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They had believed in timing, In secrecy and in one last strike. Sico gathered the documents neatly, placing them into a secure drawer and locking it with a firm click.
The next day did not arrive with fanfare.
No alarms. No sirens. No sudden rush of boots or shouted orders.
It came quietly, the way mornings always did in Sanctuary when the world hadn't actively tried to tear itself apart overnight.
Sunlight crept over the barricades and filtered through the gaps between buildings, catching on metal edges and dusty windows. The generators hummed steadily. The guards on the walls rotated shifts with practiced ease. Somewhere near the residential blocks, someone laughed that brief, sharp, real.
Inside Freemasons HQ, the rhythm was slower but no less deliberate.
Sico sat alone in his office, sleeves rolled up, jacket draped neatly over the back of his chair. The desk in front of him was crowded with paperwork: requisition forms, after-action summaries, infrastructure repair reports, personnel evaluations, and long-term planning projections that stretched months and sometimes years into the future.
This was the part no one ever sang songs about.
He moved through the stack methodically, pen scratching softly against paper as he signed, annotated, corrected. Occasionally he paused to reread a line, brow furrowing, before adding a brief note in the margin. Every decision carried weight. Supplies meant survival. Assignments meant trust. Promotions meant responsibility and sometimes, death.
A mug of coffee sat near his right hand, steam long gone, the liquid inside untouched and cold. He took a sip anyway, grimaced faintly, and set it back down.
Outside the window, Sanctuary lived.
Inside, Sico worked.
A soft knock broke the quiet.
He didn't look up immediately.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened, hinges whispering rather than creaking. Footsteps followed that measured, familiar.
Mel cleared his throat lightly.
Sico glanced up then, eyes sharpening as recognition settled in.
"Mel," he said. "You're up early."
Mel smiled faintly, adjusting the strap of his satchel where it crossed his chest. His hair was slightly disheveled in the way it always was when he'd been awake too long thinking through equations instead of sleeping.
"Early's relative," Mel replied. "I've been up since before dawn."
Sico huffed quietly. "Of course you have."
Mel stepped further into the room, letting the door close behind him. He didn't sit right away. Instead, he lingered near the desk, eyes flicking briefly to the scattered paperwork before returning to Sico's face.
"You look like someone who hasn't stopped since yesterday," Mel said.
Sico leaned back slightly, rolling his neck once. "That's because I haven't."
Mel nodded, unsurprised. "Figures."
There was a brief pause which not awkward, just thoughtful.
Then Mel got to the point.
"I need more people," he said.
Sico's pen paused mid-signature.
He looked up slowly. "More people."
"Yes," Mel replied. "Specifically for the Science division."
Sico set the pen down carefully and folded his hands together on the desk.
"How many?" he asked.
Mel hesitated. Just a fraction. Long enough to matter.
"More than I have," he said honestly.
Sico studied him for a moment, eyes searching Mel's face that not for deception, but for context. Mel wasn't someone who made requests lightly. He preferred to work with too little rather than ask for too much. When he did ask, it was because he'd already run the numbers and found no other way around them.
"Why?" Sico asked.
Mel exhaled, then pulled a folded datapad from his satchel and placed it gently on the desk, sliding it forward.
"We're scaling up," he said. "Faster than anticipated."
Sico glanced down at the datapad but didn't touch it yet. "Scaling what, exactly?"
Mel's mouth twitched, somewhere between pride and exhaustion.
"Night vision goggles," he said.
Sico raised an eyebrow slightly. "That many?"
"Yes," Mel replied immediately. "And not just the basic models."
Sico leaned back in his chair, gaze thoughtful. "You already have a team working on optics."
"I do," Mel said. "And they're good. Very good. Which is why I'm about to pull almost all of my trusted members onto that project full-time."
That got Sico's full attention.
"Almost all," he repeated.
Mel nodded. "The Railroad intel confirmed it. Night operations are becoming the norm again. Raiders, remnants, independent cells as they're learning to move after dark to avoid patrols. We can't afford to let that advantage stay theirs."
Sico's fingers drummed once against the desk.
"So you're shifting priorities," he said.
"I am," Mel confirmed. "If we can equip our soldiers, patrols, Commandos, and even certain civilian defense units with reliable night vision, we tilt the balance. Hard."
