If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Now came the next part, with it up and finishing it. And making sure those twenty-three meant something, as their sacrifice was worth the price.
Outside the interrogation room, the air felt different.
Not lighter.
Not easier.
But settled.
Like something that had been hanging over them had finally come down and taken shape.
Preston stepped into the hallway beside Sico, the door closing behind them with a quiet, final click. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of Sanctuary filtered faintly through the walls again, distant and muted, but steady.
Life continuing.
It always did.
Sico didn't move right away.
He stood there, still, his eyes forward, his mind clearly already moving beyond what had just happened inside that room.
Processing.
Connecting.
Planning.
Preston waited.
Not because he had to.
Because he understood.
This was the moment where everything shifted from knowing to acting.
After a few seconds, Sico exhaled quietly.
Then he turned slightly toward Preston.
"We move now," he said.
Preston nodded once.
"Yeah."
Sico's gaze sharpened, not aggressive, not urgent in a chaotic way but focused. Directed.
"He gave us everything," Sico continued. "Names, routes, locations."
A brief pause.
"That means we don't give them time to react."
Preston's jaw tightened slightly.
"They don't get to disappear," he said.
Sico nodded.
"Exactly."
He started walking down the hallway, and Preston fell into step beside him without a word.
"We split this into two operations," Sico said as they moved.
"Recovery and containment."
Preston glanced at him briefly.
"Taxes and assets… and the network."
Sico gave a small nod.
"Right."
They stepped out of the prison block and back into the open pathways of Sanctuary. The light hit them again, the movement of people, the quiet rhythm of the settlement continuing as if nothing had changed.
But for Preston, everything had.
"First," Sico said, his tone steady, "we send teams to recover the caches."
Preston adjusted his grip on the folder slightly.
"Multiple locations," he said. "Some of them probably trapped or watched."
Sico didn't disagree.
"Assume they are," he said. "We go in prepared."
Preston nodded.
"I'll assign experienced squads. No new recruits."
"Good."
A short silence followed as they walked.
Then Sico continued.
"And second…"
He stopped.
Turned fully toward Preston now.
"You lead the operation to take down the rest of his men."
That landed heavier.
Not unexpected.
But still heavier.
Preston held his gaze.
"Locations he gave us," he said.
Sico nodded.
"All of them."
Preston exhaled slowly.
"They won't all be organized like today," he said. "Some will scatter. Some will try to disappear."
"Some will fight," Sico added.
"Yeah."
Another pause.
Then Sico stepped closer, just enough that his voice lowered slightly—not secretive, but more direct.
"This ends with them," he said.
Preston didn't look away.
"I know."
Sico studied him for a second.
Then added quietly.
"And Preston…"
Preston waited.
Sico's voice didn't change much.
But there was something under it now.
"Don't drag this out."
Preston understood immediately.
"Fast," he said.
"Clean."
Sico nodded once.
"They've already done enough damage."
Preston's eyes hardened slightly.
"They won't get the chance to do more."
That was it.
That was the line.
Sico held it for a moment.
Then stepped back slightly.
"Then get your teams ready."
Preston nodded.
"I'll move now."
Sico turned away, already heading back toward the headquarters building.
"I'll coordinate from here," he said over his shoulder. "You'll have full support."
Preston didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He turned in the opposite direction.
Toward the command yard.
The energy there was different.
It always was.
Even on quiet days, there was movement.
Preparation.
Readiness.
But today, there was something sharper beneath it.
The convoy had returned damaged.
The wounded had been rushed through.
Word had spread.
People knew something had happened.
They just didn't know how much.
Preston stepped into the yard, his presence immediately noticed.
A few soldiers straightened.
Others glanced over.
Waiting.
He didn't waste time.
"Squad leaders," he called out.
His voice carried.
Not loud.
But clear.
Immediate.
Within seconds, they started gathering.
Three.
Then five.
Then more.
Experienced faces.
People who had been out there.
Who understood what came next.
Preston looked at each of them.
Not as a group.
As individuals.
Because he knew what he was about to ask.
And what it meant.
"We've got targets," he said.
No buildup.
No speeches.
"Multiple locations."
He held up the folder slightly.
"Carver's network. What's left of it."
