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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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And as sunlight slowly drifted across the papers covering his desk, Sico continued working with the same patience that had guided every decision before it, understanding that lasting peace was built not only by courageous soldiers and ambitious projects, but also by careful administration, quiet responsibility, and the countless unseen hours devoted to making sure the nation functioned one page at a time.
Then the following morning arrived quietly over Sanctuary Hills.
A pale golden light spread across the rooftops as the first rays of the sun crept over the eastern horizon, washing the Republic's capital in the warm colors of another peaceful day. Dew clung to the neatly trimmed grass between the restored homes, while a cool breeze stirred the Republic banners hanging from lamp posts throughout the town.
Long before most citizens finished breakfast, Freemasons Headquarters had already settled into its familiar rhythm.
The building never truly slept.
Even during the night, radio operators maintained communications with distant settlements, patrol commanders filed reports, and overnight clerks organized messages waiting for department heads when morning arrived.
Now, with the workday fully underway, the headquarters seemed almost alive.
Boots echoed steadily across polished wooden floors.
Couriers hurried through hallways carrying leather folders secured with official seals.
Engineers stopped briefly outside offices to compare blueprints before continuing toward another meeting.
Somewhere down the eastern corridor, two logistics officers quietly debated convoy schedules while balancing coffee mugs and stacks of inventory sheets at the same time.
The sound blended naturally with the clicking of typewriters, the rustling of paper, and the occasional burst of static from the communications room.
It was organized.
Predictable.
Comfortingly familiar.
Inside the President's office, Sico had already been working for nearly two hours.
The mountain of paperwork that had greeted him the previous afternoon had certainly become smaller.
But only slightly.
Several completed stacks rested neatly on a side table, each tied together with fresh leather cords after receiving signatures or official approval.
Others still waited.
Construction proposals.
Settlement correspondence.
Military logistics summaries.
Bridge inspection reports.
Medical procurement requests.
Educational funding approvals.
Trade agreements awaiting final authorization.
Intelligence digests collected from patrol commanders throughout the Commonwealth.
One document after another passed beneath his hands.
He never hurried.
Years of leadership had taught him that rushing paperwork often created far more work later.
He read every page carefully.
Sometimes he made only a small notation in the margin.
Occasionally he requested additional clarification before approving a proposal.
Other times he signed immediately when experienced department heads had already presented thorough recommendations.
A knock sounded gently against the office door.
"Come in."
Sico's assistant assistant stepped inside carrying another modest bundle of documents.
"I'm sorry, President."
Sico looked up with an amused smile.
"More?"
"I'm afraid so."
She looked almost apologetic.
"The Communications Department finished organizing yesterday's transmissions."
She carefully placed the folders on the corner of his desk.
"They insisted these couldn't wait until tomorrow."
Sico looked at the new pile before glancing toward the considerably larger ones still waiting.
"I was beginning to think I was making progress."
The assistant smiled sympathetically.
"You are."
She nodded toward the completed stacks.
"Those weren't there this morning."
"I suppose that's true."
She hesitated.
"Would you like more coffee?"
Sico looked toward his empty mug.
"I probably shouldn't."
Then he reconsidered.
"…Actually, yes."
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
After she departed, Sico returned to the document lying open before him.
It contained a proposal from the Infrastructure Department requesting approval to reinforce two aging culverts beneath a northern supply road before the autumn rains arrived.
The repairs weren't expensive.
But delaying them could eventually damage the roadway above.
He signed the authorization without hesitation.
Preventing problems was almost always cheaper than repairing disasters.
His pen had barely left the paper when another knock sounded.
This one was firmer.
More deliberate.
"Enter."
The door opened.
Sarah Lyons stepped inside.
She wore her field jacket rather than her formal uniform, suggesting she had already spent part of the morning moving between different departments.
A folder rested beneath one arm.
She closed the door quietly behind her.
"Good morning."
"Morning."
Sico leaned back slightly in his chair.
"You look busy."
"I've been keeping busy."
There was the faintest hint of a smile before her expression returned to its usual professional composure.
"I have an update."
Sico set down his pen.
"Go ahead."
Sarah remained standing.
"The reconnaissance teams have not returned."
There was no concern in her voice.
Only a factual report.
"They're still operating."
She unfolded a map she had carried with her and spread it carefully across one corner of the desk.
Several small pencil marks indicated the broad areas where each reconnaissance team had been expected to operate.