Sico didn't argue that. He'd already seen the reports. Too many ambushes. Too many contacts that vanished into darkness before they could be pinned down.
"And the problem," Sico said slowly, "is that pulling your trusted people onto this leaves other projects short."
Mel nodded again. "Dangerously short."
He tapped the datapad, activating it. Schematics bloomed to life with energy systems, medical tech, sensor arrays, environmental stabilizers.
"These don't stop needing maintenance just because we found a new priority," Mel said. "Power grids still fail. Medical equipment still breaks. Research doesn't pause."
Sico finally picked up the datapad, scrolling through the projections.
"How many are you reallocating?" he asked.
"Seventy percent of my senior staff," Mel replied without hesitation.
Sico's jaw tightened slightly.
"That's… a lot."
"It is," Mel agreed. "But they're the only ones who can handle the tolerances we're pushing for. If we rush this with inexperienced hands, we'll end up with equipment that fails when it's needed most."
Sico looked up. "And the replacements you want to recruit?"
Mel met his gaze steadily. "I don't need geniuses. Not yet. I need capable learners. People with steady hands, patience, and discipline. I can train them. But I need bodies to keep everything else running while my core team works the goggles."
Sico leaned back, eyes drifting briefly toward the window.
Outside, a patrol moved past with four soldiers, relaxed but alert, sunlight glinting off their gear. Soon, if Mel got what he wanted, they'd move through the night with the same confidence.
"How many recruits?" Sico asked again.
Mel took a breath. "Twenty to start."
Sico didn't react immediately.
"From where?" he asked.
"Sanctuary first," Mel said. "Apprentices. Technicians' assistants. People already familiar with our systems. After that… we'll have to look beyond."
Sico's gaze sharpened. "Beyond how far?"
"Settlements we trust," Mel replied. "Vault City annex. Starlight Drive In. Maybe even Diamond City, if the politics don't explode."
Sico snorted quietly. "That's a big 'if.'"
Mel smiled thinly. "I know."
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Sico looked back down at the datapad, scrolling through Mel's notes. The projections were solid. Conservative, even. Mel had accounted for supply constraints, training time, error rates.
This wasn't a whim.
This was preparation.
"You're sure this is necessary," Sico said, not as a question, but as a final check.
Mel didn't hesitate.
"Yes," he said. "If we don't adapt, we'll be reacting again instead of setting the pace."
Sico closed the datapad and set it aside.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Mel waited.
Finally, Sico spoke.
"Alright," he said. "You'll get your recruits."
Mel's shoulders relaxed just slightly. Not enough to look relieved, but enough to matter.
"But," Sico continued, raising a finger, "there are conditions."
Mel nodded immediately. "Of course."
"You'll coordinate with Preston on candidate selection," Sico said. "I don't want anyone pulled who weakens our security elsewhere."
"Agreed," Mel said.
"Second," Sico continued, "training timelines need to be realistic. No rushing people into roles they aren't ready for."
Mel's expression softened. "You have my word."
"And third," Sico added, voice firm, "I want weekly reports. Progress, setbacks, resource use. If this project starts eating into other critical systems, I need to know before it becomes a problem."
Mel smiled that genuinely, this time.
"Fair," he said. "More than fair."
Sico reached for his pen again and pulled a requisition form from the stack, already writing as he spoke.
"I'll authorize initial recruitment and resource allocation," he said. "You start with twenty. If you need more after that, we revisit."
Mel inclined his head. "Thank you."
Sico glanced up. "One more thing."
Mel paused. "Yes?"
"You said 'trusted members,'" Sico said. "Almost all of them."
Mel nodded.
"You trust them because they've proven themselves," Sico continued. "Make sure the new ones get the chance to do the same."
Mel's expression turned thoughtful.
"I will," he said quietly.
Sico finished signing the form and slid it across the desk.
"Welcome to the next problem," he said dryly.
Mel chuckled, taking the paper. "Wouldn't be science without one."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Sico?"
"Yes?"
Mel hesitated, then spoke carefully. "The Railroad… if they'd gotten those plans off the ground—"
"They didn't," Sico interrupted calmly.
Mel nodded. "I know. I just wanted to say… catching them when we did made this possible. The breathing room."
Sico leaned back slightly. "That's why we don't wait for threats to mature."