The reaction was subtle.
A shift in posture.
In focus.
They understood.
"We're splitting into teams," Preston continued.
"Recovery squads will move on the cache locations. You go in, secure the area, collect everything."
He paused.
"Assume resistance."
A few nods.
No questions.
"Combat teams," he went on, "you're with me."
That got their full attention.
"We're hitting the remaining cells directly."
He stepped forward slightly.
"Fast. Coordinated. No time for them to scatter."
One of the squad leaders spoke up.
"Rules of engagement?"
Preston didn't hesitate.
"If they surrender, they get taken in."
A beat.
"If they don't…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
They all understood.
Silence settled for a second.
Then Preston added.
"We end this today."
That landed.
Not as motivation.
As fact.
One of the soldiers nodded firmly.
"About time."
A few others echoed it quietly.
Preston looked over them one more time.
Then said it.
"Move out."
—
Preparation happened fast.
It had to.
Weapons were checked.
Ammo redistributed.
Vehicles fueled and repositioned.
Maps spread across hoods and crates as final routes were confirmed.
Preston moved between groups, not micromanaging, just making sure everything lined up.
That nothing was missed.
One of the squad leaders approached him.
"Cache teams ready," he said.
Preston nodded.
"Keep comms open. If anything looks off, you call it."
"Understood."
Another approached moments later.
"Combat teams set."
Preston looked at them.
Then nodded once.
"Alright."
He turned toward the vehicles.
Humvees.
Trucks.
Not as many as before.
But enough.
More controlled this time.
More deliberate.
No long convoy.
No exposed movement.
This wasn't a return trip.
This was a hunt.
Preston climbed into the lead vehicle again.
The engine rumbled to life beneath him.
Around him, the others followed.
Doors shut.
Engines started.
Dust began to rise.
He keyed the radio.
"All units, check in."
One by one, voices came through.
"Alpha ready."
"Bravo ready."
"Charlie in position."
Preston listened.
Then spoke.
"Move."
—
The convoy rolled out of Sanctuary again.
But this time, it felt different.
Not like they were leaving.
Like they were heading toward something that had already been decided.
The road stretched ahead.
Familiar.
But carrying something new.
Purpose.
Finality.
Inside the Humvee, Preston sat forward slightly.
Not tense.
Focused.
The folder rested beside him.
Everything they needed was inside it.
Every name.
Every location.
Every piece of what Carver had built.
And now…
They were going to tear it out.
One piece at a time.
The first stop came fast.
A small outpost.
Barely more than a reinforced shack near one of the trade routes.
"Alpha team, that's yours," Preston said into the radio.
"Copy."
The vehicle split.
Alpha peeled off.
The rest continued.
Preston didn't watch them go.
He didn't need to.
They knew what to do.
The second target was different.
Larger.
More fortified.
A proper hideout.
"Contact likely," one of the soldiers muttered.
Preston nodded.
"Good," he said quietly.
Then louder, into the radio.
"All units, positions."
The vehicles slowed.
Stopped.
Soldiers moved.
Fast.
Disciplined.
Forming lines.
Taking angles.
Preston stepped out, rifle already in his hands.
He looked at the structure ahead.
Then at his people.
"End it," he said.
And they moved.
And they moved.
Not with hesitation.
Not with the uncertainty that had shadowed them on the road before the ambush.
This time, everything was aligned.
Clear.
Focused.
Final.
The first breach came fast.
Two soldiers moved up to the reinforced door of the outpost, one planting the charge while the other covered the angles. No wasted motion. No unnecessary words. Just a quick nod between them.
Then they pulled back.
A sharp thud split the air as the charge detonated.
The door gave instantly, blown inward with a burst of dust and splintered wood.
"Go!"
The first team flowed in like water through a broken barrier.
Preston followed just behind the second wave, rifle raised, eyes scanning, every sense tuned to the smallest shift in movement.
Inside, the resistance came but not like before.
Not coordinated.
Not overwhelming.
A man stumbled out from behind an overturned table, weapon half-raised, panic already written across his face.
He fired once.
Wild.
The shot went wide.
He didn't get a second.
Two controlled bursts dropped him instantly.
Another voice shouted from deeper inside.
