Fallout 4: Rebirth At Vault 81

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They began to exfil—moving in pairs back through the way they came, picking their way through the irradiated glass fields of the Glowing Sea.

The air outside felt heavier than when they'd arrived—like the Glowing Sea itself had been holding its breath and had now exhaled something thick and bitter. The sky had darkened slightly, the sun a pale, dying eye behind layers of toxic haze. The wind carried the scent of scorched metal and something older, more primal. Burned soil. Charred memory.

They made their way back toward the checkpoint in a staggered formation, slow and methodical. Every few yards, Nora glanced behind them, half-expecting another synth to come screaming out of the glowing craters, some last contingency Talbot might've hidden in the Vault. But there was only silence now. A wounded, haunted kind of silence.

Sico walked with purpose, flanked by Preston on his right and Reyes on his left. Talbot was shackled, arms bound with electromagnetic cuffs, bleeding from the leg wound Nora had given him. He limped, slowed by both pain and shame. No one offered to help.

They reached the trucks in under thirty minutes.

The Freemasons Commando vehicle idled quietly where they'd left it, its matte hull speckled with radioactive dust, vents humming low with the sound of internal decontamination systems. The original armored truck they'd arrived in—a modified Sandstorm-class crawler with redundant shielding—sat nearby like a waiting beast, its treads still warm from the drive through the ash plains.

Sico paused by the first vehicle and looked over his shoulder.

Reyes met his gaze. Her visor was retracted now, face streaked with grime and sweat, but her eyes were sharp—always sharp.

"I want that Vault gone," Sico said quietly, his voice low but firm. "Scrap anything you think might be useful. Files. Hardware. Power cores. Anything that even smells like Institute tech. Then rig the place to blow. I want it glassed over. No one else gets to use that place. Not the Institute. Not raiders. Not us."

Reyes studied him for a moment. She nodded once, no hesitation.

"Yes, Mr. President."

She turned to her squad and gave a series of hand signals—silent, fluid. Without a word, the Commandos peeled away from the group and began moving back toward the Vault. Blizzard tapped the side of his helmet, activating a beacon relay. Echo Nine slung a reinforced pack over his shoulder—probably loaded with shaped charges. Two others retrieved crowbars and fusion cutters from the truck's storage compartment.

They weren't just soldiers. They were precision tools. And they were already at work.

Sico exhaled slowly as he watched them go.

"You sure about that?" Preston asked beside him. "Blowing it all to hell?"

"I'm not leaving a place like that for someone else to dig up," Sico replied. "We barely stopped it this time. Next time… there might not be a Nora around."

Nora didn't speak. She just rested her back against the truck's rear panel, watching the Commandos fade into the fog with quiet, deliberate steps.

Talbot, bound and bleeding, sat slumped near the tire. He looked up at Sico with a cracked smile. "So much for preserving knowledge."

Sico knelt in front of him, one knee resting against the hot earth.

"I'm preserving the future," he said simply. "You had your chance. You burned it."

Talbot scoffed, but the fight was gone from his body.

Nora looked away and scanned the horizon.

The Sea stretched out endlessly, glowing veins of fissured rock winding through the gray landscape like scars. Somewhere in the distance, something howled. Not human. Not quite animal either. Just one of the many half-born monsters this place had made.

She turned her focus inward. The rush of the fight had faded, and now the weariness set in. Every joint ached. Her shoulders throbbed from where the synth had slammed her. But more than that—it was her heart that felt heavy. That Vault had held something terrifying. Something brilliant. A man-shaped weapon with a familiar face.

It wasn't just that it looked like Sico.

It was that it believed it was him.

She knew the Institute's reach. Its capabilities. But today, she'd seen how far they were truly willing to go—not just tactically, but psychologically. They didn't just want to fight the Republic. They wanted to replace it. Replace the idea of it. Replace him.

And it had nearly worked.

Preston's voice broke her thoughts. "We should head back to the checkpoint. Let Reyes finish her job."

Sico nodded, stood, and wiped the dust off his gloved hands. "Let's move. We'll wait at Echo, do a second scan, and extract the moment that Vault is rubble."

The drive back to Checkpoint Echo was slow. Not just because of the terrain, but because the silence inside the truck was suffocating. Preston rode shotgun, eyes scanning the Geiger-ridden horizon. Nora sat in the rear, across from Sico and Talbot.

For long minutes, no one said anything.

Then, unexpectedly, Sico leaned forward.

"Do you know what scared me the most?" he asked, voice low.

