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But as the wind shifted and the faint rumble of thunder rolled across the horizon, Sico couldn't shake the feeling that the storm they were building might be one they couldn't fully control. Still, he turned back toward the heart of Sanctuary, the weight of command settling on his shoulders like an old, familiar coat.
The morning came in slow, muted shades of gray and gold. A fine drizzle misted across the streets of Sanctuary, soft enough that it clung to the air like breath. The kind of weather that blurred edges — rooftops softened into silhouettes, the hum of generators dulling beneath the sound of rain tapping metal.
Sico walked with his hands deep in his coat pockets, the smell of damp earth rising from the ground. His boots left shallow prints on the gravel road as he made his way toward the science building — a long, two-story structure repurposed from an old warehouse at the southern edge of the compound.
The Republic had been awake for hours. Patrols rotated out from the night shifts, factory workers gathered around the mess for breakfast, and the steady pulse of machinery carried through the fog. Everything moved with quiet rhythm, like an orchestra tuning before a long performance.
But beneath that calm, Sico could feel it — the tension in the air. The sense that the storm they'd been preparing for was inching closer with every passing hour.
He reached the science building's entrance and paused for a moment beneath the awning, brushing the drizzle from his coat. The smell inside hit him instantly — oil, ozone, and something faintly metallic. It was a smell he'd come to associate with Mel's domain — the scent of invention, of burning circuits and impossible ideas.
He stepped through the main corridor, past rooms filled with machinery and half-finished projects. A few scientists nodded as he passed, murmuring respectful "Good mornings," though their eyes stayed focused on their work. Sico returned their nods, his pace steady until he reached the far end of the hall — the reinforced door marked Research Lab 03-B: Mel.
He didn't bother knocking.
The door hissed open, and the room beyond came alive with movement — sparks flickering from a welding torch, the faint whine of capacitors charging, and the low hum of fusion cells feeding power into some unknown device.
Mel was at his table, goggles down, a soldering iron in one hand and a half-dismantled rifle receiver in the other. His workbench was a chaos of tools, wires, and half-empty mugs of coffee — the kind of ordered madness that only a genius could navigate.
Sico took in the sight with a faint smirk. "You ever sleep, Mel?"
The man didn't look up at first — just gave a grunt, finishing the line of solder before setting the iron down with care. When he did lift his head, his face broke into a grin beneath a streak of engine grease. "Sleep's for people who don't have deadlines," he said. "Or for people who don't have any fun."
Sico stepped closer, glancing over the scattered blueprints and prototype parts. "You call this fun?"
"Compared to running patrols in the rain?" Mel said, chuckling. "Absolutely."
He wiped his hands with a rag and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. "So, Commander — what brings you to my humble corner of madness today? Don't tell me something exploded again."
Sico leaned against the edge of the worktable. "Not yet. I came to ask if you've got anything new — anything that might give us an edge when the Brotherhood finally moves."
That got Mel's attention. His eyes sharpened behind the smudged lenses of his goggles, a flicker of excitement lighting up his expression. "Funny you should ask," he said. "I've been working on something."
He turned toward the far side of the table, where a stack of rolled blueprints lay beneath a set of calibration tools. With a flick of his wrist, he cleared the space and unrolled one of the sheets.
Sico's gaze followed the motion as the design spread open across the table — lines of intricate machinery, annotated parts lists, energy flow diagrams, and firing models. At the top, written in bold mechanical script:
Kinetic Rail Assault Rifle — KR-57 "Breaker."
Mel tapped the blueprint with a finger, his grin widening. "Meet the Breaker."
Sico raised an eyebrow. "That name doesn't sound subtle."
"It's not meant to be," Mel replied. "This thing isn't about finesse. It's about making power armor cry for mercy."
He gestured toward the diagram, tracing the weapon's length with his finger. "It's a hybrid system — part Gauss rifle, part railgun. Fires tungsten slugs about this big." He held up his thumb and forefinger, leaving barely a centimeter of space between them. "Doesn't sound like much, right? But these slugs move at hypersonic speeds — we're talking Mach 6 to Mach 7 in atmospheric conditions."
