If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
Behind them, the mouth of the sinkhole sealed again—hiding a man who had once been a monster… and who might soon be something else entirely.
But just as the Minutemen turned to leave, Sico paused. His boots crunched against the gravel and broken concrete of the shelter's threshold. He looked back one more time, the faint green hue of his visor reflecting the dim emergency lamps they'd strung inside. Virgil stood deeper in the chamber, surrounded by the last fragments of the life he'd scraped together out here in this radioactive wasteland.
He raised a hand, signaling the team to stop.
"Hold up," he said over the comms.
Robert's voice crackled in response. "Problem?"
Sico didn't answer right away. He stepped back toward the sinkhole entrance, his breath misting inside the helmet once more. The storm was drawing nearer—the sky a churn of ash and green lightning. Time was precious. But this… this was important.
He turned back to Virgil, who looked up, confused.
"I'm not leaving you like this," Sico said. "Not without a line to us."
Virgil blinked. "What do you mean?"
Sico tapped the side of his helmet, then reached into one of the hard cases slung over his shoulder. From it, he pulled a compact hazmat suit—one of the spares, modified for large-frame use. It was tight, stitched with reinforced seals, and equipped with its own filtered rebreather system and a Geiger monitor.
He held it out toward Virgil.
"You're gonna need this when the time comes," Sico said. "Once you start changing, your body's going to weaken. You won't be able to take the exposure, not like you can now."
Virgil looked at the suit, then slowly stepped forward, reaching out to touch it. His oversized fingers brushed the synthetic fabric, almost reverently.
"And this," Sico added, producing a small walkie-talkie, "is your lifeline. Short-range, encrypted. We'll stay within five miles. When you're ready—really ready—you call us. No matter the hour, no matter what's going on. We'll come get you."
Virgil stared at the walkie. Then up at Sico.
"You thought of everything."
Sico shrugged lightly. "That's the job. Leading means making sure no one falls through the cracks. Not even you."
The big mutant chuckled, deep and gravelly. "You're not what I expected from the Minutemen."
"You're not what I expected from a scientist who turned into a super mutant and survived in the most radioactive place in the Commonwealth," Sico replied, a smirk evident even through the voice filter.
They stood there for a beat, the storm crackling faintly in the distance.
"I'll stay alive," Virgil said. "I'll make this work."
Sico gave a nod. "Good. We'll be waiting."
With that, he stepped back and gave the order.
"Open the seal."
The team moved efficiently, pulling back the scrap and reinforced panels they'd used to barricade the tunnel's entrance. Callahan and Briggs handed Virgil the gear, and together they carefully stowed the suit and comms in a dry, sealed compartment near his workstation.
Sico gave Virgil one last nod.
"Lock it up behind us. No chances."
Virgil grunted, a solemn promise in his eyes. "You have my word."
The Minutemen turned again, stepping into the thickening fog. This time, Sico didn't look back.
The journey out was harder than the way in. The storm had fully settled over the Sea now. Every gust of wind carried glowing motes of radiation that lit up their visors like starlight. Geiger counters ticked steadily, a constant warning beneath the silence of the march. The team moved in pairs, beacons dropping behind them every twenty paces, like breadcrumbs in a hellscape.
Sico's mind was locked in on the mission's final leg. Get his team out. Get clear of the Sea. Get safe. But even as he walked, eyes forward and boots pounding dirt, part of him lingered in that bunker, standing next to a man who was once a monster, holding a promise in the shape of a vial.
The truck came into view like a ghost from the ash—a hulking armored vehicle with reinforced plating and improvised rad shielding, idling with low, guttural purrs. Its headlights cut through the gloom, bathing the team in soft white as they emerged one by one.
They climbed in silently. No one complained. No one spoke. Every one of them understood what they'd just done. Not just survived—but chosen to believe. In someone. In something.
The truck pulled away, treads grinding over rock and slag as it crested the ridge and began its slow journey out of the Sea.
After an hour of slow, cautious movement, the radiation levels dropped. Geiger counters quieted. The air, though still heavy with ash, was no longer poison.
They reached the perimeter. The outskirts. The place where the map stopped saying "Here be dragons," and started pretending the world was normal again.
Sico ordered the truck stopped.
"This is it," he said. "We wait here."
Briggs turned in the front seat. "Wait how long, sir?"
