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Sico stepped forward, his eyes hard. "This isn't up for debate. We're doing it. You can either help us, or you can stay the hell out of the way." That will shut them up. For a moment, anyway.
The Directorate chamber still hummed with the bitter aftertaste of argument long after Sico and Nora left. Their footsteps echoed through the white halls of the Institute, neither of them speaking. Nora's chest rose and fell like she'd just run a mile, the adrenaline and fire of her confrontation with the Directorate refusing to cool.
Sico walked beside her, jaw tight, eyes forward. He hadn't needed to shout. He rarely did. His voice had been enough—a blunt weapon against the sharp skepticism of Allie, the indifference of Ayo, and the cold pragmatism of Watson. The words still replayed in Nora's head: This isn't up for debate. We're doing it.
For once, she believed him.
When they emerged into the fading light of the surface, it was like stepping out of another world. The air smelled faintly of pine and smoke, the setting sun staining the edges of the clouds in bloody orange. Sanctuary wasn't far—just a few hours' travel if you kept your pace steady and your eyes sharp.
By the time they crested the ridge overlooking the old neighborhood, lanterns were already glowing in the windows of the scattered houses. Smoke curled from chimneys. The sound of hammering carried on the evening air, followed by laughter. It was a settlement alive, surviving—and, in its own stubborn way, thriving.
Nora's throat tightened at the sight. This, more than anything, was why she couldn't lose Shaun. Not to time. Not to sickness. He deserved to see this world, broken as it was, trying to piece itself together.
Sico led the way straight to the workshop near the edge of town, where the hum of machinery and the smell of hot metal lingered even at night. Sturges was still there, perched on a stool with a lantern propped above him, scribbling notes onto a pad already smudged with grease. A couple of younger settlers—kids who'd grown into apprentices under his guidance—sorted tools nearby, their chatter easy and familiar.
"Sturges," Sico called, his voice carrying over the noise.
The mechanic looked up, pencil clamped between his teeth, and raised his brows. "Back so soon? Thought y'all would be stuck in some Institute meeting till mornin'." He set the pad aside and pulled the pencil free. "How'd it go?"
"They'll help," Nora said quickly, almost before Sico could speak. Her voice was still taut, still riding on the edge of fire. "Some of them, at least."
Sico grunted. "Enough."
"Good enough for me," Sturges replied, though the way his eyes narrowed showed he caught more weight in Sico's words than Nora wanted to dwell on. He clapped his hands together, smearing more grease onto his palms. "So, what's next?"
Sico didn't waste time. "Vault 111. We need a pod. Intact as possible. And every system that'll keep it running—wiring, pumps, seals, the works. Bring it here."
Sturges whistled low, leaning back on his stool. "Hell, you don't ask for small favors, do ya?"
"No time for small favors," Sico said. "The kid doesn't have it."
The bluntness of the words silenced the workshop for a moment. Even the apprentices looked up, their eyes flicking between Sico and Nora with something like unease.
Nora swallowed, forcing her voice steady. "Can it be done?"
Sturges rubbed the back of his neck, smearing another streak of grease across his skin. "Well, lemme think. Pods weren't exactly made to be portable. Gonna need a crew, probably a cart or two we can reinforce. And the roads between here an' that Vault? They're not a Sunday stroll, lemme tell you. But…" His mouth twisted, half a grin, half a grimace. "Yeah. We can do it. We can haul one out, patch her up, and get her hummin' again."
"Not patched," Sico cut in. His eyes were like steel in the lantern light. "Perfect. Shaun won't survive anything less."
Sturges' grin faded, but he nodded. "Perfect, huh? Damn. You really know how to set the bar." He turned toward the two younger men in the workshop. "Randy, Mike—you hear all that? Start sortin' what we'll need. Ropes, winches, braces, carts. This ain't gonna be a two-man job."
The boys scrambled, already whispering to each other as they dug through supply crates.
Sturges turned back to Sico and Nora. "When d'you want us headin' out?"
"Tomorrow," Sico said flatly.
Sturges' brows shot up. "Tomorrow? You don't wanna give us time to prep proper?"
"Every day we wait is another Shaun doesn't get," Nora answered before Sico could. Her voice shook, but her eyes were firm. "Tomorrow."