"We've received no emergency signals."
"No indications that any team has been compromised."
She tapped the western sector.
"But they require additional time."
Sico studied the map silently.
Sarah continued.
"Both the Brotherhood and the Institute remain extremely active."
She pointed toward overlapping regions covered with handwritten notes.
"Patrol frequencies have increased."
"We've identified repeated troop movements from both factions."
"Several areas appear to be changing hands repeatedly."
She looked back at Sico.
"Our scouts are proceeding very carefully."
"As they should."
Sarah nodded.
"If either side discovers them…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Experienced reconnaissance personnel rarely received second chances after being exposed behind active front lines.
"The teams understand their mission."
"They're remaining concealed."
"They're observing."
"And they're waiting for opportunities to move safely."
Sico folded his hands together.
"Good."
Sarah seemed almost surprised by how quickly he accepted the report.
"You aren't concerned?"
"I'd be concerned if they rushed."
He looked toward the map again.
"Reliable reconnaissance isn't measured by how quickly someone comes home."
"It's measured by whether they come home at all."
Sarah's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"They'll appreciate hearing that."
"I don't want brave reports."
"I want accurate ones."
He looked directly at her.
"If they need another day…"
"…they take another day."
"If they need three…"
"…they take three."
"The Brotherhood and the Institute aren't going anywhere."
"Our scouts should."
Sarah gave a single nod.
"I'll pass that along once they return."
A brief silence settled between them.
Outside the office, footsteps crossed the hallway before fading into the distance.
Somewhere nearby, a clerk laughed at something a coworker had said.
Life inside headquarters continued uninterrupted.
Then Sico reached for another folder.
"I have something else."
Sarah immediately recognized the tone.
She waited.
"I want you to contact Preston."
Her attention sharpened.
"Increase military training."
She remained perfectly still.
Sico continued carefully.
"Not mobilization."
"Training."
He emphasized the distinction.
"I want every company across the Republic increasing its readiness."
He began listing the priorities.
"Veteran soldiers."
"New recruits."
"Reserve units."
"Everyone."
Sarah listened without interrupting.
"I want physical conditioning intensified."
"Tactical exercises expanded."
"Marksmanship refreshed."
"Squad coordination practiced."
"Field medicine reviewed."
"Communications drills repeated."
"Anything that makes our people better prepared."
He paused.
"But…"
His voice lowered slightly.
"This remains routine."
Sarah understood immediately.
"No references to the Brotherhood."
"No references to possible operations."
"No unusual orders."
"Exactly."
He leaned back again.
"If anyone asks…"
"…the Republic is simply maintaining professional standards."
"Which isn't a lie."
"No."
"It isn't."
Sarah crossed her arms thoughtfully.
"Training cycles already occur throughout the year."
"We'll simply increase the tempo."
"Quietly."
She considered several logistical details almost aloud.
"Preston can stagger schedules."
"Different regional companies can rotate through advanced exercises."
"New recruits won't find anything unusual."
"The veterans probably won't either."
"They'll just assume command wants everyone sharper."
Sico smiled faintly.
"That's exactly what command wants."
Sarah allowed herself a small smile in return.
"I'll coordinate directly with Preston."
"We'll keep the changes compartmentalized."
"Only the officers responsible for implementing them will know the full picture."
"And they won't know all of it."
"No."
"They'll only know their part."
Operational security.
Simple.
Effective.
Sico nodded approvingly.
"The fewer people connecting separate decisions…"
"…the better."
Sarah closed her folder.
"I'll leave immediately."
She hesitated only long enough to add,
"Our soldiers are going to be ready."
"I know."
"And hopefully…"
Sico looked toward the window overlooking Sanctuary.
"…they'll never need everything they're learning."
Sarah followed his gaze briefly toward the peaceful streets outside.
"I hope so too."
Then she came smartly to attention.
"I'll report back once Preston has acknowledged the orders."
"I'll be here."
"I suspected as much."
That earned a quiet laugh from both of them.
She offered a respectful nod before opening the office door.
A moment later, she disappeared into the busy hallway, already thinking several steps ahead as she prepared to locate Preston and begin implementing the expanded training program.
The office became quiet once more.
Sico looked at the half-finished paperwork covering his desk.
Then, with a resigned smile, he reached for his pen again.
"Back to work."
Hours slipped by almost unnoticed.
One report became another.