Sico leaned in slightly, scanning the notes written in Mel's uneven handwriting. "You're using charged magnetic rails?"
"Exactly," Mel said. "Twin superconductor rails powered by compact fusion cells. Each shot builds a magnetic field that accelerates the slug so fast it creates a sonic crack when it leaves the barrel. Sounds like thunder every time it fires."
"Effective range?" Sico asked.
"Medium to long. Optimal at about five hundred meters," Mel said, his voice taking on that familiar rhythm of an engineer lost in his creation. "But here's the fun part — it can penetrate T-60 armor plating. Even with reactive mods."
Sico's eyes narrowed, impressed despite himself. "You're saying this thing could take down a Brotherhood knight in full power armor?"
"Not just take down — obliterate," Mel said, grinning like a kid showing off a new toy. "One hit, center mass, and you'll see the shockwave rip through the inner frame. Even if it doesn't kill the pilot outright, it'll knock them cold and short-circuit the armor's servos."
Sico let out a low whistle. "That's… more than impressive, Mel. That's a game changer."
Mel shrugged modestly, though the spark in his eyes betrayed the pride swelling in him. "Still just a prototype on paper. I've got some working models in testing — mostly cobbled together from old Gauss parts and scavenged Institute capacitors. But it's stable enough to build if we get the materials."
"What do you need?" Sico asked immediately.
Mel flipped through the back of the blueprint stack, pulling out a materials list. "Refined tungsten, superconducting coils, high-density insulators, and micro fusion cells — the small kind, not the industrial ones. Oh, and graphite composites for the barrel housing. The heat this thing puts out could melt a lesser weapon."
Sico studied the list. "We can get most of that from Hancock's next run. He's moving through the airport ruins anyway — plenty of scrap tungsten there."
"Good," Mel said. "Because once I've got the materials, I can have the first working prototype ready in about a week."
Sico looked up at him. "A week?"
Mel grinned. "Hey, I'm motivated. The Brotherhood's got their fancy toys, right? Vertibirds, laser cannons, Liberty Prime. I figure it's about time the Republic had something that made them nervous."
There was pride in his voice, but there was also something deeper — the echo of purpose that had come to define everyone in Sanctuary. The desire not just to survive, but to stand tall against the giants that sought to crush them.
Sico ran a hand along the blueprint again, tracing the outline of the weapon. The lines were sharp, brutal, purposeful — a weapon born not from greed or conquest, but necessity.
"'Breaker,'" he murmured. "Fitting name."
Mel chuckled. "Yeah. I wanted to call it the Anvil Crusher first, but that sounded too much like something the Brotherhood would name. 'Breaker' has a cleaner ring to it. Simple. Efficient."
Sico smiled faintly. "Just like your work."
Mel gave a short, mock salute with his rag. "Coming from you, Commander, I'll take that as a medal."
Sico looked up from the table. "When this thing's ready… I want it tested against real armor. I'll have Sarah arrange a T-60 frame from our captured stock."
"Already thought of that," Mel said. "I've got a half-damaged chestplate in the storage bay. If it can punch through that, we'll know we're on the right track."
Sico nodded, silent for a moment. Then his voice dropped, more thoughtful. "You realize what this means, right? If we can mass-produce this, the Brotherhood loses their greatest advantage. Power armor stops being a symbol of fear — it becomes a coffin."
Mel's grin faded into something more measured. "Yeah. I know. I've been thinking about that too."
Sico tilted his head slightly. "You don't sound as excited about that as I expected."
Mel sighed, leaning back against his stool. "Don't get me wrong — I want them gone as much as you do. But there's always that line, you know? Every time we build something new to protect ourselves, it gets easier to cross it. First it's a rifle. Then it's a cannon. Then it's a weapon that can level cities. The Brotherhood thinks they're the only ones who can be trusted with power — I just don't want us to become them."
Sico was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The rain outside had picked up, drumming softly against the roof.
Finally, he said quietly, "The difference is why we build them, Mel. The Brotherhood builds weapons to rule. We build them to live."
Mel gave a slow nod, his gaze drifting back to the blueprint. "Yeah," he said softly. "Let's make sure it stays that way."
