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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.
The morning had barely shaken off the chill of night when Sico gave the order. The pod hummed faintly in its corner, its glass front beaded with condensation, a coffin of frost waiting to be sealed. But before anyone dared to commit Shaun to its cold embrace, they would test it. No risks. No mistakes. Not when this boy's life hung on the edge of wires, circuits, and faith.
Sturges wiped his hands on his shirt, leaving streaks of grease across the faded fabric. He leaned over the pod's console, his eyes narrowed as he studied the green-lit interface. "Alright, folks," he said, his voice carrying that lazy Southern drawl, but underneath it was a weight of seriousness nobody could miss. "This thing's rigged to run a full cycle test. No occupant. We simulate a freeze-down and thaw, check the temp stabilizers, oxygen cycling, and make sure the juice stays steady the whole way through."
Curie, already perched with her notepad and sensor kit, adjusted her glasses and nodded briskly. "Oui, this is wise. A test with no subject is the only ethical choice. If there are leaks or power spikes, we will know before risking him."
Watson was less emotional, but his eyes gleamed with the kind of clinical curiosity that only an engineer of his caliber could muster. "Cryogenic stasis pods are delicate machines. They were never meant to run for centuries without maintenance. Even with our adjustments, degradation is possible. If it fails during testing, at least we won't have a corpse on our hands."
The word hung heavy in the air—corpse. Nora flinched as though she had been struck, her hand tightening around Shaun's thin wrist. "Don't say that." Her voice cracked, raw. "Not here. Not in front of him."
Watson inclined his head slightly, a rare show of restraint. "Forgive me."
Shaun didn't flinch. His pale eyes flicked from the pod to Sico, his jaw tight. "So I'm the guinea pig. You test the toy first, then you stuff me inside. Great plan."
"Enough," Sico said, his tone low but sharp enough to cut through the tension. He moved closer to the pod, his bulk looming in the dim light. "This isn't about you being a guinea pig. It's about making sure the machine won't kill you in your sleep. You want to live, don't you?"
Shaun didn't answer. He just looked away, lips pressed thin.
"Alright then," Sturges said quickly, breaking the silence. "Let's get this party started." He tapped a series of buttons, his fingers moving with surprising deftness for a man who usually worked with scrap metal and wrenches. The pod let out a low hiss, the glass panel fogging as the internal temperature began to plummet. Frost crept along its edges, a slow white bloom that spread like veins across glass and steel.
The hum deepened, vibrating faintly through the floor. Gauges on the console ticked downward—minus twenty, minus forty, minus sixty degrees Celsius. The pod's systems adjusted with quiet clicks and hisses, valves opening, compressors kicking in. The settlers who had gathered to watch shifted uneasily, their breath misting in the cold air leaking from the machine.
Curie leaned forward, her sensors pressed against the pod's side. "Temperature is stable. Pressure within safe range. The oxygen cycling—" she paused, watching her monitor flicker "—c'est bon. No anomalies so far."
Watson stood at her shoulder, hands clasped behind his back. "Power flow is steady. Capacitors holding. Plasma dampers are regulating the surge exactly as expected. Sturges, I'll admit—your crude wiring hasn't failed yet."
Sturges smirked, though his eyes never left the readings. "Ain't crude if it works, fancy-pants."
Minutes dragged on. The pod settled into its cold slumber, humming softly, the frost thick now, coating its frame like hoarfrost on a tomb. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath, as if a single exhale might shatter the fragile balance inside that machine.
Finally, Curie spoke again. "Initiating thaw cycle." She tapped her monitor, and Sturges echoed her with a press of the pod's console.
The hiss changed pitch, warmer now, as if the pod were breathing out. Frost began to recede, droplets running down the glass like tears. Steam curled from the vents as internal heaters worked to return the chamber to survivable temperatures.
For a long moment, the pod creaked and groaned, metal expanding as it warmed. The gauges trembled, then steadied. Oxygen flow normalized. Power held steady.
And then—with a soft chime—the console blinked green.
"Cycle complete," Sturges announced, exhaling for what felt like the first time in an hour. "She made it. No leaks, no spikes, no burnouts. Hell, I'd say this thing's tighter than a ghoul's backside."
A few settlers chuckled nervously, though Nora didn't. Her eyes were locked on the pod, her face pale, hands trembling slightly where they clutched Shaun's.