Sturges studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. Tomorrow it is." He stood, stretching until his back popped, then pointed his grease-streaked finger at them. "But don't say I didn't warn you when this turns into a full-day nightmare. Haulin' a cryo pod outta that tomb ain't gonna be a picnic."
"We'll be there," Sico said. "Both of us."
"Good." Sturges wiped his hands on a rag, then tossed it onto the bench. "Then we've got a chance."
The next morning broke gray and heavy, clouds hanging low as though the world itself understood the weight of the day.
Nora didn't sleep much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Shaun's face—sometimes pale and frail on the cot, sometimes frostbitten behind a veil of cryo-glass. She rose before dawn, her hands restless, her stomach too knotted to eat.
When she stepped outside, the air bit cold against her cheeks. Already, Sturges and his crew were gathering near the workshop, a cart reinforced with scrap metal hitched to a pair of brahmin. Ropes coiled in neat bundles. Winches gleamed faintly in the lantern light.
Sico was already there, his presence as solid as the cart itself. He was checking the straps on one of the brahmin, his broad hands moving with calm efficiency. He glanced up when Nora approached, his eyes narrowing briefly before softening.
"You ready?" he asked.
"No," she admitted honestly. "But I don't think I ever will be."
"Good enough," he said, and there was something almost kind in the bluntness.
The journey back to Vault 111 felt different this time. The first time Nora had walked those cracked roads, her mind had been drowning in grief and disbelief, the image of her husband's death and her stolen son carved into her. Now, she walked them with purpose—a heavy, desperate purpose, but purpose all the same.
The group moved cautiously, eyes scanning for raiders or ferals, but the wasteland seemed to give them passage. By the time the steel vault door loomed in front of them, its massive cog shape rusted and pitted by decades, Nora's heart was a storm in her chest.
Inside, the air was stale, carrying that strange metallic tang of old Vault machinery. The sound of their boots echoed sharply in the silence.
The cryo pods lay where they always had, like coffins lined in neat rows. Most were gone, stripped bare for parts months ago. But a handful remained, their surfaces frosted, their glass fogged.
Nora froze when she saw them. Memories surged—the scream in her throat when she'd watched Shaun ripped from her arms, the helpless pounding against the glass as Kellogg dragged him away, the endless, silent years entombed in ice.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Sico's hand caught her elbow, steadying her. His voice was low, firm. "Eyes forward. We're not here for ghosts."
She nodded shakily, forcing herself to move.
Sturges let out a low whistle as he crouched by the nearest pod. "Well, I'll be damned. These old girls are beat to hell, but… one or two might still got some life left." He slapped the side of the pod, earning a metallic clang. "We'll take this one. Less damage on the seals."
The work began. Ropes looped around the pod, winches creaked, brahmin groaned as the settlers strained to haul the heavy machine free of its long tomb. The sound of metal scraping against concrete echoed through the vault like screams.
Nora stayed close, watching every step as though her gaze alone could keep the pod safe. Sico worked alongside the others, his strength making him as vital as any of the younger men.
When at last the pod was lifted onto the cart, secured with straps and braces, Sturges wiped sweat from his brow and let out a satisfied grunt. "There. One cryo pod, ready for transport. Now let's just pray it don't fall apart on the road."
Nora's hand brushed the side of the pod, her fingers trembling. She whispered so softly no one else could hear: "Hold on, Shaun. We're coming."
By nightfall, the pod sat in Sanctuary once more—not in the workshop, but in the dim confines of the cell where Shaun lay. The room was crowded now with equipment, wires snaking across the floor, tools scattered across tables. The air smelled of oil, metal, and the faint bite of ozone.
Shaun watched it all with wide, guarded eyes. He was propped against the cot, his thin hands resting in his lap.
"That's it, huh?" he said hoarsely, his gaze fixed on the pod. "That's my future?"
Nora knelt beside him, her hand finding his. "That's your chance," she whispered.
Shaun didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on the pod, the reflection of its frosted glass gleaming in his pupils.
Sico's voice cut through the heavy silence. "Sturges. Get it running. We don't have time to waste."
"Aye, boss," Sturges replied, already moving to unpack his tools. His crew followed, the air filling quickly with the clang of wrenches, the hiss of welding torches, the hum of circuits being tested and reconnected.
