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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And for the first time, it wasn't fragile which not in the same way as it could still break. But now, it could also hold and that change everything.
The quiet that followed the meal didn't disappear all at once.
It lingered.
Not as silence, but as something softer threaded through everything that came after. The fires burned lower as the pots emptied. Conversations drifted, broke, reformed in smaller clusters. Some people stayed where they were, sitting a little longer than they needed to, holding onto that brief moment where things hadn't been about survival alone.
But Far Harbor didn't stay still.
It never had.
And now, it couldn't afford to.
By the time the last bowls were scraped clean and set aside, the shift had already begun again.
Not forced.
Not commanded.
Just understood.
Tools were picked back up.
Voices returned to direction.
Boots found their rhythm again against the ground.
The wall still stood.
But it wasn't finished.
And everyone knew what that meant.
Morning came the same way it always did.
Muted.
Filtered through fog that never quite lifted, only thinned enough to pretend it might.
But the harbor didn't hesitate.
Not anymore.
Sico was already moving along the outer wall before most of the voices had fully returned to the air. He hadn't slept long, but it didn't show. His pace was the same. His focus unchanged.
The structure had held once.
Now it had to hold again.
And again.
And again.
He stopped at the central junction where the outer wall connected to the gate. It had been reinforced the previous night, but that wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
"Recheck anchor depth," he said.
A nearby soldier turned immediately.
"Confirmed."
Another knelt beside the base of the support beam, driving a tool down into the soil to test resistance.
"…Holding."
"Reinforce anyway," Sico replied.
No argument.
No hesitation.
Because that was how this worked now.
Not reacting to failure.
Eliminating the possibility of it.
The work spread outward from there.
Teams moved in coordinated patterns, reinforcing weak points identified during the gulper attack. Metal plating was doubled in high-impact zones. Support beams were driven deeper, angled differently to distribute force more effectively.
Harbormen worked alongside them again.
Not cautiously anymore.
Not as observers.
But as part of it.
Allen was already there when Sico moved further along the line, directing a group as they hauled a thick wooden brace into position.
"…No, not flush," he muttered.
"…Angle it in."
One of the soldiers adjusted immediately.
"…Like that?"
Allen nodded.
"…Yeah. That'll take a hit better."
The soldier didn't question it.
Didn't second-guess.
"Confirmed."
The brace was set.
Secured.
Another point strengthened.
Sico observed it briefly.
Then moved on.
Because the pattern was repeating everywhere now.
Knowledge merging.
Structure forming.
Something that hadn't existed here before.
The second day didn't feel like a continuation.
It felt like acceleration.
The wall wasn't just being reinforced anymore.
It was expanding further outward.
Sections were extended beyond the initial arc, creating overlapping defensive layers instead of a single line. Patrol routes were widened. Observation points raised.
Far Harbor wasn't just holding ground now.
It was claiming it.
Sico moved through it all without pause.
Not directing every movement.
Not needing to.
Because the system was functioning.
Soldiers executed orders with precision.
Harbormen adapted quickly, filling gaps, stabilizing areas where the terrain itself resisted structure.
Avery moved between both sides constantly, bridging communication without needing to say it out loud.
And Allen had stopped questioning it entirely.
"…Bring that up."
"…Hold it steady."
"…Don't rush the set."
His voice carried naturally now among both groups.
Not as resistance.
But as part of the structure itself.
Sico noted it.
Not outwardly.
But it registered.
Because leadership didn't always come from command.
Sometimes it came from presence.
It was late into the second day when the sound came.
Distant at first.
Low.
Mechanical.
Not the irregular, broken noise of the island.
Something else.
Something familiar.
Sico stopped mid-step.
His head turned slightly toward the harbor.
The sound carried again.
Clearer this time.
Engines.
Multiple.
Approaching from the water.
A soldier nearby reacted immediately.
"Contact. harbor side!"
Not alarm.
Recognition.
Sico moved without hesitation.
Back toward the dock.
Others followed.
Not rushed.
But fast enough.
Because this mattered.
The fog along the waterline parted slowly as the first shapes emerged.
Dark silhouettes at first.
Then clearer.
Boats.
Multiple.
Cutting through the water in steady formation.
