not yet. It looked raw, like someone had ripped the guts out of a pre-war weapon and stitched them together with scavenged tech. But even unfinished, it carried a presence. Thick barrels mounted on a swiveling base, cables snaking down into a power unit that hummed with stored energy, and beside it, a half-dozen crates of experimental ammunition.
One of Mel's assistants, a wiry young woman with dark hair tied back, straightened when she saw Sico studying it. She gave a nervous salute—not quite military, more like someone who didn't know what else to do in front of him. "Commander. Uh—we're still working out some, uh… stability issues."
Sico walked closer, his hand brushing lightly over the cold steel of the barrel. "Explain."
Mel was already at his side, brimming with the energy of someone who lived for this. "Stability issues," he repeated, but his tone made it sound like an insult rather than a flaw. "She's strong—too strong, almost. Kicks like a goddamn brahmin when you push her past fifty percent output. The mount we built keeps her steady for short bursts, but long fire? She starts rattling, threatening to tear herself apart."
"So reinforce it," Sico said simply.
Mel rolled his eyes. "Oh, thank you, Commander. Reinforce it. Brilliant idea. Wish I'd thought of that." Then, more serious, he jabbed a finger at the power unit. "Problem is, weight. Every brace we add makes the mount heavier, harder to rotate. You want an AA gun that can track a vertibird mid-dive, not a statue that can only point in one direction. It's a balance problem, and balance is—"
"—the difference between shooting one bird and shooting them all," Sico finished.
Mel paused, then smirked. "Exactly."
The room buzzed again as the assistants returned to work, their voices weaving into the mechanical hum. One of them flipped a switch, and the prototype whined to life, the barrels spinning slowly before shuddering to a stop. Sparks snapped from a loose connection, and the assistant cursed, diving to shut it down.
Sico watched all of it in silence, his arms crossed, his mind turning over the pieces like he was assembling his own invisible blueprint. At last, he spoke.
"You've got the brains," he said, his voice carrying across the room. "What you need now is direction. The Brotherhood isn't going to give you time to experiment forever. So here's what I want."
The team froze, all eyes on him. Mel tilted his head, interested.
"I want a working prototype ready for field testing within the week," Sico continued. "Doesn't have to be perfect. Doesn't have to be pretty. But it has to fire, and it has to kill. The rest—refinements, adjustments, making sure it doesn't rattle itself into scrap—you can work on after we've proven it can do the job."
The assistants exchanged uncertain glances. One of them started to speak, but Mel cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.
"You heard the man," Mel said, grinning with a kind of reckless pride. "Field test in a week. Guess I'll be cutting my beauty sleep down to zero, then."
Sico's gaze stayed locked on him. "Can you do it?"
For once, Mel didn't joke. His grin faded into something steadier, more resolute. "Yeah. We can do it."
Sico nodded. That was all he needed.
But he didn't leave right away. Instead, he stayed, moving among the tables, asking sharp questions that cut through the noise of the work. What power sources were they using? How were they handling overheating? Had they considered field conditions—rain, dust, saboteurs cutting wires? He pointed out weaknesses they hadn't thought of, forced them to explain their solutions, made them defend every choice.
And as he did, something shifted in the room. The scientists stopped seeing him as just the soldier standing over them, the one who barked orders and demanded results. They began to see how his mind worked—disciplined, focused, always circling back to the bigger picture. By the time he finally stepped back, the team's energy wasn't just frantic anymore. It was sharpened. Directed.
Mel clapped his hands together, grease streaking across his palms. "Well then. Looks like we've got ourselves a deadline. Better get to it before Commander here decides to breathe down our necks every night."
Sico gave him a flat look. "I just might."
That earned a round of nervous laughter from the assistants.
Finally, satisfied, Sico turned toward the door. The night outside was waiting, heavy with the weight of wars not yet fought. But as he stepped into the cool air again, he felt something steadier in his chest.
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• 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:-