Chapter 94: Trade Market

Dawn broke over the base, bathing it in a soft glow. I strolled through the compound, admiring the golden and amber hues that the sunlight cast on the surroundings. The crisp and refreshing air filled my lungs, giving me a surge of optimism in this uncertain world.

The night's frenzy had died down, giving way to a more calm and steady pace. Survivors were busy sorting out the resources they had looted from the military base. The warehouses, which had been empty and desolate, were now filled with valuable items, arranged neatly to optimize space and access.

Everyone had a clear goal in mind, and their faces showed it. Some were stacking crates of supplies, making sure they were stable and secure. Others were inspecting the military vehicles, testing their functionality and durability. The convoy, neatly lined up, was a reminder of their successful raid and their future prospects.

The mood was one of mutual understanding and cooperation. They knew how vital it was to use the resources from the military base to strengthen their defenses and improve their living conditions. The sound of tools and instructions created a rhythmic harmony, resonating against the concrete walls of the base.

As I ventured further, I noticed the intricate network of teamwork. A group of survivors, covered in dirt and exhaustion, lifted a large piece of equipment and carried it into one of the warehouses. Their movements were synchronized, showing a bond forged by necessity and common purpose.

Near them, another survivor was labeling crates, making sure they were easy to identify. The attention to detail showed a sense of order and discipline, a crucial factor in the complex scheme of survival.

The base, teeming with activity, seemed to vibrate with a new energy. The looted items, once used for war and domination, now served a different purpose – tools for resilience and survival in the face of the relentless undead.

In the center of it all, Jenny stood, directing the efforts. Her leadership was evident in the way survivors sought her advice and followed her commands. She gave them a sense of direction and confidence in their collective endeavor.

The sun rose higher, casting long shadows across the base. The survivors, united in their mission, worked tirelessly to integrate the spoils of their raid into the daily operations of the base. The looted military base had become a source of adaptation and innovation, a proof of their ability to thrive in a hostile world.

As I neared the school that housed the military base, I witnessed a striking transformation. The bleak and somber mood that once pervaded the place had given way to a bright and hopeful one. The air crackled with a fresh vitality, and the survivors strode with conviction, their footsteps in sync with the pulse of a community that had overcome the odds and flourished.

The sight of the soldiers guarding the entrance impressed me. Their uniforms, which had been ragged and stained, were now crisp and clean. The gear they carried shone with careful maintenance, contrasting sharply with the rusty and broken equipment of the past. The soldiers exuded a new confidence, standing proudly as protectors of the base.

The arsenal, a vital part of the base's defense, had undergone a remarkable upgrade. Weapon racks overflowed with a variety of firearms, arranged neatly and labeled clearly. The ammunition warehouses, which had been nearly empty, were now stocked with plenty of bullets, ensuring the survivors had the firepower to fend off any threat.

As I stepped into the school building that served as the military base, the command center buzzed with activity. Soldiers were busy with strategic planning, studying maps and communicating with patrols. The atmosphere was one of efficiency and order, reflecting the careful organization and coordination that had become essential to the base's success.

The walls of the command center displayed charts that detailed the base's perimeter defenses, patrol routes, and potential dangers. A sense of solidarity filled the room, with survivors from different backgrounds and skills contributing their knowledge and experience to the collective security of the community.

Further into the school building, the training grounds demonstrated a rigorous regimen. Soldiers practiced their skills in shooting and hand-to-hand combat, under the supervision of experienced instructors. The gymnasium, which had been rundown and neglected, had been transformed into a training facility, equipped with obstacle courses and simulated combat scenarios.

The aroma of freshly cooked food drifted from a makeshift mess hall, where survivors gathered to enjoy their meals and socialize. The communal spirit, which had been a faint glimmer of hope, now thrived within the walls of the school building.

The medical bay, outfitted with advanced supplies and staffed by qualified personnel, was ready to address the health needs of the survivors. The difference between the present and the difficult days of the past was evident in the well-kept facilities and the expertise of the medical staff.

In this revamped military base in the school, every detail spoke of resilience, adaptation, and the indomitable will of the survivors. The base, which had been a sign of crisis, had evolved into a thriving community, a proof of their ability to create a brighter future in the face of adversity.

I entered Souta's office with a cheerful greeting. "Good morning!" I said, hoping to brighten his mood. He looked up from his desk and smiled at me warmly. He gestured for me to sit down on the chair in front of him. I walked over and took a seat, curious about why he had summoned me.

"Here," he said, handing me an envelope. "Take a look at this." I opened it and pulled out some photos. My eyes widened in shock as I saw the images of a base and dead bodies of soldiers. Blood stained the ground and the walls, creating a gruesome scene. "What's this!?" I exclaimed, feeling a surge of horror and anger.

"That place is about 20 kilometers away from the military base we raided," he explained. "Our scouts found it yesterday. It looks like the massacre happened recently, maybe three days ago or so. We couldn't save anyone, they were all dead when we got there. But there was something else. A message."

He pointed to one of the photos, where I could see a word written in blood on the ground. 'Trade Market'. I clenched my teeth, recognizing the name of the notorious group that preyed on survivors making them slaves and selling them. "Those bastards!" I spat, feeling a wave of hatred and disgust. "They did this? Why?"

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe they wanted to loot the base, or maybe they just wanted to kill for fun. Either way, they're a threat to us and everyone else. We need to do something about them."

I nodded, agreeing with him. The Trade Market had been a thorn in our side for a long time in the past, raiding our supplies, attacking our patrols, and kidnapping our people. They were ruthless and cruel, and they had to be stopped.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked him, ready to follow his lead.

Souta and I locked eyes, feeling the tension of the upcoming mission. He spoke with conviction, determined to face the unknown enemy that lurked in the trade market. "We're going to take them down," he said firmly, his eyes shining with a blend of resolve and strategy. "We're going to make them pay for what they did. And besides, they might become a problem for us if we don't take care of them right away."

I felt a surge of adrenaline, eager to confront the threat. But Souta tempered my enthusiasm with a more cautious approach. His expression softened a bit as he continued, "Actually, no. We still need to investigate them – their strength, their allies, and more. We can't just charge in without a plan. Don't worry, though. I've already sent someone."