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!)
...
And neither of them argued with that, as somewhere behind them, the soldiers laughed loudly at a joke that probably wasn't very good.
Morning came gray again.
Not storming.
Not calm either.
The kind of weather the island seemed to prefer with cold air rolling in low over the sea while the Fog drifted between the trees like something patient enough to wait forever.
Far Harbor woke beneath it anyway.
Because preparation didn't care about weather.
The harbor district was already alive before sunrise. Dockworkers hauled fuel lines toward the Sentinel depot while mechanics worked beneath floodlights checking engine housings and track assemblies. The purifier construction site echoed with the sound of welding torches and grinding steel as Hayes argued with three engineers about pipe pressure tolerances loud enough for half the shoreline to hear.
"Redundancy means redundancy!" he barked while pointing aggressively at a blueprint covered in notes. "If one intake fails during winter surge pressure, I want the system capable of operating anyway!"
One of the exhausted engineers rubbed his face.
"We understood you the first six times."
"Then why am I still unconvinced?"
Fair question.
Further inland, training drills had already started.
Rifle cracks echoed rhythmically across the yard.
Boots pounded dirt.
Orders carried through cold air sharp enough to sting the lungs.
The recruits moved harder now.
Faster.
Not because the veterans were yelling more.
Because everyone could feel the countdown narrowing.
A week.
That was all.
One week until the operation against the Children of Atom began.
And the closer it came, the quieter Far Harbor became about it.
Not softer.
Focused.
People spoke in shorter sentences. Worked longer shifts. Checked equipment twice instead of once. Even the laughter around town sounded tighter now, like everyone understood that normal moments were becoming increasingly valuable.
Sico stood near the western gate watching the morning settle over the settlement.
The radio tower blinked overhead.
Slow.
Steady.
Unmoved by any of it.
Below it, the Sentinel Tanks sat parked inside the reinforced depot like sleeping predators beneath canvas covers and maintenance lights. Soldiers moved around them constantly. Fueling. Inspecting. Cleaning weapon systems. Running diagnostics.
Preparation layered over preparation.
Avery approached carrying two mugs of coffee.
She handed him one without a word.
Sico accepted it.
Warm.
Strong enough to qualify as industrial solvent.
"Teddy made this," Avery said.
"That explains the bitterness."
"He said bitterness builds character."
"Teddy says that about everything."
"He's probably right."
For a moment they simply stood there watching Far Harbor move around them.
The settlement had changed so quickly that sometimes even they seemed caught off guard by it.
The streets were fuller now.
More patrols.
More organized traffic between districts.
More people carrying rifles comfortably instead of awkwardly.
Far Harbor no longer looked like a place barely surviving the end of the world.
It looked like infrastructure.
That was dangerous in its own way.
Because once people started believing they could build something permanent, they became willing to fight much harder to protect it.
Avery glanced sideways at him.
"You're thinking."
"Yes."
"That usually becomes someone else's problem eventually."
"Probably."
She sipped her coffee.
"Alright. What kind of problem?"
Sico looked toward the distant tree line beyond the walls.
"The Nucleus."
That erased the faint amusement from her face immediately.
"You're moving already?"
"Not the assault."
"Then what?"
"Scouts."
Avery nodded slowly.
That made sense.
No commander walked blind into territory like the Nucleus unless they wanted casualties written into the plan before the first shot was fired.
"You want movement patterns."
"Yes."
"Patrol routes?"
"Yes."
"Entrances. Numbers. Terrain conditions. Defensive positions."
Sico glanced at her.
"You already know the list."
"I know how you think."
That was true.
Avery looked back toward the walls.
"You sending veterans?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Enough to move quietly."
She nodded once.
Good answer.
Because large scouting teams became targets.
And the island loved swallowing targets.
—
The briefing happened an hour later inside the command building.
The atmosphere in the room felt different from ordinary operations meetings.
Quieter.
More precise.
The soldiers gathered around the central table already understood this wasn't routine patrol work.
These weren't recruits.
Every person in the room had experience navigating the island beyond Far Harbor's safe perimeter.