One.
Two.
Then more.
Eight in total.
They approached with controlled precision, engines steady, cutting clean paths through the gray.
Sico stopped at the edge of the dock as the first boat came into full view.
His gaze didn't shift.
Didn't need to.
He counted.
Six of the boats carried soldiers.
Ten in each.
Sixty total.
Reinforcements.
The seventh boat was heavier.
Slower.
Its deck reinforced.
Six figures stood aboard it.
Power armor.
Still.
Silent.
But unmistakable.
The eighth boat rode lower in the water.
Supplies.
Crates stacked and secured.
Food.
Purified water.
Weapons.
Ammunition.
Everything that extended survival.
Everything that sustained expansion.
The boats reached the dock one by one, engines cutting as they aligned with practiced precision.
Ramps dropped.
Boots hit wood.
CLANK.
CLANK.
CLANK.
The sound echoed again.
Familiar now.
Layering over itself as more soldiers disembarked, forming immediate structure as they moved.
No confusion.
No delay.
Just execution.
The power armor units followed.
Heavier.
Each step carrying weight that settled into the dock itself.
Then the supply crew.
Crates lifted.
Moved.
Organized instantly.
Sico stepped forward.
Not to greet.
Not formally.
Just to integrate.
"Status," he said.
One of the officers from the arriving group stepped up immediately.
"Reinforcements delivered."
"Sixty infantry."
"Six power armor units."
"Supply shipment secured."
Sico nodded once.
"Deploy."
That was all.
The officer turned.
Orders spread instantly.
The new soldiers didn't stand around.
They didn't observe.
They moved directly into the system already in place.
Some joined the outer wall construction, reinforcing newly extended sections.
Others were assigned to patrol rotations, expanding the perimeter further into the fog.
The power armor units split into pairs, each assigned to different sectors.
Coverage increased.
Presence expanded.
The supply boat was unloaded with equal efficiency.
Crates were carried into designated storage areas, sorted quickly.
Food stock.
Water reserves.
Weapons distributed.
Ammunition replenished.
Everything was integrated without interruption to the ongoing work.
Avery watched it from a short distance, arms crossed loosely, her expression unreadable for a moment.
Then she let out a slow breath.
"…That's a lot of people."
Allen stood beside her, eyes fixed on the incoming units.
"…Yeah."
A beat.
"…That's a lot of strength."
Neither of them sounded uncertain.
Not anymore.
Because they had already seen what structure could do.
Now they were seeing what scale looked like.
Sico moved through it all the same way he always had.
Measured.
Unwavering.
He didn't stand at the center.
Didn't need to.
Because the system extended outward from him naturally.
Orders were given.
Adjustments made.
Integration ensured.
He walked the outer line again as new units reinforced sections that had taken the most strain.
"Double layer plating here," he said at one point.
"Confirmed."
"Rotate patrol interval."
"Confirmed."
"Expand observation range."
"Confirmed."
Each command carried forward.
Executed.
No delay.
No resistance.
Because at this point, there wasn't any left.
Not here.
By the time the sun would have set, if it had been visible through the fog as the harbor had become something else entirely.
The outer wall extended further than it had that morning.
The patrol routes reached deeper into the island.
The number of soldiers moving through the fog had doubled.
The power armor presence had multiplied.
The supplies stacked inside the harbor ensured that what they were building could last.
And the people, the Harbormen weren't watching anymore.
They weren't questioning.
They were working.
Alongside.
Within.
Part of it.
Allen stood at the edge of the wall again as another section was completed, watching as soldiers secured the final bolts.
He shook his head slightly.
"…This isn't the same place anymore."
Avery stepped up beside him.
"…No."
A pause.
"…It's not."
They didn't sound like they were mourning it.
Not anymore.
Sico stopped once more at the edge of the expanded perimeter.
The fog still pressed in.
Unchanged.
Unmoved.
But now, there was more between it and the harbor.
More structure.
More presence.
More control.
His gaze moved across it all.
The wall.
The patrols.
The soldiers.
The Harbormen.
The supplies.
Everything in motion.
Everything connected.
Two days.
That was all it had taken to shift from survival, to something else.
The shift didn't stop with the arrival of reinforcements.
