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Behind them, Magnolia's voice rose into another song with something honey-slow and warm, a tune that sounded like an old memory.
The next day arrived in the quiet, blurry way mornings often do after nights filled with too much warmth and too many feelings. Sanctuary woke slowly as the lanterns still hanging, chairs still scattered, a few drunk settlers still snoring under tables with the remnants of the festival lingering like perfume in the air. But Sico woke not in Sanctuary, not with the echo of Magnolia's music in his ears, but in the Freemasons Headquarters, surrounded by the cold, polished steel of duty.
He hadn't slept much.
Not because he was haunted by nightmares or weighed down by stress as those he knew how to carry, how to bury behind discipline and work. No, the reason he slept lightly was simpler and far more unfamiliar.
His mind kept drifting back to the way Nora's hand had felt in his.
The warmth of her forehead gently brushing his chest.
Her voice that low, soft, unwavering as she said, "I'm not going anywhere."
For once, the weight in his chest hadn't been a burden.
It had been something… gentler.
He was still turning that feeling over in his mind when he stepped out onto the balcony of his office.
The morning wind was crisp, carrying the scent of cut grass, steel, and the faint echo of distant machinery. Below him stretched the Freemasons' training yard as normally a place of rigid discipline, clattering armor, shouted commands, and the thud of boots striking packed earth.
Today, it looked… wrong.
Or rather, it looked like itself again.
Sarah was in the center of the yard, barking orders as soldiers moved equipment back to where it belonged. Wooden tables, empty bottles, string lights, and festival decorations were being removed piece by piece. Barricades that had acted as temporary food stalls were lifted away. The dance floor that has a rough platform made from scavenged planks was being dismantled by a group of commandos.
The place that had been alive with music and laughter just hours earlier was reverting to its original purpose: a battlefield in miniature.
A training ground.
A place for war.
Sico rested his hands against the cold metal railing and watched silently.
Sarah was unmistakable even from this height with hair pulled into a messy tie, her uniform jacket slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to her elbows. She moved with purpose, her voice sharp but not cruel, her posture strict but not harsh.
Even after dancing with Albert last night, even after letting herself be soft for once, she was back in full command mode. The transformation was almost startling, like seeing someone step back into armor still warm from the night before.
"Put those dummies back along the north line!" she shouted. "Spacing: one every six feet. And for the love of everything in this world, someone fix that target board, it's leaning like it's had a bad night of drinking!"
"Yes, General!" the soldiers replied in unison.
A moment later, Albert jogged over with a toolbox in hand. He said something Sico couldn't hear from this distance, and Sarah smacked the back of his arm with a stack of rolled papers, a hit that was probably meant to be reprimanding but looked suspiciously affectionate. Albert only laughed, rubbing the spot dramatically.
Sico felt a faint smile tug at his lips.
For all the weight this world carried, moments of quiet humanity still found a way to survive.
He leaned slightly forward, letting the morning breeze brush against his face, and continued to observe.
Today is different, he thought.
Not just for him, for everyone.
The feast, Magnolia's performance, the dancing, the laughter… all of it had been more than a celebration. It had been a reminder. An anchor. Proof that the Republic wasn't just an idea of survival, it was a home worth protecting.
A home that needed leadership.
A home that needed unity.
A home that needed hope.
And maybe a home that needed him to be more than just the shield that carried its burdens.
It needed him to feel human, too.
A soft knock sounded behind him.
Robert's voice followed, warm and steady as always. "You're up early, Mr. President."
Sico didn't turn around at first. "Couldn't sleep."
"Big night," Robert said knowingly. His footsteps approached, stopping a few paces behind. "Magnolia was something else. And you dancing? I thought I was hallucinating."
"Don't start."
Robert chuckled, leaning his shoulder against the balcony doorway. "Relax, sir. I'm proud of you. And I think everyone else was too."
Sico shook his head slightly but didn't argue. His eyes stayed on the training yard.