For a while, the two men stood in silence — one soldier, one engineer — each lost in their own thoughts.
The faint hum of the fusion generators filled the background, a low and steady heartbeat for the lab. Sparks flickered as Mel began reassembling one of the prototype coils, his hands moving with practiced precision.
Sico watched him work, the glow of the plasma torch painting blue light across his face. "You ever wonder," he said quietly, "what kind of world we'd have if people like you had been in charge before the bombs fell?"
Mel snorted. "Yeah. Probably one big lab. Everyone arguing about equations instead of shooting each other. Would've been boring as hell."
Sico smiled faintly. "Maybe boring's not so bad."
"Maybe not," Mel said. "But hey — if boredom builds better weapons, I'll take it."
Sico chuckled softly under his breath. "Just don't blow up the lab before I get to see this thing fire."
Mel grinned. "No promises."
He paused, then turned serious again. "You really think Maxson's going to move soon?"
Sico's jaw tightened. "Sooner than we'd like. Sarah's reports show increased vertibird patrols east of the river. They're scouting, testing our response time. I give it weeks before they start pushing harder."
"Then I'd better finish this fast," Mel said, already reaching for his tools again.
Sico straightened, watching the man work for another few seconds before saying quietly, "You're doing more than you realize, Mel. This rifle — it could save hundreds of lives when the time comes."
Mel didn't look up, just nodded slightly. "That's why I'm building it, Commander. To make sure fewer people die."
Sico nodded once in return, then reached out and tapped the corner of the blueprint gently. "When it's done, I want to be the first to fire it."
Mel grinned. "Deal. I'll make sure the recoil doesn't break your shoulder."
"I've handled worse," Sico said, heading toward the door.
"Yeah," Mel muttered as he picked up his soldering tool again. "But this one's called the Breaker for a reason."
Sico paused at the doorway, glancing back one last time. Mel was already hunched over his work again, the torch flaring to life, its glow catching the outlines of his face — a man who built miracles out of scrap and defiance.
"Keep at it," Sico said quietly. "The Republic's counting on you."
Mel didn't answer — just raised a hand in wordless acknowledgment, his focus already buried in the hum of creation.
Sico stepped back into the corridor, the door hissing shut behind him. The sound of the lab faded into the steady rain outside.
A few days later morning came cold and bright over Sanctuary's testing yard — that broad stretch of flattened earth and gravel behind the main science compound, ringed with barricades and old vehicle husks. The last of the fog was burning off under the pale sun, leaving a damp shimmer across the ground.
Sico stood with his coat collar turned up, watching the lab team move about with the kind of nervous energy that only came before a major test. A faint breeze tugged at the edges of the blue tarp covering a nearby cart, where several polished tungsten slugs rested in neat rows — dull gray, heavy, and lethal.
Beside him, Sarah stood with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the yard like she was reading the battlefield. Preston was a few paces away, speaking quietly with two guards from the perimeter squad. Both wore the distinct white-and-gold markings of the Republic, rifles slung over their shoulders, watching the setup unfold.
Mel was in the middle of it all, of course — sleeves rolled up, goggles perched on his head, voice carrying over the low hum of the generator feeding power to the rifle's charging station. His team moved around him with efficiency, each step practiced and measured.
The KR-57 "Breaker" stood on a reinforced firing platform at the far end of the yard. Even idle, it looked like a beast barely chained — matte black plating with silver reinforcement lines, long magnetic rails running the length of the barrel, and a fat coiled capacitor pack mounted beneath the stock. Wires ran from its charging node to a fusion battery crate humming with life.
It wasn't sleek. It wasn't pretty. But it radiated purpose.
Mel turned and waved them over. "Alright, Commander! Captain! Preston! You're just in time. We're ready to light this thing up."
Preston raised an eyebrow, the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're serious, huh? This the one you said could make a Knight wet his armor?"
Mel grinned back. "You'll see soon enough."
Sarah stepped closer to Sico, her tone quieter but edged with intrigue. "You really think he pulled this off?"
Sico's gaze stayed fixed on the weapon. "If anyone could, it's Mel."