Curie stepped back, her relief evident in the small smile tugging at her lips. "It is safe. Functional. At least as safe as any cryogenic can be."
Watson added, "The systems are sound. With the generators in place and the dampers installed, we can maintain stability indefinitely."
Sico had been standing so still it almost seemed like the frost from the pod had spread into him too. His eyes were locked not on the gauges, not on the wires, but on the boy—the fragile shape of Shaun, clinging to the last thin threads of strength that sickness hadn't yet stolen from him.
The machine had passed its test. That much was clear. But machines were predictable in ways flesh and blood never were. That was the part that gnawed at Sico.
He finally broke the silence, his voice low but firm, aimed at Curie though loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Alright, Curie," he said. "We've seen the pod can do its job. But the bigger question is… can he?" His gaze shifted briefly to Shaun, then back to her. "Is his body strong enough for cryo? I need to know if putting him in there buys him time… or if it just kills him faster."
The Frenchwoman's head tilted, her dark eyes thoughtful behind her glasses. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she closed her notepad with a soft snap and crossed the room toward Shaun. Her movements were brisk, but not cold—there was always a strange gentleness about her, the kind that came from being both a scientist and a healer.
"I will have to do a proper check-up first," Curie said softly, kneeling a little so she was at Shaun's level. The boy looked away stubbornly, as if refusing to give her the satisfaction of being studied like some specimen. She didn't let that deter her. "Your pulse, your lungs, the stability of your vitals… these things matter greatly. But—" she drew in a quiet breath, looking back up at Sico, "—based on everything I have already observed, I am almost certain he can withstand the process."
Nora's breath hitched. "Almost certain?"
Curie nodded solemnly. "There is always a risk. But cryogenic sleep is not like radiation therapy or chems. It is a state of preservation. His body will not need to fight, or weaken, or strain. It will simply… rest. And with rest, his condition will not worsen. I can also say with confidence that the cancer will stop spreading the moment Shaun is asleep in the pod. The disease cannot advance when the body is frozen."
The words hung heavy in the air. It was hope, yes—but hope dressed in steel, wrapped in uncertainty.
Shaun shifted uncomfortably on his cot, his thin hands clenching and unclenching. "So I get to be a popsicle," he muttered bitterly. "Great. Put me on ice like some piece of meat in a freezer. I guess that's better than coughing myself to death in front of everyone."
"Shaun…" Nora whispered, pained. She reached for his hand, but he pulled it back, hugging his arms around himself instead.
Sico's jaw tightened. He crouched down so he was eye-level with the boy, his massive frame folding in a way that made him seem almost humanly small for a moment. "Listen," he said, his voice stripped of any commander's bark. "This isn't about giving up. This isn't about locking you away like you're already gone. This is about buying time. Time for Curie, for Watson, for every scientist in this place to find something that works. If you go in there, you're giving us that chance."
Shaun's pale eyes flicked to him, searching. There was anger there, but beneath it something else—fear, maybe, or just the exhaustion of someone too young to carry so much weight. "And what if you don't find anything?" he asked quietly. "What if you all screw up, and I wake up just to die anyway?"
Sico didn't look away. "Then you wake up fighting. Not wasting away in bed. That's the difference."
The old man stared at him for a long moment before finally turning his face away, muttering something under his breath that no one caught.
Curie touched Shaun's shoulder gently. "I will run the tests. It will not take long. After that, we will know for certain."
Watson, who had been standing with arms crossed, finally spoke again. His voice was smooth, detached, but there was a sharp edge of truth in it. "Sico is right about one thing. Cryogenics is not surrender—it is strategy. If we keep him awake, the cancer continues its course. We all know how that ends. If we freeze him, we preserve his options. That is worth more than any medicine we currently have."
"Options," Nora echoed bitterly, turning on him. "He's not some calculation. He's my son."
Watson didn't flinch. "And I am telling you the truth. Sometimes the truth is cruel."
Sico's hand lifted, silencing the brewing argument. He looked down at Shaun again, softer this time. "Let Curie check you, Shaun. One step at a time. That's all I'm asking."
Shaun didn't respond, but he didn't resist either when Curie pulled her stethoscope from her satchel and began her work.
