Fallout 4: Rebirth At Vault 81

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As they led him out of the wreckage, the morning sun broke through the clouds above, casting long shadows across the burned trees, the shattered road, the overturned Humvee still smoking on its roof.

The sunlight caught on the soot and ash trailing from the still-burning house behind him, the early rays glinting against broken glass and bullet-riddled wood. Sico stumbled forward with Preston and Sarah bracing him on either side, their boots crunching over scorched leaves and cracked gravel. The remnants of battle lay strewn across the ground—charred raider bodies, twisted metal, empty shell casings, and the unholy silence that always followed combat like a lingering ghost.

And then, through the haze, Sico saw it—like an answer to a prayer written in the language of steel and boots. A convoy.

Three large trucks and two Humvees had pulled up just beyond the treeline, forming a wide arc on the dirt road. Around them, fifty soldiers moved in practiced rhythm—armor-clad men and women with rifles at the ready, some fanning out to secure the perimeter, others kneeling behind trees and boulders, watching for stragglers. A squad was already picking through the fallen raiders for intel, tags, or tech.

It looked like a fortress on wheels, a moving wall of order and strength. Sico blinked through the blood trickling from his temple, and for a moment, the sight almost made him laugh.

"I think…" he rasped as Preston helped him over a gnarled tree root, "…I missed the welcome parade."

Preston snorted. "You're lucky we didn't bring a marching band."

"You'd have scared 'em off faster," Sico muttered, wincing as a jolt of pain lanced through his side.

As they reached the edge of the convoy, one of the truck doors swung open with a metallic thunk, and a medical team sprang into action. Two men and a woman in white armbands rushed forward, already pulling out gauze, stimpacks, and trauma kits. The inside of the truck had been converted into a makeshift medbay—sterile, efficient, and humming with readiness.

Preston and Sarah helped Sico up the ramp, easing him onto a padded bench that sagged slightly under his weight.

"President's secure!" Sarah called out.

One of the medics, a square-jawed man with streaks of gray at his temples, immediately began assessing him. "Let's get that shirt off, sir—carefully."

Sico grunted, raising his arms with difficulty as they peeled the bloodied fabric away. Bruises blossomed across his ribs like ink stains, dark and vicious. His right arm bore a gash from splintered wood, already scabbing, while his shoulder was a palette of yellow and blue from the Humvee crash.

"Small fracture, maybe a cracked rib," the medic muttered, fingers dancing across his side with practiced precision. "Lacerations, bruising, early-stage shock. We'll start with a stimpack and IV fluids, keep him stable until Sanctuary."

The stimpack hissed as it pressed into his thigh, and cool relief chased the burning heat from his nerves. Sico exhaled, some of the tightness in his chest easing. He leaned his head back against the cool metal wall of the truck, eyes fluttering closed.

But not for long.

Because when he opened them again, Preston and Sarah were standing at the foot of the bench, both watching him with identical expressions—concern, tempered by admiration.

Sico gave them a crooked smile, voice hoarse but teasing.

"Tell me… what kind of raiders," he said, coughing once before continuing, "can't capture one man and hold him for ransom… before his reinforcements roll in?"

Sarah blinked, then let out a breathless chuckle.

Preston cracked a grin. "The dumb kind."

"No," Sico said, shaking his head slowly, "the really dumb kind. You'd think they'd at least post a guard on the back window, or throw in some heavy suppression before they stormed the house."

He waved vaguely in the direction of the smoldering ruins. "Instead, they sent in molotovs like it was a fireworks party. Gave me enough smoke to move through the house like a ghost."

Sarah chuckled again, this time with more relief than humor. "You're joking like a man who didn't just take on a dozen gunmen alone in a death trap."

"I had cover," Sico replied. "Some of it burning, sure. But cover's cover."

Preston shook his head, half in disbelief. "We scanned the area on approach. At least eleven confirmed dead. Probably more hiding out when they heard the Sentinel."

"I got a few of them myself," Sico said, settling back against the wall. "One had a launcher. Brotherhood salvage. Didn't even get to fire it."

Preston grunted. "We found the remains. Or what was left of him. That Sentinel damn near vaporized the whole treeline."

Sarah leaned in slightly, arms crossed. "You were lucky, Sico."

He looked at her, meeting her eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe I've been in the field long enough to know when to run, and when to dig in."

"Still." She exhaled, voice soft now. "Don't do that again."

Sico smiled faintly. "I wasn't planning on getting ambushed."

"No," she said, "but you didn't wait for backup either."

A pause settled between them. Heavy. Honest.

Then Preston broke it with a nod. "You did what you had to. And you survived."

"That's the job," Sico murmured.

The medics finished dressing his wounds, wrapping a brace around his ribs and slipping an IV needle into his arm. The cool drip of fluids gave him a slight rush of clarity. The pain still buzzed behind his eyes, but it was manageable now. Bearable.