"Still," she said, arms still folded, "if it works like he claims… this could change everything. We don't have half the power armor the Brotherhood does. But if we can take theirs down from range—"
"Then the playing field's even," Preston finished for her, his voice lower now, more thoughtful. "Hell, maybe even tipped in our favor."
Mel's team cleared back as he ran through the final calibration. "Okay, charge rails at eighty percent… superconducting loop's stable… capacitor load within tolerance." He looked up with that boyish spark of anticipation in his eyes. "Alright, folks. Gather around, but keep behind the yellow line unless you like losing eyebrows."
Sico smirked faintly, stepping up to the viewing position. Sarah and Preston joined him, flanked by two of Mel's assistants — one holding a clipboard, the other monitoring readings on a handheld analyzer.
In the center of the yard, propped upright on a concrete block, was their target — a full T-60 chestplate, once worn by a captured Brotherhood knight. The metal gleamed dully in the sun, its surface scuffed and scarred from years of combat.
Mel patted the side of the weapon affectionately. "Ladies and gentlemen — the Breaker. The first of her kind. I'll be the one to pull the trigger today, unless the Commander insists on stealing my thunder."
Sico gave a dry half-smile. "I'll let you have the honor — for now."
Mel chuckled and slipped on his goggles. "Alright then. Charging cycle engaged."
The air changed immediately — a low thrumming sound that rose from the Breaker's rails, building into a sharp, electrical whine. The weapon began to hum like a living thing, faint blue light crawling along the coils as the magnetic field aligned.
Sico felt the hair on his arms prickle. Static danced faintly across the gravel.
"Charging at ninety percent," one of Mel's assistants called out. "Flux stable!"
Mel's hands moved steady, confident. "Copy that. Arm capacitor banks."
There was a crackling pulse — a sudden rise in the air pressure, almost like the calm before thunder.
"Ready," Mel said, his voice taking on a sudden stillness. "Firing in three… two…"
The shot broke the morning.
It wasn't a gunshot — it was an explosion of sound, a deep, tearing crack that rolled through the yard like thunderclap meeting a lightning bolt. A blinding streak of white-blue light flashed from the barrel, leaving a faint contrail of ozone in its wake.
The tungsten slug hit the T-60 plate dead center. For half a second, it was as if nothing happened — and then the metal erupted.
The impact blasted a hole clean through the armor, vaporizing the center and sending molten shards scattering across the gravel. The chestplate was thrown backward off the block, spinning once before it landed with a heavy metallic clang, smoke rising from its edges.
For a few long seconds, no one said anything. The only sound was the faint ringing in everyone's ears and the low hum of the Breaker's cooling coils winding down.
Mel exhaled slowly, lowering the rifle and grinning. "Well," he said, pulling his goggles up. "That answers that question."
Preston blinked, his mouth slightly open. "Holy hell…" He walked closer — carefully — until he stood a few feet from the ruined armor. "It just… went through it. Like it was tin."
Sarah followed, crouching to examine the still-smoking edges of the hole. "Clean penetration. No spalling on the backplate. The kinetic force alone would've knocked a man in power armor right off his feet."
Mel's grin turned into a full smile, pride gleaming behind the grease smudges on his face. "And that was at half charge. If we pushed it to full, we'd see total frame failure."
Preston gave a low whistle, turning back toward Sico. "Commander… I think we just found our equalizer."
Sico didn't answer immediately. He was still looking at the armor — at the ragged hole burned straight through the Brotherhood's symbol. The smell of scorched metal hung thick in the air, sharp and electric.
Finally, he said quietly, "You've done it, Mel."
Mel shrugged, though the grin on his face didn't fade. "We've done it, Commander. Republic hands built this. Every piece scavenged, repurposed, reforged by our people. This is what survival looks like."
Sarah stood, brushing dust from her gloves. "If we can mass-produce even a few of these, our patrol teams could level the field overnight."
"We can," Mel said, already slipping back into engineer mode. "The hard part's the superconducting coils — we can only make so many with our current facilities. But if Hancock's scavengers can bring back more pre-war industrial scrap, I can retool the reactors to synthesize the materials."