From above, the scene was almost poetic: the remnants of joy being cleared away to restore the structure of discipline. It was the wasteland's rhythm, after all a brief moments of peace swallowed again by the world's demands.
"Sarah works fast," Robert noted.
"She always does."
"Going to talk to her?"
"In a minute."
Robert hesitated. "Keeping your distance because of last night?"
Sico closed his eyes briefly.
"No," he said quietly. "Last night… was good."
Robert smiled softly. "Good is rare these days. You should let yourself have more of it."
Sico opened his eyes again and exhaled. "One thing at a time."
Then Sico pushed off the railing. "Let's go."
But before he stepped inside, he looked one last time at the training yard at Sarah shouting orders, at soldiers hauling planks and repositioning targets, at the world resetting itself to war mode.
And somewhere in the back of his mind…
He could still feel Nora's hand in his.
When Sico descended the interior stairs and crossed the long hallway leading to the yard, the noise grew louder from hammers clanging, boots thudding, soldiers chanting cadence as they reorganized equipment. Dust rose in thin wisps from the ground as crates were dragged, stacked, and sorted.
The instant he stepped outside, sunlight hit him, warm but not bright enough to be harsh. Sarah was kneeling near the shooting range, checking alignment on the targets when she spotted him.
She straightened immediately.
"Mr. President," she greeted, brushing dust from her palms. "Good morning."
"Sarah," he replied. "You're already restoring everything."
"We need the yard operational within the hour," she said. "The festival was great, but security drills are scheduled every morning, and the Brotherhood isn't going to wait for us to finish cleaning."
Sico nodded. "You didn't have to handle this alone."
She gave him a look, somewhere between amusement and incredulity.
"Sir, you were working until two in the morning. And then dancing. You earned the right to take one morning off."
Albert, nearby, heard that and grinned. "He even smiled last night, Sarah. I thought the world was ending."
Sarah swatted him lightly. "Shut it, Albert."
Sico ignored the teasing. Instead, his eyes lingered on Sarah a moment longer. She looked tired beneath her confident posture that not physically, but emotionally. He recognized that kind of fatigue.
"You doing alright?" he asked quietly.
Sarah blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
She hesitated. Only a breath. But he saw it.
Then she nodded. "Yes. Last night was… good. Really good. The people needed it."
"You needed it," Sico corrected gently.
She looked down, lips pressing together. "Maybe."
Albert slung a massive arm around her shoulders. "She definitely did."
"Albert!" she hissed, elbowing him so hard he nearly dropped his toolbox.
Sico show a smiled that small, but real. "Anyway… thank you. For getting the yard ready."
Sarah straightened. "Of course, sir. We'll finish in fifteen minutes. The Republic needs discipline."
"And it also needs morale," Sico added. "Yesterday you helped with both."
Sarah's expression softened just slightly, a rare vulnerability slipping through her usually unbreakable front. "Thank you, sir."
He nodded once and then walked deeper into the yard, hands clasped behind his back, observing soldiers as they restored every inch of the space.
Robert joined him a moment later.
The morning sun had finally risen high enough over the steel walls of the Freemasons' Headquarters to soften the hard edge of the shadows stretching across the yard. The clang of metal had found its rhythm again, settling into the familiar pulse of daily operations. Sico walked with Robert at his side, taking in the restored order with a quiet kind of appreciation.
It felt good to see the Republic breathe like this, recovering from celebration yet already shifting back into focus.
He paused near the stacked crates of ammunition where a pair of young recruits were struggling to lift a heavy box together, their faces scrunched with determination. A few commandos barked corrections from the sidelines. The smell of dust, steel, and fresh coffee drifted through the air, grounding the morning in its workmanlike simplicity.
Sico exhaled, long and steady.
Robert glanced at him. "You look like you're measuring something."
"Memories," Sico murmured. "The quiet kind."
Robert smiled faintly. "We don't get many of those."
"No," Sico agreed softly. "We don't."
They continued their slow walk until the noise of the yard faded just enough for Sico to shift the conversation. His eyes slid toward Robert, thoughtful.