Construction approvals were reviewed alongside engineering assessments confirming that several bridges required only routine maintenance before winter.
Logistics summaries detailed convoy schedules between Sanctuary, the Castle, Sunshine Tidings, and Far Harbor.
Agricultural departments submitted warehouse inventories that matched Jenny's optimistic assessment from the previous day.
Medical administrators requested authorization to purchase additional surgical instruments for regional clinics.
The approval took only seconds.
Healthy communities still needed hospitals.
Communications officers proposed expanding relay coverage along two western trade routes where terrain occasionally disrupted long-distance transmissions.
Sico made several notes requesting technical cost estimates before final approval.
Intelligence summaries arrived next.
Most contained routine observations.
Minor raider activity.
Merchant traffic.
Weather conditions affecting roads.
Nothing suggested immediate danger.
Exactly the kind of reports every leader preferred to read.
By midday, sunlight streamed through the office windows, shifting gradually across the wooden floor.
Someone quietly delivered lunch.
A sandwich.
Fresh fruit.
Coffee.
The tray remained almost untouched while another collection of correspondence claimed his attention.
At some point during the afternoon, he realized one entire side of his desk had become visible again.
He leaned back, stretching tired shoulders before looking at the considerably smaller stacks still waiting.
Progress.
Not dramatic.
But unmistakable.
He signed one final approval authorizing replacement roofing materials for a settlement school damaged during recent storms.
After blotting the ink, he carefully capped his pen.
Only then did he glance toward the clock mounted above the bookshelf.
He blinked.
"I missed lunch."
His stomach quietly confirmed the observation.
A soft chuckle escaped him.
There would always be another report.
Always another request waiting for approval.
Taking twenty minutes away from the desk would not bring the Republic to a halt.
He pushed his chair back and stood, rolling stiffness from his shoulders before slipping his jacket back on.
The hallway outside remained just as active as it had that morning.
Radio operators hurried toward the communications center carrying fresh message logs.
An engineering team discussed foundation repairs while comparing blueprints.
A pair of young clerks politely stepped aside as Sico approached.
"Good afternoon, President."
"Afternoon."
"Busy day?"
Sico smiled.
"I think everyone's having one."
They laughed.
Further down the corridor, Robert's assistant hurried past carrying another bundle of folders before stopping abruptly.
"Oh."
She looked embarrassed.
"I was taking those to your office."
Sico glanced at the paperwork.
"…Perhaps give me thirty minutes."
She grinned knowingly.
"I thought you might say that."
"I promise I'll come back for them."
"They'll be waiting."
He continued through headquarters, following the familiar route toward the canteen.
As he approached, the sounds changed.
Less typewriters.
More conversation.
The smell of fresh bread and hot stew drifted through the corridor long before he reached the entrance.
For the first time since sunrise, Sico allowed himself to stop thinking about reports, reconnaissance, budgets, and military preparations as the paperwork would still be waiting.
As the warmth of the meal lingered just enough to take the edge off the long morning.
The headquarters canteen remained pleasantly busy as Sico rose from his chair, carrying his empty tray toward the return counter before one of the kitchen staff could insist on taking it from him.
"You know," the older cook said with a grin, drying his hands on a flour-stained apron, "Presidents aren't supposed to clear their own trays."
Sico smiled.
"I've never seen that written into Republic law."
"We should fix that."
"Then I'd probably veto it."
A few nearby officers overheard the exchange and laughed quietly while continuing their meals.
The atmosphere in the canteen reflected the Republic itself.
There were no elaborate uniforms reserved for separate dining rooms.
No officers eating behind closed doors while everyone else waited.
Engineers shared tables with patrol commanders.
Radio operators compared notes with logistics clerks.
Medical staff discussed supply requests beside mechanics still carrying grease beneath their fingernails.
Different responsibilities.
One purpose.
Sico offered a few final greetings before stepping back into the corridor.
Almost immediately the sounds changed again.
Conversations around dining tables faded behind him, replaced once more by the measured rhythm of headquarters at work.
The building seemed even busier than it had before lunch.
Couriers crossed the central hallway carrying sealed dispatch cases.
Several engineers carefully maneuvered a rolled communications mast blueprint through a doorway without knocking over a pair of filing cabinets.
Near the Operations Office, two young intelligence analysts stood over a wall map discussing caravan reports from western settlements.
