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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Far Harbor's defenders slowly began reorganizing around the damaged perimeter sectors as medics moved among the wounded and engineering crews inspected rocket damage along the walls.
The silence after artillery always felt wrong.
Not peaceful.
Never peaceful.
Just hollow.
Like the island itself had been punched hard enough to forget how to breathe for a few seconds.
Smoke drifted heavily across the western approaches beyond Far Harbor's walls while small fires crackled among shattered debris and overturned barricades. The Fog swallowed most of the destruction eventually, but not completely. Dark shapes still littered the road beyond the perimeter where the barrage had landed hardest.
Nobody looked toward it for very long anymore.
Not because they were afraid.
Because they understood exactly what they would see.
The battle was over.
At least for now.
But the aftermath had only started.
Near the western gate, defenders slowly emerged from firing positions with exhausted movements that looked almost mechanical. Adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind shaking hands, ringing ears, smoke-stung eyes, and the delayed realization that they were still alive.
That realization hit differently for everyone.
Some soldiers sat heavily against sandbags trying to steady their breathing.
Others immediately began helping wounded comrades without stopping long enough to process anything.
A few simply stared out into the Fog silently while clutching rifles they no longer needed to fire.
The Sentinel tank remained near the damaged gate sector like an iron guardian standing watch after slaughter. Heat shimmer still rose faintly from the cannon barrel while crew members checked ammunition feeds and external armor plating for rocket damage.
One mechanic slapped the side of the tank lightly while exhaling hard.
"You ugly beautiful bastard."
The driver's muffled voice answered from inside the hull:
"Buy me dinner first."
That actually earned a few exhausted laughs nearby.
Weak ones.
But real.
People needed moments like that after combat.
Otherwise the silence became too heavy.
Far Harbor's western defenses looked battered now in the gray morning haze.
The outer wreck barriers had been partially blown apart by rocket strikes. Sandbags were shredded open across several firing positions while pieces of twisted metal and broken concrete littered the muddy roads near the gate.
One watchtower leaned slightly from structural damage where an missile launcher had struck the support braces earlier during the assault. Smoke still drifted from the lower platform while engineers climbed the structure carefully inspecting stress fractures.
The settlement had held.
But holding always cost something.
Sico stood near the damaged gate watching medics move through the aftermath while Far Harbor slowly reorganized itself around the wounds left behind by the attack.
Stretchers moved constantly now.
Some carried men groaning in pain.
Others carried bodies covered beneath dark tarps.
Those were quieter.
Mercer approached beside him while wiping soot and rainwater from his face with one gloved hand.
"Perimeter secure."
"For now," Sico answered.
Mercer nodded once.
Neither of them trusted temporary silence anymore.
Not on this island.
Behind them, reserve squads rotated into fresh defensive positions along the walls while engineers unloaded steel reinforcement beams from cargo sleds near the damaged barricade sectors.
Already rebuilding.
Already preparing for the next attack.
That was war too.
Not just fighting.
Repairing fast enough to survive the next round.
Sico finally turned slightly toward the nearby command runners.
"Find Avery."
The runner immediately moved.
"She's coordinating inventory recovery near the depot."
"Bring her."
The young soldier disappeared into the harbor streets without another word.
Around them, the western gate sector continued transforming from battlefield back into functioning defensive line. Ammunition runners collected scattered magazines and shell casings while soldiers dragged damaged barricade panels aside to reopen vehicle movement paths.
The smell remained overwhelming.
Burned fuel.
Cordite.
Blood.
Wet concrete dust.
Even the Fog carried traces of battle now.
Near one of the shattered outer positions, two younger defenders carefully lifted the body of a fallen guard onto a stretcher.
Neither spoke for several moments.
Finally one muttered quietly:
"He was here last night joking about ration coffee."
The other adjusted his grip silently.
There wasn't really a response for things like that anymore.
Death came too often now for speeches.
Still hurt every time.
That never changed.
A medic rushed past nearby carrying blood-soaked bandages while shouting toward the rear sectors.
"We need another plasma pack at triage!"
Another voice answered immediately from farther back:
"Clinic's overloaded already!"