"Tell me," Sico said. "Is the trial training for Jonas, Morris, and the med-tech her name Alice, right? Ready for their chance to join the Commandos?"
Robert's eyebrows lifted slightly. "You really remembered her name?"
Sico shrugged. "She approached me yesterday with that med-kit strapped to her hip like it weighed more than her. Hard to forget."
Robert chuckled. "Fair enough."
"So?" Sico asked again.
Robert adjusted the folder tucked under his arm, flipping through a couple of papers before answering. "It's still in preparation. MacCready's handling most of it with his squad, they're setting up the evaluation gauntlet now. Should be ready by this afternoon."
"This afternoon," Sico repeated, nodding once. "Good."
He paused, eyes scanning the yard again, but his mind wasn't fully on the soldiers anymore. There was a flicker behind his gaze.
Robert noticed. "Something on your mind?"
"Many things," Sico admitted. "But Jonas, Morris, and Alice… they're different."
Robert folded his arms carefully. "Different how?"
"They're not trying to prove something about strength," Sico said, picking his words with care. "They're trying to prove something about belonging."
Robert let the silence breathe between them a little longer before he answered. "That's exactly you give them a chance and the trial. If they're going to join a spec-ops unit like the Commandos, they need grit, discipline, and the ability to keep up when everything goes sideways."
Sico nodded slowly, but something in his expression was softer, more personal.
"Morris has a good heart," Sico said. "He's clumsy, loud, annoying as hell, but loyal."
Robert snorted. "You're describing a brahmin in human form."
"Maybe," Sico allowed, "but he's the kind who runs toward danger if someone needs help."
"That," Robert admitted, "is true."
"And Jonas…" Sico continued, the corner of his mouth twitching. "He always tries to pretend he's not afraid. That he's tougher than he looks. But he still cleans the clinic for two extra hours when no one asks."
Robert blinked. "He does?"
"Yeah," Sico said with a shrug. "I've seen him.
"And Alice…" Sico paused, remembering the way she had hugged her medical bag to her chest during their conversation at the feast. "She's brave, but she doesn't know it yet. She wants to help, but she doesn't know if she's allowed to be more than a med-tech."
Robert's voice softened. "You care about them."
"I care about everyone," Sico corrected gently. "That's my job."
"That's your curse," Robert said quietly.
Sico didn't argue.
They both stood for a moment, listening to the yard fall back into its natural rhythm. A commando shouted for more spacing between the targets. Someone dropped a crate and cursed. Another soldier sprinted past with a datapad, nearly colliding with Albert, who shouted "Watch it!" with the tone of a man who had seen too many morning accidents.
Sico let his eyes drift toward the medic bay across the yard—the place where Alice usually spent her mornings. He wondered if she was already pacing nervously, waiting for her chance. He wondered if Jonas had slept last night, or if he was rehearsing imaginary combat scenarios in his head. And he wondered if Morris… well, Morris probably fell asleep on a table again. But Sico hoped he woke today with that spark of determination he sometimes hid behind humor.
They deserved this chance.
Not because they were powerful yet, but because they wanted to be better.
Sico inhaled deeply.
"Let me know the moment the trial is ready," he said. "I want to watch."
Robert blinked. "You? Watching a training trial?"
"Yes."
"You're going to make them nervous as hell."
"Then they'll learn to fight while nervous," Sico said simply.
Robert shook his head, amused. "Fair enough."
The afternoon sun arrived with a kind of lazy determination, drifting past the thick steel walls of the Freemasons' Headquarters until it soaked the yard in a warm, amber glow. Shadows stretched long and slow across the training grounds, mixing with the clang of metal and the rhythmic murmurs of soldiers going about their routines.
The hours between morning and afternoon passed in a blur of meetings, reports, and quiet moments of reflection for Sico. By the time Robert knocked on his office door and nodded toward the yard, the day had already settled into that late-afternoon heaviness that signaled the shift toward training drills and tactical exercises.