If anything, that was where it deepened.
More boots on the ground didn't just mean more strength as it meant more complexity, more coordination, more moving parts that all had to function without breaking the rhythm that had already been built.
And somehow it held.
The harbor didn't fracture under the added weight.
It absorbed it.
Sico moved along the expanded perimeter as the last of the newly arrived units integrated into their assignments. Soldiers who had stepped off the boats less than an hour ago were already working shoulder to shoulder with those who had fought the gulpers the day before.
No introductions.
No hesitation.
Just understanding.
This was the system now.
And everyone entering it adjusted to that immediately.
The outer wall stretched wider than it had that morning, reinforced in layers that hadn't existed before. Sections that once would have been considered complete were now doubled, then checked again, then anchored deeper.
Because "enough" didn't exist here anymore.
Only "stronger."
Power armor units moved through the outer patrol zones like anchors, their presence steady, heavy, impossible to ignore. The fog still pressed against them, still swallowed shapes and sound beyond a certain distance, but now there was something pushing back.
Not just reacting.
Resisting.
Sico stopped at a slightly elevated point along the outer line, where the ground rose just enough to give a clearer view of both the wall and the harbor behind it.
From here, everything could be seen.
The soldiers reinforcing the newest sections.
The Harbormen hauling materials with the same familiarity they once used to patch broken docks or repair fishing nets.
The supply crates being sorted and distributed inside the gate.
The patrols disappearing into the fog, then reappearing on rotation.
It wasn't chaos.
It wasn't even fragile anymore.
It was structure.
And structure meant expansion.
But expansion required something else.
Something they didn't have yet.
Sico's gaze lingered on the supply stacks inside the harbor.
Crates of food.
Barrels of purified water.
Weapons and ammunition laid out in organized rows.
All of it had come by boat.
All of it limited by that method.
And if they were going to push further…
If they were going to bring more than just personnel, as they needed a way to move heavier assets.
Vehicles.
Transport units.
Mobile supply carriers.
Things that couldn't be carried by hand or packed into small patrol boats.
Sico turned slightly.
His hand moved to the radio unit clipped at his side.
He didn't hesitate.
He activated it with a single, precise motion.
A faint crackle filled the air.
Static at first.
Then connection.
"Sico to Sanctuary. Science division."
The channel held for a second.
Then a voice came through.
Clear.
Familiar.
Mel.
"Sanctuary here. Go ahead."
His tone carried a mix of focus and background noise from tools, movement, the steady hum of ongoing work at the science building.
Sico didn't waste time.
"Requesting engineering development."
A brief pause on the other end.
Then:
"…Alright. What do you need?"
Sico's gaze shifted back toward the harbor, toward the dock where the boats had arrived earlier.
"Transport vessel."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"…Define."
Sico's tone didn't change.
"A ship capable of transporting ground vehicles."
He continued, precise.
"Truck-class."
"Humvee-class."
"Multiple units per transport."
The line stayed quiet for a moment.
Not confusion.
Processing.
Mel exhaled faintly through the radio.
"…You're not asking for a small modification."
"No."
That was obvious.
Mel let out a short breath.
"…You're talking about something closer to a landing craft."
Sico didn't respond to the label.
Because the classification didn't matter.
Function did.
"Capability required," he said simply.
There was a faint shift in the background noise on Mel's end movement, maybe him stepping away from something to focus more directly on the conversation.
"…You planning to move vehicles to Far Harbor?"
"Yes."
Direct.
No elaboration.
Mel let out a quiet, almost impressed exhale.
"…That would change things."
Sico didn't respond.
Because that was the point.
Another pause stretched across the radio.
Not empty.
Just… thinking.
Then:
"…Alright."
The word came with weight.
Not hesitation.
Commitment.
"I'll try."
Sico's gaze remained steady.
"Timeline."
Mel gave a faint, almost amused breath.
"…You don't ask for small things, do you?"
No answer.
Because that wasn't relevant.
Mel continued anyway.
"…Designing something like that from scratch isn't quick."
A beat.
"…But I get why you need it."
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
More focused.
"I'll start working on a blueprint."
Then, more firmly:
"I'll try to do it fast."