The western assault had hit hard enough to stretch medical capacity dangerously close to the limit again.
Not catastrophic.
But close enough to remind everyone how fragile sustainability remained.
Far Harbor had more supplies now.
More weapons.
More armor.
But human bodies still broke the same way.
Eventually Avery appeared through the drifting smoke carrying a clipboard beneath one arm while two quartermasters followed behind her with casualty sheets and unit reports.
She looked furious.
Exhausted.
And very pale around the eyes.
Which usually meant the numbers were bad.
Sico didn't waste time.
"How many?"
Avery looked down at the reports briefly before answering.
"Still confirming final counts."
Then after another pause:
"Sixty-seven wounded."
The number landed heavily.
Not devastating by large-scale warfare standards maybe.
But for Far Harbor?
For one morning assault?
It hurt.
Badly.
Mercer folded his arms tighter.
"How many critical?"
"Fourteen severe enough they may not survive transport complications."
That quieted nearby officers immediately.
Because everyone understood what that actually meant.
Not all sixty-seven would stay sixty-seven.
Some numbers changed later.
Usually downward.
Avery looked back toward the casualty sheets again.
Then finally forced herself to say the other part.
"Thirty-two KIA."
Silence.
Not dramatic silence.
Just tired silence.
The kind that settled over people who no longer reacted outwardly because they'd already learned how much war could take away.
Thirty-two dead.
Thirty-two people who had stood on these walls this morning believing they would probably survive another day.
Now gone.
A younger communications officer nearby lowered his head slightly after hearing the number.
Someone he knew was probably inside it.
At this point almost everyone knew someone inside casualty reports.
Sico remained still for several moments while smoke drifted through the broken gate sector around them.
Thirty-two.
The number repeated itself quietly through the minds of everyone nearby.
Not abstract.
Not statistics.
People.
Guards.
Drivers.
Tower gunners.
Dockworkers carrying rifles because the settlement needed every available hand.
Mercer exhaled slowly.
"Damn."
Avery rubbed tired eyes with one hand before continuing.
"Most fatalities happened during the first breach pressure near the outer barricades."
Makes sense.
That had been the closest point.
The moment where the Children nearly destabilized the line before the Sentinel arrived.
One quartermaster quietly added:
"Rocket impacts caused several tower casualties too."
Nobody answered.
Because there was nothing useful left to say about it.
The dead were already dead.
Now responsibility shifted toward what came after.
Sico looked toward the medical staging area where wounded defenders continued arriving beneath bloodstained tarps and improvised stretchers.
"Move the wounded immediately."
Avery nodded once.
"Already started."
"No delays."
"There won't be."
Far Harbor's clinic had long ago stopped resembling any civilian medical facility. It functioned more like a battlefield trauma station now.
Triage zones.
Overflow beds.
Emergency surgery tables assembled from scavenged industrial equipment.
Doctors and medics surviving on exhaustion, caffeine, and refusal to quit.
And now another sixty-seven wounded were coming.
The settlement absorbed casualties like a machine now.
Not because people stopped caring.
Because they had no choice.
Nearby, several medics carefully loaded another wounded soldier into the back of a transport truck converted into emergency evacuation transport.
The man's face looked ghostly pale beneath bloodstained bandages wrapped around his chest.
One medic pressed downward hard trying to slow the bleeding while shouting toward the driver:
"MOVE!"
The truck roared away immediately toward the clinic sectors deeper inside the harbor.
Others followed behind it.
Constant movement.
Constant urgency.
The battle ended.
The work didn't.
Sico turned toward Mercer again.
"The dead?"
Mercer's expression tightened slightly.
"We've started identification."
"Bury them today."
That mattered.
Very much.
Far Harbor couldn't afford long rows of covered corpses waiting beside walls while soldiers walked past them all day.
Morale cracked under things like that eventually.
And beyond morale, respect mattered too.
These people defended the settlement.
They wouldn't be left lying beneath tarps like abandoned equipment.
Mercer nodded quietly.
"I'll organize burial detail."
One older sergeant nearby overheard and spoke without looking up from cleaning his rifle.