"It's time," Robert said simply.
Sico stood, pulled on his coat, and followed him.
They walked in silence, the kind that was comfortable, familiar, the kind that didn't need words to fill it. The corridor hummed with low conversation and the mechanical clicking of maintenance bots sweeping debris from the floor. Soldiers saluted as Sico passed, and he returned each gesture with a curt nod.
As they exited the main building and approached the Commandos' camp on the far end of the yard, Sico immediately noticed the change in atmosphere.
The air was sharper here.
Focused.
Purposeful.
The Commandos' tents, barricades, weapons racks, and training structures formed a tight cluster of organized chaos. Heavy reinforced walls made from welded scrap metal half-circles enclosed the area, each segment painted with the unit's emblem: a stylized gauntlet gripping a dagger. Inside, targets were arranged in complicated formations, obstacle courses twisted around wooden pillars and steel girders, and dummies were lined in rows like a silent audience waiting to judge.
MacCready's voice cut through the air before Sico even reached the entrance.
"Back line, spread it one meter! If the spacing's off, the whole sequence collapses!"
Boots thudded, gear clattered, and the unmistakable sound of tension hummed beneath every movement. Commandos shifted about with practiced agility as they put the final touches on the trial course.
Sico paused at the threshold of the camp and scanned the scene.
MacCready stood atop a stack of crates, barking orders with a half-eaten snack cake in one hand and a clipboard in the other. His cap was tilted backward, sweat glistening at his temples, but his posture radiated confidence. The man was in his element.
His squad moved with synchronization that was almost beautiful, like watching a pack of wolves reset their den before a hunt.
But it wasn't MacCready who pulled Sico's attention.
It was the three figures off to the right side of the camp.
Jonas.
Morris.
Alice.
They sat near a long bench beneath the partial shade of a tarp, each of them carrying a different aura of tension.
Jonas sat forward, elbows on his knees, head lowered, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his thigh. He kept staring at the obstacle course ahead, eyes narrowing as if he were trying to memorize every twist and hurdle. Every few seconds he inhaled deeply, then exhaled too fast with the kind of breathing someone did when they were pretending to be calm.
Morris, by contrast, couldn't sit still. He was pacing back and forth, back and forth with wearing a track into the dirt with his boots. He ran a hand through his messy hair every other stride, muttering to himself under his breath. Occasionally he'd stop, shake his arms out dramatically, then jump twice as if trying to shake the nerves out of his bones.
And Alice…
Alice sat straight-backed on the bench, her med-tech uniform freshly cleaned, her med-kit strapped at her side. But her hands, as they trembled. Not wildly, just faintly, like the vibration that lingers in your fingers after holding something heavy for too long. Her lips were pressed tight, and she kept rubbing the back of her thumb with the edge of her glove. She didn't look at the obstacle course. She didn't look at Jonas or Morris. Her eyes stared at the ground before her, unfocused, drifting in some place between dread and determination.
Sico's chest tightened not with worry, but with something more like pride.
They were afraid.
But they were here.
Robert came to stand beside him. "They've been waiting almost an hour," he murmured. "MacCready wanted everything perfect before he started."
"Commandos don't do half-measures," Sico replied.
Robert smirked. "Neither do you."
Sico said nothing.
They continued forward.
Some soldiers noticed Sico approaching and straightened instinctively. Others nudged their squadmates to stand taller, grip their rifles better, or stop slouching.
By the time Sico and Robert reached the edge of the trial course, MacCready hopped off his stack of crates, wiped his hands on his jacket, and jogged over.
"Mr. President," MacCready said with a casual salute. "Sorry for the wait. We wanted everything locked down tight. Safety mechanisms, weapon checks, dummy positions as didn't want any surprises."
"I trust your judgment," Sico replied.
MacCready grinned. "Good. Then you'll love this course. It's one of ours, but… tuned up. Just enough to push them without getting them killed."
Robert gave him a pointed look. "Try not to give Alice a panic attack before she even starts."
