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!)
...
Only fury with belief, which the kind of belief capable of carrying dying people into impossible fights.
The submarine chamber became a world unto itself.
A world built from steel, smoke, blood, and faith.
The final sanctuary of the Children of Atom shook beneath constant gunfire as tracer rounds flashed across the cavernous dock basin and ricocheted from rusted catwalks high above. The ancient submarine loomed over everything, silent and enormous beneath flickering emergency lights, like a sleeping giant watching humanity destroy itself around its feet.
Nobody spoke about the missiles anymore.
Nobody needed to.
Every soldier entering the chamber felt their presence.
Felt the danger.
Felt the weight of what rested inside that ancient vessel.
Which was exactly why the fighting became even more careful.
And somehow even more brutal.
Because both sides knew there could be no reckless bombardment here.
Every shot mattered.
Every explosive had consequences.
And that reality favored the defenders.
At least for a while.
Then Ward's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Suppress the upper catwalk!"
A machine-gun team immediately shifted fire toward the overhead maintenance platforms where Children defenders had established sniper nests overlooking the basin.
The catwalk exploded into sparks.
Several defenders ducked behind rusted railings.
Others kept firing.
One sniper managed another shot before a burst from the machine gun tore through the metal plating protecting his position.
The man vanished backward into darkness.
But another rifle appeared from somewhere else moments later.
Always another defender.
Always another believer.
The Children of Atom had concentrated nearly everything they had left inside this chamber.
Every surviving veteran.
Every remaining heavy weapon.
Every fighter willing to die for Tektus.
And they were making the Far Harbor troops earn every meter.
Near the western access ramp, a squad of Children defenders held behind reactor shielding welded into makeshift barricades.
The position should have collapsed minutes ago.
Instead it kept fighting.
One cultist fired until his rifle ran dry.
He immediately grabbed another weapon from a fallen comrade and continued shooting.
Another kept feeding ammunition into a machine gun despite blood soaking through the bandages wrapped around his chest.
A third defender had obvious radiation burns covering half his face.
He barely looked capable of standing.
Yet he remained at his post.
Still firing.
Still praying.
Still refusing to move.
The Far Harbor assault team attempting to clear the barricade had already lost three soldiers.
The fourth push finally succeeded.
A smoke grenade landed behind the shielding.
The defenders shifted instinctively.
That tiny hesitation gave the assault team their opening.
"GO!"
The breach squad surged forward.
Shotguns thundered.
Rifles flashed.
The barricade disappeared into smoke and violence.
Seconds later it was over.
The position fell.
But not a single defender surrendered.
Not one.
Across the chamber, medics worked almost continuously now.
The battle had lasted for hours.
People were reaching their limits.
Physical limits.
Mental limits.
Radiation limits.
One exhausted rifleman stumbled behind cover beside a damaged maintenance pillar.
His breathing sounded ragged through the gas mask.
The medic beside him immediately noticed.
"Counter."
The soldier glanced down.
The Geiger counter clipped to his armor was clicking much faster than before.
Tickticktickticktick.
The medic frowned.
"Too high."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
She grabbed a RadAway pouch from her medical kit.
The familiar orange fluid sloshed inside the container.
"Arm."
The soldier didn't argue.
Nobody argued with medics anymore.
Not after seeing what unchecked radiation exposure did.
The medic quickly administered the treatment.
The soldier leaned back against the steel support column.
A minute later his breathing started easing slightly.
Not perfect.
But better.
"Stay here five minutes."
"We're in the middle of a war."
"Congratulations. Stay here anyway."
The soldier actually laughed.
Weakly.
Tiredly.
Then obeyed.
The same scene repeated all across the chamber.
Medics checking Geiger counters.
Checking symptoms.
Administering RadAway.
Monitoring exposure.
Trying desperately to keep soldiers functional while bullets continued flying overhead.
One young infantryman had pushed himself too hard through a heavily contaminated corridor earlier in the assault.
Now his hands shook noticeably while he reloaded.
The medic checking him didn't like what she saw.
"Counter."
The reading made her curse.
"You're spiking."