"Families notified first?"
"Yes."
The sergeant gave one slow nod.
Good.
Because everyone feared that moment now.
The knock on the door.
The quiet voice.
The confirmation that someone wasn't coming back from the walls.
Far Harbor had become far too familiar with grief recently.
Beyond the damaged gate, smoke still drifted over the outer battlefield while recovery teams cautiously moved through the destroyed barricade sectors collecting usable ammunition, weapons, and salvage before scavengers or Fog creatures found it first.
Even battlefields became supply opportunities eventually.
War consumed too much not to recycle everything possible.
One recovery worker crouched beside a destroyed Children rocket launcher while shaking his head.
"These bastards came loaded for a real siege."
Another answered while dragging ammunition crates from shattered debris:
"They thought they could take the gate."
The first worker glanced toward the Sentinel looming near the walls.
"…Then they met that thing."
Fair point.
Very fair point.
Sico finally began walking the damaged perimeter himself while engineers and defensive crews worked around him repairing what the attack had broken.
The western gate looked worse up close.
Much worse.
Several outer steel plates had warped inward from explosive impacts. Reinforced concrete around the support braces showed long spreading cracks while parts of the outer wreck barricades were simply gone entirely, blasted apart into twisted heaps of metal and blackened debris.
One engineering officer stood beside a damaged wall segment reviewing structural notes.
"How bad?"
The officer glanced toward the fractures.
"Could've been worse."
Not comforting.
"But?"
"But another concentrated rocket barrage against the same point might compromise the outer layer."
That answer mattered.
A lot.
Sico studied the damaged sector carefully while workers already hauled fresh steel plating into position nearby.
The Children had found a weakness.
Not enough to break through today.
Enough to remember for later.
And they would come back.
Everyone understood that now.
The western gate had officially become a proven assault target.
Engineers climbed scaffolding along the damaged sections while welders showered sparks into the cold morning air. Portable generators hummed beside stacks of replacement sandbags and reinforcement beams waiting for installation.
Far Harbor rebuilt fast now.
It had learned to.
One worker hauling steel panels muttered toward another beside him:
"We fix this today and they'll just hit it again tomorrow."
The second worker adjusted his grip.
"Then we fix it tomorrow too."
That attitude existed everywhere in the settlement now.
Not optimism exactly.
Determination.
Stubborn survival.
The kind built from people too exhausted to surrender.
Near the shattered watchtower, Sico climbed partially onto the damaged platform while engineers inspected the structural braces beneath him.
The tower gunner who survived the rocket hit still sat nearby with bandages wrapped around one side of his face while smoking with trembling fingers.
"You should be in medical."
The gunner shrugged weakly.
"They already stitched me."
He stared out toward the Fog beyond the walls.
"Tower took the hit instead of me."
Then after a pause:
"…Close enough."
Sico looked over the western approach roads where the battle had happened only hours earlier.
The Fog concealed most of it now.
Smoke.
Distance.
Gray emptiness swallowing aftermath.
But traces remained visible.
Burned tree lines.
Cratered roads.
Destroyed barricades.
Black scars cut across the island from artillery impacts.
War permanently marked landscapes after enough time.
Far Harbor was starting to wear those marks openly.
Below the tower, crews reinforced the gate supports with additional steel braces while Humvees rotated back into defensive staging positions after the pursuit operations.
One vehicle returned with bullet holes punched through the passenger side armor plating.
The driver climbed out looking exhausted.
Mechanics immediately swarmed the vehicle before the engine even fully died.
No downtime.
No pause.
Everything needed to stay operational.
Always.
Sico eventually returned toward the inner harbor streets while casualty transports continued moving toward the clinic district.
The atmosphere inside the settlement felt strange now.
Relieved.
Shaken.
Angry.
People spoke quieter after battles like this.
Not from fear.
From emotional exhaustion.
Near one ration station, several civilians stood silently watching medics carry wounded soldiers past on stretchers.
A little girl holding her mother's hand whispered softly:
"Did the walls break?"
Her mother looked toward the damaged western sector visible through drifting smoke.