Outside, the convoy had settled into a defensive posture. A perimeter had been established, and squad leaders were checking in with their captains via radio. The Sentinel loomed at the rear, still powered up, its glowing optics scanning the horizon with slow, mechanical menace.

Preston stepped closer, lowering his voice. "We're sweeping the ridge and nearby ruins for anyone who ran. MacCready's already on the trail with Bravo team. If there are more, they won't get far."

"Good," Sico said.

"You think this was random?" Sarah asked. "Or did someone know you were passing through?"

That question hung in the air.

Sico's jaw tightened. He didn't answer right away. His mind drifted back to the moment the missile hit. The precision. The timing.

"I don't think it was chance," he said finally. "They were waiting. Knew the route. Knew the Humvee would be lightly guarded."

"But they didn't expect you to survive the blast," Preston finished grimly.

Sico nodded.

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "You think someone leaked the route?"

"I'm not ruling it out," Sico said, his voice a low growl now. "We've purged most of the Gunner remnants. But there could still be sympathizers. Or mercenaries with enough coin to listen to the wrong people."

Preston looked grim. "We'll dig into it."

Sico let his eyes drift toward the treeline again. The sun had risen higher now, painting the leaves in gold and fire. The birds were starting to return—cautious chirps in the distance. The smoke had thinned, and the wind carried it westward.

"What about the Castle?" he asked.

"Fully secure," Sarah said. "Ronnie sent an update before we deployed. Repairs are ahead of schedule. No sign of another wave."

Sico nodded slowly. "Good. Then once we confirm this area's clean, we head back. Sanctuary needs answers. And I want a report on how this happened before the day's out."

"Yes, sir," Preston said.

The medic returned with a datapad and stylus. "Vitals stable. You're not going to be running laps anytime soon, but you're fit for travel. We'll keep an eye on the rib—no deep punctures, thankfully."

Sico sat up straighter, wincing as the brace pressed against his side. He took the stylus and signed the pad with a quick scrawl.

Preston stepped aside to issue new orders to one of the truck captains. Sarah remained at his side, arms folded, her expression still tight beneath the soot and sweat.

Sico looked at her again.

"You saved my ass."

She shook her head. "No. You kept yourself alive long enough for us to reach you. That was all you."

He gave her a tired smile. "Still. Thanks."

They stood in silence for a moment. A breeze stirred the edge of the forest. Somewhere nearby, boots crunched over gravel—soldiers rounding up the last of the weapons and ammo. A drone buzzed overhead, sweeping the perimeter with infrared.

"Let's move," Preston called.

Sico let out a slow breath and slid off the bench, the medical brace hugging his ribs like a second skin. Sarah helped him to his feet.

The gravel shifted under Sico's boots as he limped toward the Humvee, Sarah supporting him on one side while Preston moved a step ahead, eyes scanning the treeline like a hawk. The convoy was nearly ready to roll out—trucks revving low, Humvees idling, radios chattering quietly with confirmation codes and final status checks. Despite the stiffness in his ribs, Sico felt the dull confidence of momentum returning, like a wave finally breaking after a long, violent tide.

But then—

Crack!

A sharp, piercing gunshot split the morning air like a whip. The sound was clean, terrifyingly precise.

Thud.

One of the soldiers walking behind them collapsed in a spray of red mist. The bullet had taken him through the side of the head, snapping his helmet sideways before he dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.

The air went still. Then chaos exploded.

"Sniper! Find cover!" Preston shouted, voice like a gunshot itself.

Soldiers scrambled. Boots thundered across the gravel and dirt as men and women dove behind Humvee fenders, crouched beneath truck beds, and rolled behind overturned logs or sandbag placements. Sico was nearly dragged off his feet as Sarah yanked him backward behind the thick wheel of a supply truck.

"Keep your head down!" she barked, her rifle already swinging up.

Another round cracked through the air—missed by inches. It pinged off a metal railing, sparks flying.

"MacCready!" Preston's voice shouted into his radio. "We're under sniper fire—one KIA! Break sweep and circle back. We need overwatch, now!"

Sico felt the ground beneath him, dusty and cold, press against his braced ribs. He clenched his teeth against the pain, rolling to a crouch with Sarah beside him. Her hands moved fast, loading a new mag into her DMR. She popped the dust cover on her scope and peered out beyond the left side of the truck.

"Talk to me," he muttered, trying to push himself up.

Sarah shoved him back down, eyes never leaving the scope. "You're staying right here unless you want another hole in your head."

Preston barked a flurry of hand signals to the squad leaders across the way. "Delta team, smoke out the west ridge. Echo, cover the rear in case we're flanked. Nobody moves unless I say."

The world shrunk to the snap of gunfire and the muffled rustle of movement behind steel. Somewhere far above them, hidden deep in the tree line or a ruined outpost, the sniper waited—hunting.