The young man looked exhausted.
"We're almost done."
"That's not how radiation works."
Another RadAway injection.
Another exposure check.
Another soldier sent briefly toward safer cover before returning to the fight.
The medics never stopped moving.
Never stopped working.
Never stopped saving people.
Sometimes from bullets.
Sometimes from radiation.
Sometimes from both.
Meanwhile the assault continued grinding forward.
Slowly.
Steadily.
Inevitably.
The difference in equipment was becoming increasingly difficult for the Children to overcome.
Not because they lacked bravery.
Nobody could question their bravery.
But bravery didn't replace optics.
Didn't replace body armor.
Didn't replace coordinated fire teams.
Didn't replace reliable communication.
One Children squad attempted a counterattack through the eastern maintenance lane.
Almost twenty defenders charged together.
Some carrying rifles.
Others carrying radiation weapons.
Several carrying improvised explosives.
Under different circumstances the attack might have worked.
Instead they ran directly into overlapping fields of fire from two Far Harbor rifle teams.
The hallway erupted with gunfire.
The charge collapsed.
The survivors fell back.
Not broken.
Not surrendered.
Simply pushed back again.
High Confessor Tektus saw it happening.
Saw the ground disappearing beneath his defenders.
Saw the lines shrinking.
Saw the chamber becoming smaller.
Every report reaching him carried worse news than the last.
"Western barricade lost."
"Catwalk Three compromised."
"Eastern access ramp under pressure."
Another explosion echoed through the submarine chamber.
Closer this time.
Much closer.
Tektus looked across the battlefield from his elevated position.
Smoke drifted around him.
Bullets cracked overhead.
The faithful were dying.
But they were still fighting.
Still holding.
Still believing.
He gripped his weapon tighter.
"Hold the line!"
His voice echoed through the chamber.
"NO RETREAT!"
The defenders answered immediately.
"ATOM!"
The response rolled through the chamber like thunder.
For a moment the defenders actually surged forward again.
Faith carrying them beyond exhaustion.
Beyond fear.
Beyond reason.
The next counterattack nearly reached Sico's position.
Nearly.
A group of elite Children fighters rushed from behind a collapsed maintenance platform overlooking the submarine basin.
These weren't frightened survivors.
These were veterans.
The last veterans.
The people Tektus trusted most.
They moved aggressively.
Professionally.
Using cover.
Supporting each other.
Fighting with the experience gained from years of surviving the island.
One Far Harbor soldier went down.
Then another.
The counterattack gained momentum.
For perhaps thirty seconds.
Then Sico's rifle teams reorganized.
Disciplined.
Controlled.
Precise.
The response came immediately.
Suppressive fire pinned the attackers.
A second team maneuvered around their flank.
The engagement ended exactly the way so many others had ended today.
Not because the Children lacked courage.
Because the Far Harbor troops simply had more tools available.
Better armor.
Better weapons.
Better logistics.
Better coordination.
The surviving defenders were forced back again.
The line contracted further.
Hours of battle were beginning to show on everyone now.
The Far Harbor soldiers looked exhausted.
Absolutely exhausted.
Faces pale behind scratched gas mask lenses.
Movements slower.
Voices hoarse from shouting.
Many were carrying minor wounds they hadn't even reported.
Others showed the early signs of radiation exposure despite the protective equipment.
But they kept moving.
Because they could see the end now.
Not victory.
Not yet.
But the end of the battle.
The final line.
Tektus.
The remaining defenders.
Everything concentrated around the submarine itself.
Ward climbed onto a damaged maintenance platform overlooking part of the basin.
The view made him pause briefly.
The chamber was covered in scars now.
Smoke.
Bodies.
Burning equipment.
Spent shell casings.
Broken barricades.
The remains of defensive positions that had seemed impossible to breach only an hour earlier.
The Children were still fighting.
But they were being compressed.
Forced backward.
Closer and closer toward the submarine.
Toward Tektus.
Toward their last stand.
Ward keyed his radio.
"We're pushing them."
Mercer answered immediately.
"I know."
"Not fast."
"No."