Farther ahead, a communications technician hurried past carrying replacement radio valves wrapped carefully inside padded cloth.
Everyone appeared occupied.
Nobody appeared hurried beyond reason.
There was an efficiency born from routine rather than urgency.
As Sico walked through the familiar halls, staff acknowledged him naturally.
"Good afternoon, President."
"Afternoon."
"Bridge inspection reports were delivered to Engineering."
"Good."
A maintenance worker balanced atop a ladder stopped just long enough to nod respectfully before returning to replacing a ceiling lantern.
Further along, Sarah's administrative assistant emerged from an office carrying several sealed envelopes.
She smiled politely.
"Vice General Lyons has already departed for the western training grounds."
"I expected she would."
"She asked that Preston be informed personally."
Sico nodded.
"That sounds like Sarah."
The assistant smiled knowingly before continuing on her way.
He eventually reached his office.
The stack of paperwork Robert's assistant had jokingly promised to leave behind was waiting exactly where expected.
It occupied one corner of the desk beside the remaining reports he had not yet finished.
He stood in the doorway for a second before quietly chuckling to himself.
"So much for getting ahead."
Closing the door behind him, he removed his jacket once more, rolled up his sleeves, and settled into his chair.
The office quickly returned to its earlier silence.
Only the occasional muffled footsteps beyond the walls and the faint clicking of typewriters drifting in through the hallway reminded him that hundreds of people continued working throughout headquarters.
He reached first for the documents waiting nearest the edge of the desk.
A proposal requesting additional lighting along a frequently traveled road connecting Sanctuary with one of the smaller farming communities.
The engineering department had already included cost estimates, maintenance projections, and labor requirements.
He reviewed the recommendations carefully before signing his approval.
Safer roads meant caravans could travel longer during winter afternoons.
It was a modest investment.
One that would quietly improve everyday life.
Next came correspondence from the Education Department.
Two instructors requested authorization to expand vocational classes focusing on carpentry, metalworking, and electrical maintenance for older students preparing to enter skilled trades.
Sico paused slightly longer over that proposal.
He thought of the homes Sturges continued building.
The growing workshops.
The expanding infrastructure.
The Republic would need craftsmen every bit as much as soldiers.
He approved the request without hesitation.
Another folder.
Another signature.
Another careful review.
The hours passed steadily.
Time inside the office was measured less by clocks than by completed stacks.
One pile disappeared.
Another shrank.
Military procurement requests.
Routine promotion recommendations.
Maintenance schedules for vehicle depots.
Trade correspondence from Diamond City merchants requesting expanded commercial licenses.
Nothing dramatic.
Yet each decision quietly strengthened the Republic in ways few citizens would ever notice.
Outside his window, the afternoon sunlight gradually shifted across the rooftops of Sanctuary.
A gentle breeze stirred the curtains.
Somewhere outside, a wagon rolled across the street, its wooden wheels producing a familiar rhythmic clatter before fading into the distance.
Then the long-range radio sitting at the corner of his desk emitted a sharp burst of static.
Sico looked up immediately.
The equipment rarely activated without reason.
Another crackle followed.
A transmission indicator flickered green.
He reached across the desk and adjusted the receiver.
"This is Sico."
Several seconds of interference answered first.
The signal carried the unmistakable distortion of extreme distance.
Then a familiar voice emerged beneath the static.
"…Robert… reading?"
"Loud enough."
More interference.
Then Robert's voice became clearer.
"Good."
"We've found a stable transmission window."
Sico leaned forward slightly.
"Report."
For a moment only wind could be heard through the radio.
When Robert spoke again, his voice remained calm and professional despite the unmistakable fatigue of someone operating deep behind hostile lines.
"The operation is progressing."
"We've completed several objectives."
Sico listened without interrupting.
"MacCready and the Commandos successfully sabotaged two Brotherhood forward camps during separate operations."
He paused briefly.
"No Republic equipment was left behind."
"No identifying evidence."
"Good."
Robert continued.
"We also disrupted one of their primary supply routes."
"They've lost transport vehicles, engineering equipment, and a significant quantity of stored fuel."
Sico allowed himself a small nod.
Exactly the sort of disruption he had envisioned.
"Casualties?"
"Minimal."
Robert answered immediately.
"We avoided direct engagements whenever possible."
"The camps were evacuated before demolition."
"Only isolated resistance."
"Our teams withdrew before organized response units arrived."