Sico nodded once, even though Mel couldn't see it.
"Prioritize structural integrity."
"Load capacity."
"Stability in coastal conditions."
Mel let out a quiet huff.
"…Yeah. I figured you'd say that."
There was the faint sound of something being moved from paper, tools, maybe a board being cleared.
"…I'll pull the team together."
"See what we can come up with."
A beat.
"…Might not be pretty."
Sico's response was immediate.
"Appearance irrelevant."
That drew a brief chuckle from Mel.
"…Right."
"Of course it is."
Then, more seriously:
"I'll get back to you as soon as we've got something workable."
Sico didn't linger.
"Confirmed."
The line held for half a second longer.
Then Mel added, quieter:
"…Be careful out there."
Sico didn't respond to that.
Not because he ignored it.
But because it didn't change anything.
The radio clicked.
The connection ended.
Silence returned.
Or what passed for silence here.
Sico lowered the device.
Clipped it back into place.
Then looked out again.
Nothing had changed in the immediate sense.
The wall still stood.
The soldiers still worked.
The fog still pressed in.
But something had shifted.
Not visible.
Not immediate.
But real.
Because now, they weren't just reinforcing what they had.
They were preparing for what came next.
And what came next… would be larger.
He turned back toward the line.
A squad of newly arrived soldiers moved past him, carrying additional plating toward an outer section that was still being expanded.
"Reinforce forward segment," he said as they passed.
"Double layer."
"Confirmed."
They adjusted course immediately.
No hesitation.
Further down, Allen stood with a group of Harbormen, working alongside two soldiers to set a heavy support beam into place.
"…Hold it steady," Allen muttered.
"…Got it," one of the soldiers replied.
The beam shifted slightly.
Then locked.
Allen stepped back, wiping his hands against his coat again.
He glanced toward Sico briefly.
Not questioning.
Not challenging.
Just acknowledging.
Because at this point, they both knew what this was becoming.
Avery moved along the inner edge of the wall, checking in with different groups, her pace steady, her voice carrying just enough to keep things aligned without disrupting the flow.
"…Don't overwork that section."
"…Rotate out if you need to."
"…We've got enough people now, use them."
She caught Sico's eye for a moment as she passed.
"…More people means more problems," she said lightly.
"…But also more solutions."
Sico didn't respond.
But the statement registered.
Because it was accurate.
Everything here scaled together.
Strength.
Complexity.
Risk.
Control.
He continued walking.
Further along the expanded perimeter.
Past sections that had been reinforced twice over.
Past new observation points being raised slightly higher than the rest, giving better visibility into the fog.
Past patrol units rotating in and out, their movements now more frequent, more layered.
The island hadn't changed.
The fog hadn't receded.
The threats hadn't disappeared.
But the response to them had.
And that was enough to shift the balance.
For now.
Sico stopped again at the farthest edge of the current expansion.
Where the wall ended.
For the moment.
The ground ahead stretched into gray.
Unclaimed.
Uncontrolled.
Still dangerous.
But not untouched anymore.
Because they had already begun to push into it.
And soon, they would push further.
With more than just manpower.
With more than just materials carried by hand.
With something heavier.
Something that could carry weight across distance without breaking the system they were building.
Vehicles.
Mobile force.
Sustained expansion.
The blueprint didn't exist yet.
But it would.
Mel would make sure of that.
Sico's gaze held on the fog for a few seconds longer.
Not expecting it to move.
Not expecting anything to emerge.
Just measuring.
Then he turned back.
Because there was still work to do.
And until the next phase arrived, they would keep building.
The fog at Far Harbor didn't follow them.
It stayed behind.
Pressing against the outer wall.
Watching.
Waiting.
But far from that shoreline, beyond the cold salt air and the constant threat moving just out of sight, Sanctuary felt different.
Not safe.
Not completely.
But different.
The air was clearer.
The sky, though still washed in that pale, uncertain light of morning, actually existed here. It stretched above the settlement in a way Far Harbor never allowed. Buildings stood with structure instead of desperation. Roads were real ones, cracked but recognizable with cut between rows of homes that had been rebuilt, repurposed, made into something functional again.
And at the center of it, the science building hummed with quiet, constant activity.