Sico looked out the window. The fog was still visible in the distance, curling like smoke over the edge of the world. Somewhere in there, a man was about to try and become himself again.
"As long as it takes."
They set up camp not far from the truck. Small, portable shelters unfolded from the vehicle's storage bay, giving the team somewhere to rest. A comms relay was mounted atop the truck, tuned to the frequency of Virgil's walkie. Every hour, Robert checked the signal. Every hour, they waited.
Sico didn't sleep much. He stood on a bluff just beyond the shelter line, watching the storm.
He thought about what it meant to believe in someone like Virgil. A former Institute scientist, a mutant, a hermit living on the edge of the world. A man who'd done terrible things—and was still trying to make it right.
He thought about Nora, too. What she'd risked to bring that serum out of the Institute. The look in her eyes when she handed it to him. Not just defiance, not just anger—but hope. Raw, human hope.
And he thought about what might come next.
Because if Virgil succeeded—if the transformation worked—it wouldn't just be proof that redemption was possible.
It would be a weapon. Not the kind that fired bullets or launched bombs, but something more dangerous.
Truth.
The truth about what the Institute had done. What it was doing. What it was willing to do to silence those who escaped.
And truth like that didn't just sit quietly in the dark. It had to be used. It had to be told.
Sico looked up at the stars—faint, flickering points above the swirling clouds. The Commonwealth was broken. Fractured. But maybe, just maybe, it could heal.
Just like the man in the sinkhole.
He didn't move until dawn began to filter through the gloom. The team emerged from the shelters, bleary-eyed but alert. They brewed coffee from rations and ran equipment checks. Just like any other mission. Just like any other morning.
Except now, they were waiting for a ghost to call them home.
Three days passed.
The storm in the Sea waxed and waned, but never truly left. The truck's rad shielding needed maintenance. The Commandos cycled through watch shifts and decon routines. Sico never strayed far from the bluff, never stopped listening to the hiss of static on the comms.
On the fourth day, the walkie crackled.
It was faint. Just a burst at first. Then a voice. Ragged. Strained.
"Sico…"
He lunged forward, grabbing the receiver.
"Virgil?"
"…It worked. I think it worked."
Sico turned to the team.
"Gear up!" he barked. "We're going back in!"
The camp erupted into motion. Weapons were checked. Suits were sealed. The truck roared to life.
The truck lurched forward, grinding over the ashen terrain as it turned back toward the storm. Dust and irradiated fog coiled in its headlights, the cracked windshield reflecting a dull green glow as the clouds above churned restlessly. Inside, no one spoke. They didn't need to. The urgency in Virgil's voice—raw and wheezing, yet unmistakably human—had said it all.
Sico sat in the front passenger seat, hunched forward in his hazmat suit, visor reflecting the dashboard's dim lights. His grip was tight around the walkie-talkie, knuckles pale under the glove. He hadn't let go of it since the call. Every few seconds, he clicked the channel open, just to hear the static and confirm the signal was still there.
Briggs was driving, jaw clenched, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion etched into his features. Robert sat behind him, running checks on radiation levels and suit integrity, the soft hum of instruments and Geiger counters punctuating the silence.
They were going back into hell—but this time, they weren't searching. This time, they were bringing someone home.
The storm thickened as they neared the sinkhole again. Ash whipped across the windshield. Lightning forked through the clouds, painting the horizon in brief flashes of sickly green. Every so often, the ground trembled with distant rumbles—far-off thunder, or something deeper.
The truck crested the final ridge and rolled to a slow stop just beyond the shelter's edge. The perimeter they'd helped reinforce was still intact, the barricade they'd built sealed tight. No signs of movement, not yet.
"Alright," Sico said, snapping out of the cab. "Let's move."
The team poured out of the vehicle with precision, years of training showing in the way they moved despite the oppressive heat inside their suits. Their boots hit the irradiated ground like drumbeats, firm and steady. Each one carried a weapon, but none of them raised it. Not this time.
Sico approached the sealed entrance first, his hand resting briefly on the reinforced sheet metal they'd bolted across the opening. He tapped it twice, then leaned in.
"Virgil," he called, voice muffled by the suit but steady. "We're here."
There was a pause. Then the sound of scraping—metal being moved, bolts being undone. A low, grinding groan echoed through the fog as the entrance slowly peeled open, revealing the dim, flickering light of the bunker beyond.