"No."
The child nodded slowly.
Morning arrived over Far Harbor carrying the smell of smoke.
Not fresh smoke from active battle.
Old smoke.
The kind that settled into wood, steel, clothing, and lungs after a place survived violence and spent the night trying to recover from it.
The western wall stood wounded beneath pale gray skies.
Fog drifted low through the harbor streets again, though thinner than yesterday, allowing more of the damage to remain visible instead of mercifully hidden. Damp wind rolled in from the sea carrying saltwater and diesel fumes while gulls circled cautiously above the docks, disturbed by too much noise and too many unfamiliar machines occupying their coastline.
The rain had stayed away during the night.
That helped.
Barely.
Far Harbor woke early.
Not because people felt rested.
Because broken walls didn't repair themselves.
And everybody understood the western gate could not remain damaged for long.
The attack had proven something dangerous.
The Children of Atom had found a breach point worth testing.
They would remember that.
Which meant Far Harbor had to remember it too.
By dawn, the harbor already hummed with rebuilding.
Generators growled beside stacked reinforcement beams while engineering crews hauled welding equipment toward the western sectors. Cargo sleds rattled through muddy streets loaded with steel plating scavenged from reserve stores and shipyard stockpiles.
The settlement looked less like a town this morning.
More like a ship under emergency repair while still sailing through a storm.
Near the damaged wall, workers moved through drifting steam and sparks beneath portable floodlights left running from the night shift. The cracked outer barricades had been partially dismantled already, leaving jagged gaps where rocket fire and explosions had torn through the defenses.
Nobody wasted time mourning concrete.
People mourned the dead.
Walls got repaired.
Sico arrived near sunrise wearing a heavy coat still stained with soot from yesterday's fighting. Mercer followed several steps behind carrying repair assessments and engineering reports while a small escort moved through the mud around them.
The western sector had become a construction zone layered over a battlefield.
Welders worked atop scaffolding.
Engineers argued over support angles.
Soldiers hauled sandbags beside civilian dockworkers while mechanics serviced the Sentinel parked nearby providing overwatch during repairs.
The tank remained positioned beside the gate like a silent warning.
Its armor still carried scorch marks from battle.
One worker looked up from unloading steel plates when Sico approached.
"You really came to work the wall yourself?"
Sico took the offered pair of gloves without ceremony.
"Yes."
The worker snorted quietly.
"Thought commanders just pointed at problems."
Mercer answered before Sico could.
"He does that too."
A few nearby workers laughed.
Short tired laughs.
But again, real ones.
Sico stepped toward the damaged support section where engineers had marked stress fractures across the concrete with white chalk.
The damage looked uglier in daylight.
Long cracks spread beneath warped reinforcement plates while shattered barricade remnants still littered the ground around the gate approaches.
One engineering supervisor climbed down from scaffolding carrying blueprints rolled beneath his arm.
"We reinforced temporary supports overnight."
"How stable?"
"Stable enough to survive weather."
The supervisor pointed upward.
"Not stable enough to survive another concentrated attack."
That mattered.
Very much.
Sico studied the damage quietly.
The Children had hit hard.
Hard enough that luck and rapid response had helped hold the line almost as much as preparation.
That couldn't happen again.
He looked toward the workers gathering nearby.
"We rebuild stronger."
No dramatic speech.
No rallying voice.
Just fact.
And somehow that worked better.
Because nobody standing here believed speeches stopped rockets.
Steel did.
One older dockworker wiped grease across his coat and muttered:
"Good."
Then he grabbed a beam and got back to work.
The repair operation began moving faster almost immediately.
Crane arms rotated slowly above the wall sectors while heavy support plates were lifted into place beneath shouted instructions. Welders crouched along damaged sections throwing showers of orange sparks into the cold air while crews poured quick-setting concrete into cracked reinforcement channels.
The sound filled the harbor.
Grinding tools.
Metal impacts.
Generator hum.
Voices shouting measurements and warnings.
Far Harbor rebuilding itself again.
Sico worked beside them.
Not symbolically.
Actually worked.