Mel smiled faintly. "I'll get started."
Sico watched Mel for a moment longer, fingers resting on the edge of the desk, eyes steady in that way that meant he was already three steps ahead of the conversation.
"One more thing," he said, just as Mel turned the handle.
Mel paused, hand still on the door, and glanced back. "Yeah?"
"Don't forget the budget report," Sico said evenly. "Once you're finished recruiting, I want the numbers sent to Magnolia."
Mel blinked once, then nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Right," he said. "Magnolia."
"She's the treasurer," Sico reminded him. "Which means if she doesn't know where the caps are going, I'll hear about it. Loudly."
Mel chuckled under his breath. "Copy that. Last thing I want is Magnolia hunting me down with a ledger."
"Smart man," Sico replied.
Mel dipped his head in acknowledgment, adjusted the strap of his satchel, and stepped out into the hall. The door closed softly behind him, sealing Sico back into the quiet hum of the office.
For a moment, Sico didn't move.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes lifting toward the ceiling, exhaling slowly. Recruitment. Expansion. Night vision. Budgets. Logistics.
The war never ended.
It just changed shape.
He reached for his pen again and returned to the paperwork, already slotting Mel's request into a broader mental map of where the Freemasons were heading next.
The next three days blurred together.
Not in a chaotic way, but in the steady, grinding rhythm of work that refused to slow down for anyone.
Mel barely slept.
Preston barely sat still.
And Sanctuary felt the ripple of it almost immediately.
By the afternoon of the first day, Mel and Preston were standing in the converted workshop that served as the Science division's primary intake area. The space smelled faintly of oil, solder, and ozone. Worktables lined the walls, cluttered with half-finished devices and neatly labeled bins of components. A whiteboard at the front was already filled with hastily scribbled notes: candidate names, skill sets, availability.
Preston stood with his arms folded, watching as Mel paced slowly in front of the board, stylus tapping absently against his palm.
"Alright," Mel muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "We start local. Sanctuary first."
Preston nodded. "Makes sense. People we know. People we trust."
"Trust helps," Mel said. "But I'm not just looking for loyalty. I need competence. Or at least the capacity for it."
Preston's mouth twitched faintly. "You're asking settlers to trade farming and maintenance for lab work."
"I'm asking for people who already do maintenance," Mel corrected. "Power couplings. Water purifiers. Generator diagnostics. Half the settlement already keeps complex systems running with duct tape and prayer."
"That's… fair," Preston admitted.
Mel stopped pacing and looked at him. "I can teach theory. I can't teach discipline."
Preston met his gaze steadily. "Then we'll filter for it."
They split up not long after that.
Preston went to talk to supervisors, patrol leads, and community coordinators with the people who knew who showed up on time, who stayed late, who fixed problems without being asked. Mel followed behind, talking to the candidates themselves, asking questions that sounded simple but weren't.
Why do you do the job you do?
What do you do when something breaks and no one's watching?
How do you handle mistakes?
By the end of the first day, they had a short list.
Eight names.
Mel frowned at it.
"Eight's not bad," Preston said.
"It's not enough," Mel replied. "But it's a start."
They called the first five in the next morning.
One by one, they sat across from Mel at a battered metal table, Preston standing nearby like a quiet anchor.
There was Jenna, who'd been maintaining the north wall generators for two years and could diagnose a voltage bleed by sound alone.
There was Rafi, a former caravan mechanic who'd taught himself how to repair optics scavenged from pre-war security drones.
There was Mae, barely twenty, who'd been apprenticing under one of Sanctuary's med-techs and had steady hands even under pressure.
Two others followed that quiet, capable, nervous in the way people got when they knew their lives might be about to change.
Mel didn't sugarcoat it.
"This isn't glamorous," he told them. "It's long hours, precise work, and a lot of responsibility. Mistakes don't just break equipment. They get people killed."
None of them flinched.
Preston watched closely as each answered, noting the way they spoke, the way they held themselves.
When it was over, he nodded once.
"They'll do," he said quietly.
Mel exhaled, tension easing just slightly from his shoulders.
"Five," he said. "We have five."
It wasn't enough.
By the end of the second day, they'd gone through everyone Sanctuary could reasonably spare without weakening its core functions. The answer was the same every time: five.
Capable. Willing. Trusted.
And that was it.