The room fell into a tense kind of quiet, broken only by Curie's calm instructions and the faint scratch of her pen on paper. She listened to Shaun's heart, pressed her fingers against his wrist to count his pulse, checked the faint rise and fall of his chest. Every so often she would hum softly under her breath, as if reassuring herself while she wrote.
Nora sat close, her hand hovering near Shaun's arm but never quite touching—afraid he might pull away again. Sturges busied himself by fiddling with the console, though his eyes kept darting back to the boy. Watson stood like a statue, analytical, watching every move Curie made. And Sico—Sico just stayed rooted, arms folded, eyes hard but steady, like a wall holding up the weight of everyone's doubts.
Finally, Curie straightened. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, looking between them all.
"His lungs are weaker than I like, but stable," she said carefully. "His pulse is irregular, but not dangerously so. His blood pressure is within acceptable range. There is strain, oui, but nothing that would make cryogenic sleep impossible. In truth…" She paused, glancing toward Shaun, who was pretending not to listen. "…in truth, it may even give his body relief from this constant struggle."
Nora let out a shaky breath, her hand finally resting against Shaun's arm. "Relief," she repeated softly, as if tasting the word.
Sico gave a small nod. "That's what we needed to know."
Shaun, however, let out a sharp laugh—bitter and humorless. "Relief, huh? You mean putting me on pause. Like I'm some broken toy you don't know how to fix." He shook his head, glaring at the pod across the room. "What happens when you forget about me? When everyone moves on, and I'm just some frozen freak in the corner?"
"You think anyone here could forget you?" Sico asked, his tone blunt but not unkind. "Look around, Shaun. Half the people in this room haven't slept in days because they're too busy trying to keep you alive. Curie's tearing herself apart over test results. Your mother hasn't left your side in weeks. You're not going to be forgotten. Not while I'm breathing."
The boy blinked, startled by the force of it. He looked away quickly, his throat working as though he wanted to say something but couldn't quite get it out.
Curie touched his hand gently. "This is not punishment, Shaun. It is not exile. It is… protection. Until we can do more."
Watson added, his voice softer now, almost reluctantly so, "She is right. You would not be losing time. You would be holding onto it until we can give you back the rest."
Shaun didn't answer. But he didn't pull his hand away from Curie this time either.
The decision wasn't announced in any formal way—no ceremony, no proclamation—but it settled into the air with the weight of something irreversible. Curie had spoken her last words with the kind of conviction that left little room for doubt, and everyone in the room seemed to understand that the line between debate and action had been crossed.
For a moment, no one moved. The silence stretched, brittle and sharp, as if the walls themselves were waiting to see whether the humans within them had the courage to carry through.
It was Nora who broke it. She leaned closer to Shaun, brushing her fingers lightly across his sweat-dampened hair, her voice trembling but steady enough to be heard.
"Alright, my love," she whispered. "It's time."
Shaun flinched at the words. His arms tightened around himself, and for a second he looked so much younger than he was—more like the child she'd lost once already, back in Vault 111, than the old man his body had betrayed him into becoming.
Sico rose slowly from his crouch, his presence towering again, though the gentleness he had shown lingered in the quiet set of his features. His voice carried the command of a leader but the weight of something deeper—a promise that wasn't military at all.
"Let's move him."
Sturges was already wiping his hands on a rag, nervous energy making his movements jerky. "Yeah… yeah, I'll, uh, get the harness." He ducked over to the side of the room where equipment had been stacked neatly, his shoulders hunched as though trying to disappear into the task.
Curie began preparing the pod itself, her fingers brisk as they danced over the console. Lights flickered, machinery hummed, the faint whir of systems coming to life again after their long test run. Each sound echoed off the walls, magnified by the silence of those watching.
Nora turned back to her son. "Shaun… look at me."
He did, reluctantly, his eyes searching hers with a mix of fear and defiance.
"You're not being left behind," she said, her hand pressing firmly against his thin arm. "Do you hear me? This is not the end. It's a pause. And when you wake up, I will be there. I will always be there." Her voice cracked on the last words, but she didn't look away.
Something softened in Shaun's expression, if only for a heartbeat. He gave the barest nod, as though granting her this one concession—not because he believed, but because she needed him to.