Sico nodded slowly. "You'll have what you need. I'll talk to Hancock myself."
He stepped forward, eyes scanning the weapon again — the sleek menace of its form, the faint heat waves still rising from the barrel. "How's the recoil?"
"Manageable," Mel said, rubbing his shoulder with mock pain. "If you're built like Preston, you'll be fine. For standard soldiers, we'll need a hydraulic stabilizer mount or at least shoulder dampeners. But it's field-ready, Commander."
Sico looked at him. "How soon can you replicate it?"
Mel glanced toward his team, who were already crowding around the Breaker, checking the readings on their instruments. "With what we've got, I can have two more in a week. Eight if you give me a month."
Preston let out a quiet chuckle. "Eight Breakers in the field… Brotherhood wouldn't stand a chance."
Sarah, though impressed, was still calculating. "We'll need specialized training. These rifles aren't for just anyone. I want a unit of our best marksmen assigned to handle them — people who understand their limits."
"Agreed," Sico said. He turned back to Mel. "Build what you can. I'll have Sarah draw up a list of shooters for you to train personally. We'll call it Project Thunderline."
Mel blinked, then grinned. "Thunderline, huh? Has a nice ring to it."
"Good," Sico said simply. "Because when the Brotherhood comes, I want them to remember the sound of thunder before their fall."
For a moment, the four of them stood there in the cool morning light — watching the smoke drift lazily from the torn armor, each caught in the gravity of what they had just witnessed.
Mel's lab assistants began packing up the equipment, their movements quiet, reverent even. The mood had shifted — excitement tempered by the weight of realization. This wasn't just a prototype anymore. It was a declaration.
Sarah turned to Sico, her voice softer now. "You think this will be enough?"
Sico looked back toward the horizon — the faint silhouette of the old highway rising beyond the walls, where somewhere out there, the Brotherhood's steel giants waited.
"It's a start," he said. "For the first time, they won't be the only ones with gods of metal."
Mel wiped his hands on his rag, then looked toward Sico, something heavier behind his usual grin. "You know, Commander… when I was a kid, I used to think the Brotherhood were heroes. The knights in shining armor. Guess that's what happens when stories survive longer than the truth."
Sico met his eyes. "Stories don't save people. Actions do."
Mel nodded slowly, the words settling between them like an oath.
Then Preston clapped his hands once, breaking the silence. "Alright, folks — let's get this beast recharged. Mel, you mind if I try a shot before we wrap up?"
Mel laughed. "Be my guest. Just remember — she kicks harder than a yao guai in mating season."
Preston grinned and stepped up to the firing stand. "I'll take my chances."
The Breaker whined again as it charged, blue light coiling up the rails. Sarah crossed her arms again, watching with the faintest smile.
The Breaker's coils sang again — that low, electric hum crawling up from its rails, sharp and alive. The air grew tense around it, thick with static. Even though Sico had already witnessed its fury once, there was still something almost primal about the sound. It wasn't just a weapon charging; it was power condensing — the promise of devastation made real.
Preston stepped up to the firing line, the weapon braced on the reinforced rest Mel had welded together from salvaged truck suspension. He was grinning — not mockingly, but with that kind of restless thrill that only soldiers felt when holding something new, something dangerous.
"Alright," Preston said, rolling his shoulders. "Let's see if she bites."
Mel adjusted the stabilizer mount, checking the magnetic alignment one last time. "She will. Just don't lean into her too much — let the rails do the work."
Preston chuckled, squinting down the scope. "I'll keep that in mind."
Sarah folded her arms just off to the side, the corner of her mouth twitching in quiet amusement. "He's going to ignore you the moment he pulls the trigger."
Sico said nothing, but the faint smirk at the edge of his mouth told the same story. He stood a few paces behind, boots crunching softly on the gravel, his breath visible in the cold morning air. The smell of scorched metal from the first test still lingered, mixing with ozone and dust — the scent of raw science and war.
Preston steadied himself, finger hovering near the trigger. The coils reached their full pitch, the rifle glowing faintly along its seams.
Then —
A crack like thunder.