MacCready raised his hands defensively. "Hey, she's tougher than she thinks. Besides, we've had med-tech candidates before. Some of the best commandos I've served with started out in scrubs."
Sico looked past him toward the three recruits.
"Are they ready?" he asked quietly.
MacCready followed his gaze. The grin faded a little, replaced by something more thoughtful.
"As ready as anyone can be before they're thrown into the lion's den," MacCready said. "We briefed them this morning. They know the basics. But nothing replaces actually running the course."
"Good," Sico said. "Let's begin."
MacCready nodded sharply and turned to his squad, raising his voice.
"Alright! Final checks complete! Commandos, positions!"
A ripple of movement spread through the squad. Soldiers took their designated posts along the perimeter of the course. Some held clipboards, others calibration devices, a few handled timing gear. A handful climbed onto scaffolding above to watch from elevated vantage points.
Robert stepped forward, clearing his throat as he approached the recruits.
Jonas, Morris, and Alice jerked to attention instantly.
"Mr. President," Jonas blurted.
"Sir," Alice whispered.
"Uh—hi," Morris said, trying to sound confident but coming off more like he was about to vomit.
Sico studied them for a moment.
"You all came here for a reason," he said quietly. "Not because it was expected. Not because someone forced you. You came because you want to serve the Republic in a way that demands everything of you."
Jonas swallowed.
Morris straightened.
Alice's fingers stopped trembling—just slightly.
"This trial won't be easy," Sico continued. "It isn't supposed to be. But you're not here to be perfect. You're here to prove you don't give up even when fear gets loud."
Alice's throat bobbed as she swallowed.
Jonas nodded slowly.
Morris exhaled hard through his nose.
Then Sico stepped aside and motioned toward Robert.
"Begin the trial."
Robert nodded once, firm and authoritative.
"First candidate—Alice."
Alice's head snapped up.
She froze.
Jonas turned toward her with wide eyes. "You're up first. You okay?"
Alice didn't answer.
Morris nudged her gently. "Hey, don't worry—we believe in you."
Alice let out a shaky breath, then stood.
Her knees wobbled for a second, but she steadied them.
She stepped forward.
Robert gestured toward the designated starting point. "Alice, approach the course start."
She did.
MacCready lifted a small device and clicked it on.
Lights embedded along the trial structure flickered to life, illuminating stepping stones, barriers, hidden pathways, and simulated injury stations.
Sico watched as Alice inhaled deeply and finally looked—not at her feet, not at the ground—but at the full obstacle course ahead of her.
Her entire body tensed.
She looked small against the towering structures, narrow tunnels, sharp-angled barricades, and simulated battlefield hazards.
But she didn't back down.
Robert stepped closer to her side.
"You know the rules," he said gently. "This trial evaluates your ability to move under pressure, assess injury scenarios, make split-second calls, and manage chaos. You will not be asked to fight beyond your basic training. Your task is to handle the wounded while staying alive."
Alice nodded.
"This is your moment," Robert added. "Show us why you're here."
Alice exhaled one last time—deep, slow, grounding.
Then she said softly, "I'm ready."
MacCready lifted his hand.
"Three… two… one…"
The horn sounded.
And Alice ran.
The trial began.
The horn blared across the Commandos' camp, vibrating through the metal scaffolding and rippling across the watching crowd like an electric jolt. Alice sprinted forward, awkward at first, her boots slapping against the packed dirt as she propelled herself into the labyrinth of chaos MacCready's squad had constructed.
Sico watched her with a steady gaze, hands clasped behind his back. Robert stood beside him, one brow raised as if silently rooting for her with every breath.
Alice ducked beneath the first low-hanging barrier, nearly misjudging the angle, her shoulder brushing the steel beam with a dull thud. She winced but kept moving, sliding forward on one knee before scrambling back to her feet. The next stretch was a zigzag of sandbags and tripwires—non-lethal but loud as hell if triggered. She moved carefully here, slower, her breath trembling as she evaluated every inch of the path.