Ward stood near the map with his arms folded behind his back while Briggs leaned silently against the far wall, watching everyone with the unsettling stillness that made even veteran soldiers sit straighter.
Alice sat on the edge of one table cleaning mud from a combat knife while pretending not to pay attention.
She was paying attention to everything.
Sico stood at the center of the room.
The map of Mount Desert Island spread open beneath dim overhead lighting.
Routes marked.
Danger zones circled.
Fog density regions noted in faded pencil and fresh ink.
And there, near the center-east coastline—
The Nucleus.
Children of Atom territory.
A rot sitting deep inside the island.
Sico looked at the soldiers assembled before him.
Six of them.
Chosen carefully.
Not because they were fearless.
Because they knew how to stay alive.
Lieutenant Mercer stood among them alongside two mainland reconnaissance specialists, a former Far Harbor hunter named Ellis, and two veterans from Briggs' quieter training groups.
Nobody looked eager.
That was reassuring.
Eager scouts died quickly.
"You'll move in pairs," Sico said calmly.
The room stayed completely silent.
"You are not engaging the Children of Atom unless survival leaves no alternative."
Mercer nodded once.
"Understood."
"You are not heroes," Sico continued. "You are eyes."
That mattered.
People forgot that sometimes.
Scouting wasn't glory.
It was patience.
Discipline.
Knowing when not to pull the trigger.
Sico rested one hand lightly against the map.
"I want movement patterns. Patrol routes. Guard rotations. Defensive positions around the Nucleus."
He looked at Ellis.
"Anything unusual."
Ellis nodded immediately.
"Yes, sir."
Sico continued.
"Pay attention to terrain approach points. Elevated firing positions. Radiation pockets. Structural weaknesses."
Alice finally spoke from the side of the room.
"And if you see giant irradiated murder creatures, avoid becoming their breakfast."
One of the scouts snorted quietly.
Alice pointed the knife at him without looking up.
"That wasn't a joke."
The snort stopped immediately.
Reasonable survival instinct.
Ward stepped forward slightly.
"The Fog is getting denser near the southern ridges this week," he said. "Visibility may collapse without warning."
Sico nodded toward the table.
"Which is why you're taking maps."
Rolled terrain maps sat prepared beside the equipment crates.
Waterproofed.
Marked carefully with known safe paths and fallback points.
Not perfect.
Nothing on the island ever was.
But enough to reduce the odds of disappearing forever into the mist.
Sico looked at each scout individually now.
"One wrong turn out there can kill you without a single shot fired."
Nobody argued.
Because everyone in the room had seen the Fog do exactly that before.
People wandered.
Got turned around.
Lost direction for ten minutes.
Then vanished.
Sometimes you found bodies later.
Sometimes not at all.
Sico pointed toward the equipment racks along the wall.
"Gas masks are mandatory beyond the eastern ridge."
The mainland recon specialist frowned slightly.
"Fog concentration?"
"Yes."
The man nodded.
Makeshift filters weren't enough anymore this deep into the island.
The Children of Atom might worship radiation.
Normal people still died from it.
Alice finally stood and crossed toward the supply crates.
She picked up a pouch and tossed it toward Mercer.
The veteran caught it cleanly.
"RadAway," she said.
Then pointed toward several more stacked nearby.
"Take more than you think you need."
Mercer checked the pouch.
"Planning for heavy exposure?"
"Planning for survival," Alice replied.
Fair answer.
Sico stepped toward the supply table himself.
"Every team carries emergency RadAway reserves," he said. "No exceptions."
He looked at Briggs.
"Routes?"
Briggs pushed off the wall slowly and stepped closer to the map.
The room quieted further.
When Briggs spoke, people listened carefully.
Not because he raised his voice.
Because wasting words around Briggs felt dangerous somehow.
He pointed toward a narrow path cutting through forest terrain northwest of the Nucleus.
"Use this ridge line for first approach."
His finger moved lower.
"Do not travel valley floor after dusk."
One of the mainland scouts frowned.
"Why?"
Briggs looked at him.
"Because things hunt there."
Silence.
The scout nodded once.
No follow-up questions.
Smart man.
Briggs continued.
"If visibility drops below ten meters, stop moving."