"Still pushing."
A pause.
Then Mercer replied quietly.
"That's enough."
Near the center of the chamber, another medic finished checking a squad returning from a heavily irradiated sector.
One soldier's counter made her immediately stop.
"You're done."
The man looked offended.
"I'm not done."
"You are now."
"We need everyone."
"We need you alive next week."
Another RadAway treatment.
Another argument.
Another soldier reluctantly sent toward the rear.
The medics had become ruthless about exposure levels.
They had to.
Too many people were accumulating dangerous doses.
The Children had weaponized radiation throughout the battle.
Even now contaminated zones remained scattered across the chamber.
Leaking pipes.
Damaged reactors.
Radiation traps.
Hot spots glowing on Geiger counters.
The medics fought an invisible battle alongside the visible one.
And neither side was easy.
Far above, one final sniper team loyal to Tektus remained hidden on an elevated maintenance gantry.
They had survived bombardment.
Survived suppression.
Survived multiple assaults.
And they continued causing problems.
A medic nearly died because of them.
A squad leader actually did.
The position became a priority target.
A dedicated assault team climbed toward the gantry through maintenance ladders and service walkways.
The fight lasted several minutes.
When it ended, none of the defenders survived.
Neither did half the assault team.
The gantry fell.
Another piece of Tektus's defense disappeared.
The chamber felt smaller now.
Not physically.
Psychologically.
The defenders had fewer places left to retreat.
Fewer fallback positions.
Fewer reserves.
The battlefield was slowly collapsing inward.
Toward the submarine.
Toward the final barricades.
Tektus walked among the remaining defenders again.
His robes were stained.
His shoulder wound continued bleeding.
His face looked older than it had hours earlier.
Yet his voice remained strong.
"Atom watches."
The defenders listened.
"Atom remembers."
More gunfire echoed through the chamber.
Another barricade somewhere behind them fell.
Tektus didn't even look.
"Hold."
The defenders tightened their grips on their weapons.
"Hold."
Closer now.
The attackers were getting closer.
Everyone could feel it.
"Hold."
And they did.
Because faith was all many of them had left.
Across the chamber, Sico stood behind cover and watched the final defensive perimeter shrinking around the submarine.
The battle was not over.
Far from it.
People were still dying every minute.
The Children still launched counterattacks.
Still defended every position.
Still fought with frightening determination.
But the direction of the battle had become impossible to ignore.
The final line was bending.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Reluctantly.
Yet it was bending.
And with every barricade breached, every catwalk secured, every wounded soldier treated with RadAway and sent back into the fight, Sico's forces pushed a little closer to the submarine.
The final defensive perimeter around the submarine finally came into view.
Not on maps.
Not through radio reports.
Not through secondhand updates from squad leaders.
Everyone could see it now with their own eyes.
The last stand.
The end.
The ancient nuclear submarine towered over the chamber like some forgotten steel god from another age, its massive hull rising from the flooded basin beneath flickering emergency lights. Smoke drifted through the cavernous dock in thick gray curtains. Firelight reflected off rusted steel. Empty shell casings covered the floor so heavily that boots crunched across them with every step.
The battlefield behind Sico looked like an entire war had been fought inside the Nucleus.
Because it had.
Hours of relentless combat had transformed the submarine chamber into a graveyard of barricades and shattered defenses.
The Children of Atom had given everything.
Absolutely everything.
And now they had nowhere left to fall back.
The remaining defenders clustered around the submarine itself.
Around Tektus.
Around the final barricades.
The final machine-gun positions.
The final firing lines.
The final believers.
Ward lowered his binoculars and exhaled slowly.
"There."
Sico followed his gaze.
The last line was obvious.
Makeshift walls built from reactor shielding.
Welded maintenance equipment.
Stacks of metal plating.
Destroyed generators.
Anything the Children could drag together and turn into cover.
Behind those positions stood perhaps the last hundred defenders.
Maybe fewer.
Nobody knew anymore.
The numbers had become meaningless.
Everyone left was fighting.
Everyone left was armed.
Everyone left had already decided how this day would end.