Talbot raised an eyebrow, curious.

"It wasn't the synth," Sico continued. "It wasn't even how accurate it was. It was the moment when it spoke… and part of me thought, just for a second, what if he's right? What if the cold version of me—the one built from everything I've done—is the better version?"

Talbot gave a dry chuckle. "That's the thing about control. Machines are clean. We don't make mistakes."

"No," Sico said, "you just don't take responsibility for them."

He leaned back, voice settling into that heavy quiet again.

"I'd rather die a human with regret… than live forever as a thing that doesn't know what a mistake feels like."

Preston turned in his seat. "You want to talk about regret? Let's talk about half the synths you left behind in that vault. Half-built. Partially conscious. That's what your Institute calls progress?"

Talbot didn't reply.

Another thirty minutes passed.

Then Reyes' voice crackled over the comms.

"Payload is set. Vault's been stripped of anything valuable. Charges planted in all structural points. We're en route to the blast perimeter."

"Copy," Sico said. "We're at Echo. Standing by."

The wind howled louder now, picking up pace across the bone-dry plains. The world felt like it was holding its breath again—waiting.

The explosion came ten minutes later.

First, a tremor in the ground. Subtle, like the earth clearing its throat. Then the sky lit up with a surge of white-gold plasma, followed by a thunderous boom that rippled across the valley. A distant tower of ash and smoke rose over the basin like a funeral pyre, carrying the remnants of the Vault into the sky.

Nora shielded her eyes.

Sico didn't flinch.

He just watched, silent, until the smoke began to drift apart.

Preston let out a breath. "Well… that's one more nightmare off the map."

"One of many," Sico said.

Reyes and the Commandos rejoined them at Echo minutes later. Dust-covered, tired, but intact.

"It's gone," she reported. "No trace left."

Sico gave a short nod. "Good work, Major. Your team's earned a full decon, full week's rest at Sanctuary."

"Yes, sir."

She turned to her squad and signaled for them to begin loading into their own vehicle.

Talbot was dragged to the second truck, shackled and under constant guard.

As Sico prepared to board, he turned back to Reyes one last time.

"And Reyes," he added, "thank you."

She didn't smile. Just nodded once.

"Anytime, Mr. President."

Then the convoy rolled out—two armored trucks moving as shadows across the edge of the Sea, toward safer ground, toward the uncertain light of the Commonwealth beyond.

The hum of the truck was steady and low, almost hypnotic as the treads rolled across the cracked, irradiated earth. A slight tremor still lingered in the ground beneath them—aftershocks from the Vault's detonation rippling outward like echoes of a buried scream. Inside the armored vehicle, the air was a strange blend of mechanical sterility and human exhaustion: the recycled breath of the squad, the tang of oil and plasma residue, and beneath it all, that faint metallic trace of fallout clinging to everything in the Glowing Sea.

Sico sat across from Talbot, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed slightly as the minutes ticked by. Preston sat to his right, his eyes scanning out the narrow viewport with practiced vigilance, his rifle resting loosely across his lap. Nora was in the rear compartment, silent but present—cleaning her rifle with the kind of care that had little to do with function and everything to do with focus.

Talbot sat shackled against the bulkhead, the bruising on his leg darkening by the hour, the makeshift bandage soaked through now with a sluggish, rust-colored stain. His eyes were distant, unreadable, like he'd retreated somewhere deep inside—a place far from the Glowing Sea, far from the truck, far from the people around him.

But Sico wasn't looking away.

He watched him, studied him, the way one might watch a mirror long enough to question who it truly reflected.

And finally, he broke the silence.

"Are you human?"

The question wasn't sharp. It wasn't even accusing. It was low. Measured. Almost casual in its delivery—but the weight behind it was anything but.

Talbot didn't respond at first.

He didn't blink. Didn't move. Just kept his eyes locked on some point beyond the truck walls, like maybe the answer was written out there on the wind.

Sico leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but unwavering.

"Because the way you fight. The way you command. The way you think—it's cold. It's calculated. Just like that synth you built to replace me. So tell me, Talbot. Are you really one of them? Or are you just a man who forgot what being human means?"

The silence stretched.

Preston turned from the window, eyes narrowing slightly, like he too had wondered but never asked.

Talbot finally stirred.

He turned his head, slow and deliberate, the pain evident in his movements. His eyes met Sico's—and for a moment, there was something in them. Not rage. Not pride. But something closer to… fatigue.

And then he smiled. That same old crooked smile, like a man holding onto the last piece of a joke no one else understood.