"Contact! Back room!"
Preston pivoted immediately, moving toward the sound.
A second attacker tried to hold position behind a makeshift barricade with crates stacked hastily, barely enough to stop anything more than a glance.
He fired in short, erratic bursts.
Not disciplined.
Not trained.
Nothing like the men on the ridge earlier.
"Suppress!"
Two soldiers stepped forward, laying down controlled fire.
The attacker ducked.
Too slow.
Preston advanced with them, closing the distance.
"Drop it!" one of the soldiers shouted.
For a split second, it looked like the man might.
His grip faltered.
His eyes flicked between the rifles pointed at him.
Then he made the wrong choice.
He reached back for the trigger.
A single shot ended it.
Silence fell over the room just as quickly as the fight had started.
Preston didn't lower his weapon yet.
"Clear it," he said.
The teams moved through the rest of the structure.
Room by room.
Corner by corner.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
The calls came steady.
Final.
Within minutes, it was over.
Preston stepped back outside, the dust still settling around the broken doorway.
One of the squad leaders approached him.
"Minimal resistance," he reported. "Five hostiles. All down."
Preston nodded once.
"Any intel?"
"Some documents. Nothing major."
"Bag it anyway."
The soldier nodded and moved off.
Preston glanced back toward the building for a second.
Then turned away.
"That's one," he muttered.
But there was no satisfaction in it.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
The operation continued.
Fast.
Relentless.
Exactly the way Sico had ordered.
Exactly the way it needed to be.
Each location came with its own variation.
A small bunker hidden beneath scrap metal and dirt.
A cluster of tents near an abandoned trade route.
A half-collapsed warehouse that had been repurposed into a temporary holding site.
But the pattern stayed the same.
Resistance, but not strong.
Fighters, but not organized.
Carver's network without Carver wasn't a machine anymore.
It was fragments.
Pieces trying to function without the structure that had once held them together.
At the second major site, there was a moment that brief, but sharp.
A man stepped out with his hands raised before the first shot was even fired.
"I'm done!" he shouted. "I'm done!"
The soldiers didn't shoot.
Didn't rush.
They held position.
"On your knees!" Preston called out.
The man obeyed instantly, dropping hard onto the dirt, hands still raised.
Others followed.
One by one.
Weapons dropped.
Resistance dissolved before it even fully formed.
Preston watched it happen.
And for a second, something shifted inside him.
Not relief.
Not forgiveness.
Just understanding.
This wasn't the same fight as before.
The ones who had believed in the system.
The ones who had fought with coordination, with discipline…
Most of them had been on that road.
Most of them were already gone.
What remained?
Wasn't the core.
Just the edges.
"Secure them," Preston ordered.
The soldiers moved in quickly, binding hands, checking for concealed weapons.
No struggle.
No resistance.
Just quiet compliance.
One of the captured men looked up at Preston as he was being restrained.
"We didn't think he'd lose," he said.
Preston didn't respond.
Because there was nothing to say to that.
While the combat teams swept through the remaining locations, the recovery squads moved with equal precision.
Different mission.
Same focus.
The first cache was buried beneath what looked like an abandoned storage pit.
If you didn't know it was there, you'd walk right past it.
"Mark's here," one of the recovery team members said, scanning the coordinates Carver had given.
They dug carefully.
Measured.
Watching for traps.
Expecting something.
But nothing came.
No resistance.
No surprises.
Just dirt.
Then metal.
A hollow clang as the shovel struck something solid.
"Got it."
They cleared it out quickly, revealing a reinforced container hidden beneath layers of debris.
The lock was intact.
Professional.
But not enough.
"Step back."
A tool came out.
A quick adjustment.
Then.
Click.
The container opened.
Inside…
Caps.
Stacks of them.
Organized.
Packed tight.
More than most settlements would see in months.
One of the soldiers let out a low whistle.
"Damn…"
But the reaction didn't last long.
Because this wasn't found money.
This wasn't luck.
This was stolen.
Taken.
From people who needed it.
"Document it," the squad leader said.
"Then load it."
They moved fast.
Cataloging.
Securing.
Transporting.
No celebration.
No distraction.
Just work.
The second cache was different.