Mercer's voice crackled through the radio.
"Confirm visual on final perimeter."
Ward answered.
"Confirmed."
A pause.
Then:
"Looks like they're making their stand."
Another burst of gunfire erupted from the Children positions.
Bullets sparked against nearby steel supports.
The answer came immediately.
Far Harbor rifle teams returned fire.
The chamber exploded into violence once more.
The final battle had begun.
The sound was deafening.
Hundreds of weapons firing simultaneously beneath the submarine cavern's steel ceiling.
Rifles.
Machine guns.
Combat shotguns.
Laser weapons.
Radiation rifles.
Everything merged together into one endless roar.
Tracer rounds crossed the basin from every direction.
Red.
Green.
Orange.
Flashes of light filled the darkness.
Men and women shouted.
Squad leaders screamed orders.
Medics dragged wounded soldiers behind cover.
The Children of Atom answered every attack with furious resistance.
Because surrender was never an option.
Not for them.
Not here.
One Far Harbor assault team attempted to push across an exposed maintenance lane.
The defenders immediately focused fire.
The lead soldier barely made it three steps before rounds slammed into his chest armor and threw him backward.
His squad scattered for cover.
The advance stopped instantly.
Elsewhere another team managed to gain ground.
Only for a hidden radiation weapon to force them back.
The Children fought like cornered animals.
No.
Not animals.
Something more dangerous.
Believers.
People who genuinely believed death itself was victory.
And that made them terrifying opponents.
Near the submarine's lower docking platform, one elderly Child of Atom stood atop a damaged barricade firing an old combat rifle into the advancing soldiers.
He couldn't have been less than sixty years old.
Maybe older.
His beard was gray.
His robes were torn.
Blood soaked one sleeve.
Yet he continued firing.
Reloading.
Praying.
Firing again.
Eventually a rifle round struck him squarely in the chest.
He fell.
But even as he collapsed another defender stepped into his position.
Then another.
Then another.
The line never seemed to stay empty for long.
Tektus watched all of it.
Watched his followers die.
Watched them hold.
Watched them sacrifice themselves willingly.
His shoulder wound had worsened.
Blood stained his robes.
His face looked pale beneath the flickering emergency lights.
Yet his eyes still burned with conviction.
"ATOM IS WITH US!"
The defenders answered immediately.
"ATOM!"
Their voices echoed through the submarine chamber.
Loud.
Defiant.
Fearless.
Even now.
Even at the end.
The response sent a chill through many of the Far Harbor soldiers.
Not because they feared losing.
But because of how willing these people were to die.
Sico watched the final line carefully.
Every movement.
Every position.
Every possible weakness.
The battle raged around him.
Bullets sparked off nearby cover.
Squad leaders shouted for ammunition.
Machine guns hammered continuously.
Yet his attention remained fixed elsewhere.
On one man.
Tektus.
Because everyone understood something now.
The battle was no longer about territory.
The battle was no longer about barricades.
The battle was no longer about advancing another ten meters.
The battle was about ending the Children of Atom.
And that meant ending Tektus.
Sico slowly lowered his rifle.
Ward noticed immediately.
"What are you doing?"
Sico didn't answer right away.
Instead his eyes remained fixed on the distant High Confessor.
Watching.
Studying.
Waiting.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Keep pressure on the line."
Ward frowned.
"What?"
"Don't stop pushing."
Ward looked confused.
Then he noticed something.
Sico was reaching for a different weapon.
A long weapon.
A familiar weapon.
The sniper rifle.
Understanding appeared instantly.
Ward glanced toward Tektus.
Then back toward Sico.
"You see him."
Sico nodded once.
"I do."
Neither man spoke after that.
There wasn't anything left to say.
Sico checked the rifle.
Magazine.
Bolt.
Scope.
Everything ready.
Then, while the battle continued raging around him, he began moving.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Disappearing into the chaos.
Most soldiers never noticed.
One moment he was behind the main line.
The next moment he wasn't.
Smoke helped.
Darkness helped.
The confusion of battle helped.
Within minutes he had vanished completely.