Sarah adjusted her position, her elbows steady on a truck bed as she slowly traced the upper forest line.

"There," she whispered.

"Where?"

"Southwest crest, maybe 300 meters. Flash of movement behind an old tower frame. Could be a repeater station. High angle."

Sico followed her line of sight. The woods up there were dense, but not impassable. Old telecom ruins jutted out from the canopy like broken antennae, rusted red and cloaked in vines. The perfect roost.

"I don't have a clean shot," she growled. "They're hiding in the rafters or inside the framework. Bastard's got a suppressor—hard to pin exact position without a tracer."

"MacCready better be moving," Sico muttered, reaching for the radio Sarah had clipped to her vest. He pulled it close, pressing the mic.

"MacCready, report."

A moment of static.

Then—"Copy that, Mr. President. We're three clicks south. I've got eyes on the ridge. Moving in fast and quiet—tell your people to keep heads low. We'll flush the bastard out."

"Make it fast," Sico said through clenched teeth. "They've already dropped one of ours."

As he dropped the radio, another sharp whistle cracked across the sky. This time, it punched through a Humvee window and embedded itself into the driver's seat. If anyone had been sitting there, they'd be dead.

Preston barked out, "Glass shield up! I want the Sentinels scanning with infrared—narrow sweep, tight cone. Look for heat signature near the repeater ruins!"

The giant metal frame of the Sentinel let out a low, humming whine as its optics shifted. A thin laser beam sliced through the treetops as it focused on the southern ridge. Dust kicked up behind it as the massive machine lumbered forward two steps and halted again, posture braced like a guardian statue ready to retaliate.

Sarah shifted slightly and steadied her rifle again. Her cheek pressed to the stock, breath held.

"I see them," she said.

Preston dropped beside her. "You sure?"

"Movement. Just a glint off glass. Top left beam, third rung down. They're watching us… waiting."

Sico pressed against the truck, heart hammering. He could see it now too—a flicker of something unnatural. Not bird, not wind. A ghost's shimmer. The faintest suggestion of an optic.

"Preston," he said grimly, "you think this is connected to the ambush?"

Preston didn't answer for a second. When he did, his voice was low and cold. "If it is, they're good. This ain't raider work. That's a pro up there."

Sico swallowed. His side throbbed, but adrenaline was dulling the edges now. His mind was already racing—thinking back to the Humvee crash, the timing, the route they took. Someone had fed info to a trigger puller. Someone with patience, and a scoped rifle.

Suddenly—BOOM.

Not a sniper round—this was louder. Close. A suppressed thump of a long barrel somewhere behind the trees to the south. Then—

Crack!

Crack!

Silence.

MacCready's voice came through the radio again, sharp and clear.

"Target down."

Sico exhaled sharply, his whole body sagging in place.

"Say again?" Preston snapped.

"Sniper's dead," MacCready confirmed. "We flanked from the ravine—he was holed up in an old repeater shack, just like Sarah called. Professional kit. Ghille suit, carbon bipod, Brotherhood optic, custom suppressor. One-man operation."

Sarah sat up slowly, slinging her rifle. "Sniper neutralized. We're clear."

Preston stood and raised a fist in the air. The signal to stand down.

Soldiers emerged from their cover, weapons still at the ready, but the posture looser now. The immediate threat was gone, but the tension hadn't fully left the air. It wouldn't—not until they knew who that bastard was working for.

Sico forced himself upright with Sarah's help and limped toward Preston. His eyes flicked toward the fallen soldier—the blood still soaking into the gravel, staining it dark and final.

"What was his name?" he asked quietly.

Preston checked the dog tags that had already been collected. "Corporal Jack. Third Company. Joined three months ago. Quiet. Reliable."

Sico stared at the body for a long second. Then nodded once.

"I want a flag folded and sent to his family. With full honors."

"Yes, sir."

They stood in silence for a few heartbeats longer.

Then Preston keyed into the general channel. "All units, status report. Roll call and regroup. Sentinel team, begin uplink to Sanctuary—send combat data from the last hour. I want a trace on that sniper's rifle origin and any ballistic match. Sarah, grab a team and retrieve the body. Secure anything tech."

"On it," she replied, already moving.

MacCready appeared ten minutes later, dusted in forest grime but intact. He dropped a long rifle onto the truck bed beside Sico—it was sleek, matte black, and terrifyingly well-maintained.

"Custom .308," he said. "Military-grade bolt, scope tuned for high-altitude shots. This guy wasn't just trying to pick off grunts—he was gunning for you."

Sico looked at the rifle like it was a snake, coiled and venomous even in death.

"He almost succeeded," Sico muttered.

"But he didn't," MacCready said, his voice firm.

Sico nodded.

"Which means we hunt the ones who sent him."

And in that quiet moment, with the scent of blood and ash still thick in the air, the President of the Freemasons Republic resolved something silently to himself.

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• 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:-