Hidden inside the false wall of an abandoned shack.
The third buried near a dry riverbed.
The fourth tucked inside a broken transport crate that had been deliberately left in plain sight, disguised as scrap.
Each one matched what Carver had told them.
Every location.
Every stash.
Exactly where he said it would be.
By the time the recovery teams checked in again, the reports were consistent.
"All caches secured."
"No resistance."
"Full recovery."
Preston listened to each report over the radio, his grip tightening slightly with each confirmation.
Not out of tension.
Out of something else.
Something closer to closure.
The final site came as the sun started to dip lower in the sky.
A larger compound.
Not heavily fortified.
But clearly used as a central point for one of the outer cells.
Preston stood behind a low ridge, observing it for a moment before giving the signal.
"Same as before," he said. "Quick and clean."
The soldiers nodded.
They moved.
The approach was silent.
Controlled.
Then.
"Contact!"
A single shot rang out from inside the compound.
It hit the dirt several feet wide.
Untrained.
Unsteady.
Preston didn't even flinch.
"Push."
They advanced.
The fight lasted less than a minute.
Three attackers tried to hold.
They were overwhelmed instantly.
Two others surrendered.
One tried to run.
Didn't make it ten steps.
And just like that…
It was done.
The last pocket.
The last piece of what had once been a network.
Cleared.
Preston stepped into the compound slowly, scanning one final time.
Nothing moved.
Nothing threatened.
Nothing remained.
A soldier approached him.
"That's it," he said.
Preston looked around.
The empty structures.
The discarded weapons.
The silence.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"That's it."
By the time the convoy started heading back toward Sanctuary again, the sun was low on the horizon.
The light stretched long across the wasteland, casting everything in gold and shadow.
The vehicles weren't rushed.
Didn't need to be.
The mission was complete.
Not just successful.
Complete.
Inside the lead Humvee, Preston sat back for the first time all day.
Not relaxed.
But… settled.
The radio crackled one last time.
"Recovery teams reporting in. All assets accounted for."
Preston closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them again.
"Copy that."
He looked out at the road ahead.
At the path leading back home.
They had taken Carver.
They had broken his network.
They had recovered what had been stolen.
They had stopped it from spreading further.
It didn't erase the cost.
Nothing could.
But it meant something.
It made it matter.
The convoy rolled forward.
Back toward Sanctuary.
And this time, the road didn't feel like a threat.
It didn't feel like something waiting to close in around them, to turn into another kill zone, another ambush, another moment where everything could go wrong in a matter of seconds.
It felt quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not safe.
But quiet in a way that came after something had been settled.
The engines hummed steadily beneath them, tires grinding over uneven terrain, dust trailing behind the vehicles in long, fading lines that stretched back into the wasteland.
Inside the lead Humvee, Preston sat forward slightly, one hand resting near the dash, the other loosely gripping his rifle.
He wasn't tense anymore.
But he wasn't relaxed either.
There was still too much sitting in his chest for that.
Too much that hadn't had time to fully land yet.
The radio crackled occasionally with routine check-ins.
"Alpha returning."
"Bravo en route."
"Recovery teams loaded and secure."
Each one steady.
Each one controlled.
No urgency.
No panic.
Just confirmation.
That everything had gone the way it was supposed to.
Preston listened to each report, acknowledging them with short responses, his voice calm, even.
But his eyes stayed forward.
On the road.
On the horizon where Sanctuary would eventually come into view.
And every now and then, without meaning to, his thoughts drifted back again.
Not to the firefight.
Not to the breach.
Not to the takedowns.
But to the aftermath.
The bodies.
The silence after the gunfire.
The number.
Twenty-three.
It didn't hit all at once.
It never did.
It came in pieces.
Moments.
Like now.
In the quiet between radio calls.
In the steady rhythm of the engine.
In the space where his mind wasn't actively focused on the next move.
He exhaled slowly, pushing it down—not away, just… into place.
Where it belonged.
Where it would stay.
Carried.
Not ignored.
Not forgotten.
Just carried.
The convoy crested a low ridge, and there it was.
Sanctuary.
Familiar.
Solid.
Standing where it always had.
Watch posts visible at the perimeter.
Figures already moving into position as they recognized the incoming vehicles.