Sico felt genuine satisfaction hearing those words.
Professional soldiers measured success differently from reckless ones.
Objectives completed.
People brought home.
The radio crackled again.
Then Robert added,
"The Brotherhood recovered faster than expected."
Sico remained silent, allowing him to continue.
"They've already begun rebuilding both camps."
"The damaged supply line is being repaired."
"We've observed engineering teams working almost continuously."
"Replacement convoys are already moving."
Robert's tone carried respect rather than frustration.
"They're organized."
"Disciplined."
"They recover quickly."
Sico wasn't surprised.
The Brotherhood possessed experienced personnel, experienced leadership, and considerable logistical capability.
Temporary setbacks alone would never defeat them.
"So you'll need more time."
"Yes."
"Our current operations are slowing them."
"They aren't stopping them."
"We'll have to continue striking different targets."
"Keep them solving yesterday's problems instead of preparing tomorrow's."
Sico smiled faintly.
"That's exactly what you're accomplishing."
Another brief pause followed before he continued.
"You've done well."
"I appreciate it."
"But don't mistake success for permission to become careless."
Robert answered without hesitation.
"We won't."
"I want every Commando coming home."
"I understand."
Sico rested one elbow on the desk.
"I have one additional objective."
The radio remained quiet.
Robert waited.
"When opportunities present themselves…"
"…recover intelligence."
Another short silence.
Sico continued carefully.
"If you enter abandoned Brotherhood camps…"
"…command posts…"
"…supply depots…"
"…or operational bases…"
"…search them first."
"For?"
"Anything useful."
He began listing examples.
"Operational maps."
"Patrol schedules."
"Communications records."
"Engineering plans."
"Logistics manifests."
"Deployment reports."
"Command correspondence."
"Strategic directives."
"If it tells us how the Brotherhood thinks…"
"…bring it home."
He spoke calmly.
"Only if doing so doesn't compromise the mission."
"If recovering documents places even one Commando at unnecessary risk…"
"…leave them."
"The objective is intelligence."
"Not trophies."
Robert answered almost immediately.
"Understood."
"I'll brief MacCready."
"We'll incorporate intelligence recovery whenever circumstances allow."
"We'll prioritize documents before demolition."
"Good."
Another gust of wind briefly overwhelmed the transmission.
Robert's voice returned a moment later.
"We've already identified one abandoned communications shelter."
"It may contain archived records."
"If it's safe…"
"…we'll retrieve what we can."
"I trust your judgment."
"And I trust yours."
There was the faintest trace of a smile beneath Robert's professional tone.
"We should end the transmission."
"The signal window won't stay stable much longer."
"Agreed."
"Good luck."
"You too, sir."
Static briefly filled the speaker.
Then silence.
The transmission indicator faded.
Sico slowly switched off the radio.
For several moments he remained seated without reaching for another document.
His eyes rested upon the Commonwealth map hanging across the opposite wall.
Somewhere beyond Sanctuary's peaceful streets.
Robert.
MacCready.
The Commandos.
Moving quietly through forests and ruined towns.
Watching.
Waiting.
Striking quickly before disappearing once more.
It was dangerous work.
The sort of work few citizens would ever know had happened.
If everything succeeded…
Most people would never hear about it.
That was exactly how covert operations were supposed to be.
His thoughts eventually drifted toward Sarah's reconnaissance teams as well.
Different mission.
Same principle.
Patience.
Discipline.
Returning alive mattered more than dramatic victories.
Satisfied that every order had now been given, he drew a slow breath before reaching once again toward the final collection of paperwork waiting patiently on the desk.
The Republic still required governing.
One signature at a time.
The remainder of the afternoon passed quietly.
Approval followed approval.
He reviewed updated warehouse inventories confirming Magnolia's financial projections remained accurate.
Several transportation reports documented increasing commercial traffic between Sanctuary, Diamond City, and Far Harbor.
An engineering assessment recommended reinforcing one water tower before the coming winter.
Approved.
Medical Services submitted quarterly staffing figures showing additional physicians had accepted permanent positions throughout Republic settlements.
Approved.
A letter from Captain Avery expressed gratitude for the most recent shipment of construction materials reaching Far Harbor.
Sico smiled while reading it before carefully filing the correspondence.
By the time he reached the final folder, the once intimidating mountain had transformed into several neatly organized bundles waiting for distribution back to their respective departments.