Mel stared at the board late that night, fingers smudged with marker ink, eyes tired.
"We're capped," he said flatly.
Preston leaned against a workbench nearby, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sanctuary can't give you more without hurting itself."
"I know," Mel said. "Which means we go outside."
Preston straightened slightly. "You're sure?"
Mel nodded. "We talked about this. Settlements we trust. People who already live with tech."
Preston considered it. "Starlight Drive In?"
"Top of the list," Mel agreed. "Vault City annex after that. Maybe Abernathy if we get desperate, but I'd rather not."
Preston smirked faintly. "You don't want to deal with the politics."
"I don't want to deal with the attitudes," Mel corrected.
They shared a brief, tired smile.
The next morning, they left Sanctuary together.
No convoy. No fanfare.
Just a single transport and two escorts, rolling out through the gates as the settlement woke behind them.
At Starlight Drive In, the reaction was cautious but curious.
The settlement had grown over the years that less scrappy, more organized, its people proud of what they'd built from cracked concrete and rusted movie screens. When Preston and Mel arrived, word spread fast.
The General is here.
And he brought a scientist.
They met with the settlement council first. Explanations were given. Questions were asked. Concerns aired.
"Why us?" one of the council members asked.
Mel answered honestly. "Because you already maintain complex systems. Power routing. Water treatment. Defensive turrets. You've proven you can adapt."
"And what happens if we give you people and something goes wrong?" another asked.
Preston stepped in then.
"They'll be protected," he said calmly. "They'll be trained. And if this fails, it fails with accountability. Not silence."
That mattered.
By the end of the day, they had three more candidates.
Not confirmed. Not yet.
But interested.
The pattern repeated at the Vault City annex.
More formality. More skepticism. Better infrastructure.
Mel spent hours walking through their labs, nodding appreciatively, asking pointed questions. Preston handled the politics, smoothing edges, reinforcing trust.
They walked away with four more names.
Still not enough.
By the end of the third day, Mel sat in the transport as it rolled back toward Sanctuary, head resting against the reinforced glass, eyes closed.
"We're short," he murmured.
Preston glanced at him. "You knew we might be."
"I hoped we wouldn't be," Mel replied.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of the engine.
"We'll keep looking," Preston said eventually. "We'll expand the net. Carefully."
Mel nodded without opening his eyes.
"Carefully," he echoed.
Back in Sanctuary, the five new recruits reported to the Science division that evening.
Mel stood at the entrance as they arrived, watching their faces that nervous, determined, unsure.
The five new recruits stood there at the entrance of the Science division, shifting their weight from foot to foot, eyes drawn to the humming equipment and half-assembled devices that filled the room.
Mel watched them quietly.
This was always the moment that mattered most.
Not the recruitment pitch. Not the approvals. Not the signatures.
This was the moment when people crossed the line from the life they knew into something heavier.
"You can still walk away," Mel said evenly. "No one will hold it against you."
None of them moved.
Jenna straightened her shoulders. Rafi adjusted his gloves. Mae swallowed once and nodded, small but firm.
Mel exhaled.
"Alright," he said. "Welcome aboard."
That night, Sanctuary slept a little deeper, unaware that its future had just shifted by five people.
The next day began before sunrise.
Preston stood in the staging yard, arms folded, watching soldiers load gear into three Humvees and a single cargo truck. Twenty troops in total that enough to project authority, not enough to look like an invasion.
Mel checked his satchel for the third time, fingers brushing datapads, forms, spare tools he carried more out of habit than need.
"You nervous?" Preston asked quietly.
Mel snorted. "I'm a scientist walking into Diamond City to ask people to leave their lives behind. I'd be worried if I wasn't."
Preston smiled faintly. "Fair."
The convoy rolled out just as the sky began to lighten.
Diamond City hit like it always did.
Noise. Color. People.
The gates opened after the usual checks, guards recognizing Preston immediately. Whispers followed them as they passed through the market, eyes tracking the soldiers flanking the Humvees parked just outside the wall.
The Green Jewel didn't panic, but it noticed.
They met with city officials first. Polite conversations behind closed doors. Questions about intent. Assurances about voluntariness. Thinly veiled concern about losing skilled workers.
"We're not conscripting," Preston said firmly. "We're offering."