Jonas and Morris stood near the bench, eyes fixed on her with a mixture of hope and dread.
"Come on, Alice…" Jonas whispered.
"She's got this," Morris said, though his voice cracked halfway through.
At the end of the sandbag corridor, a dummy lay sprawled across a patch of dirt, half-covered in simulated blood. It was set up to mimic a wounded soldier, one leg bent at the wrong angle, torso scorched as if from an energy blast. The moment Alice saw it, her breathing changed. Something snapped into focus. All the fear, all the trembling, all the doubt, compressed into a single line of determination.
She rushed toward the dummy.
"Vitals first!" she muttered to herself, dropping to her knees. "Check the airway, stabilize, tourniquet—left thigh, simulated arterial bleed—"
Her voice was soft but precise, the way she must have trained herself to whisper to calm real patients.
MacCready, watching from a high vantage point, tapped his clipboard. "That's good. That's very good form."
Alice's hands moved with surprising steadiness now. She fastened the tourniquet, applied pressure, then dragged the dummy that struggling against its weighted frame, toward the partial cover where an extraction beacon flickered. It wasn't easy. Sweat dripped down her temple. Her arms shook violently as she hauled the heavy figure inch by inch.
But she didn't stop.
When she finally reached the beacon, she slapped the activation pad and gasped for air, chest heaving.
Sico allowed himself the smallest hint of a smile.
Robert nodded. "She's finding herself."
"Most people do when someone else's life is in their hands," Sico said.
The course wasn't done. Not by a long shot.
Alice pushed forward through a narrow corridor lined with shifting panels. MacCready's commandos manipulated the controls, causing walls to tilt, pivot, and occasionally block her path. She hesitated, misstepped, tripped, yet each time she pushed herself back up.
Halfway through, a burst of simulated gunfire erupted from the right. Alice flinched hard, instinctively ducking. Her knee hit the ground, but she kept low and scrambled behind a panel. She didn't freeze. She didn't collapse.
She adapted.
"She's learning fast," Robert murmured.
"She's remembering who she is," Sico replied.
The final stretch was a sprint across unstable platforms—wooden planks tied with thick ropes, each one tilting wildly with every step. Alice stepped onto the first plank, nearly falling, windmilling her arms to stay upright. The watchers held their breath.
Then, something changed.
Her movements shifted.
She stopped looking down and started looking forward instead and focused not on her fear, but on her goal. One plank, then the next, then the next with her steps grew steadier, bolder.
When she jumped off the final platform and rolled across the dirt to avoid the low-sweeping pendulum arm, Jonas let out a loud cheer.
MacCready clicked his stopwatch the moment she crossed the marked finish line and dropped to her knees, gasping, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.
The horn sounded again, signaling her completion.
The crowd erupted in applause that not wild, not mocking, but honest. Respectful. Grateful.
Alice lifted her head, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her face was flushed, streaked with dirt, but her eyes shone bright, burning with disbelief at what she'd just done.
MacCready descended from the scaffold, boots hitting the ground with a thud. He crossed his arms, appraising her.
"Not bad for someone who walked in here looking like a frightened mole rat."
Alice blinked. "Th-thank you, sir?"
"That was a compliment," MacCready grinned. "Solid performance, clean medical execution, good composure after the simulated fire. A few rough edges, but that's why we train."
Robert nodded approvingly.
Sico stepped forward slighty, not enough to overshadow MacCready's authority, but enough that Alice noticed.
"You did well," he said warmly. "You pushed through fear without letting it master you."
Alice's eyes widened, then flicked downward, overwhelmed. "Thank you, Mr. President."
She stepped aside, still shaking, but now from adrenaline rather than fear.
Jonas patted her shoulder.
Morris hugged her so suddenly she squeaked.
Alice smacked his arm lightly, face red. "Let me breathe!"
But she was smiling.
Really smiling.
Then, Robert raised his voice again.
"Next candidate, Morris."
