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Behind him, the command room was already moving. Orders being written, encrypted, dispatched. Teams assembling on the flight deck. Armor calibrated. Plasma chambers warmed. Grenades counted by the dozens, mini nukes secured like sleeping giants. And above it all, the Elder stood still, staring into the rising light.
The air outside Greenetech still smelled faintly of scorched metal and plasma-burnt synth circuits. Smoke drifted lazily from the cracked shell of the main west wing, curling skyward like ghostly tendrils mourning the dead. The clamor of tools echoed across the courtyard—hammers on steel, the hiss of welders, the whir of makeshift generators coming back online. The Minutemen were rebuilding, patching holes in their fortress with stubborn determination, grit on every face and sweat lining every brow.
Sico stood just outside the shattered entrance, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands streaked with oil and dust. He was helping a pair of mechanics reinforce a collapsed support beam using scrap I-beams salvaged from the old parking structure nearby. Sarah had drawn up the structural plan herself—half scribbled on an old Vault-Tec clipboard, half instinct—and he was following it as best he could. It wasn't pretty, but it would hold.
The soft crunch of boots on debris made him look up.
Robert approached, his rifle slung across his back, helmet off and under one arm. His face was drawn—lines deeper than they had been yesterday, as if the weight of the battle had chiseled something out of him. His gaze lingered for a moment on the half-rebuilt barricade, then flicked back to Sico.
"We lost forty-six," he said quietly.
The words hit like a punch to the ribs. Sico didn't speak at first—just let the number settle into the marrow.
Robert continued, voice lower now. "MacCready took some volunteers. They're setting up a burial ground about two klicks east. Just past the hill where the recon tower used to be. Ground's soft there. Quiet. Figured it was better than piling them up in the ruins."
Sico nodded slowly, wiping his hands on a stained rag hanging from his belt. He looked around at the others—Ronnie shouting orders near the gate, Mel tinkering with the comms relay that had miraculously survived, a handful of new recruits stacking sandbags like it was the only thing holding their grief together.
"Forty-six…" Sico repeated, finally.
Robert's silence was heavy, respectful.
"I'll go," Sico said after a beat, not as a question but a statement. "I need to be there."
Robert gave a quiet nod. "MacCready said to bring something to say if you wanted. They're building a marker. Names carved in sheet metal, melted and bent with a torch. Best we've got for now."
Sico took off his gloves and tucked them into his belt, the leather stiff from use. He said nothing more as he grabbed his coat from the hook on the wall and started walking.
The route to the hill was still ragged from the battle—tracks of scorched earth, craters where Institute teleport strikes had landed, twisted synth chassis that hadn't yet been cleared. But the walk was a solemn one, each footstep measured and quiet. By the time he crested the rise, he could see them—MacCready's team in a wide semicircle, some still digging, some kneeling. A row of crosses had been hastily assembled from broken rifle stocks and scavenged fence posts. The smell of turned earth filled the air.
MacCready was there, sleeves rolled up, shovel in hand, a strip of black cloth tied around his bicep. He looked up when Sico approached, gave a nod, and motioned silently to the others.
The work paused.
Sico stepped forward, looking down at the freshly dug graves—forty-six of them, each marked, each still raw. The sun peeked through the clouds now, casting long shadows, and for a moment, there was only wind.
He cleared his throat.
"I don't have the right words," he said, his voice low but carrying, "because there are no right words. Not for this. Not for them."
He looked up, meeting the eyes of every soldier standing around the graves.
"They fought with everything they had. They didn't run when the synths came. They didn't hide. They stood their ground. They held the line so the rest of us could live."
He paused, his voice tightening.
"They didn't just fight for Minutemen. They fought for something bigger. For a Commonwealth where we don't have to sleep with rifles under our pillows. Where kids don't have to learn how to fire a pistol before they can read. Where the Institute doesn't get to choose who lives and who disappears."
A breeze tugged at the collar of his coat, but he didn't move.
"We won that battle. But this? This is the cost. Every victory comes with a price. We owe them more than grief. We owe them purpose."
He took a deep breath.
"So we build. We protect. We remember."
Sico reached into his coat and pulled out a small scrap of paper—folded and refolded a dozen times. He walked to the nearest grave and knelt, placing it gently into the soil. The wind threatened to take it, but he buried it shallowly, pressing it flat.
"'We are the shield in the storm,'" he murmured, quoting an old Minutemen saying. "'And the light when the sky goes dark.'"
There was no applause, no rallying cry. Just silence. The kind that settles when people understand something sacred has just happened.
MacCready stepped forward next, nodding to the others. One by one, soldiers placed mementos—dog tags, small patches, fragments of journals, even a single, weathered holotape—into the graves. They said names softly, voices breaking.
Then, together, they began to bury them.
The sky was overcast by the time they finished. A steel-gray stretch that seemed to reflect the mood of every man and woman standing around those graves. MacCready lit a single flare and stuck it into the earth beside the largest cross, its red smoke curling into the air like an offering.
Sico stood a while longer, watching the wind sweep across the hill. The Commonwealth beyond was still dangerous. The war wasn't over. But here, for a moment, there was peace. A silence that spoke of memory, of sacrifice, of people who gave everything and asked for nothing.