Mel followed that with honesty. "And we're not emptying your talent pool. We're looking for people who want more than this."
That landed.
By midday, word had spread.
Five people stepped forward.
A lens grinder who'd been repairing scopes for guards for years. A tinkerer who rebuilt radios out of scrap. A former Institute technician who never spoke about his past but knew systems inside and out. A med assistant with precision hands. A quiet woman who specialized in clockwork mechanisms and optics.
Preston spoke to each personally.
Listened.
Judged.
Approved.
By sunset, they were signed.
Five.
Mel let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Goodneighbor was different.
It always was.
Neon flickered against cracked concrete. Music drifted from The Third Rail. People watched them openly, curiosity edged with amusement.
"You sure about this?" Mel murmured as they dismounted.
Preston nodded. "Goodneighbor's rough. But it's honest."
They didn't meet councils here.
They met individuals.
A weapons modder who preferred night work. A chem lab tech who'd grown tired of selling poison. A scavenger who built night optics from pre-war camera parts.
Three people.
Hard-eyed. Sharp-minded. No illusions.
"You protect us?" one asked bluntly.
"Yes," Preston said.
"You don't lie to us?" another asked.
"No," Mel replied.
They agreed.
Bunker Hill came last.
The hub of everything.
Traders, caravans, deals made in whispers and handshakes.
If skill moved through the Commonwealth, it passed through here.
Preston and Mel split up, moving stall to stall, workshop to workshop.
They watched hands at work. Listened more than they spoke.
Five people stood out.
A caravan engineer who repaired engines without schematics. A trader's assistant who built counting machines from scrap. A former toy maker who specialized in fine mechanisms. A weapons calibrator who hated fighting. A quiet man who repaired eyepieces and never missed a flaw.
Preston vetted each one carefully.
Backgrounds. Motives. Temperament.
He approved all five.
The convoy rolled back toward Sanctuary at dusk.
Full.
Mel leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, exhaustion finally catching up.
"This helps," he murmured.
Preston nodded. "It does."
Sanctuary's gates opened wide as they returned.
Thirteen more minds.
Thirteen more hands.
The Science division would grow.
Morning in Sanctuary arrived the same way it always did but inside the Science division, it hit like a hammer.
Mel stood at the front of the main workshop, arms folded behind his back, eyes moving slowly over the gathered group. Eighteen people stood before him now. Eighteen recruits pulled from farms, markets, labs, caravans, and back rooms across the Commonwealth. Different accents. Different pasts. Different reasons for being here.
But all of them shared the same look.
That mix of nerves and resolve that came from knowing you'd stepped into something that could no longer be undone.
Behind Mel, the division was already alive. Generators hummed with a higher pitch than usual. Overhead lights glowed brighter, steadier. Workbenches had been cleared, reorganized, labeled. Crates of components sat stacked neatly along the walls with optics, lenses, power cells, circuit boards, housings, delicate pieces that looked insignificant until you knew what they could become.
This wasn't preparation anymore.
This was transition.
Mel turned slightly as footsteps approached from his right. His second-in-command, Elias, came to a stop beside him. Elias was older than most, his hair shot through with gray, hands permanently stained with oil and graphite. He had the posture of someone who'd spent years hunched over workbenches and the eyes of someone who noticed everything.
Elias had been with Mel since the early days before the Science division had a grown into this big, before it had walls.
Mel trusted him without question.
"These are the new recruits," Mel said calmly, gesturing toward the group. "All eighteen of them."
Elias nodded once, studying them like raw material rather than people. Not unkindly, just honestly.
"You're going to take point on their integration," Mel continued. "Orientation, safety protocols, baseline training. I want them familiar with the ongoing projects before they touch anything critical."
Elias glanced sideways at Mel. "And you?"
Mel's jaw tightened slightly. "I'll be busy."
That was an understatement.
"Seventy percent of our veterans are already reassigned," Mel said. "I'm pulling the rest today. Once that's done, we start mass production."
A ripple moved through the recruits at that. Quiet. Controlled. But there.
Mass production meant urgency.
It meant pressure.
Elias nodded slowly. "Night vision."
"Yes," Mel said. "Full focus. We don't half-build this."
He turned his attention fully back to the recruits.
"You're not here to impress me," Mel said evenly. "You're here to learn. If you don't know something, you ask. If you make a mistake, you report it. If you cut corners, you leave."