He signed the last page.
Allowed the ink to dry.
Then quietly capped his pen.
For the first time since returning from Far Harbor that his desk was visible.
Not empty.
A President's desk never truly became empty.
But orderly.
Manageable.
He leaned back, stretching muscles that had remained tense for hours.
A quiet sense of accomplishment settled over him.
Battles often ended with cheers.
Paperwork rarely did.
Yet both mattered.
He rose from his chair, slipped his jacket back on, and stepped into the hallway.
The headquarters remained active, though the pace had softened slightly as afternoon edged closer toward evening.
Several clerks carried completed files toward central archives.
A radio operator emerged from Communications carrying fresh message logs.
Two young officers paused beside the wall to allow Sico past.
"Finished for the day, sir?"
He smiled.
"Finished with today's paperwork."
One of them laughed.
"So… not really finished."
"Something like that."
He continued toward the main entrance.
Outside, the afternoon air felt pleasantly cooler than inside the offices.
The sounds of Sanctuary greeted him once again.
Caravans entering through the main gate.
Children returning from afternoon lessons.
Construction continuing somewhere beyond the nearby streets.
Then another sound gradually became more distinct.
Short, sharp commands.
Boots striking packed earth together.
The rhythmic crack of rifle fire echoing across the distance.
Training.
Sico changed direction.
The Republic training grounds lay only a short walk beyond headquarters, separated from the residential districts by broad open fields intentionally reserved for military exercises.
The closer he came, the louder the organized activity became.
Whistles.
Instructors calling cadence.
The dull thud of boots crossing obstacle courses.
The metallic clatter of rifles being cleared after firing drills.
Soon the training yard opened before him.
It covered several acres enclosed by sturdy fencing and overlooked by elevated observation platforms.
Every section served a different purpose.
Along one field, newly recruited soldiers worked through demanding physical conditioning.
Groups ran repeated circuits carrying weighted packs before immediately transitioning into climbing walls, crawling beneath low obstacles, and hauling heavy logs together as squads rather than individuals.
Nearby, veteran soldier practiced coordinated fire and movement exercises across a carefully constructed mock village.
Commands remained concise.
Professional.
"Cover!"
"Moving!"
"Set!"
Each team advanced with practiced discipline.
At the firing ranges, rows of soldiers engaged targets positioned at varying distances.
Instructors moved steadily behind them, correcting posture, breathing, trigger control, and reload technique.
No shouting.
No humiliation.
Only patient correction.
Further beyond, another platoon rehearsed casualty evacuation drills, carrying simulated wounded through narrow trenches while field medics directed treatment under timed conditions.
Sico immediately spotted Preston.
He stood near the center of the grounds, watching one squad negotiate an obstacle course while occasionally offering quiet corrections rather than dramatic speeches.
Sarah stood only a short distance away beside another training lane, reviewing notes with several instructors before directing the next rotation forward.
Neither officer appeared to be forcing unusual urgency upon the troops.
To everyone participating…
It looked exactly like another demanding Republic training cycle.
Long marches.
Marksmanship.
Teamwork.
Discipline.
Everything soldiers expected.
Only Preston and Sarah knew every exercise had been quietly intensified.
A few additional kilometers added to endurance runs.
More repetitions.
Longer tactical drills.
More demanding field exercises.
Enough to sharpen every unit without attracting unnecessary attention.
Sico remained where he was for several minutes, simply observing.
Young recruits struggled together over climbing obstacles while veterans encouraged them rather than mocking slower progress.
Experienced instructors corrected mistakes immediately but calmly.
No wasted movement.
No unnecessary theatrics.
Only disciplined preparation.
Sarah finally noticed him standing near the observation fence.
She offered a brief nod.
Preston followed her gaze moments later and returned the gesture before immediately turning his attention back toward the soldiers.
Neither of them interrupted training.
Neither walked over.
There was no need.
Everything Sico needed to see was already unfolding before him.
The Republic wasn't preparing for war through fear.
It was strengthening itself through professionalism.
If peace endured, these soldiers would simply become better protectors of their communities.
If conflict someday became unavoidable, they would be ready.
And for now, to every recruit sweating beneath the afternoon sun, to every veteran correcting a younger soldier's stance, and to every instructor calling another drill, it remained exactly what it appeared to be which an ordinary day of training in a Republic determined never to be caught unprepared.
______________________________________________
• 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:-