Inside, the rhythm was its own kind of battlefield.
Tools clinked.
Metal shifted.
Voices carried in low, focused exchanges.
Not chaos.
Not silence.
Something in between.
Mel stood near one of the central worktables, sleeves already rolled up, grease marking the side of his hand where he'd wiped it absentmindedly against his coat earlier. Around him, the room was scattered with projects in different stages of completion with some half-assembled machines, others stripped down to their base components, wires exposed, panels open.
But his attention wasn't on any of that.
Not now.
The radio conversation still lingered in his mind.
Not the words.
Not exactly.
The intent behind them.
A ship.
Not just any ship.
Something that could carry weight.
Real weight.
Vehicles.
Trucks.
Humvees.
He let out a slow breath through his nose.
"…Of course he would ask for that."
There wasn't frustration in it.
Not really.
More recognition.
Because that was how Sico operated.
He didn't ask for small things.
He didn't build temporary solutions.
If something was going to be made, it had to matter.
And this mattered.
Mel reached over and pulled a blank blueprint sheet from a stack resting at the edge of the table. The paper was thick, slightly worn at the corners, but clean where it needed to be.
Untouched.
Potential.
He laid it flat in front of him, smoothing it once with the palm of his hand.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Didn't pick up a tool.
Didn't draw.
He just looked at it.
Because the first line mattered.
Not in some dramatic, artistic way.
But structurally.
Functionally.
You got the foundation wrong as everything else followed.
Behind him, one of the other scientists glanced over.
"…New project?"
Mel didn't look up.
"…Yeah."
"…Big one?"
A pause.
Then:
"…Yeah."
That was enough.
The other man didn't ask more.
Didn't need to.
Because everyone here had learned something over time if Mel sounded like that, if he paused before answering, if his tone dropped just slightly…
It meant it wasn't just another repair job.
It meant something new.
Mel reached for a pencil.
Not the cleanest one.
Not the sharpest.
Just the one closest to his hand.
He turned it once between his fingers.
Then lowered it to the page.
The first line came slow.
Deliberate.
A horizontal stroke across the lower portion of the blueprint.
Hull base.
Not labeled yet.
Not detailed.
Just placed.
He added a second line above it.
Parallel.
Thickness.
Structure.
"…Alright," he muttered quietly to himself.
"…Start simple."
He didn't try to design the whole thing at once.
Didn't jump to the complex parts.
Because that wasn't how something like this got built.
You started with what you knew.
Water displacement.
Load distribution.
Balance.
The basics.
He sketched the rough outline of a flat-bottom hull.
Wide.
Broader than most of the smaller boats they used for transport.
Because it had to be.
Vehicles weren't forgiving.
They didn't adjust to space.
The space had to adjust to them.
Mel leaned slightly over the table, his focus narrowing as more lines began to form.
Side walls.
Reinforcement points.
Basic dimensions.
"…Gonna need a ramp," he murmured.
He added it at the front.
Angled.
Wide enough for a truck to roll down without tipping.
Not too steep.
Not too shallow.
He paused.
Tapped the pencil lightly against the paper.
"…Weight's gonna be a problem."
Not a complaint.
A fact.
A truck wasn't light.
A Humvee wasn't light.
Multiple units?
That wasn't just weight.
That was stress.
On structure.
On buoyancy.
On stability.
He scratched a few quick notes along the side of the blueprint.
LOAD DISTRIBUTION
CENTER BALANCE
REINFORCED KEEL
He circled the last one once.
Then underlined it.
Because that was going to matter more than anything else.
Without a strong keel, the whole thing would twist under weight.
And if it twisted…
It failed.
Mel stepped back half a pace.
Looked at what he had so far.
It wasn't much.
Not yet.
But it was something.
A starting point.
"…Alright," he said again, quieter this time.
Then he stepped back in.
The pencil moved faster now.
Not rushed.
But more confident.
Because the shape had begun to form.
He added internal support beams.
Cross-sections.
Spacing.
Trying to picture how the weight would sit.
How it would shift when the water wasn't calm.
Because the coast near Far Harbor as that wasn't predictable.
Waves.
Currents.
Wind.
