The command room was quiet except for the faint hum of old machines fighting to stay alive. Zarc's flashlight beam slid across the racks, catching on rows of rifles, vests, and helmets that looked like they hadn't been touched in years. The air was still, heavy with dust and oil.
He moved slow, deliberate. Every step was measured, every click of his flashlight echoing through the chamber. The more he saw, the harder it was to believe — crates of ammunition, toolkits, combat radios, entire racks of service-grade M4 rifles with full attachments. Enough gear to outfit two full squads, maybe more.
He let out a low whistle. he muttered. "Well, damn… jackpot."
He couldn't help but grin. In this world, finding a single working rifle was a miracle. This? This was wealth — the kind of power that could rewrite a man's fate.
He moved from rack to rack, checking every weapon carefully. Some were corroded, others still pristine beneath a thin film of dust. He popped open a few crates and found rows of sealed magazines, labeled and organized like time capsules from a forgotten war.
[Cube Scan: 18 service rifles, 6 M4 rifles (complete attachments), 8 submachine guns, 22 ballistic vests, 22 helmets, 6 radios, assorted optics and tools.]
Zarc chuckled. "You're keeping count now? Good. Saves me the effort."
He ran his fingers along an M4's rail, feeling the texture of the composite and the cool metal of the optic mount. The Cube pulsed faintly, waiting for his command. He thought about the potential — the power — and then the idea slipped into his mind, simple and selfish.
Why not keep it?
The thought froze him mid-motion. He looked around the room — at the crates, the racks, the stacks of untouched ammo. No one else would come down here. No one else would even know.
A quiet laugh escaped him, dry and sharp."Yeah… why not keep it for myself?"
He holstered the Glock, rolled his shoulders, and started rearranging everything. He organized the armory like a man setting up a personal vault. The best M4s went on the top racks, SMGs grouped together, magazines stacked in reach. Damaged weapons he left scattered — decoys for anyone nosy enough to stumble in later.
When he was done, the armory looked alive again, ready for use. And every piece in it was his.
He reached for one of the submachine guns — a compact model with a folding stock. Perfect for tight hallways and quick draws. He slung it across his chest, adjusted the sling, and pulled it close. The weapon fit naturally, like it had been built for him.
The Cube pulsed faintly, almost approvingly.
[Weapon recognized: Submachine Gun – Compact Model. Blueprint integrated.]
He smiled. "Efficient and silent. That's more like it."
He continued moving through the room, sweeping his flashlight over every corner. Each reflection revealed something worth noting — a cracked radio, a sealed first-aid box, even a portable drive wedged under a console. He picked it up, turned it over, and the Cube responded immediately.
[Data storage detected: Encryption active. Partial logs available.]
"Another secret," Zarc murmured. He tucked it into his bag. "You and I are gonna dig through that later."
One by one, he finished checking every locker, every crate, every loose tool. Nothing was wasted. The Cube consumed broken gear, useless scraps, and damaged components — storing them for later use.
[Resources Consumed: +62 units. Total reserves: Stable.]
When he was done, Zarc stepped back and looked over the armory. Rows of clean weapons gleamed under the beam of his flashlight. For a brief moment, he imagined the sound — the click of safeties, the boots of a squad moving in sync. But the room stayed silent.
He shook his head and chuckled. "All dressed up and no one left to fight."
He slung his pack, checked his sidearm, and made sure the submachine gun sat tight on its sling. The Cube's glow dimmed under his sleeve, settling into a soft, steady rhythm.
"Alright," he muttered. "Weapons secured, supplies logged… next, I find out what really happened here."
He turned to the door, flashlight cutting through the dim corridor beyond. He didn't bother sealing the room — just adjusted the manual latch so it would open easily for him, but not for anyone else.
As he stepped out, the Cube pulsed once more.
[All items catalogued. Armory secured.]
Zarc smiled faintly. "Good. Keep it that way."
He walked deeper into the shelter, the echo of his boots fading behind him — leaving the newly restored armory in perfect order