The clang of Sturges' wrench echoed sharp against the vault-steel pod. Sparks hissed from a welding torch where Mike knelt, patching a fractured seam. The air in Shaun's cell was thick with heat, oil, and the crackle of tools biting into old circuitry.
Shaun sat propped against his cot, pale eyes tracking every motion, every movement of the machine that would soon swallow him whole. His fingers fidgeted restlessly in his lap. Curie remained close, her calm presence an anchor, though even she looked uneasy whenever her gaze flicked to the frosted glass.
Nora stood at the foot of the pod, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Every clang, every hiss, made her flinch like she expected the entire contraption to fall apart. Sico leaned against the wall near the door, his stance deceptively relaxed, but his eyes never left the pod—or Sturges.
"Alright, boys," Sturges muttered around the stub of his pencil, "keep those couplers steady. If this line ain't flush, we'll be lookin' at a coolant leak big enough to ice a brahmin solid." He adjusted his grip, wiped grease across his forehead with the back of his hand, and reached deeper into the open panel of wiring. "Damn, these things weren't ever meant to leave the Vault. Feels like I'm tryin' to rebuild a houseboat in the middle of a desert."
Nora's breath hitched when the pod groaned as they shifted it onto sturdier supports.
"Easy," she whispered.
Sturges gave her a quick grin, half-assured, half-exhausted. "Don't you worry, ma'am. I've pulled worse outta scrap heaps. Just need a bit more time."
But the words hadn't even settled before the air inside the cell rippled—first a faint shimmer, then a piercing flash of pale blue. A low hum filled the room, familiar, alien, and altogether wrong in this small concrete chamber.
Nora gasped and stumbled back as five figures in white coats materialized in a burst of light.
Institute teleportation.
The smell of ozone deepened. The glow faded, leaving Evan Watson, Allie Filmore, and five of the Institute's scientists standing among them, immaculate as if they hadn't just torn a hole through space to arrive.
Watson adjusted his cuffs like nothing at all had happened. His pale eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly on Shaun before settling on the pod. "Well," he said smoothly, "you've certainly made progress."
Allie's lips were pressed tight, her eyes flashing sharply over Sturges and his crew as though the very sight of them near Institute technology offended her. "Progress?" she snapped. "This is a disaster waiting to happen. That pod is decades old—barely stable in its original housing. And you've dragged it into this—this cell?" She looked around at the dingy cinderblock walls, the scattered tools, the floor still stained from years of filth. "You'll kill him before he ever touches the inside."
The settlers froze mid-task. Randy nearly dropped a wrench, staring wide-eyed at the strangers. Mike whispered something sharp under his breath, gripping his torch tighter.
Sturges straightened slowly, sliding the pencil from his mouth, his voice even. "Now hold on, lady. This here's the only chance that boy's got. You think we hauled this damn coffin all the way from Vault 111 for fun?"
Watson raised a hand, his expression calm, detached. "Enough. Allie, spare us the dramatics. You knew this was the plan."
"I didn't agree to—"
"Doesn't matter," Sico cut in. His voice was cold steel, dropping heavy into the room. He pushed off the wall, standing tall, his shadow long against the glow of the pod's half-lit panels. His eyes locked on the scientists, his tone brooking no argument. "You're here because I told you to be here. That pod won't work without its operating system fixed, and none of Sturges' grease-monkeys know the Vault Tech's code."
The settlers bristled at the insult, but Sico didn't glance their way. His gaze never left the scientists. "So you'll fix it. You'll make it run smooth enough to keep Shaun alive. Or I swear on every inch of this godforsaken wasteland, I'll tear your shiny labs apart until you've got nothing left to hide behind."
The silence after his words was suffocating. Even Shaun, who had barely spoken since the pod arrived, lifted his head to look at Sico with something close to shock.
Watson tilted his head, studying Sico as though he were an intriguing experiment rather than a threat. Finally, he chuckled softly. "Always so dramatic. But…" His gaze drifted toward Shaun. "He is, after all, our greatest legacy. I suppose ensuring his survival has merit."
Allie's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
The five scientists exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, stepped forward hesitantly. "We'll need access to the control relays. The refrigeration lines must be recalibrated before—"
"Then do it," Sico snapped.