Morris stopped mid-celebration, his arms still half-open from hugging Alice.
"Huh? Oh, oh crap. That's me."
"Go get 'em, big guy," Jonas said.
"Try not to die," Alice added, still catching her breath.
Morris straightened his posture, clapped his hands together twice, and exhaled dramatically.
"Alright! Time to beat the crap out of this course!"
MacCready muttered, "If enthusiasm counted as speed, he'd already be done."
Morris jogged to the starting point—though "jogged" was generous, as he stumbled almost immediately and pretended he didn't.
Robert raised the signal.
"Ready?"
Morris nodded vigorously. "Absolutely not but do it anyway!"
The horn blared.
Morris launched himself forward with unexpected speed, charging into the first stretch of barriers like a brahmin with a jetpack. He ducked under the first bar perfectly.
Then smashed directly into the second one.
The clang of metal echoed across the yard as the bar bounced off his forehead. Morris staggered, dazed, muttering, "I meant to do that," before continuing forward.
Sico covered his mouth with his hand, though whether he was hiding amusement or secondhand pain was unclear.
MacCready groaned. "This kid's gonna give me a migraine…"
Despite his clumsiness, Morris pushed through the sandbag corridor quickly, too quickly.
"Slow down, you idiot!" Jonas shouted from the sidelines. "You'll—"
Morris tripped a tripwire.
A loud bang sounded. Red powder exploded into the air.
He froze, blinking red dust from his eyelashes.
"Oh no," Morris whispered.
"Oh yes," MacCready muttered.
Panels shifted. Pathways changed. The course entered a heightened difficulty state.
Morris was now in the harder route reserved for more advanced candidates.
Alice gasped. "He triggered the secondary path!"
Jonas facepalmed. "Of course he did…"
But something strange happened.
Morris didn't panic.
He laughed—breathless, wild, exhilarated.
"Bring it on!"
He dove into the new route with reckless abandon, rolling under swinging bars, scaling a vertical rope ladder with surprising speed, and leaping across two platforms with an ease that stunned the crowd.
"He's improvising well," Robert murmured.
"He's too chaotic for the course to predict," Sico replied.
When Morris reached the injured dummy, he overestimated its weight and nearly toppled backward, stumbling several steps before regaining balance.
"Sorry! Sorry! I got you, hang in there fake person—" he rambled as he dragged the dummy to safety.
Yet despite the chaos, despite the mistakes, Morris finished the triage with textbook accuracy—clearly remembering every technique Alice had been praised for earlier.
MacCready blinked. "Okay… I did not expect that."
Morris sprinted to the final stretch, clambered onto the unstable platforms, wobbled violently, flailed his arms—and somehow didn't fall.
His momentum carried him all the way through.
He leaped off the last plank, tucked into a messy roll, slid across the dirt, popped back onto his feet, and crossed the line—
Just before collapsing on his back, panting like a dog in summer.
The horn blared.
MacCready checked the stopwatch.
His eyes widened.
"He finished faster than Alice," he announced.
The crowd murmured in surprise.
Alice's jaw dropped. "How?!"
Jonas laughed so hard he doubled over. "This absolute madman—!"
Morris raised a shaky fist from the ground. "Speed… is all… in the heart…"
"No, it's in your impulse control issues," Jonas replied.
MacCready crouched beside Morris, smirking. "Sloppy, chaotic, borderline dangerous, but impressive. You've got raw potential."
Sico nodded. "He has heart. And heart is something you can't teach."
Robert smiled. "Let's see how the last one does."
Morris was helped aside, still breathing heavily but grinning ear-to-ear.
Jonas stepped forward, but unlike Alice or Morris, he didn't look nervous anymore.
He looked ready.
Focused.
Almost calm.
Sico noticed immediately.
Jonas walked with confidence to the starting point, rolling his shoulders, loosening his wrists, taking a controlled breath.
MacCready narrowed his eyes. "This kid… he's different today."