He turned to MacCready as the last shovel was set down.
"They were good people," MacCready said quietly.
"They were the best," Sico replied.
A pause.
"You gonna tell Sarah?"
"Yeah," Sico said. "She needs to know. She's still inside with Mel. Keeping the place running."
MacCready nodded, brushing a gloved hand across his face. "I'll stay here a bit longer. Make sure it feels right."
Sico gave him a squeeze on the shoulder, firm and grateful, then started the walk back down the hill.
When he returned to Greenetech, the sun had dipped closer to the horizon, throwing golden light across the cracked concrete. Sarah was at the comms station, headset on, her expression tight with concentration. Mel was crouched nearby, soldering a length of copper wire with laser focus.
Sico approached slowly. Sarah looked up as he neared, and one look at his face told her everything.
She took off her headset. "How many?"
"Forty-six," he said, voice low.
Sarah closed her eyes. Mel froze in place.
"They're buried now," he continued. "East hill. MacCready handled it. Markers are up. We'll need to put a permanent memorial there once this place is fully secured."
Sarah nodded slowly. "We'll do it right."
"They deserve that," Sico said.
No one spoke for a long moment. The base around them buzzed with activity—people repairing, reinforcing, preparing for whatever came next. But in that small pocket near the comms station, time moved differently.
Finally, Mel stood up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his wrist. "They didn't die for nothing."
"No," Sico agreed. "They didn't."
He looked back toward the sky, where the Brotherhood's Vertibirds would soon fly their missions from Fort Strong. He didn't know what Maxson was planning beyond the Institute, didn't know whether war was brewing between the Brotherhood and the Minutemen.
Sico stayed quiet for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the orange-streaked sky, heavy with the coming night. Another rumble echoed faintly across the horizon — low and distant, but unmistakable. Explosions. Gunfire. And, weaving through it all like angry hornets, the unmistakable roar of Brotherhood Vertibirds cutting through the air.
He turned back to Sarah and Robert, both watching him with grim faces, and finally broke the silence.
"What do you know about Fort Strong?" he asked, voice low, urgent. "Anything?"
Sarah and Robert exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them in the flicker of an eye.
Robert answered first, shifting his weight slightly. "We've seen Vertibird traffic picking up all afternoon. First just a few patrols… now? It's a damn airshow."
Another explosion thudded through the air — closer this time. Even at this distance, you could feel the faint shudder of it under your boots.
Sarah wiped a hand across her mouth, thinking. She always did that when she was pulling memories together. When she spoke, her voice was measured, but tinged with something heavier. Worry, maybe.
"Fort Strong's an old-world military installation," she said. "Pre-War. Built way back before the bombs fell. It used to house heavy munitions—artillery shells, missiles, bombs, mini-nukes… you name it. A weapons depot, basically. There's probably still a lot of it stockpiled underground, buried in bunkers no one's touched in two hundred years."
Sico's stomach tightened.
Robert chimed in, spitting to the side before adding, "The place has been crawling with super mutants for years. Nasty ones. Big bastards, armored, mean as hell. Nobody went near it unless they had a death wish. We figured it wasn't worth the blood to clear it. Too dug in."
Sarah nodded grimly. "The Brotherhood must think it is worth it."
Sico frowned, crossing his arms. "Or they're desperate enough now to take the risk."
Sarah's jaw clenched tight enough that he could hear her teeth grind. "If they take Fort Strong… and they get their hands on what's left in those bunkers…"
She didn't finish the thought. She didn't have to.
It would change everything.
The Brotherhood of Steel with access to a mountain of untouched pre-War ordnance? It wouldn't just be about fighting the Institute anymore. It would be about domination. Whoever controlled that firepower would be the hammer over everyone else's head — the Minutemen, the settlements, even the scattered remnants of the Gunners and Raiders if they got organized enough.
Sico rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the grime and sweat grind into his skin.
"What's the layout like?" he asked. "If they're attacking, what are they walking into?"
Sarah pulled out a battered pre-War map from the satchel at her hip — she was always carrying half a library of salvage. She flipped it open on the comms table, smoothing it out with both hands.
"Fort Strong's on an island just off the coast. Used to be connected by a bridge — long gone now. Brotherhood Vertibirds are their only way in or out."
She tapped a spot on the map, marked in faded ink.
"Here's the main building. Two floors above ground, but the real meat's underground. Old bomb shelters, storage vaults… hell, maybe even armories. It's a maze down there. Twisting corridors, security doors, collapsed tunnels. Perfect place for mutants to hole up."
Robert leaned over the map, frowning. "And a nightmare for anyone trying to clear it. They'll be fighting room by room, hallway by hallway. Close quarters. The Vertibirds can only do so much from the air."
Another explosion echoed, this one bigger, rattling the half-repaired window frames.
Mel, who'd been quietly soldering up to now, set down his tools and came over, wiping his hands.
"They must've decided it's worth the bloodbath," he said quietly. "If they win, they'll be gods."
Sarah nodded, face grim.
"Or devils," she said.