No one spoke.
"Good," he said. "Elias will take it from here."
Elias stepped forward.
"Alright," he said, voice rough but steady. "Follow me. And don't touch anything unless I tell you to."
The recruits moved as one, following him deeper into the division, their footsteps echoing softly against the concrete floor.
Mel watched them go.
For a moment, something like doubt flickered across his face.
Then he turned away.
By midmorning, the Science division no longer felt like a research hub.
It felt like a factory.
Veteran engineers and technicians filled the main production floor now, their movements efficient, almost wordless. Assembly lines had been improvised out of modular tables and conveyor belts scavenged from pre-war facilities. Each station had a single task from lens calibration, power regulation, housing assembly, final testing.
Mel moved among them like a conductor, issuing quiet corrections, adjusting workflow, rerouting resources on the fly.
"Careful with that batch," he told one team. "Those capacitors can't handle thermal spikes."
Another group paused as he approached.
"Your tolerance is off by half a millimeter," Mel said, pointing. "Fix it now or scrap the lot."
No one argued.
They trusted him.
And more importantly, they understood what failure meant.
Night vision goggles weren't just equipment.
They were life or death.
Somewhere above it all, Elias's voice echoed faintly as he walked the recruits through the basics with safety zones, contamination protocols, what not to touch, what to report immediately.
Mel barely registered it.
His mind was already three steps ahead, calculating output rates, supply depletion, how many units they could realistically push out before something critical broke.
And then there was Preston.
Preston stood just outside the Science division doors, watching the controlled chaos through the reinforced glass.
He knew that look.
Mel had that same expression back when the Minutemen were barely holding together that focused to the point of burning out, unwilling to slow down even when he should.
Preston exhaled slowly.
Mel wanted twenty.
They had eighteen.
That wasn't good enough.
So Preston did what he always did.
He went looking.
Sanctuary felt smaller when you were recruiting.
People noticed you more. Watched you closely. Weighed every word.
Preston started where he always did, with the people who kept the place running but never asked for credit.
Maintenance crews. Power technicians. Water treatment operators. People who worked quietly and reliably.
He talked.
He listened.
He asked questions that didn't sound like interviews.
"What do you do when something breaks and no one's around?"
"Why do you stay?"
"What scares you more, failure or responsibility?"
Some people shook their heads immediately.
Others hesitated.
Most said no.
By late afternoon, Preston had one solid maybe.
That wasn't enough.
He broadened the search.
Outlying structures. Secondary crews. Apprentices working under senior technicians.
It took hours.
And patience.
And honesty.
By the time the sun dipped low, he had two.
Two people willing to leave their current roles and step into uncertainty.
Preston nodded to himself.
Still short.
Back in the Science division, the first completed goggles rolled off the line just before dusk.
Mel picked them up carefully, turning them over in his hands.
The housing was solid. Lightweight. Durable.
He flipped the switch.
The world shifted.
Dark corners sharpened into detail. Shadows lost their mystery.
Mel lowered them slowly.
"Test them," he said.
They did.
Again.
And again.
The results held.
A murmur rippled through the veterans.
It wasn't celebration.
It was something better.
Confidence.
Preston didn't stop after the second recruit.
He kept going.
He moved through Sanctuary until the lights came on, speaking to people most others overlooked.
And finally late into the evening, he found the third.
A quiet woman named Lila who'd been repairing sensor arrays for months without supervision. She listened more than she spoke. Asked one question.
"How long would I be gone?"
Preston answered honestly. "Long."
She nodded. "Alright."
That made three.
Preston escorted them personally to the Science division the next morning.
Mel was in the middle of a discussion with Elias when Preston approached.
"I've got three more," Preston said simply.
Mel froze for half a second.
Then he exhaled, a rare, genuine smile breaking through.
"Good," he said. "That makes twenty-one."
Preston raised an eyebrow. "You said twenty."
Mel shrugged faintly. "I won't complain."
He turned to Elias. "Add them to the intake. Same training pipeline."
Elias nodded. "Got it."
The three recruits were ushered inside, joining the others.
Twenty-one minds.
Twenty-one hands.
Mel watched them disappear into the controlled order of the Science division, then he turned back toward the production floor.
______________________________________________
• 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:-