[Ventilation Duct] Level 1
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect: +30% air circulation in the hideout, fulfilling basic survival needs.
Requirements: Level 1 Hideout Security, 1 Screwdriver, 1 Duct Tape, 20,000 Apocalypse Coins
Construction Time: 30 minutes
[Bathroom] Level 1
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect: +20% wound healing speed, -20% chance of contracting diseases.
Requirements: 1 Waterproof Coating, 1 Toilet Paper, 1 Soap, 1 Basin, 30,000 Apocalypse Coins
Construction Time: 1 hour
With the necessary materials gathered, Thomas initiated construction. The Ventilation Duct was the priority; both of his rare blueprints required it.
[Fireplace]
Type: Rare Hideout Facility
Effect 1: Increases hideout temperature by 10°C to 50°C.
Effect 2: 60% chance to remove one negative status effect every 2 hours.
Requirements: Level 1 Ventilation Duct, Level 1 Rest Area, 30,000 Apocalypse Coins, 30 Stone, 10 Bolts, 10 Nuts
Construction Time: 1 hour
[Ventilation Duct Modification Blueprint - Safety Type]
Type: Rare Hideout Facility Upgrade
Effect: Modifies the Ventilation Duct, increasing ventilation by 40% and exhaust rate of harmful gases by 30%.
Requirements: Level 1 Ventilation Duct, 10,000 Apocalypse Coins, 1 Heat-Resistant Coating, 1 Exhaust Fan
Construction Time: 2 hours
Thirty minutes later, the Ventilation Duct was complete. A 30x30cm vent appeared near the rest area, emitting a faint breeze. Thomas immediately started building the fireplace and the ventilation upgrade, his Apocalypse Coin balance dwindling by 40,000.
It was now 1 PM. Exhausted, Thomas decided to rest.
He woke up around 4 PM, fully refreshed. The bathroom, fireplace, and ventilation upgrade were finished. The bathroom was a small, self-contained room with a toilet and sink. The fireplace was a rugged structure venting directly through the roof. The ventilation duct now sported a slowly rotating exhaust fan.
After checking his gear and weapons, Thomas prepared to return to the subway station. He'd only looted the break room and locker room due to the refugee encounter. He hoped to find a graphics card in the control room computers.
But as he fastened his vest, he froze. Two faint red blips had appeared on his mental map of the station, entering through the tunnel he'd used to reach the Crimson Cabaret.
"Someone's tailing me?" he thought, his hand instinctively reaching for his rifle. The red blips meant trouble.
He quickly geared up and left the hideout, his reinforced boots silent on the concrete.
"You sure this is where he went, boss?" a skinny man, clutching a knife, whispered to the larger man beside him.
The larger man scoffed. "Of course, I'm sure. I saw him climb onto the platform with my own two eyes. Are you in or out?"
"I'm in, boss! But he had a gun… how are we supposed to—"
The larger man grinned, pulling a pistol from his inventory.
"Where'd you get that?!"
"Bought it, dumbass. From that idiot Thomas. Traded him some junk for it."
"Whoa, the pistol from Legend Smyth?!"
"Legend my ass. He just got lucky. Now I have a gun. Let's go make some real loot."
They continued down the tunnel, their voices fading.
Hidden in the shadows near the tracks, Thomas listened, a smirk playing on his lips. "Interesting…"
The two men reached the control room. The skinny one spotted a discarded phone and pocketed it while his companion wasn't looking.
"What are you doing?" the larger man growled.
"Nothing, boss! Just following you!"
"Split up and search! Every little bit helps."
They began rummaging through the room.
"Jackpot, boss! Food!" the skinny man exclaimed, tearing into a bag of instant noodles.
The larger man ignored him, heading straight for the computer towers. He glanced back at his scavenging companion with a sneer, then started dismantling the machines, collecting components.
"Damn it, four towers and no graphics card!" he muttered. He'd heard on the black market that graphics cards would be valuable after the first disaster. He'd scavenged over twenty computers with no luck.
He approached the last tower, hope dwindling. But as he opened the case, his eyes widened.
"Holy shit! Yes!"
The next instant, he heard a whoosh of air behind him.
The larger man reacted instantly, twisting and rolling, but the knife still grazed his shoulder, spraying blood. The skinny man lunged again, a feral grin on his face.
But the larger man had his pistol out. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bullets ricocheted off the walls and ceiling. The skinny man dove behind a console.
"You little shit!" the larger man roared, applying a bandage to his bleeding shoulder. He was losing blood fast.
The skinny man knew his advantage. He tried to rush twice, but was driven back by gunfire. The larger man, his bleeding stemmed, focused on his treacherous companion.
Outside, Thomas listened to the gunfire, tracking their positions on his mental map. "Humanity at its finest," he thought dryly. He wasn't worried. The control room had only one exit.
But his plan changed. Four new red blips appeared on his map, entering the station. Refugees.
"Hurry! It's gotta be survivors. This is our territory today," one voice urged.
"Sounds like where Lukov and the other guy got killed yesterday. Useless idiots."
"Take them alive. Ghostface is paying top dollar for ten survivors for his ritual."
Their voices hushed as they approached the control room.
Thomas watched from the shadows. The gunfire inside resumed, giving away their position. The refugees surrounded the control room.
After a quick exchange of glances, one of them pulled out a throwable. As another kicked open the door, he lobbed it inside.
A flash and a bang. Two screams of pain, followed by groans.
"A flashbang?" Thomas thought, surprised. These weren't ordinary refugees.
The refugees stormed in, subduing the two incapacitated survivors.
"Two of 'em! We'll get a good price for these," one chuckled.
"Let's go. Cash in and get out."
As they turned to leave, a grenade rolled through the open doorway and landed at their feet.
"Grenade!"
They scrambled for cover.
BOOM!
Shrapnel ripped through the control room, shattering glass.
"Shit! Ambush! Watch out for grenades! This guy's good!" the masked refugee shouted.
"Damn it! The survivors are dead! My money!"
"Fuck! I'm gonna kill him!"
"Grenades out! We need to break out!"
Two grenades flew out, one landing near the doorway, the other further down the hallway. The close grenade was strategically placed to flush out anyone hiding near the entrance without harming the refugees inside.
Thomas, crouched behind a pillar thirty meters away, watched through his scope. His virtual map showed the refugees huddled behind cover.
BOOM! BOOM!
"Go! Go! Go!" the masked refugee yelled.
Four figures burst from the control room, hoping to capitalize on the presumed grenade cover.
Thomas smirked. BRRRT! A stream of bullets tore into the refugees. Two went down instantly. The others, shielded by their fallen comrades, retreated back inside.
"Mommy! Mommy! It hurts!" one of the wounded cried.
Thomas finished him with a three-round burst. One down, two to go. He had fifteen rounds left.
He lobbed another grenade towards the control room entrance, then sprinted down the platform, using the explosion as cover.
He slid behind another pillar, reloaded, and aimed at the doorway. He could see inside now. The remaining refugees were pinned down, panicked.
"What do we do? We're trapped!" one cried, looking at the bodies by the door.
The masked refugee narrowed his eyes. "How many grenades left?"
"Two."
"Okay. He's behind the pillar, thirty meters out, on the left. Throw the grenades there. He'll have to move."
"It's our only chance."