The scientists hurried forward, setting down their packs, unpacking gleaming tools that looked alien beside Sturges' patched-together kit. Thin laptops unfolded, lights flickered across sleek handheld scanners, and soon the pod was surrounded by two worlds colliding—settlers with grease-blackened fingers and engineers with pristine gloves tapping across glass screens.
Sturges muttered, shaking his head as he watched one of them rewire a control board. "Show-offs," he grumbled, then leaned toward Nora with a conspiratorial grin. "Betcha ten caps my weld holds longer than their fancy plasma seal."
Nora gave a weak smile, though her chest was tight with nerves. She glanced at Shaun, who was still staring at the pod. His lips moved faintly, as though he was talking to himself.
Curie leaned down, her voice gentle. "Do not be afraid, mon ami. This is not an ending. It is… how you say… a pause. A chance to wait for tomorrow."
Shaun's mouth twisted into a bitter half-smile. "Yeah. Tomorrow." His eyes flicked to the scientists hunched over the pod, their quiet, clinical voices speaking of relays and protocols. He shook his head. "Feels more like a coffin dressed up with wires."
Nora squeezed his hand. "It's not. I won't let it be."
Hours bled away in the cramped room. Sparks flew, panels clicked open and shut, the air thick with smoke, ozone, and the quiet tension of two worlds forced to work side by side.
Every so often, Watson circled the pod like a man surveying a piece of art, his hands folded neatly behind his back. Allie snapped at both settlers and scientists alike, her voice sharp as she demanded recalibrations, corrections, perfection. Sturges gave as good as he got, snapping right back with that easy wastelander sarcasm that only made her grind her teeth harder.
Through it all, Sico remained a silent sentinel, his arms crossed, his eyes burning holes into anyone who lingered too long on excuses instead of results.
At last, well past midnight, the pod exhaled a hiss of cold vapor. Its systems flickered alive in a wash of pale blue light.
The room fell quiet.
One of the scientists tapped his screen, checking numbers that only he could read. "Cryogenic cycle is… stable. Operating system recompiled. Refrigeration lines holding steady." He looked up, hesitant, but the words carried relief. "It will function."
For the first time in hours, Nora allowed herself to breathe.
Sico stepped closer, his gaze hard on the man. "Function isn't enough. Will it keep him alive?"
The scientist swallowed. "Yes. As long as the power source is stable and the systems are maintained."
The hum of the cryo-pod lingered like a held breath. The frost along its edges shimmered faintly in the dim light, refracting a ghostly blue across the damp cinderblock walls. No one in the room moved for a moment—not Sturges with his grease-smeared hands, not the Institute scientists hunched over their sleek instruments, not Nora gripping Shaun's trembling hand as if her touch alone could tether him to the living.
Sico was the first to break the silence. He stepped closer, boots heavy on the cracked concrete, his frame casting long shadows that bent across the pod. His eyes, sharp and relentless, locked on the thin scientist who had dared to answer him.
"Alive," Sico repeated, his voice deep enough to thrum in the chest. "That's the only word I care about." He paused, letting the words sink like a blade into the man's throat. Then his attention shifted, not back to the scientists, not yet, but toward Sturges.
"Three generators," he said suddenly. His tone was not a suggestion. "Medium frames. I want them outside this prison by dawn."
Sturges blinked, wiping sweat and grime from his brow with the back of his arm. "Three? That's a hell of a lot of juice, boss. What're we talkin'—four, five thousand kilowatts steady?"
Sico's eyes narrowed. "Whatever it takes to make sure that pod never goes dark. I don't want this thing running on scraps from a half-rotted prison line. You'll build them, you'll wire them, and then you'll tie them directly into this place's main power grid. The pod takes priority."
A mutter rippled among the settlers. Randy looked at Mike, and Mike muttered, "Outside the prison?"
Sico turned his head just enough for his gaze to pin them like nails. "You'll build them outside the walls, yes. Then we'll fortify them. Turrets. Patrols. I'll station a squad from the Brotherhood front to watch the lines if I have to."
Nora's head snapped toward him at that. "The Brotherhood? You'd bring them here?" Her voice was sharp, edged with panic, but Sico only raised a hand, steady, as though to calm her.