"I won't answer that."

His voice was hoarse. Not defiant. Just resolute.

Sico didn't move. Didn't press. He just let the words sit there.

Talbot continued after a beat, his tone sharpening, losing any trace of that tired softness.

"You're my enemy. All of you. You destroyed years of work in that Vault. You set fire to the future, and you call it peace. So no—I'm not telling you what I am. Not because I'm afraid. But because it doesn't matter to you."

He leaned forward slightly, his shackles clinking against the bench.

"But it will matter. Later. When I escape."

Preston let out a low, bitter laugh. "You're shackled. Bleeding. Half your support network's dead. And you think you're getting out of this?"

Talbot didn't blink. "Oh, I know I am."

Nora looked up from her rifle, watching now with unreadable eyes.

Sico stayed perfectly still, arms crossed now, jaw set.

"Is that a promise?" he asked.

"No," Talbot said, his voice smooth again. Confident. "It's a certainty."

He leaned his head back against the wall with a soft thump, as if he were already beginning to rest. "You think you've won. But I know your type, President. You burn down a house and call yourself a hero, but you never think about what was underneath the floorboards. What was buried. What was waiting to get out."

His eyes flicked toward Nora. "You should know. You've been down there before."

Nora's eyes narrowed.

Sico didn't rise to the bait. He watched Talbot closely, studying every shift in his expression.

"You want us to think there's something more," Sico said. "Some deeper plan. Fine. Let's assume there is. But that Vault's gone. Your synth double is scrap. And every time you crawl back out of whatever hole the Institute sends you to, we'll be waiting. Stronger. Smarter."

Talbot's eyes gleamed with something unspoken.

"And still… human," Sico added. "That's the part you don't get."

Talbot gave a long exhale, as if dismissing the conversation entirely. Like it was beneath him now.

"Enjoy your victory lap," he muttered. "You've bought time. Nothing more."

The truck rumbled on.

Outside, the landscape slowly shifted—less molten, less hostile, though still a far cry from safety. The Geiger readings on the interior panel began to tick lower, section by section, and the dull amber glow of the Glowing Sea faded into something more like desolation than apocalypse.

Inside, the weight of the moment hadn't lessened.

Preston looked between the two of them, jaw tight.

"Do you believe him?" he asked.

Sico was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

"I believe he believes it."

Nora finally spoke. "Then we stay ready."

Her voice was low. Steady. But there was something raw underneath—something she wasn't showing. The way she sat. The way her fingers tightened slightly on the grip of her rifle. She hadn't forgotten the way that synth had looked at her. Fought her. Moved like him.

Preston leaned back against the wall and rubbed his face. "I swear, if the Institute makes one more version of him, I'm just gonna start shooting every smug bastard who talks like a chessboard."

Sico allowed himself a faint smile, but it faded quickly.

"There might be more," he said. "We'd be stupid to think that was the only one."

Nora nodded grimly. "Then we need to find them before they find us."

Talbot said nothing.

Then, Nora leaned in—just slightly—toward Sico, enough that the rattle of the engine and the thrum of the treads would mask her voice from Talbot. Her eyes stayed ahead, her hands still busy with her rifle. But her words were meant only for him.

"I need to get out," she murmured under her breath. "There's a Freemasons outpost not far from here, south ridge. I'll slip out there and double back. I need to return to the Institute."

Sico turned his head the barest inch toward her.

His eyes narrowed—not in surprise, but in understanding.

"To avoid the investigation?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Nora gave the faintest nod. "They'll start asking questions. Justin Ayo's watching internal logs. If I disappear too long, they'll know I was involved in the Vault breach. I need to re-establish cover, plant false flags. We can't afford suspicion now."

Sico's jaw tensed, but he didn't argue.

He trusted her. Not blindly—but with a soldier's instinct. She hadn't broken yet. And as long as Shaun didn't know she was playing both sides, she was still the most dangerous weapon they had inside.

"Alright," he said, voice soft but firm.

Then, louder: "Driver—pull off south, ridge break in half a klick. There's a Freemasons outpost we'll stop at. Minor maintenance. Five minutes."

The driver grunted in acknowledgment from the front, steering the half-track with a heavy jolt that jostled the interior. Talbot glanced up, eyes faintly amused, but said nothing. Maybe he thought it was a routine pause. Maybe he just didn't care.

The vehicle rolled to a slow, grinding stop.

Dust hissed up in pale clouds around them, mingling with faint specks of lingering ash.