He glanced around the room.
"That isn't caution. That's survival."
Everyone understood.
Sico let the room absorb the instructions for a moment before speaking again.
"You leave in thirty minutes."
The soldiers dispersed immediately.
No dramatic speeches.
No unnecessary ceremony.
Just preparation.
That was how professionals handled dangerous assignments.
Mercer moved toward the gear station first.
Gas masks were laid out carefully beside ammunition pouches and medical kits.
The masks looked ugly.
Functional.
Heavy filtration units reinforced around the mouthpiece, lenses treated against fogging and radiation residue.
One scout lifted his and muttered, "Always hated these things."
Ellis shrugged while tightening straps on his own pack.
"Better than glowing in the dark."
Reasonable perspective.
Nearby, Teddy supervised supply distribution with the intensity of a man personally offended by inefficient packing.
"No wasted space," he barked while reorganizing one soldier's medical pouch. "If I find loose ammunition rattling around your pack like spare coins, I will haunt you personally."
The soldier blinked.
"…Understood?"
"Good."
Teddy shoved extra RadAway into the side compartment.
"You use these before symptoms get bad. I'm serious. I don't care how tough you think you are."
Mercer adjusted the straps on his rifle.
"Didn't know you cared."
"I care about inventory management," Teddy snapped immediately.
Then after a pause:
"And not having to scrape irradiated idiots off the road later."
Closer to affection than Teddy usually allowed.
Outside, the weather worsened slightly as departure time approached.
Fog thickened along the tree line beyond Far Harbor's outer wall, drifting low across the ground in pale waves.
The island looked hungry again.
Sico stood near the gate as the scouts assembled.
Six soldiers.
Fully equipped.
Faces hidden behind gas masks hanging loose around their necks for now.
Weapons checked.
Maps secured inside waterproof cases.
Compasses clipped carefully to chest rigs.
No unnecessary gear.
Speed mattered.
Silence mattered more.
Ward approached carrying a final set of binoculars.
"Range lenses adjusted for low visibility."
He handed them to Mercer.
The lieutenant nodded.
"Appreciated."
Ward's expression remained unreadable.
"Bring my people back."
Not a request.
Mercer met his gaze steadily.
"That's the plan."
Briggs stood further back in silence.
Watching.
Always watching.
Sico stepped toward the group.
The wind shifted across the gate, carrying Fog deeper inland.
Cold moisture brushed against coats and armor.
"You know your objectives," Sico said.
The scouts nodded.
"You avoid contact whenever possible."
Another nod.
"If anything changes out there—anything—you report immediately."
Mercer answered for the group.
"Yes, sir."
Sico looked beyond them now.
Toward the island.
Toward the direction of the Nucleus hidden somewhere inside all that gray.
Then back to the scouts.
"Do not underestimate the Children of Atom."
Nobody did.
Fanatics were dangerous precisely because survival stopped mattering to them the same way.
Sico's gaze hardened slightly.
"And do not underestimate the Fog."
That warning felt even heavier somehow.
Because bullets could be predicted.
The island couldn't.
For a moment, nobody moved.
The gates loomed behind the scouts.
Massive.
Reinforced.
Safe.
Beyond them waited wilderness soaked in radiation and uncertainty.
Then Sico gave a single nod.
"Go."
The gates opened slowly.
Metal grinding against metal.
The sound echoed outward into the mist.
The scouts moved immediately.
Pairs first.
Then spacing widened naturally as they crossed beyond Far Harbor's perimeter.
Boots disappeared gradually into pale gray fog.
One shape.
Then another.
Then none.
Gone.
Swallowed by the island.
The gates closed behind them with heavy finality.
And suddenly the settlement felt quieter.
Not because noise had stopped.
Because uncertainty had started moving.
Avery appeared beside Sico a few moments later, hands buried in her coat pockets against the cold.
"They'll manage," she said quietly.
Sico watched the Fog beyond the walls.
"Yes."
Not confidence.
Not hope.
Assessment.
Those soldiers were good.
But the island didn't care how good you were.
Avery followed his gaze.
"You trust Briggs' routes?"
"Yes."
"That reassuring?"