"No," he said firmly. "Not them. My people. The Freemasons. You have my word, Nora—the Brotherhood will never set foot near Shaun."
Her shoulders eased, though only slightly. She was pale in the harsh glow of the pod, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but she didn't let go of Shaun's hand. Not for a second.
Sturges let out a low whistle and crouched to his toolbox, rifling through parts and old schematics that had been rolled up and stuffed into metal tubes. "Alright, alright. Medium gens, we can swing that. Got some old coils and copper spools sittin' in Sanctuary's depot. I'll need a haul team bringin' in ceramic insulators and a few dozen steel plates, though. This place—" he rapped the wall with his knuckles "—don't got squat left worth usin'."
"We'll get it," Sico said flatly. He gestured at Randy and Mike. "Put together a salvage crew. At first light, you head for the Concord scrapyard. Hit the old transmission towers, strip every inch of copper you can find. If you see a Deathclaw, you don't fight—you run. Clear?"
The men nodded reluctantly.
Curie's voice broke into the tension, soft and careful but firm. "Monsieur Sico… these generators, they will indeed give stability, but such power lines—they are dangerous. If there is a surge, it could… how do you say… fry him, no?"
Her hand hovered near Shaun's shoulder, protective, though she still kept her respectful distance.
Watson, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "She's correct. Excess power could destabilize the pod. It will need regulation, rerouted through safety capacitors." He glanced at Sturges, the faintest curl of a smile touching his lips. "Do you know what a plasma damper is, wastelander?"
Sturges squinted at him. "I know a plasma torch'll cut through your damn lab doors if I put enough juice in it. Same idea?"
Watson chuckled under his breath, though Allie shot him a sharp glare. "You'll need them. I'll see to it that you're supplied with at least two."
Sico's voice cut through their exchange. "Then get them. Tonight."
Watson inclined his head, calm as ever. "Of course."
The settlers moved slowly back into motion, though the weight in the air was heavier now, as though the pod itself had become a kind of altar that no one dared to turn their back on.
Shaun, who had been silent through most of it, finally spoke, his voice thin, brittle. "So… that's it? I get shoved in the icebox while you all play with wires and guns?"
Nora squeezed his hand harder, leaning in. "It's not like that. This is so you'll live. You'll wake up when the world's better, when it's safe. I promise."
Shaun's pale eyes flicked from her to Sico, then to the scientists still fussing with scanners. His lip curled faintly. "Safe. You really think anything's safe out there? Raiders, mutants, synths, Brotherhood, your Freemason army. Safe's just a word."
Sico stepped closer, kneeling slightly so his massive frame wasn't towering over the boy. His voice, though steady, lost some of its harsh edge. "It's not just a word. It's what we're fighting for. You've got more enemies than anyone in this room. That's the truth. But you've also got more people willing to bleed for you than you'll ever understand. Don't spit on that."
Shaun looked away, jaw tight.
Hours passed. The scientists didn't leave. Watson insisted they monitor the pod's systems through its first cycles, and Sturges, grumbling but focused, began sketching the generator designs on a slab of salvaged steel with chalk.
The clang of tools echoed again, this time deeper in the prison halls where crews began clearing a path for the power lines. The steady rhythm of work was broken only by the occasional bark of orders from Sico or the sharp reprimands from Allie, whose disdain for the settlers hadn't softened an inch.
By dawn, the world outside was bleeding pale orange light through the cracks in the prison walls. The night's sweat and smoke clung to everyone's clothes, their faces smeared with fatigue.
Sico finally stood, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. He turned to Sturges, who was hunched over a chalk-smeared steel slab, scratching out the last line of a diagram.
"You'll start as soon as the salvage team's back," Sico said.
Sturges nodded, yawning wide enough to crack his jaw. "Yeah, boss. Three medium gens, triple-insulated lines, junction box tied straight into the prison mains. Hell, I'll even paint 'em pretty if you want."
Sico didn't smile. He only put a hand on the man's shoulder, heavy, grounding. "No pretty. Just strong. No one touches that pod's power. Ever."
Outside, the day began with the rumble of settlers hauling scrap, with the sparks of cutting torches, with the endless clang of steel meeting steel. The prison yard, once silent except for the wind through broken fences, now rang with industry.
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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:-