Word traveled fast here.
It always did.
Even without radios.
Even without official reports.
They would have seen the dust.
Heard the engines.
Noticed the difference in formation.
Fewer vehicles than before.
But more controlled.
More complete.
Preston straightened slightly as they approached the outer gate.
"Open it," a voice called from the watch post.
The gate shifted.
Metal grinding against metal as it pulled back.
The convoy rolled through.
And just like that, they were back inside.
Back home.
But just like before…
The feeling didn't shift the way it used to.
Not completely.
Sanctuary wasn't untouched by what had happened.
The news had already started to spread.
You could see it.
In the way people paused as the convoy passed.
In the way conversations quieted.
In the way eyes tracked the vehicles that not out of curiosity, but out of understanding.
Something had happened.
Something serious.
They didn't know all of it.
But they knew enough.
Preston guided the lead Humvee through the main path, not slowing, not diverting.
Straight toward the Freemasons Headquarters.
Behind him, the rest of the convoy followed in a tighter formation than before, the trucks carrying the recovered caches heavy with what had been taken and now returned.
Caps.
Supplies.
Resources that should have never left the hands of the people they belonged to.
As the vehicles came to a stop outside the headquarters building, the engines cut one by one.
The sudden drop in sound felt heavier than expected.
Preston stepped out of the Humvee, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Looking at the building.
At the doors.
At the place where everything would now come together.
Behind him, soldiers began dismounting.
Not loudly.
Not with energy.
Just… steady.
Controlled.
They had done their job.
Now came the part where it all got accounted for.
Preston turned slightly, raising his voice just enough.
"Hold position," he said. "No unloading yet."
The soldiers nodded.
They understood.
This wasn't something that got handled casually.
Not this time.
Preston adjusted the strap on his rifle, then started toward the entrance.
The doors opened as he approached.
Inside, the shift was immediate.
Cooler.
Quieter.
Organized.
The controlled environment of command.
He moved through the hallway without stopping, his pace steady but not rushed.
People noticed.
Of course they did.
A few officers looked up from their work as he passed.
Some nodded.
Some didn't.
But all of them saw it.
The dust still on his gear.
The look in his eyes.
The weight he carried back with him.
He didn't slow down.
Didn't acknowledge more than a faint nod in return.
Because there was only one place he needed to be.
Sico's office.
When he reached the door, he didn't hesitate.
He pushed it open and stepped inside.
Sico was there.
Same as before.
Behind the desk.
Papers spread out.
Pen in hand.
But this time, he looked up before Preston even spoke.
Like he had been expecting him.
Or maybe just waiting.
Their eyes met.
And for a second, neither of them said anything.
They didn't need to.
Sico could read it.
In the way Preston stood.
In the way he held himself.
In the absence of urgency.
"You finished it," Sico said.
Not a question.
Preston stepped forward.
"Yeah," he replied.
A beat.
"Everything."
Sico set his pen down slowly, folding his hands together on the desk as he leaned forward slightly.
"Report."
Preston nodded once.
Then began.
"We hit every location Carver gave us," he said. "No major resistance. Most of what was left wasn't organized."
Sico listened.
Completely.
"Some surrendered," Preston continued. "Some tried to fight. Didn't last long."
A brief pause.
"We secured all remaining personnel tied to the network."
Sico's gaze sharpened slightly.
"All of them?"
"As far as what he gave us… yeah."
That mattered.
A lot.
Sico leaned back slightly, absorbing that.
"And the caches?"
Preston didn't hesitate.
"All recovered."
A flicker of something passed through Sico's expression.
Not relief.
Not satisfaction.
But something close.
"Every location matched what Carver told us," Preston added. "Nothing missing."
Sico nodded once, slowly.
"Good."
The word carried weight.
Because it wasn't just about success.
It was about confirmation.
Carver hadn't lied.
Not about this.
Not about what mattered.
Sico exhaled quietly, then glanced briefly toward the stack of documents on his desk before looking back at Preston.
"That's a clean finish," he said.
Preston didn't respond immediately.
Because clean…
Wasn't the word he would have used.
But he understood what Sico meant.
The operation.
The follow-up.
The execution.
Not the cost.
