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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And when the time came, Sico intended to find out exactly what was waiting there.
The following morning arrived quietly.
No celebrations.
No speeches.
No construction milestones drawing crowds of settlers toward the housing district.
The settlement still buzzed with activity, of course.
Workers continued building homes.
Farmers tended crops.
Engineers monitored the fog condensers.
Merchants organized shipments arriving from Far Harbor.
Life continued moving forward exactly as it should.
But for Sico, the day carried a different purpose.
The mystery of the Vim! Pop Factory had remained in the back of his mind ever since recovering DiMA's hidden memories.
Every time he reviewed reports.
Every time he inspected construction projects.
Every time he walked through the growing settlement.
The thought lingered.
A hidden medical facility.
Buried beneath an abandoned factory.
A secret important enough that DiMA had removed it from his own memory.
Questions like that had a way of refusing to disappear.
Still, he had no intention of rushing blindly toward another mystery.
Not after everything the Republic had built here.
Not after everything they had fought for.
The Nucleus needed stability.
The settlement needed protection.
And if there was one lesson years of leadership had taught him, it was that information often proved more valuable than action.
Before going anywhere himself, he wanted eyes on the location.
Reliable eyes.
Trusted eyes.
People who understood the difference between observing and interfering.
People capable of following orders.
People who wouldn't allow curiosity to override caution.
Which was why, shortly after sunrise, several carefully selected soldiers received messages ordering them to report to the Nucleus headquarters.
The meeting took place inside a briefing room located near the command offices.
Nothing fancy.
Just a sturdy table.
Several chairs.
Maps covering portions of the walls.
A large island chart pinned to a board near the front of the room.
By the time Sico arrived, the soldiers were already present.
Eight in total.
Veterans.
Men and women who had proven themselves repeatedly over the past months.
Some had fought beside him during the campaign against the Children of Atom.
Others had participated in securing trade routes and protecting settlements.
All of them had earned his trust.
That alone made them valuable.
The room quieted as he entered.
A few exchanged curious looks.
Clearly they knew something unusual was happening.
Otherwise they wouldn't have been gathered together in secret.
Ward sat near the end of the table.
Naturally.
Coffee occupied its usual position.
At this point nobody questioned it anymore.
One soldier glanced toward the mug.
"I'm convinced that's medically impossible."
Ward looked offended.
"What is?"
"The amount of coffee you drink."
"I've built up a resistance."
"To what?"
"Reality."
Several soldiers laughed.
Even Sico shook his head.
Some things truly never changed.
Once everyone settled, he moved toward the map.
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
The joking stopped.
The room grew attentive.
Professional.
Focused.
The kind of silence experienced soldiers naturally adopted when a briefing began.
Sico pointed toward a section of the island.
A weathered landmark recognizable to everyone present.
The Vim! Pop Factory.
Several soldiers exchanged looks.
Nobody interrupted.
Nobody asked questions.
Not yet.
"There's a location I need investigated."
Still silence.
He appreciated that.
The soldiers understood briefing etiquette.
Questions came after instructions.
Not during them.
Sico continued.
"This is a reconnaissance operation."
His finger remained on the map.
"Nothing more."
A few heads nodded.
The distinction mattered.
Reconnaissance and assault represented entirely different missions.
One gathered information.
The other created problems.
Today they were gathering information.
"The factory?"
one soldier finally asked.
"Yes."
Sico studied the group.
"I want observation only."
His tone became firmer.
"No exploration."
Several soldiers immediately straightened.
"No entry."
Another nod.
"No searching buildings."
More understanding.
"No heroics."
That earned a few faint smiles.
Because everyone knew exactly why he felt the need to specify that.
Every military unit eventually produced at least one person who heard "observe" and somehow interpreted it as "investigate aggressively."
Sico preferred avoiding that outcome.
He pointed toward the factory again.
"Your objective is simple."
The room remained focused.
"Approach without drawing attention."
"Observe the area."
"Identify anything unusual."
"Then return."
The instructions couldn't have been more straightforward.
One of the veteran scouts raised a hand.
"What qualifies as unusual?"
A fair question.
Sico considered it.
"Movement."
The scout nodded.
"Activity."
Another note.
"Security measures."
More writing.
"Recent occupation."
Several soldiers exchanged thoughtful looks.
The factory had supposedly been abandoned for years.
Any sign of recent activity would be important.
Sico continued.
"Tracks."
"Equipment."
"Patrols."
"Lights."
"Vehicles."
His eyes moved around the room.
"Anything that suggests someone has been using the location."
The soldiers absorbed every word.
Good.
Because details mattered.
Especially during reconnaissance.
Ward finally spoke.
"You expecting trouble?"