"It should be."
A pause.
"Why doesn't it sound reassuring?"
Sico almost smiled.
"Because Briggs talks about survival the way other people discuss weather."
Fair point.
Behind them, Far Harbor continued moving.
Training resumed.
Construction continued.
Engines rumbled near the Sentinel depot.
The purifier platform echoed with welding sparks.
Life kept building itself forward.
But somewhere beyond the Fog, six scouts were now moving toward the Children of Atom.
Toward the Nucleus.
Toward whatever waited there.
The island swallowed sound differently once the scouts moved far enough away from Far Harbor.
Closer to the settlement, noise still carried.
Generators.
Training rifles.
The distant grinding rumble of Sentinel engines shifting inside the depot.
Proof of people.
Proof of structure.
But deeper inland, those sounds disappeared piece by piece until all that remained was the island itself.
Wind moving through dead branches.
Water dripping from moss-covered rock.
The low hiss of the Fog rolling between trees.
And beneath all of it was silence.
Not peaceful silence.
Listening silence.
Mercer moved at the front of the first pair, rifle held low but ready as he followed the narrow route Briggs had marked across the waterproof map. Ellis stayed a few meters behind him, scanning the tree line through the pale gray mist while the gas mask hanging against his chest knocked softly against spare magazines with every step.
The Fog was thicker here already.
Not blinding yet.
But enough that distance became uncertain.
A tree thirty meters away looked like it could've been ten.
Or fifty.
That was how the island trapped people.
Not by hiding paths completely.
By making certainty impossible.
"Trail bends east up ahead," Ellis murmured quietly.
Mercer glanced down at the map.
"Yeah."
The route Briggs had given them wasn't really a trail anymore.
Maybe once.
Long before the world ended.
Now it was little more than broken terrain cutting between rock formations and dense brush soaked permanently in moisture. Boots sank slightly into wet ground with every step. Branches brushed against sleeves. Water collected constantly on rifles and armor no matter how often they wiped them down.
Behind them, the other pairs moved carefully through staggered spacing.
No unnecessary talking.
No wasted motion.
Professionals understood that the island noticed carelessness.
And punished it.
One of the mainland recon specialists, Danvers paused briefly near a cluster of blackened trees.
"Radiation spike," he whispered over the low-band radio.
Mercer checked the handheld meter clipped to his vest.
The needle had climbed slightly.
Not dangerous yet.
But noticeable.
"Mask up," Mercer ordered quietly.
The scouts stopped long enough to pull their gas masks fully into place.
The world changed immediately after that.
Breathing became louder.
Filtered.
Mechanical.
The masks narrowed vision slightly too, turning the island into a series of framed images instead of open surroundings.
Some people hated that feeling.
Others preferred it.
Mercer fell into the second category.
The mask made the world simpler.
Less distraction.
More focus.
Ellis adjusted the seal around his jaw.
"I hate these damn things."
Mercer glanced at him.
"You hate everything."
"Correct."
They kept moving.
The Fog thickened again an hour later.
Not gradually.
Suddenly.
One moment visibility stretched maybe thirty meters ahead.
The next it collapsed into a pale wall swallowing entire sections of forest.
Mercer raised a hand immediately.
The column stopped.
Nobody argued.
Nobody asked questions.
The island didn't give second chances to impatient people.
The six scouts crouched low among broken rock and twisted roots while the Fog drifted silently around them.
Breathing filters hissed softly.
Danvers checked his compass.
"Still northeast."
Ellis muttered through his mask.
"Feels like we're walking inside a grave."
Nobody disagreed.
Mercer unfolded the map again carefully beneath the cover of a leaning boulder.
Briggs' route markings cut through the terrain in thin pencil lines.
Precise.
Minimal.
And so far, completely accurate.
"There's a ridge line about half a klick ahead," Mercer said quietly. "We hold direction until visibility improves."
One of Briggs' veterans named Keller looked into the white haze ahead.
"And if it doesn't?"
Mercer answered without hesitation.
"Then we wait."
That was the difference between trained scouts and dead ones.
Dead scouts pushed forward because standing still felt wrong.
Living scouts understood the island wanted exactly that.