The recoil slammed into Preston's shoulder with a visible jolt, his body rocking back half a step, boots grinding deep furrows into the dirt. The projectile tore through the air, leaving a faint ghost trail of blue light before hammering into a second T-60 plate mounted twenty meters downrange. The impact split the chestplate clean in two, the halves tumbling apart in a burst of metallic shrapnel that hissed as it hit the cold ground.
Mel's team broke into a quiet cheer, but Preston only blinked once, lowering the weapon with a slow whistle. "Okay," he said, voice a little breathless. "That's… that's a monster."
"Recoil?" Mel asked, already scribbling notes on a pad.
"Like being punched by a super mutant," Preston said, rubbing his shoulder but grinning through it. "But damn if it isn't worth it."
Sarah stepped closer, eyes still on the smoking ruin downrange. "That's the second one. Both through clean." She glanced at Mel. "You're sure the field's stable? No risk of overheating?"
Mel tapped the side of the rifle affectionately. "Stable enough. You could fire three or four rounds before you'd need to vent the coils. After that, you'd melt the rails — and probably the operator with it."
Sico's eyes narrowed slightly at that. "Then we'll make sure no one's reckless enough to push it."
Preston looked back at him, still grinning. "You're going to want to try this, Commander."
Sarah's brow lifted slightly. "Actually," she said, glancing toward Mel, "I'd like to take a shot first. If that's fine."
Mel blinked, surprised but not displeased. "Be my guest, Captain. Just keep your stance firm — and remember, she kicks."
Sarah stepped forward with measured confidence, pulling on a pair of reinforced gloves from her belt. She was smaller than Preston, but there was something controlled about the way she moved — a precision born from years of knowing exactly where her center of gravity lay, exactly how much strength to put behind every motion.
Mel and his assistants reloaded the Breaker. One of them slotted a new tungsten slug into place with a satisfying click, while another reset the fusion cell at the rifle's core. The hum returned, soft but growing — like the sound of a predator waking.
Sarah planted her feet, the rifle steady against her shoulder. "Target?"
"Right plate," Mel called, gesturing toward a third piece of T-60, this one mounted on a frame made of concrete blocks. "Let's see if you can match the Commander's best shot from last month."
She didn't even look back. "Watch and learn."
The air thickened again. The magnetic field aligned with a sharp whine, the rails glowing bright white-blue for a heartbeat — then came the blast.
Her shot struck slightly higher than Preston's, punching through the armor like paper and leaving a spray of molten fragments that briefly lit the air like sparks from a forge. The echo rolled across the testing yard and up toward the distant treeline.
When the smoke cleared, there wasn't just a hole — there was daylight shining clean through the frame behind it.
Sarah lowered the rifle slowly, her posture calm, professional, though there was a quiet satisfaction in her expression that didn't need words. "Recoil's strong," she admitted, flexing her shoulder once, "but it's balanced. Not bad at all."
Mel grinned, jotting more notes. "That's what I like to hear. Might have to build a smaller model — the Breaker's heavy, and I don't want half our soldiers dislocating their arms before the Brotherhood even shows up."
Sico watched all of it in silence — the smoke, the heat shimmer, the faint hiss of the power cells cooling down. The others saw a weapon. He saw something else.
He saw leverage. Survival. A line drawn in iron and current between annihilation and freedom.
Then Mel turned toward him, eyes gleaming. "Your turn, Commander."
Sico looked at him for a long second — the corner of his mouth tightening into something that might've been a smile, or just resolve. "Alright," he said at last. "Let's see what your monster feels like."
Preston stepped back with a grin. "Careful. She bites hard."
Sico took the rifle from Mel's hands. The weight surprised him — heavier than he'd expected, dense and alive with energy. The faint vibration from the capacitor coils ran through the frame into his palms. It wasn't just metal; it was potential caged and waiting to be set free.
He settled into the stance instinctively — left foot forward, shoulder braced, the butt pressed tight against his armor. Mel adjusted one of the support clamps, then nodded once. "She's live."
Sico exhaled. "Target?"
"Last one," Mel said, pointing to the farthest T-60 plate, nearly thirty meters out. "Let's see if the Commander can keep up."
