The next morning, Aurielle and Linsley got to work. Their base was thriving, but there was always room for improvement.
Aurielle took charge of the weapons, meticulously cleaning and organizing them. Shotgun shells and loaded magazines lined the shelves in neat rows, her violet eyes sparkling as she worked.
"This is better than a damn armory," she muttered to herself with a satisfied smirk.
Meanwhile, Linsley worked on their traps. Using gear from the police station, he rigged new alarms and set up crude but effective proximity mines around the perimeter. Each task was done with precision, a testament to their experience in this apocalyptic game.
By midday, their base hummed with life—the soft buzz of the generator, the steady trickle of the water purifier, and the occasional clink of tools as they worked.