Robert folded his arms. "He was the standout at yesterday's sparring. Let's see if that wasn't a fluke."
Jonas planted his feet at the start line, gaze fixed on the course with razor-sharp clarity.
Sico studied him closely.
"The fear he had earlier," Sico murmured, "it's quiet now."
"Because he decided to be someone else today," Robert replied. "Someone better."
MacCready raised the signal.
"Jonas, you ready?"
Jonas didn't look away from the course. "Yes, sir."
"Three…
Two…
One…"
The horn blasted.
Jonas moved.
Not ran.
Moved.
Fast. Fluid. Controlled.
He glided under the first barrier with the smoothness of a seasoned soldier, barely grazing the steel as he passed. His steps were light, precise—like he knew exactly where his weight needed to fall. In the sandbag corridor he was a ghost, slipping through without disturbing a single tripwire.
"Holy hell…" MacCready breathed.
Sico's eyes sharpened. "He's reading the course as he runs it."
Jonas reached the dummy and didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees, assessed the simulated injuries with professional efficiency, and secured the tourniquet in record time. His hands were firm, unshaking—confident without being careless.
Alice whispered from the sidelines, "That's… perfect form."
Morris nodded slowly. "He looks like he's been doing this his whole life."
Jonas dragged the dummy to shelter faster than anyone expected. He wasn't the strongest physically—but his technique was immaculate. He used leverage instead of brute force, shifting the dummy's weight onto his side and pulling with his full body instead of only his arms.
MacCready scribbled frantically on his clipboard. "This… this kid is recruit gold."
When Jonas hit the shifting-panel corridor, he didn't pause like Alice or rush like Morris. He watched. Studied. Anticipated.
And then.
He moved through the changing patterns as though he had memorized them hours earlier.
He ducked at the perfect moment, slid under a swinging beam with inches to spare, twisted his torso sideways to fit between panels that nearly trapped him.
The watchers fell silent.
Every step, every pivot, every breath Jonas took felt deliberate—calculated.
Sico watched with an expression somewhere between admiration and curiosity.
"There is more to him than he lets on," he murmured.
Robert nodded. "Much more."
Finally, Jonas reached the unstable platforms.
The moment he stepped onto the first plank, it tilted sharply.
Jonas didn't flinch.
He adjusted instantly, finding balance before the plank completed its tilt.
Then, like a shadow skipping across water, he sprinted across the platforms with breathtaking rhythm as each footstep perfectly placed, each movement controlled.
The crowd wasn't cheering now.
They were stunned into silence.
Jonas leapt off the final plank, rolled smoothly—cleanest roll of the day—and crossed the finish line without stumbling, without gasping, without collapsing.
The horn blared.
MacCready checked the stopwatch.
His jaw dropped.
"By the Commonwealth…" he whispered. "He beat Morris's time. By a lot."
The crowd erupted.
Jonas straightened, breathing hard but not overwhelmed, his chest rising and falling in steady, controlled waves. Sweat dripped from his brow, but his eyes—
His eyes burned with pride.
And relief.
Alice ran up to him, nearly tackling him with a hug. "Jonas! That was incredible!"
Morris slapped his back so hard Jonas coughed. "Dude! You're a monster!"
Jonas laughed with a bright, disbelieving sound. "I… I didn't think I could do that."
Sico stepped forward, and the moment Jonas saw him, he stiffened.
But Sico smiled—soft, genuine.
"You didn't just pass," Sico said. "You excelled."
Jonas swallowed hard. "Thank you, Mr. President."
Robert added, "You shocked the entire camp."
MacCready approached last, shaking his head in disbelief. "Kid… you just set a new record for civilian recruits. I hope you know what that means."
Jonas blinked. "What… what does it mean?"
MacCready grinned.
"It means you're Commando material."
Alice gasped, Morris cheered loudly, Jonas's eyes widened, then filled with something fragile and powerful all at once. Sico watched the three of them stand together with sweaty, aching, exhausted, and proud.
________________________________________________
• 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:-