So they waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
The Fog shifted slowly around them, thinning in some places while thickening in others like an ocean current made of smoke.
And eventually the visibility returned enough to move again.
Not good.
Just survivable.
Mercer rose first.
"Move."
The scouts continued.
Careful.
Measured.
Every few hundred meters they checked bearings again.
Compass.
Map.
Terrain markers.
Nothing was trusted alone out here.
Not even memory.
Especially not memory.
The island distorted that too.
By midday, the terrain began changing.
The forest thinned slightly near rising ground, replaced by jagged stone ridges and exposed earth scarred black from old radiation burns. Dead trees leaned at unnatural angles across the landscape while rusted debris from long-forgotten structures jutted from the soil like bones.
And somewhere ahead was the Nucleus.
They could feel it before they saw it.
The radiation meters clicked harder now.
Steadier.
The air itself seemed heavier.
Ellis slowed beside Mercer.
"You smell that?"
Mercer did.
Even through the mask.
Metal.
Rot.
Wet ash.
Children of Atom territory.
The fanatics polluted everything around them simply by existing there.
Mercer raised a closed fist.
The column stopped instantly.
He crouched low near the edge of a rocky incline and studied the terrain ahead through binoculars.
At first, he saw nothing.
Just Fog moving between ruined terrain.
Then shapes emerged.
Structures.
Rusting industrial walls built into the coastline.
Defensive barricades.
Watch platforms.
The Nucleus.
Even partially hidden by Fog and distance, the place looked hostile.
Not organized like Far Harbor.
Not disciplined.
But dangerous in the way nests of venomous things were dangerous.
Improvised fortifications lined the outer approach roads. Scrap metal walls reinforced with concrete and old ship plating created layered choke points leading toward the main entrance.
And everywhere, Children of Atom.
Mercer adjusted the binocular focus slightly.
Figures moved between barricades carrying rifles and radiation staffs wrapped in glowing green cloth. Some wore patchwork armor covered in Atom symbols painted by hand. Others looked barely equipped at all.
But all of them moved with the same unsettling calm.
Fanatics.
Keller crawled beside Mercer carefully.
"You seeing this?"
"Yes."
"Lot more guards than expected."
Mercer nodded slightly.
At least thirty visible already.
Probably more hidden deeper inside.
And that was just the exterior.
He lowered the binoculars briefly and motioned the others closer.
"Stay low."
The scouts gathered beneath the rocky slope while Mercer spread the map across the stone between them.
"We're at the northwestern outskirts," he said quietly. "Main entrance is heavily fortified."
Danvers adjusted his mask slightly.
"Can't get closer?"
"Not without being seen."
That much was obvious already.
The terrain around the Nucleus had been chosen well.
Limited natural approach angles.
Elevated defensive positions.
Clear kill zones.
Even fanatics understood basic survival sometimes.
Ellis pointed toward the eastern side of the map.
"What about higher ground?"
Mercer looked up again toward the ridgeline overlooking part of the compound.
There.
A steep climb through broken stone and dead trees.
Dangerous.
But possible.
And if they could get elevation. "We move uphill," Mercer decided.
Nobody objected.
The climb took nearly forty minutes.
Slow work.
The slope was uneven and slick with moisture, forcing them to climb carefully while keeping low enough to avoid skyline exposure.
Twice they froze completely as Children of Atom patrols passed below through the Fog.
The patrols moved strangely.
Not military.
Not civilian either.
Loose formations.
Poor spacing.
But completely fearless.
One of them walked directly through a radiation pocket strong enough to make the scouts' meters click angrily without reacting at all.
Danvers watched them disappear into the mist.
"They're insane."
Ellis adjusted his rifle.
"That's what makes them dangerous."
Higher up, the terrain finally leveled into a jagged overlook partially concealed by rock formations and thick dead brush.
Perfect observation position.
Mercer crouched near the edge carefully and raised the binoculars again.
This time the Nucleus opened beneath them fully.
And for a moment, even the veterans went quiet.
The old submarine base stretched across the coastline below like something dragged back from the grave.
Massive reinforced walls.
Rusting naval structures.