He helped guide reinforcement beams into alignment while crews secured anchor bolts along the damaged support braces. Mud soaked his boots while cold wind cut through the harbor and welding sparks drifted across his sleeves.
The workers noticed.
People always noticed when leadership shared labor instead of watching from dry offices.
One younger laborer struggling with a brace looked toward him.
"Never thought I'd be rebuilding walls with the General."
Sico tightened a support clamp.
"Never thought I'd be rebuilding walls either."
Fair answer.
Nearby, Mercer reviewed repair schedules beside engineering teams while reserve soldiers rotated through labor assignments between defensive shifts.
Nobody had enough manpower anymore to separate military and civilian work completely.
War erased those lines.
A fisherman carried steel beside a rifleman.
A mechanic reinforced bunkers beside a dock loader.
Survival made equals out of people quickly.
By midmorning the harbor had fully awakened around the reconstruction effort.
The docks remained active despite yesterday's fighting. Bridgekeeper crews unloaded additional reinforcement materials while transport trucks moved constantly through the streets carrying sandbags, fuel, medical supplies, and ammunition.
Life refused to stop.
Even wounded settlements still had logistics.
Near the repair site, Avery appeared carrying inventory ledgers and looking predictably irritated.
"You know what I discovered?"
Mercer sighed.
"That question never ends well."
"We're running low on industrial welding rods now."
She pointed toward the active repair crews.
"Apparently walls enjoy consuming infrastructure."
One worker nearby called out:
"Maybe ask the Children for reimbursement!"
That actually earned louder laughter this time.
Avery rolled her eyes.
"I'll put it in the diplomatic correspondence."
Despite the sarcasm, she looked relieved seeing progress.
Everybody did.
The damaged wall bothered people.
It reminded them how close yesterday had come.
Repairing it felt psychological as much as structural.
Around noon the Fog thinned briefly, revealing more of the western approaches beyond Far Harbor.
The battlefield remained visible now.
Blackened ground.
Artillery scars.
Destroyed wreck barriers.
Smoke-stained earth where the barrage had shattered the retreating Children.
Recovery teams still worked beyond the perimeter collecting salvage and confirming no enemy movement lingered nearby.
One soldier standing watch along the repaired section muttered quietly:
"Hard to believe that happened yesterday."
The older guard beside him adjusted his rifle.
"War makes time weird."
True.
Yesterday already felt distant and immediate at once.
The wall repair continued through afternoon.
Progress came steadily.
The outer braces were stronger now.
Fresh steel plating reinforced the vulnerable sectors while additional sandbag emplacements and machine-gun nests expanded around the gate approaches.
Sico insisted on redundancy.
More overlapping fields of fire.
Better rocket shielding.
Improved fallback positions.
If the Children returned and they would, Far Harbor intended to greet them differently.
By early afternoon, exhaustion finally began creeping through the work crews.
People moved slower.
Shoulders sagged.
Hands shook slightly from cold and strain.
The settlement had been rebuilding, fighting, burying, and surviving almost nonstop for weeks.
Even determination had limits.
Mercer approached while folding updated reports.
"The wall crews can continue without us."
Sico looked toward the reinforced sectors.
The repairs weren't finished.
But they were stable.
Functional.
Already stronger than yesterday.
He removed the work gloves slowly.
"The hospital."
Mercer nodded once.
That mattered too.
Very much.
Because sixty-seven wounded still lay inside Far Harbor's medical wards.
And numbers on casualty sheets never told the whole story.
The walk toward the clinic felt quieter than the wall repairs.
Harbor streets remained busy, but differently.
Less industrial.
More subdued.
People moved around loss carefully today.
Near one alley, burial crews prepared transport wagons for the dead while families gathered beneath coats and blankets waiting for confirmation and arrangements.
No crying loudly.
Not yet.
Just tired faces carrying fear and grief in equal measure.
The funerals would come later.
The waiting came first.
The clinic stood deeper inside Far Harbor near reinforced housing blocks that had gradually transformed into medical overflow sectors.
From outside, it no longer resembled anything close to ordinary healthcare.
Additional tents stretched between buildings.
Portable generators powered emergency lighting.