Sico leaned slightly against the table.
"I'm expecting answers."
That earned several thoughtful expressions.
Not because it clarified everything.
Because it clarified enough.
This wasn't random.
There was a reason they were being sent.
A reason connected to something larger.
Even if most details remained classified.
One younger soldier glanced toward the map.
"Who knows about this operation?"
The answer came immediately.
"Us."
The room became noticeably quieter.
Not nervous.
Just attentive.
Because now they understood.
This wasn't routine scouting.
This was confidential.
Sico folded his arms.
"Nobody else."
Several heads nodded.
One soldier asked the obvious question.
"Not even the settlement leadership?"
"No."
The answer was firm.
Not because he distrusted anyone.
Because information spread.
People talked.
Rumors grew.
Questions followed.
And right now, he wanted facts before speculation.
"The fewer people who know, the better."
Nobody argued.
Professional soldiers understood operational security.
Especially experienced scouts.
Ward finally set down his coffee.
A rare event significant enough that several people noticed.
"If this is connected to what you found in DiMA's memories…"
The room immediately paid closer attention.
Interesting.
Most of them hadn't known that part.
Sico didn't confirm it directly.
He didn't need to.
The expression on his face told them enough.
Several soldiers exchanged looks.
Now they understood why secrecy mattered.
The legacy of DiMA seemed determined to create complications long after the synth himself had stopped talking.
One scout rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"So we're looking for evidence."
"Correct."
"Not engaging."
"Correct."
"Not entering."
"Correct."
The soldier nodded.
"Good."
A pause.
"I hate entering abandoned buildings."
The room laughed.
Another soldier pointed at him.
"You literally volunteered for vault exploration duty."
"That was different."
"How?"
The scout considered this carefully.
Then shrugged.
"I don't remember."
More laughter followed.
The tension eased slightly.
Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
Good reconnaissance teams often functioned best when comfortable around one another.
Trust mattered.
Chemistry mattered.
Being able to joke together usually meant being able to work together.
Eventually the conversation returned to business.
Maps were reviewed.
Approach routes discussed.
Observation points identified.
Potential hazards considered.
The planning process lasted nearly an hour.
By the end, everyone understood their assignment perfectly.
That was exactly how Sico preferred it.
No confusion.
No assumptions.
No misunderstandings.
When the briefing finally concluded, the soldiers began preparing equipment.
Travel light.
Travel quietly.
Travel unnoticed.
That was the goal.
No heavy weapons.
No unnecessary gear.
Just enough supplies to move safely through the island.
As the group prepared to leave, Sico gathered them one final time.
The mood became serious again.
Not because anyone expected immediate danger.
Because final instructions often mattered most.
His eyes moved from soldier to soldier.
Making sure everyone was listening.
Making sure everyone understood.
"I want to repeat something."
The room remained silent.
"If you find something unusual."
A pause.
"You do not investigate."
Several soldiers nodded.
"If you find an entrance."
Another pause.
"You do not enter."
More nods.
"If you find evidence of activity."
The final pause.
"You observe."
His voice remained calm.
Steady.
Controlled.
Then:
"And then you come back."
Simple.
Clear.
Unambiguous.
One of the veteran scouts finally smiled.
"You really don't trust us to stay out of trouble, do you?"
Sico looked at him.
The scout already knew the answer.
Several soldiers started laughing before Sico even spoke.
"Not remotely."
That earned the loudest laughter of the morning.
Even Ward nearly spilled his coffee.
The scout pointed accusingly.
"See? This is discrimination."
"It's experience."
"That's worse."
The room laughed again.
But beneath the humor, everyone understood the importance of the mission.
This wasn't about glory.
It wasn't about discovery.
It wasn't about being first.
It was about information.
Nothing more.
Eventually the soldiers gathered their equipment and moved toward the exit.
One by one they disappeared into the corridor.
The sounds of boots gradually faded.
The room became quiet once again.
Only Sico and Ward remained.
For several moments neither spoke.
Then Ward glanced toward the map.
Toward the small marker identifying the Vim! Pop Factory.
"You think they'll find something?"
Sico looked at the location.
The factory.
The hidden facility.
The secret buried in DiMA's memories.
Then he remembered Nick's words from the radio conversation.
Some part of him wanted the truth to be found.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Either way, the truth was waiting.
And sooner or later, someone would uncover it.
"I think," Sico finally said, "that DiMA didn't hide those memories for no reason."
Ward nodded slowly.
That answer told him enough.
Outside, the settlement continued building homes.
Workers hammered nails.
Children imagined future bedrooms.
Families planned gardens and front porches.
Life moved forward, as the briefing room slowly emptied.
Boots echoed through the corridor outside.
Voices faded.