And then they saw him.
Virgil stood just inside the threshold, backlit by the emergency lamps strung across the ceiling. He was tall—still broad—but no longer a towering mass of mutated muscle and discolored flesh. His skin, though pallid and lined with scars, was human again. His face—once distorted beyond recognition—now bore the unmistakable features of the man he used to be. Tired. Hollow-cheeked. But alive. Awake. Awake in a way he hadn't been in years.
He was wearing the hazmat suit. The one Sico had given him. It hung awkwardly on his thinner frame now, slightly oversized, as though it had been made for someone else—which, in a way, it had. But it worked. It kept him safe. And it marked him as part of something again.
Sico stepped forward, slowly removing his helmet so Virgil could see his face.
Virgil's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he might collapse from sheer emotion.
"You made it," he said, voice hoarse and uneven. "You actually came back."
Sico smiled—a tired, weather-worn thing, but full of warmth. "Told you we would."
Virgil nodded slowly. He looked down at his own hands, then back up at the team gathering behind Sico. He took a breath, steadying himself against the wall.
"It hurt," he said quietly. "God, it hurt like nothing I've ever felt before. Every cell. Every nerve. I thought I was dying more times than I can count. But… then it started to shift. The pain didn't stop, but it changed. It felt like something was being… pulled out of me."
He looked at Sico again. "It worked. I'm me again."
Sico took a step closer, then another. He reached out and placed a gloved hand on Virgil's shoulder.
"You did it," he said. "You held on."
Virgil gave a small, weary laugh. "Barely."
Robert stepped forward next, scanning Virgil with a handheld device. The screen blinked green—normal human readings, no extreme rad levels, no mutant cell activity.
"He's clean," Robert confirmed. "Radiation's within acceptable limits. Human DNA markers. It's all there."
The rest of the Commandos relaxed slightly, shoulders dropping as they processed the news. There were no cheers, no celebration—just a heavy, collective breath. Relief. Respect.
Callahan and Briggs moved inside and began gathering the gear they'd left behind during the original drop. The place looked mostly the same—Virgil had clearly been too weak to move much during the transformation—but there were signs of effort. The cot had been stripped and replaced. The workstation had been cleared of clutter. Medical logs, scribbled by a shaky hand, were piled neatly in a corner.
"You should see some of what I wrote down," Virgil said, following Sico's gaze. "If I hadn't been living it, I'd have thought it was mad science fiction."
"You'll have time to write it all properly," Sico replied. "Back in Sanctuary."
Virgil hesitated. "You sure they'll want me there? I'm… not exactly a fan favorite, even when I was still human."
Sico turned to face him fully. "You gave up everything to get out of the Institute. You turned your back on what they were doing. You survived this hell and took the risk of that serum—to undo what they did to you. That's not just redemption, Virgil. That's courage."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"You've got a place with us. If you want it."
Virgil looked at the team again. At the men and women who'd come back for him. His eyes shimmered behind the visor.
"I want it," he said. "I'm tired of hiding."
They got moving not long after. Callahan helped Virgil secure the rest of his notes while Briggs sealed up the shelter behind them. Robert kept scanning the environment, checking for rad spikes, but the worst of the storm seemed to have passed. As if the Sea itself was offering a rare moment of peace.
When they emerged into the open, Virgil stumbled slightly. The light was brighter now—dawn breaking somewhere beyond the clouds. It cast the Sea in eerie, golden hues, painting the ruins in soft light that almost made the place seem beautiful.
Almost.
The truck loomed in the clearing, engines still running. The Commandos helped Virgil into the back, checking his vitals once more before securing him inside with extra shielding and oxygen.
As they climbed in, Sico gave one last look back toward the sinkhole. The entrance was sealed again. Quiet. Still.
He thought of the man who had hidden there. And the one who walked out.
Then he shut the door, and the truck rolled forward once more.
The journey out was slower this time. They couldn't risk jostling Virgil too much. His body, though healed, was still fragile. Muscles needed to rebuild. Bones needed rest. But every time Sico glanced back, he saw the same thing—Virgil sitting upright, eyes alert, mind sharp. A man reborn, determined not to waste the second chance he'd been given.
They crossed the boundary an hour later. The Geiger counters fell silent. The sky brightened. The Sea was behind them now, as they drive toward Sanctuary.
________________________________________________
• 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:-