Supply crates and water drums lined the entrances while armed guards remained posted nearby.
Protection mattered.
Hospitals became strategic targets during prolonged wars.
The smell reached them before the doors did.
Antiseptic.
Blood.
Medicine.
And underneath it, human suffering.
Inside, organized chaos greeted them immediately.
Medics moved rapidly between crowded treatment areas while doctors shouted instructions over rattling equipment and coughing patients. Beds filled nearly every available room now.
Some wounded slept.
Others groaned quietly.
A few stared blankly toward ceilings or walls while painkillers and exhaustion dragged them somewhere distant.
The assault had left its mark here too.
Sico walked slowly through the ward.
Several soldiers noticed him and straightened instinctively despite injuries.
One man with bandaged ribs attempted sitting upright.
"Sir—"
"Stay down."
The soldier obeyed reluctantly.
His face looked pale beneath sweat and bruising.
"Wall hold?"
"Yes."
That answer alone relaxed him.
He nodded once.
"Good."
Then closed his eyes again.
Nearby, another wounded defender lay with one arm wrapped heavily from shoulder to wrist while a medic adjusted IV tubing.
He recognized Sico immediately.
"We pushed them back?"
"Yes."
The man managed a tired smile.
"Told you they picked the wrong harbor."
Even injured, still stubborn.
Very Far Harbor.
Eventually the chief doctor emerged from a treatment room carrying bloodstained gloves and looking exhausted enough to collapse standing up.
Doctor Hale had aged visibly since the war expanded.
Dark circles beneath his eyes.
Shoulders permanently tense.
Hands that smelled constantly of antiseptic and plasma packs.
"You picked a fine day to visit."
"How are they?"
No pleasantries.
No pretending.
The doctor understood.
He looked back toward the crowded ward.
"Better than yesterday."
That surprised Mercer slightly.
"How?"
"Because they're alive."
Fair answer.
Then the doctor became more clinical.
"Sixty-seven wounded admitted."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Fourteen severe."
The same number Avery reported.
Sico waited.
Doctor Hale continued.
"Three remain critical."
His voice lowered slightly.
"Chest trauma. Rocket fragmentation. Internal bleeding."
Not good.
"Others?"
"Most will survive."
Relief.
Small.
Careful.
But real.
The doctor gestured toward nearby beds.
"Burns. Gunshot wounds. Shrapnel injuries. Broken limbs."
Then after a tired pause:
"Some may never return to frontline service."
That hung heavily.
Because war didn't only kill.
Sometimes it simply changed people permanently.
Sico walked farther through the ward afterward.
One tower gunner missing two fingers sat quietly while staring at his wrapped hand.
A Humvee driver with leg injuries joked weakly with a medic despite obvious pain.
Another soldier slept beneath heavy sedation while burn dressings covered much of his neck and shoulder.
Every bed carried a story.
And every story carried yesterday inside it.
Near the rear ward, Sico stopped beside a young defender wounded during the gate assault.
Bandages wrapped across his side and chest.
He looked barely older than eighteen.
The boy opened tired eyes.
"Did we lose the wall?"
"No."
The answer came again.
Simple.
Important.
He nodded faintly.
"My brother?"
Sico paused.
The casualty lists moved through his memory.
Same surname.
Western tower sector.
KIA.
The silence answered first.
The boy understood immediately.
His face tightened.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly.
Like something inside him folded inward.
After several moments he looked away toward the ceiling.
"…I figured."
No anger.
No breakdown.
Sometimes grief arrived too tired for either.
Nearby, Doctor Hale spoke more quietly now.
"They keep asking the same thing."
"The wall?"
He nodded.
"Always the wall."
Because the wall meant home.
Safety.
Whether the sacrifice had mattered.
Hale looked toward the crowded ward.
"They'll heal easier knowing it held."
Outside the hospital windows, distant hammering still echoed faintly from the reconstruction crews working the western defenses.
Far Harbor rebuilding itself.
Again.
Inside, the wounded listened to those sounds too.
And for many of them, those sounds probably mattered almost as much as medicine.
______________________________________________
• 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:-