By then Sturges had returned with the harness, a padded frame designed to support someone too weak to walk on their own. He hesitated before speaking. "We're gonna have to lift him gentle. Pod's not too far, but it'll take all of us steadyin'."
Sico gave a short nod. "I'll take most of the weight."
Between the three of them—Sico, Sturges, and Nora—they guided Shaun carefully from the cot. The boy resisted at first, muttering curses under his breath, but his body betrayed him with its frailty. His legs trembled, his breath hitched, and soon enough he was leaning into Sico's steady arm.
Curie kept pace beside them, one hand hovering near Shaun's wrist to keep track of his pulse, the other ready with her notepad. She was silent, but the intensity in her dark eyes spoke volumes.
Watson watched from a few feet away, his arms crossed, his posture rigid. There was no triumph in him, no satisfaction at being proven right—only the cool detachment of someone cataloging history in the making. But if one looked closely, perhaps there was something else too. A flicker of respect, or even awe, at the sheer stubbornness of human love.
The walk across the room felt longer than it was, each step measured, deliberate. The pod loomed ahead like a coffin made of steel and glass—terrifying in its finality, yet strangely hopeful too. It wasn't a grave. Not yet. It was a bridge.
When they reached it, Sico shifted Shaun carefully, lowering him onto the waiting support. The boy winced, his breath catching, but he didn't protest aloud this time. His eyes darted to the open chamber, then to the faces around him, as though memorizing them before he disappeared behind frost.
Nora leaned in close, kissing his forehead. Her lips lingered, her tears dampening his skin. "You're brave," she whispered. "Braver than anyone I've ever known."
Shaun gave a weak, half-hearted snort. "Yeah. Real brave. Lying down and letting a machine do the work." But his fingers curled into hers for a moment, betraying the truth behind his sarcasm.
Curie adjusted the sensors at his temples, her voice calm, soothing. "You will not feel pain. Only sleep. A deep, gentle sleep." She checked the monitors again, every motion precise, methodical, almost ritualistic.
Watson finally stepped forward, his voice level. "Once he's under, the system will regulate everything—oxygen levels, circulation, temperature. We will monitor him constantly. If there's any sign of failure, the pod will alert us immediately."
Nora shot him a glare, but it wasn't full of the venom from before. She needed the reassurance, even if it came in his detached, clinical phrasing.
Sico stood close, arms folded, a sentinel in human form. His voice, when he spoke, was low but steady. "It's time."
Curie placed her hand lightly on Shaun's chest. "Breathe easy, mon petit. You will not be alone."
The boy's pale eyes flicked to her, then to his mother, then finally to Sico. He said nothing, but the silence itself was an answer—a fragile surrender, born not of trust but of exhaustion.
Curie gave the signal.
Together, Sico and Sturges guided him the last few inches into the pod. The chamber hissed as the seals engaged, the glass canopy arching down over Shaun's frail frame. He looked so small inside it, swallowed by wires and monitors, his body dwarfed by the machinery that promised to keep it alive.
Nora pressed her hands to the glass, her breath fogging the surface. "I'm right here," she whispered, her voice muffled. "I'll be right here when you wake up."
Curie's fingers moved across the console, her voice clinical now, the healer receding into the scientist. "Vitals stable. Temperature control active. Initiating cryogenic induction sequence."
The pod's hum deepened, the lights along its side shifting from amber to a cold, sterile blue. Frost began to bloom across the edges of the glass, spreading in delicate, crystalline patterns that caught the room's light like frozen lace.
Shaun's eyes fluttered once, heavy with the sedative gas now filling the chamber. He mouthed something—too faint to hear, maybe too faint even to finish. Nora leaned closer, her tears blurring the frost, trying desperately to read the shape of the words.
Then his eyes closed. His chest rose, fell, slowed.
The frost thickened, sealing him from view until only the vaguest outline of his face remained.
The pod gave a final hiss, then fell silent except for the soft hum of its systems. The status light glowed steady blue.
Curie exhaled, her shoulders slumping for the first time in hours. "Cryogenic suspension achieved. Patient is stable."
The words were clinical, but her voice trembled with the weight of what they meant.
Nora's hands remained pressed to the glass, her forehead leaning against it now, her body shaking with silent sobs. She didn't look away, as though afraid that if she blinked, Shaun would disappear altogether.
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.
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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:-