Sico stared at the map, heart hammering with a mix of dread and calculation. He could almost see it playing out — Vertibirds diving, miniguns strafing mutant nests, Brotherhood knights storming broken halls, super mutants roaring as they threw themselves at power-armored soldiers in a storm of blood and fire.
He looked up at Sarah.
"If they take Fort Strong, what's their next move?"
Sarah didn't hesitate. "They won't just sit on it. They'll arm themselves to the teeth. Enough firepower to flatten half the Commonwealth. Then… they'll come for the Institute. And anyone else who doesn't fall in line."
Robert grunted. "You think Maxson's the type to share that kind of power? To say, 'Hey, Minutemen, thanks for being good neighbors'?"
Sico shook his head. "No. He'll use it. To 'protect' us. Whether we want him to or not."
He could see it now—Brotherhood patrols rolling through settlements like conquerors, handing out rules instead of hope. Settlers who refused being 're-educated.' Dissenters disappearing under the hum of Vertibird rotors.
It was a future he couldn't accept.
And yet… he wasn't sure he could stop it.
Not now. Not without knowing more. Not without a plan.
Sarah must've seen the look on his face, because she stepped closer, voice lower.
"We need intel," she said. "We can't just guess. We need to know if they're winning or if it's a meat grinder over there."
Robert crossed his arms. "You want to get eyes on it? Fort Strong's a warzone."
"I'll go," Sico said, almost before thinking. Then, softer, "Not alone. I'll take a recon team. Just a few. Get close enough to see what's happening."
Sarah started to protest, but he cut her off with a look.
"We have to know," he said. "If they win… we have to prepare. If they're losing…"
He let the words hang, unfinished.
Because if the Brotherhood lost… that opened possibilities too.
Sarah hesitated, her instincts as a leader warring with her instincts to protect her people. Finally, she nodded.
"Take Robert. And Mel if he's up for it. Ronnie's got enough on her hands here."
Mel nodded sharply, already grabbing his gear. Robert was slower, grumbling under his breath, but when he pulled his rifle tighter across his chest, there was a gleam in his eye. He was ready.
Sico turned back to the map, heart steadying into something cold and determined.
The Commonwealth was changing — faster than anyone realized. The battle for Greenetech had been the start. Fort Strong could be the next hinge the world swung on.
And they wouldn't be caught blind.
Not again.
They moved quickly.
By twilight, Sico, Robert, and Mel were geared up and slipping out through the east breach of Greenetech's perimeter, sticking to the shadows. Every step toward Fort Strong was a dance between speed and stealth — the ruins between them and the coast were crawling with hazards, from feral ghouls drawn by the noise to the occasional straggling synth patrol looking to finish what the main attack force couldn't.
They didn't speak much. Just gestures, short hisses of breath, the soft crunch of boots on broken asphalt.
The sky darkened from gold to deep bruised blue, stars just starting to peek through, and the sounds of battle grew louder.
By the time they reached the cliffs overlooking the causeway to Fort Strong, the full scope of the battle was laid out below them like some twisted painting.
Fort Strong's battered walls were lit by the fires of war. Plumes of black smoke twisted into the night sky. Brotherhood Vertibirds buzzed overhead like angry bees, miniguns lighting up the ground with streams of hot death. The super mutants answered with heavy machine guns, laser fire stolen from scavenged Institute tech, even, horrifyingly, the occasional mini-nuke hurled on salvaged Fat Man launchers.
Sico hunkered down behind a slab of broken concrete, pulling a battered set of binoculars from his pouch. He scanned the field carefully.
The Brotherhood was fighting hard. Power-armored knights formed spearheads, pushing into the ruined outer courtyard in disciplined squads. But the super mutants fought like cornered animals — relentless, savage, and almost suicidally aggressive.
Bodies littered the broken ground — both human and mutant — and fresh explosions blossomed every few minutes as the Brotherhood tried to breach deeper into the fort's heart.
"Holy shit," Mel whispered, low enough to barely be heard.
Robert muttered, "Looks like a bloodbath."
Sico nodded grimly.
It was clear the Brotherhood had underestimated just how many mutants had made Fort Strong their nest. And now, even with all their tech, their training, their Vertibirds raining fire from the skies… they were bleeding for every inch.
A deep rumble shook the earth under their boots. Far across the island, something massive exploded — a shockwave of dust and debris blossoming upward like a sick, twisted flower.
Sico lowered the binoculars.
"They're trying to blast their way into the lower bunkers," he said. "That wasn't a stray hit. That was demolition."
Robert swore under his breath. "If they get those bunkers open…"
Sico didn't answer. He just stared across the burning ruins.
He could feel it, down in his bones. The Commonwealth was standing on a knife's edge. Whoever came out of that bloodbath with control of Fort Strong would shape the war to come.
And they had to be ready for it — whatever it meant.
He looked back at his small team, faces grim and determined in the firelit dark.
"We go back at first light," he said. "We need to get this to Sarah. To everyone. No delays."
Mel and Robert both nodded.
But even as Sico turned back to watch the battle grind on into the night, a bitter taste filled his mouth.
Because part of him knew — deep down — that by the time the sun rose again, the world they were fighting to protect might already be gone.
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• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-