Never the cost.
"It's done," Preston said instead.
Sico studied him for a moment longer.
Then nodded.
"Alright."
He shifted slightly in his chair.
"Then we move to the next part."
Preston already knew what that was.
He turned slightly toward the door.
"The convoy's outside," he said. "Loaded with everything we recovered."
Sico followed his gaze.
Then gave a small nod.
"Get Magnolia's team on it."
Preston didn't wait.
"I was heading there next."
Sico's eyes returned to him.
"Good."
A pause.
Then, quieter.
"Make sure it's accounted for properly."
Preston met his gaze.
"It will be."
Sico held that for a second.
Then gave a final nod.
"That's all I need right now."
That was the dismissal.
But this time, it didn't feel like the end of something.
Just the next step.
Preston turned and stepped out of the office again, closing the door behind him.
Back into the hallway.
Back into the steady rhythm of the headquarters.
But this time, his path shifted.
Not toward command.
Not toward the prison.
Toward Magnolia.
Again.
Because now, there was more to handle.
More to put back where it belonged.
He stepped outside, the air hitting him again as he scanned the area quickly.
The convoy was still there.
Waiting.
Engines off.
Soldiers standing by.
And the trucks.
Heavy with what they carried.
Preston moved toward them, raising a hand slightly.
"Hold steady," he said to the nearest squad leader.
"Magnolia's team is coming."
The soldier nodded.
"Understood."
Preston didn't stop.
He turned and headed toward Magnolia's office again, his pace slightly quicker this time.
Not rushed.
Just… direct.
When he reached the door, he knocked once.
Then pushed it open.
Magnolia was still inside.
Still working.
Her desk now even more crowded than before, documents spread out in organized clusters, ledgers open, notes marked and cross-referenced.
She looked up immediately.
Preston saw it again.
That same understanding.
But this time, there was something else in her eyes.
Expectation.
"You're back sooner than I thought," she said.
Preston stepped in.
"Operation's done."
That got her full attention.
"All of it?" she asked.
Preston nodded.
"All of it."
A brief pause.
Then he added.
"We recovered everything."
Magnolia straightened slightly.
"The caches?"
"All of them."
For the first time, something like relief showed clearly on her face.
Not exaggerated.
Not dramatic.
But real.
"That's… good," she said quietly.
Preston stepped closer.
"The convoy's outside," he said. "Loaded with everything we pulled."
Magnolia didn't waste a second.
She was already standing.
"I'll get my team."
Preston nodded.
"Make sure it's all logged."
Magnolia gave him a look.
A small one.
"You really think I wouldn't?"
There was no offense in it.
Just certainty.
Preston let out a faint breath.
"Just making sure."
She nodded once.
Then moved.
Fast.
Calling out names as she stepped into the hallway.
"I need inventory teams outside now! Full accounting, priority handling!"
The response came quickly.
People moved.
Papers were gathered.
Tools picked up.
Magnolia turned back to Preston for just a second.
"Nothing gets misplaced," she said.
Preston met her gaze.
"Good."
Then she was gone.
Already working.
Already directing.
Already turning what they had recovered into something structured again.
Something usable.
Something that could be returned.
Preston stepped back outside, watching as Magnolia's team spread out across the convoy.
Opening truck doors.
Checking contents.
Marking ledgers.
Counting.
Cataloging.
Every cap.
Every crate.
Every piece.
Handled with care.
Handled with purpose.
Because they all knew what it meant.
Where it had come from.
And where it needed to go back to.
Preston stood there for a moment, watching it unfold.
Then slowly exhaled.
The operation was done.
The network was broken.
The resources were recovered.
The system that had been draining them was gone.
It didn't bring back the twenty-three.
Nothing ever would.
But it meant something.
It made the cost... carry weight.
Real weight.
Not just loss.
But impact.
Preston turned his head slightly, looking out across Sanctuary.
At the people.
At the movement.
At the life continuing around them.
And for the first time since it all began…
There was no unfinished edge.
No immediate threat waiting in the background.
Just work.
Recovery.
And whatever came next.
He stood there a moment longer.
Then finally moved again.
Because even when something ended, there was always something else waiting to begin.
______________________________________________
• 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:-