The ship had to handle all of it.
Not perfectly.
But well enough.
"…Stability…" he muttered.
He added side ballast compartments.
Not large.
But enough to adjust balance if needed.
Water intake.
Release valves.
Basic.
Functional.
He paused again.
This time longer.
Because now came the harder part.
Propulsion.
A simple transport barge wouldn't be enough.
Not for the distances involved.
Not for the conditions.
It needed power.
Reliable power.
Mel glanced toward the far end of the room where a partially dismantled engine sat on a workbench.
Old.
Salvaged.
But still functional in parts.
"…We can work with that," he said under his breath.
He turned back to the blueprint.
Began sketching the rear section.
Engine housing.
Placement.
Protection.
Because it couldn't be exposed.
Not out there.
Not where anything could come at it from the water.
He added a protective frame around it.
Layered plating.
Not too heavy.
But enough to take a hit.
"…Fuel…" he added next.
Another problem.
Another calculation.
He scribbled notes along the margin.
FUEL CAPACITY vs RANGE
WEIGHT TRADEOFF
He frowned slightly.
Because that was going to be a balance.
Too much fuel, and the ship became heavier, harder to maneuver.
Too little, and it wouldn't make the trip reliably.
He exhaled slowly.
"…We'll figure it out."
Not now.
Later.
One step at a time.
A voice came from behind him.
"…You're building something big."
Mel didn't turn.
"…Yeah."
Footsteps approached.
Another scientist stepped up beside him, looking down at the blueprint.
"…That's not a regular transport."
"No."
"…What is it?"
Mel hesitated for half a second.
Then:
"…It's what they need."
The man studied the drawing for a moment.
"…That supposed to carry vehicles?"
Mel nodded once.
"…Yeah."
A quiet whistle slipped out.
"…That's… ambitious."
Mel's mouth twitched slightly.
"…Yeah."
The man didn't say anything else.
Just nodded once.
Then stepped back.
Because that was enough.
Everyone here understood something else too as if it needed to be done, they would try.
Even if it hadn't been done before.
Mel leaned back over the blueprint.
His hand moved again.
More details.
More structure.
Reinforced decking.
Tie-down points for vehicles.
Because they couldn't just sit there.
They had to be secured.
Locked in place so they didn't shift with the movement of the water.
He added them.
Spacing them evenly.
Calculating mentally how many vehicles could realistically fit.
Two?
Three?
Maybe more if aligned properly.
"…Three," he decided quietly.
"Three trucks… or two Humvees with supply space."
He wrote it down.
Because it mattered.
Capacity wasn't just a number.
It was planning.
It was logistics.
It was how much they could move in one trip.
He paused again.
This time not from uncertainty.
But from the weight of it.
Because he could see it now.
Not just on paper.
In motion.
A ship like this cutting through the water toward Far Harbor.
Carrying more than just people.
Carrying momentum.
Carrying expansion.
"…That changes things," he murmured.
Echoing his own thought from earlier.
Then he straightened slightly.
Rolled his shoulders once.
And got back to work.
The blueprint wasn't finished.
Not even close.
But it was alive now.
Lines connecting.
Structure forming.
Ideas turning into something real.
Around him, the science building continued its steady rhythm.
Tools moving.
Projects advancing.
But now, at the center of it…
Something new was being built.
Not in metal.
Not yet.
But here.
On paper.
Where everything started.
Mel leaned in again, pencil moving with more certainty now as he began outlining the upper structure.
Not much.
Just enough to house controls.
Basic navigation.
Protection from the elements.
Because whoever piloted this…
They'd need visibility.
And cover.
"…Keep it simple," he reminded himself.
"No overcomplication."
Because complexity meant failure points.
And this couldn't fail.
Not out there.
Not when it mattered.
He added a small control cabin.
Reinforced windows.
Minimal.
Functional.
Everything about it followed the same principle.
Efficiency over appearance.
Just like Sico had said.
Mel let out a quiet breath.
"…You're really not gonna care what this looks like, are you?"
No answer came.
Of course not.
He shook his head slightly.
Then kept drawing.
Because it didn't matter what it looked like. Only that it worked, and it would as he make sure of that.
______________________________________________
• 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:-