Doors opened and closed.
Within minutes, only the normal sounds of the Nucleus headquarters remained.
Ward finished the last of his coffee.
A historic achievement in its own right.
Then he stood.
"Well."
Sico looked up.
"Well what?"
Ward shrugged.
"You just sent eight highly competent soldiers on a secret reconnaissance mission and spent twenty minutes telling them not to do anything heroic."
"That's called leadership."
"That's called optimism."
Sico smirked.
"Fair."
Ward laughed softly before heading for the door.
"Good luck."
"I'm not the one going."
"Exactly."
With that, Ward disappeared into the corridor.
Leaving Sico alone with the map.
And with his thoughts.
For a few moments he remained standing beside the table.
His eyes fixed on the small marker identifying the Vim! Pop Factory.
The abandoned bottling plant sat quietly on the eastern side of the island.
Just another ruined pre-war structure to most people.
Another landmark swallowed by time.
Yet DiMA's memories suggested otherwise.
A hidden facility.
A secret important enough to erase from his own mind.
Something buried beneath years of lies, compromises, and carefully concealed truths.
The more Sico thought about it, the more convinced he became that sending scouts first had been the correct decision.
Curiosity got people killed.
Preparation kept them alive.
And he intended to learn everything possible before setting foot anywhere near that factory himself.
A short while later, the selected soldiers gathered near the Nucleus armory.
The mood there felt considerably different from the calm atmosphere inside the briefing room.
Because soldiers preparing for a mission naturally gravitated toward equipment.
And soldiers discussing equipment quickly became enthusiastic.
Sometimes excessively enthusiastic.
The armory occupied a large reinforced chamber inside the mountain.
Rows of weapons lined secured racks.
Ammunition crates sat stacked against walls.
Armor components hung from maintenance stations.
Republic quartermasters moved efficiently between inventory shelves while checking issue forms.
The selected reconnaissance team arrived carrying their standard equipment.
Then immediately began requesting more.
The quartermaster looked increasingly concerned.
Especially after the third requisition form.
"What exactly are you expecting to find?"
One scout adjusted a combat harness.
"Nothing."
The quartermaster narrowed his eyes.
"You don't request that much ammunition for nothing."
"That's because if nothing becomes something, we'd like options."
Several nearby soldiers nodded.
The logic made sense.
In a very soldier-like way.
A veteran sergeant lifted a combat rifle from a rack and checked the action.
Another selected additional magazines.
A third requested fragmentation grenades.
Not many.
Just enough to make the quartermaster sigh heavily.
One of the younger soldiers carried over a crate.
The quartermaster immediately pointed.
"No."
The soldier paused.
"What?"
"No."
"You haven't even looked."
"I don't need to."
The soldier reluctantly put the crate back.
The label clearly read:
HEAVY MACHINE GUN AMMUNITION
Several others found this hilarious.
The young soldier appeared deeply wounded by the injustice.
"I was just being prepared."
"You were preparing for an invasion."
"There's a difference?"
The quartermaster stared at him.
The soldier wisely retreated.
Meanwhile, another scout carefully checked the mission equipment laid out on a table.
Binoculars.
Rangefinders.
Maps.
Radio equipment.
Observation gear.
The actual tools needed for reconnaissance.
Far less exciting than heavy weapons.
Far more useful.
Still, by the time the team finished preparing, they had accumulated enough firepower to comfortably deal with nearly anything the island could realistically throw at them.
Including a deathclaw.
Possibly several deathclaws.
One soldier looked over the assembled arsenal.
"You know, we're supposed to be scouting."
Another adjusted a shotgun.
"We are scouting."
"With enough weapons to conquer a small nation."
"Prepared scouting."
The distinction apparently satisfied everyone involved.
Eventually Sico arrived.
The conversations quieted.
Not completely.
These were soldiers.
Complete silence was unrealistic.
But the focus returned immediately.
Sico spent several minutes inspecting equipment.
Checking supplies.
Reviewing communications procedures.
Confirming emergency contingencies.
Nothing glamorous.
Nothing dramatic.
The boring details that often determined whether operations succeeded.
Everything appeared satisfactory.
Then his eyes moved across the assembled gear.
Rifles.
Sidearms.
Shotguns.
Precision weapons.
Explosives.
Medical kits.
Additional ammunition.
A lot of additional ammunition.
Sico raised an eyebrow.
One soldier looked away.
Another suddenly became fascinated by the ceiling.
A third pretended to check a radio.
"I said observe."
"We are observing."
"With anti-deathclaw levels of firepower."
The scout responsible for most of the ammunition shrugged.
"The island has deathclaws."
Unfortunately, that was a valid argument.
Sico sighed.
"Fine."
