Zarc's boots echoed softly as he retraced his steps toward the stairwell that split the containment wing from the deeper sectors. The Cube's map projection floated faintly over his wrist, showing a blinking marker labeled L-2 Security and Operations. He hadn't checked that branch yet.
The climb back up was slow; fatigue had begun to gnaw at him. The filtered air inside his mask tasted like copper and dust. Still, the thought of a functioning armory—and maybe ammunition—kept him moving.
The security level greeted him with silence. Dust coated every surface, and the once-white walls had faded to a dull gray. His flashlight swept across overturned chairs, bullet-proof shields leaning against the wall, and the faint outline of a large door with a biometric scanner long gone dark.
[Access Control: Offline. Manual override possible.]
Zarc planted his shoulder against the door and pushed. Metal scraped, hinges screamed, then the slab shifted just enough for him to squeeze through.
Inside was a wide storage chamber—a soldier's dream turned tomb. Racks lined both walls, their inventory surprisingly untouched. The first row held tactical armor, helmets, webbing, and sealed ammunition crates. The second glimmered with rifles: M4 carbines, each fitted with holographic sights, fore-grips, suppressors, and laser modules. Every weapon gleamed under a thin film of dust, locked in perfect military order.
He froze for a moment, the beam of his flashlight catching on the serial plates. "You've got to be kidding me."
Two full racks of rifles, sidearms, and compact submachine guns. Enough to equip at least two squads.
Zarc let out a low whistle. "Jackpot."
He slung his bag down and began a careful inspection, checking bolts, magazines, optics. Everything looked pristine, sealed by the facility's airtight environment. The Cube pulsed on his wrist, scanning automatically.
[Blueprint Acquired: M4 Platform – Standard Tactical Configuration][Blueprint Acquired: Armor Carrier System][Blueprint Acquired: Combat Ammunition Crate]
"Good," Zarc murmured. "That'll come in handy."
He moved along the racks, opening crates and checking contents—magazines stacked in perfect rows, sidearms still wrapped in factory plastic. A grin crept onto his face beneath the mask.
Then a quieter thought slipped through: Why trade any of this?
Out there, every bullet was worth food, every gun worth months of supplies. But here—here was security, a fortress waiting to be rebuilt.
"Why not keep it for myself," he said softly. "For once."
He began rearranging the shelves, setting aside what he'd need immediately and sealing the rest back in their racks. He strapped one of the M4s across his chest, the sling fitting perfectly against the new guard uniform he'd rebuilt earlier. It felt balanced—better reach, smoother control than the Glock he carried.
[Loadout Updated — Primary Weapon Registered: M4 Tactical.]
Zarc double-checked the chamber, nodded once, and flicked the safety on. The Cube's glow dimmed as if acknowledging his choice.
The flashlight beam swept to the far wall, where a reinforced blast door led to what looked like a command room. Its panels were blackened, drives melted, and terminals gutted. He tried the nearest console—dead. Another—same. Whatever data had existed here was gone, deliberately destroyed.
"Someone didn't want their work found," he muttered, running his fingers over the scorched surface.
[Data Integrity: 0%. All archives irrecoverable.]
He sighed. "Figures."
For a long moment, he stood there in the quiet, the hum of the reactor vibrating faintly through the floor. This place had everything—power, structure, and now, weapons. He looked back toward the stairwell leading down to the containment level and, below that, the collapsed sublevel he couldn't reach.
Maybe one day he'd clear it, find what still pulsed beneath the rubble. But for now, the thought of shelter was enough.
He tightened the sling on his shoulder, adjusted his gloves, and swept his light once more across the armory. Rows of untouched weapons gleamed back like silent sentinels.
"This'll do," he said at last. "This'll more than do."
The Cube's soft hum answered him—a low, steady sound that felt almost approving.Zarc took one last look around, then turned toward the corridor, mind already mapping where he'd set up defenses, where he'd sleep, where he'd start rebuilding what was left of the world.