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6/3/2025, 6:30:12 PM
>>6252326
[4/5]
My God, a gun. A proper gun. Magazine-fed, modern-ish ergonomics, rifled. You could cry. You wipe a greasy layer of cosmoline off of the side of the receiver and read the marks stamped on it. Haven Island Arsenal, AR-10, 7.62x51mm The selector switch only has settings for "Safe" and "Fire", meaning it was semi-automatic only. Placing the weapon gingerly on the ground, you dive upwards into the gap and struggle through the passage, coming to rest on the other side next to the kid as he stacks two more identical rifles besides the remains of the collapse. There are two rooms in this section, both reinforced with wood timbering. The kid rushes back into the room on the right, the one that he first opened. You look inside.
Crates, both opened and unopened. Boxes, scattered pieces of uniform, webbing, load-bearing gear, canisters full of both water and fuel, and other military paraphernalia. The last people to use this mine were soldiers, and likely caused the collapse you dug through in order to seal away their supplies. You whoop loudly in celebration, the sound carrying across the entire network of tunnels. The kid enthusiastically joins in. You double-back towards the yet-unopened room. A locked metal door stands in your way. You kick it several times until it gives in, causing dust to cascade from the doorway and be brushed around by currents of air. You cough several times as it clears, and peer into the room.
An electric cook-stove, a bench, scattered personal items, lockers, beds. You actually do cry. You are greeted with a glimpse of cramped, soldierly heaven. This was their living quarters.
In that moment it didn't matter where they were, who they were, or if they were still alive, this was your base now.
Six AR-10s, dozens of magazines, and around a thousand rounds of ammunition. Uniforms and gear. An actual living arrangement. Fortune had turned significantly in your favor, which only stimulates your paranoia. Something was going to happen to drag you back down, the voice in the back of your head was screaming it.
[4/5]
My God, a gun. A proper gun. Magazine-fed, modern-ish ergonomics, rifled. You could cry. You wipe a greasy layer of cosmoline off of the side of the receiver and read the marks stamped on it. Haven Island Arsenal, AR-10, 7.62x51mm The selector switch only has settings for "Safe" and "Fire", meaning it was semi-automatic only. Placing the weapon gingerly on the ground, you dive upwards into the gap and struggle through the passage, coming to rest on the other side next to the kid as he stacks two more identical rifles besides the remains of the collapse. There are two rooms in this section, both reinforced with wood timbering. The kid rushes back into the room on the right, the one that he first opened. You look inside.
Crates, both opened and unopened. Boxes, scattered pieces of uniform, webbing, load-bearing gear, canisters full of both water and fuel, and other military paraphernalia. The last people to use this mine were soldiers, and likely caused the collapse you dug through in order to seal away their supplies. You whoop loudly in celebration, the sound carrying across the entire network of tunnels. The kid enthusiastically joins in. You double-back towards the yet-unopened room. A locked metal door stands in your way. You kick it several times until it gives in, causing dust to cascade from the doorway and be brushed around by currents of air. You cough several times as it clears, and peer into the room.
An electric cook-stove, a bench, scattered personal items, lockers, beds. You actually do cry. You are greeted with a glimpse of cramped, soldierly heaven. This was their living quarters.
In that moment it didn't matter where they were, who they were, or if they were still alive, this was your base now.
Six AR-10s, dozens of magazines, and around a thousand rounds of ammunition. Uniforms and gear. An actual living arrangement. Fortune had turned significantly in your favor, which only stimulates your paranoia. Something was going to happen to drag you back down, the voice in the back of your head was screaming it.
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