Meanwhile the fighting intensified.
The Children launched another desperate counterattack near the center of the line.
A group of defenders charged forward through smoke and debris screaming prayers to Atom.
The attack actually broke into the first Far Harbor position.
Close-range fighting erupted.
Rifles became clubs.
Knives appeared.
Shotguns fired almost point-blank.
The struggle lasted less than two minutes.
When it ended the defenders lay dead.
But so did several soldiers.
The cost continued rising.
Always rising.
The chamber seemed determined to claim blood until the very end.
Far above the battlefield, hidden among rusted maintenance structures overlooking the basin, Sico crawled into position.
The route had been dangerous.
Narrow catwalks.
Damaged ladders.
Unstable platforms.
One mistake would have meant a fatal fall into the battlefield below.
Yet eventually he reached a location overlooking the submarine and the final defensive line.
A sniper's position.
Perfect.
He settled behind cover.
Raised the rifle.
Looked through the scope.
The battlefield instantly narrowed.
Everything disappeared except the crosshairs.
Smoke drifted through view.
Defenders moved.
Soldiers advanced.
Machine guns flashed.
Then—
Tektus.
There.
Standing atop a reinforced platform near the submarine.
Visible.
But not enough.
Too many people nearby.
Too much movement.
Too many chances for something to interfere.
Sico lowered the rifle.
Waited.
Patience.
The hardest part of sniping had never been shooting.
It was waiting.
Below him the battle continued.
Minute after minute.
The defenders kept fighting.
Kept dying.
Kept refusing surrender.
Far Harbor troops slowly pushed closer.
Barricade by barricade.
Position by position.
The circle tightened.
The chamber shrank.
The end approached.
Then suddenly Tektus moved.
He climbed higher onto the defensive position.
Stepping above cover.
Exposing himself.
Trying to rally his remaining followers.
His voice carried across the chamber.
"DO NOT FEAR DEATH!"
The defenders cheered.
"ATOM WAITS FOR US!"
Another roar of approval.
Even now.
Even here.
They still believed.
Tektus raised his weapon high.
"The DIVISION comes!"
More shouting.
More prayers.
More fanatic devotion.
Through the scope, Sico watched everything.
The movement.
The posture.
The angle.
Calculating.
Measuring.
Waiting.
Then the battlefield gave him exactly what he needed.
A brief opening.
One moment.
One perfect moment.
No defenders crossing.
No barricades blocking the shot.
No smoke drifting through the line of sight.
Nothing.
Just Tektus.
Clear.
Exposed.
Visible.
Sico exhaled.
The world seemed to become silent.
Not truly silent.
The battle still raged.
Hundreds of weapons still fired.
People still shouted.
But none of it mattered.
Only the crosshairs.
Only the target.
Only the shot.
His finger tightened.
The rifle fired.
The crack echoed through the chamber.
For a fraction of a second nothing happened.
Then Tektus jerked violently.
The round struck him high in the chest, near the base of his throat.
The impact spun him backward.
His weapon flew from his hands.
The High Confessor stumbled.
Tried to remain standing.
Failed.
And fell.
The leader of the Children of Atom crashed onto the steel platform beneath him.
Motionless.
For a moment nobody understood what had happened.
The battlefield continued moving.
Continued fighting.
Continued existing.
Then someone screamed.
"Tektus!"
Every head turned.
Defenders.
Soldiers.
Everyone.
The High Confessor lay on the platform.
Blood spreading rapidly beneath him.
No movement.
No commands.
No speeches.
No prayers.
Nothing.
Just silence.
The realization spread through the Children like a shockwave.
Tektus was dead.
Their leader.
Their prophet.
Their voice.
Gone.
A second sniper round struck the platform nearby.
Not aimed at Tektus.
A warning.
Confirmation.
The shot had been deliberate.
The Children looked upward.
Searching.
But Sico had already repositioned.
Already vanished again.
The damage had been done.
Tektus was dead.
The effect was immediate.
And devastating.
The defenders hesitated.
Only briefly.
Only for a few seconds.
But in battle a few seconds could change everything.
