You step into the room.
It's strange. You're used to dirt under your feet, or at least wood. Maybe stone if you're lucky. But all of this is sleek metal. The lights flicker on when they detect you moving into the room, revealing racks upon racks of various firearms. Lit up tables with heavy weapons resting on their shoulders. Crates of ammunition, explosives, and various other weapons lay on shelves.
You hear the distant whir of automated machinery turning on and getting to work, manufacturing something valued as much as gold out in the wasteland. Military grade bullets. It wasn't uncommon to see military bullets being used as currency. There were even instances of people refusing to use their military grade bullets, and dying of a result. You hear a meek female voice speak up from an intercom mounted on a wall, "I hope the armory is adequate... I just started up the factory, but we are still below nominal levels... Oh this must be so disappointing..."
You stay silent for now, but this will do. The armory will do nicely.
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Squad Roster
N/A