The charge built again — a deep, bone-humming sound that filled the yard. The rails began to glow brighter and brighter, that faint blue crawling along them like lightning trapped in glass.
Sico's finger tightened around the trigger.
The Breaker fired.
This time, the sound felt closer — deeper, heavier, like the ground itself had flinched beneath the blast. The projectile screamed through the air, struck the armor dead center, and blew it apart. Not just punctured — obliterated. The chestplate shattered into molten fragments that scattered across the gravel, embedding themselves in the dirt like miniature meteors.
For a few seconds, there was only the hum of the cooling coils and the faint tick of metal cooling in the cold air.
Then Preston let out a low whistle. "Well, I think that settles it. Commander wins."
Sarah smiled faintly. "Naturally."
Sico lowered the rifle slowly, the faint wisp of vapor rising from its barrel curling in front of his face. He said nothing for a long time — just stared at the ruin downrange, the blackened crater where Brotherhood armor used to be. Then he turned toward Mel.
"What kind of ammunition are we using for this thing?"
Mel looked up from his notes, eyebrows raised, as though surprised by the simplicity of the question. "Fusion cells," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Standard issue. Same as the ones we use for laser rifles."
Sico's brow furrowed. "Standard cells? You didn't need to repurpose them?"
Mel shook his head. "No need. The Breaker pulls the full energy yield directly from a single fusion cell. The coils draw so much power per shot that one cell's completely drained in a single discharge. That's what gives it that… punch."
Preston gave a low, impressed whistle. "So one shot per cell?"
"Exactly," Mel said. "It's costly, but think about the trade-off — one shot that can tear through power armor. No recharge delay, no overheating issues beyond the fourth round if you pace it right. It's not a weapon for spray-and-pray soldiers. It's for marksmen — the kind that end wars with one pull."
Sico nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "We'll have to stockpile fusion cells. The demand's going to skyrocket once we start production."
"I've already talked with the logistics division," Mel said. "We're setting up a recycler to recondition depleted cells — it won't restore them fully, but maybe enough for field tests. Still, fresh ones are better."
Sarah stepped closer, voice thoughtful. "That means supply convoys will become high-value targets. The Brotherhood will know that as soon as they learn what this rifle can do."
Preston crossed his arms, still watching the distant smoke. "Then we'll make sure they never learn. At least not until they're staring down a firing line of these things."
Mel laughed quietly, tucking his notes away. "Now that's the spirit."
Sico still hadn't moved much. His gaze stayed on the melted remains of the Brotherhood insignia, twisted and blackened on the ground. "No one outside this yard mentions this test," he said finally. "Not yet. Until we've got more than a handful, this stays under wraps. I don't want anyone — not even our allies — to know what we're building here."
Sarah nodded. "Understood."
Preston gave a simple "Aye, Commander," and started helping one of the assistants power down the generator.
Mel didn't argue, though his usual grin softened a bit. "You know," he said after a moment, "it's strange. We build something this powerful — something that could change the war — and my first thought isn't pride. It's fear."
Sico looked at him. "Fear?"
Mel gestured vaguely toward the cratered armor. "Because power like this always ends up in the wrong hands eventually. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year. But someday, someone's going to pick one of these up and forget why we made it."
Sarah's voice was quiet when she spoke. "Then it's on us to make sure that day never comes."
Sico nodded once. "She's right."
The wind picked up across the testing yard, carrying the scent of metal and ozone. The fog was gone now, replaced by the stark brightness of morning light. The shadows of the four of them stretched long across the gravel — Republic leaders, inventors, and soldiers standing over a weapon that could change everything.
Mel turned back to the Breaker, resting a hand against the rail as though feeling its heartbeat. "Still," he said softly, almost to himself, "it's something to see, isn't it? For two hundred years, the Brotherhood claimed to be the guardians of technology. But today — just for a moment — I think we took that crown."
Sico didn't smile, but there was something steady, almost proud, in his voice when he replied.
"No," he said. "We didn't take it. We earned it."
And as the team began packing up, the last echo of the Breaker's thunder still seemed to hang in the cold morning air — a promise, a warning, and a beginning all at once.
________________________________________________
• 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:-