Flooded lower sections glowing faintly green from radiation runoff.
Searchlights mounted atop scavenged towers swept slowly through the Fog while armed guards moved constantly along patrol routes.
The Children of Atom hadn't just occupied the place.
They had transformed it.
Atom symbols covered walls and barricades in glowing paint. Religious banners hung between rusted structures. Radiation barrels burned openly near gathering areas where groups of cultists stood listening to sermons from armored priests carrying modified gamma weapons.
And deeper inside the compound, a submarine hull.
Partially exposed.
Massive.
Silent.
Ellis stared through his scope.
"Well," he muttered quietly.
"That's horrifying."
Mercer studied the defenses carefully.
This was why they came.
Not to admire the nightmare.
To understand it.
He began speaking quietly while Keller marked notes onto the map.
"Primary entrance here," Mercer said, pointing toward the north gate. "Heavy barricades. Mounted weapons. Multiple overlapping fields of fire."
Keller nodded while sketching defensive markers.
Danvers scanned the perimeter through binoculars.
"Western wall looks weaker."
Mercer shifted focus.
The west side sat closer to the cliffs, where erosion and old structural damage had partially collapsed sections of the perimeter defenses.
Not undefended.
But vulnerable.
"There," Mercer said quietly.
The scouts focused on the damaged area.
A narrow maintenance path wound along the cliffside toward the lower sections of the compound.
Risky approach.
Tight terrain.
But possibly exploitable.
Ellis frowned slightly.
"Problem is getting armor through there."
Mercer nodded.
Too narrow for Sentinel Tanks.
Probably too unstable even for power armor in some sections.
Still useful information.
Keller pointed toward the southern structures.
"Fuel storage?"
Mercer studied the clustered tanks partially hidden behind barricades.
Could be.
Or radiation containment.
Hard to tell from distance.
Still a potential target.
The scouts continued observing for nearly an hour.
Patterns emerged slowly.
Guard shifts.
Patrol timing.
Searchlight rotations.
The Children of Atom weren't disciplined soldiers.
But they were numerous.
And utterly committed.
That made them unpredictable.
One priest led a group through open radiation pools while chanting something the wind carried only in fragments.
Another patrol stopped suddenly near the western wall and began praying toward the glowing submarine hull.
Danvers lowered his binoculars slowly.
"They really believe this."
"Yes," Mercer said.
And that was the dangerous part.
Normal armies retreated when enough people died.
Fanatics measured success differently.
A sharp click interrupted the silence.
Everyone froze instantly.
Mercer turned slowly toward the sound.
Keller had shifted his weight against loose stone near the ridge edge.
The rock slid downward.
Not loudly.
But enough.
The scouts held perfectly still.
Below them, movement changed immediately.
One of the Children patrols stopped.
Heads turning upward.
Searching.
Mercer's grip tightened slightly on his rifle.
Nobody breathed.
The patrol leader stepped forward slowly through the Fog below, weapon raised halfway.
Listening.
Searching the ridgeline.
Seconds stretched.
Long.
Heavy.
Danvers slowly eased one hand toward the RadAway pouch clipped against his vest which not because he needed it, but because nervous hands needed somewhere to go.
The cultist below tilted his head slightly.
Then another voice shouted something from deeper inside the compound.
The patrol leader hesitated.
Turned.
And moved away.
The scouts remained frozen another full minute anyway.
Mercer finally exhaled quietly.
"Keller."
"Yeah?"
"If you kill us with a rock, I'm haunting you personally."
Keller nodded once.
"Fair."
Nobody laughed.
Too close.
Way too close.
Mercer checked the compound one last time through the binoculars.
Then lowered them slowly.
"We've got enough."
Ellis looked down toward the Nucleus again.
"You think command's really going to hit this place?"
Mercer stared at the fortress below.
At the defenses.
At the fanatics moving through radioactive fog like ghosts worshipping the end of the world.
Then he thought about the Sentinel Tanks waiting in Far Harbor.
The power armor.
The growing army.
The urgency in Sico's voice.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"I think they are."
No one spoke after that.
Because suddenly the island felt very small, as the war felt very close.
______________________________________________
• 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:-