Several soldiers looked relieved.
The quartermaster looked betrayed.
Outside the Nucleus, transportation was already waiting.
The Republic had assigned them two vehicles.
One military transport truck.
One Humvee.
Both recently serviced.
Both fueled.
Both capable of handling Far Harbor's rough terrain.
The truck would carry most of the personnel and equipment.
The Humvee would provide mobility and security.
Nothing about the convoy appeared unusual.
That was intentional.
The mission needed to remain discreet.
The less attention it attracted, the better.
The vehicles sat near a motor pool area as mechanics completed final inspections.
Engines idled softly.
Drivers reviewed maps.
Radio operators checked frequencies.
Everything looked routine.
Exactly as planned.
Because that was the disguise.
Officially, this was simply another patrol.
Another security sweep.
Another Republic convoy moving through the island.
The kind of activity people saw every day.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing suspicious.
Nothing worth discussing.
The best secret operations often looked boring from the outside.
Martha Grayson happened to be passing nearby when she spotted the convoy.
The construction foreman paused.
Looked at the truck.
Looked at the Humvee.
Looked at the heavily armed soldiers climbing aboard.
Then looked at Sico.
"Patrol?"
"Patrol."
She glanced toward a soldier carrying enough ammunition to start a minor war.
"Right."
The skepticism in her voice was impressive.
Sico wisely chose not to elaborate.
A few nearby settlers watched the preparations with casual interest.
Nobody appeared alarmed.
Nobody appeared suspicious.
Republic patrols had become a normal part of life.
Which made the disguise effective.
Children waved at several soldiers.
One waved back.
A little girl pointed toward the Humvee.
"Can I drive it?"
Her father immediately answered.
"No."
The child considered this.
Then pointed toward the truck.
"What about that one?"
"Also no."
The negotiation ended unsuccessfully.
Nearby, workers continued building houses.
Hammers rang across the settlement.
Construction crews carried lumber between foundation sites.
Farmers worked fields beyond the walls.
Life continued normally.
Which was exactly what Sico wanted.
No rumors.
No speculation.
No concern.
Just another day.
Eventually the team assembled beside the vehicles for a final briefing.
The atmosphere became serious again.
The joking faded.
Professionalism returned.
Sico looked across the group.
Every face familiar.
Every soldier experienced.
Every one of them trusted.
That trust mattered.
More than equipment.
More than vehicles.
More than plans.
Trust was what allowed commanders to send people into uncertainty.
His voice remained calm.
"You know the objective."
Several nods.
"Observe."
More nods.
"Report."
Again.
"And come back."
Simple.
Direct.
The veteran scout from earlier grinned.
"You really think we're going to ignore the abandoned mystery factory if we find something interesting."
"Not even slightly."
The soldiers laughed.
Even Sico smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
And his voice became firm.
"But you'll do it anyway."
The laughter faded.
Professional understanding replaced it.
Because despite the jokes, everyone knew he was serious.
If they found something.
Anything.
Their job was to report it.
Not investigate.
Not explore.
Not become heroes.
Information first.
Action later.
The lead scout nodded.
"We understand."
Sico believed him.
That was enough.
The soldiers began boarding vehicles.
Gear was secured.
Weapons checked.
Radios tested one final time.
Engines rumbled louder.
The truck driver leaned out the window.
"Ready."
The Humvee commander gave a thumbs-up.
"Ready."
For a brief moment, everything paused.
The settlement stretched around them.
The growing neighborhood.
The walls.
The fog condensers.
The farms.
The people.
All the things they were protecting.
Then Sico stepped back and gave the signal.
The convoy rolled forward.
Slowly at first.
Then steadily.
The truck led.
The Humvee followed.
Republic markings visible along their sides.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing secret.
Just another patrol heading out through the gates.
The guards opened the entrance without hesitation.
The vehicles passed through.
Beyond the walls, the road curved into the gray wilderness of Far Harbor.
Fog drifted across rocky ground.
Pine trees swayed in the coastal wind.
The island stretched endlessly ahead.
Waiting.
The convoy disappeared gradually into the mist.
Its engines becoming quieter with every passing minute.
Until eventually only the distant sound remained.
Then even that was gone.
Sico stood near the gate for several moments afterward.
Watching the road.
Watching the fog.
Thinking.
Somewhere beyond those hills sat the Vim! Pop Factory.
Silent.
Abandoned.
Or at least appearing abandoned.
And now, for the first time since discovering DiMA's hidden memories, trusted eyes were finally heading there.
Not to uncover the truth.
Not yet.
Just to look.
Just to listen.
Just to see whether the old factory was truly empty or whether something hidden had been waiting there all along.
______________________________________________
• 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:-