Far Harbor officers recognized it instantly.
"PRESS THEM!"
"FORWARD!"
"MOVE MOVE MOVE!"
The assault surged ahead.
Machine guns intensified.
Rifle teams advanced.
Shotguns thundered.
The final defensive line began collapsing.
Not because the Children surrendered.
Because they didn't.
Not one.
The death of Tektus shattered their morale.
But it did not break their faith.
If anything, some became even more dangerous.
More desperate.
More determined.
Many simply accepted that they would die today.
And once a person truly accepted death, fear lost much of its power.
One defender charged directly into rifle fire carrying an improvised explosive.
He was shot half a dozen times before reaching the soldiers.
Yet he kept moving.
Kept advancing.
Kept trying.
Until finally another burst dropped him only meters away.
Another Child of Atom continued firing despite losing an arm.
Another fought until his ammunition ran dry.
Then attacked with a knife.
Others refused medical aid.
Refused retreat.
Refused everything except battle.
The submarine chamber became a slaughterhouse.
Not because one side stopped fighting.
Because neither side would stop until it ended.
The remaining defenders were swept from the catwalks first.
Then the maintenance lanes.
Then the barricades.
Every position became its own small battle.
Its own final stand.
Its own tragedy.
The soldiers moved methodically.
Room by room.
Platform by platform.
Eliminating resistance wherever it appeared.
Still the Children fought.
Still they resisted.
Still they died with Atom's name on their lips.
Hours earlier such determination had been enough to hold the line.
Now there simply weren't enough of them left.
The numbers had become overwhelming.
The equipment gap too great.
The losses too severe.
One by one the final defenders disappeared.
A machine-gun nest fell.
Then another.
A sniper position went silent.
Then another.
The western barricade collapsed.
The eastern platform followed.
Everywhere the Children fought.
Everywhere they lost.
Eventually the battle reached the submarine itself.
The final cluster of surviving defenders gathered near the vessel's base.
Perhaps twenty remained.
Maybe less.
Exhausted.
Wounded.
Bleeding.
Yet still armed.
Still willing.
Ward approached with a rifle team.
"Last chance."
Nobody answered.
One Child of Atom spat blood onto the steel floor.
Another raised his rifle.
That was answer enough.
The final firefight lasted less than a minute.
When it ended the last defenders lay motionless around the submarine.
The chamber slowly became quiet.
Not silent.
Never silent.
Too many fires still burned.
Too much damaged machinery still groaned.
Too many wounded still needed treatment.
But compared to the endless gunfire of the previous hours, it felt quiet.
Almost surreal.
Smoke drifted lazily through the chamber.
Shell casings covered the ground.
Bodies lay among shattered barricades.
The final battle for the Nucleus was over.
Medics emerged first.
As always.
Moving among the wounded.
Checking pulses.
Administering RadAway.
Applying bandages.
Trying to save whoever could still be saved.
Soldiers slumped against cover.
Exhaustion finally catching them.
Some removed their helmets.
Others simply sat where they were.
Too tired to move.
Too tired to speak.
Ward eventually found Tektus's body.
The High Confessor remained where he had fallen.
His eyes stared upward toward the steel ceiling.
Toward nothing.
The man who had led the Children of Atom for years.
The man who had nearly dragged the island into nuclear catastrophe.
The man whose followers had died willingly for him.
Gone.
Just another casualty of war.
Nearby, Sico finally reappeared from the smoke.
The sniper rifle hung across his shoulder.
His expression remained unreadable.
He looked across the submarine chamber.
Across the battlefield.
Across the dead.
The Children of Atom had fought to the very last believer.
No surrender.
No retreat.
No mercy requested.
No mercy expected.
Only faith.
Faith carried them all the way to the end.
And in the end, faith had not been enough.
The Nucleus belonged to the Republic now.
The submarine was secured.
The missiles were secured.
The Children of Atom were gone.
And as the exhausted survivors looked around the ruined chamber, everyone understood the same thing.
The battle for the Nucleus had finally ended, but the cost of victory would remain long after the smoke disappeared.
______________________________________________
• 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:-