Nora stood without a word, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. Her eyes met Sico's—steady, resolved.

"See you back in hell," she said quietly.

Sico gave her a single nod. "Don't let them read you."

She pushed open the heavy rear hatch and stepped out into the late-afternoon haze. The sky above was a dull sheet of grey tinged with violet—low-hanging clouds that rolled like bruises across the horizon. The ground beneath her boots crunched with chemical dust and brittle stone, but she didn't flinch. She walked with purpose.

And then she stopped.

She turned back—just briefly—and watched as the armored truck pulled away. The treads hissed softly, stirring up dust behind them. Talbot was still inside, a shadow behind plated glass. Sico didn't look back. Preston gave a two-finger salute.

She didn't wave.

She waited.

And once the truck was nothing more than a shape shrinking into the grey, Nora reached down to her belt and unlatched the slim black device hidden beneath her jacket. The teleportation override she'd stolen from the Institute armory still shimmered faintly with stored charge—enough for one trip.

She keyed in the coordinates. Not Sanctuary. Not any Freemason base. No—it had to be somewhere safe. Somewhere expected.

She selected a maintenance lab near the SRB archives on the Institute's second sublevel—a place she knew well, a place she could explain being in if needed.

The device whirred softly. There was a flash of sickly green light, a brief tug behind her navel—

And then she was gone.

The world around her stretched into white heat and pressure and soundless impact—and then reassembled all at once with a cold snap.

The Institute's stark white light hit her like a slap.

She landed with a controlled step inside the alcove of the lab, the hum of the reactor core in the walls vibrating just beneath her skin. The cool, sterile air of the underground facility was almost surreal after the dense heat of the Glowing Sea. She exhaled quietly, adjusting the collar of her jacket as the teleportation glow faded from her skin.

No alarms. No alert beacons. No SRB agents charging down the hallway.

Good.

She was in.

Her boots echoed softly as she stepped out into the corridor beyond the lab, the sound sharp against the Institute's polished floors. The air smelled faintly of ozone and sterilizing agents—clean, clinical. The kind of place where everything had a purpose and nothing was wasted.

She passed two synths in the hallway—Generation 3s, their human-like faces set in neutral expressions. One nodded to her. The other simply moved aside.

She returned the nod, heart steady.

In her mind, she replayed her cover story—tweaking details, reinforcing the timeline. She had been on routine recon at Site Theta in the Commonwealth. Data recovery on potential pre-War weapon caches. She'd experienced brief signal loss, typical in the outer sectors. She'd returned as soon as comms were restored.

Clean. Believable. Vague enough not to raise questions.

She made her way toward the SRB level. She needed to be seen. Needed to be noticed in exactly the right way—just enough to establish presence, but not enough to draw interest.

As she passed through the curved doorway into the observation wing, she caught sight of Justin Ayo.

He was standing near the main terminal, arms folded behind his back, reading a data slate. His expression was unreadable—as always—but his presence sent a ripple of awareness through the room. People always noticed when Ayo was around. You had to.

He looked up the moment she stepped in.

"Nora," he said. Cool. Direct.

She kept her posture easy, nodding once. "Director."

"Where have you been?"

"Site Theta," she replied evenly. "Outer rim. We lost signal after some interference near the mountains. Dust storm or solar flare, most likely. I completed the recon and returned as soon as my telemetry synced."

Ayo didn't blink.

He studied her a moment longer, then tapped the slate once and slid it behind his back.

"Nothing valuable at the site?"

"Not this time. Old Brotherhood wreckage. Mostly scavenged."

A beat passed.

Then, with a slight nod, Ayo turned away. "Log your return."

That was it. No interrogation. No scanner check.

Yet.

But that could come later.

She crossed to the auxiliary console near the entrance and keyed in her identification sequence, her fingers moving quickly, her breathing controlled. Behind her, the quiet hum of the room returned to its usual rhythm—data uploads, synth traffic reports, internal security pings.

Everything ordinary.

Everything in its place.

But inside her, adrenaline still churned like coiled wire. She was back in the belly of the beast. And the Institute had no idea what she had just done. No idea the Vault was gone. That Talbot was in custody. That she had stood side by side with Sico and watched a prototype synth burn under falling debris.

They didn't know.

And for now, that ignorance was power.

She logged her return, entered a few fabricated notes into the database, and uploaded a falsified field report—detailing sensor readings, radiation signatures, and a carefully constructed list of salvageable components that no one would ever find because they didn't exist.

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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:-