The Last Of Us: Summon, Scavenge, Survive

Few weeks later, people didn't talk about the Firefly incident anymore. Not directly. But they moved differently. Watched each other closer, any deals made the people were sceptical and ready for anything.

Which was exactly why Cal knew it was time to shift gears.

"We're not survivors," he told them one morning. "We're a system."

That earned him a few raised brows, not suspicion, but confusion. Good. No one needed to know just how literal that phrase was.

He stood near the operations wall, chalk in one hand, the other resting casually on a rusted pipe. Behind him, the morning light from one of the newly unsealed vents cast him in a sharp outline. Not grand. Just clear. Like a shadow that had made up its mind.

"We've got too many people working half-effort," he said. "No more guesswork. No more 'who feels like doing what today.' I'm setting the teams. You'll rotate. You'll report. If something goes wrong, I want to know who was where, when, and with who."

No one argued.

Cole stood by the south post, arms crossed, giving subtle nods, his team is practically already picked, same people doing guard duty all the time, just making it official is all that's left.. Tasha leaned back against the medical crate stack, flipping her knife lazily in one hand, a gesture that meant nothing and everything.

So Cal continued.

Scavengers/Traders. Group Alpha and Group Beta. Rotating shifts every other day. Tasked with checking pre-approved zones outside the warehouse and making contact with friendly traders only. Each group would be issued a weapon, if they earned it, in the meanwhile all of them had a various assortment of weapons from knifes to clubs, pipes and everything in between.

Guards. Four at a time, rotating every six hours. No gaps. No excuses. Patrolling both within the warehouse and in the alleyway entrance. Any unknown noise was to be reported, not investigated solo. That last rule was underlined.

Repair crew. Rusty and Kev would lead. The goal? Salvage and fix anything usable. Batteries, broken gear, damaged crates, fans, vent covers, anything. If it had wires, duct tape, or screws, it was their business now. Anyone who slacked would be reassigned.

He finished writing the new schedule with practiced slashes of chalk, then stepped back and looked over the group.

"You don't have to like it," he said. "You just have to survive."

Nobody clapped. But they followed the assignments.

Later that day, he watched them move organized chaos with structure. Two scavengers loaded a cart, their steps aligned like they'd trained together. A guard nodded silently as Cal passed, then resumed his slow patrol through the second-level scaffolding. One of the newer recruits asked Rusty if stripped insulation could be used to patch a broken heater coil. It could.

He felt… detached, almost. Like he'd built something that moved without him now.

Like a faction.

Not just a gang of survivors. A working, breathing entity. Independent. Growing.

And growing things needed space.

It was Cole who brought it up first. He approached during evening rations, looking grim but calm.

"North wing's out of good salvage," he said. "Same for the storage alcove behind the old furnace. Nothing but rust and rot. We need to start looking deeper."

Cal raised an eyebrow. "You suggesting a new scav route?"

"Not out there," Cole replied. "In here."

He dropped an old, yellowed sheet of paper onto the crate they were using as a table. A building schematic. Partial. Torn at the edge. One corner circled in red.

"Used to be a reinforced tunnel system for maintenance. City-grade. Not FEDRA. Built pre-Outbreak. Some connect all the way under this zone. One of the paths might lead beyond the QZ's exterior wall."

Cal leaned in, tracing the circled path with his thumb.

"You think it's still there?"

"I think there's a buried entrance behind the collapsed right wing. We'd have to move about a ton of reinforced debris to even get a look."

"Any signs of infected?"

"None yet. But that wing's sealed tight. Been undisturbed for more than a decade."

Rusty joined mid-conversation, a rag slung over his shoulder, and squinted at the schematic. "We talking manual clearance or jerry-rigged charges?"

"Manual," Cole said immediately. "No explosives near structural beams."

Rusty nodded. "Then we'll need a team. Small at first. Clear the path, log the damage, set up scaffolds. Might take weeks."

"Months," Cole corrected.

Cal stared at the map again. Then stood up and crossed back to the operations wall.

He grabbed the chalk.

Under the day's assignments, he scrawled a new heading.

Tunnel Crew – Phase One.

The warehouse groaned faintly around them, like it too was waking up to the idea.

Cal didn't smile.

He just kept writing.

----------------------------------------

They started on a Saturday.

Not that it mattered. Days of the week didn't mean much anymore, except that Saturday was the one day Cal didn't have anything at all to do, they knew he is managing the operation on the side, probably like FEDRA thinking I am just their front man or something, which means he is still expected to go to school, do work and fucking homework.

With the entire day free It bought him a few extra hours, that he spent covered in dust, crouched beside an old beam that probably used to be part of someone's office wall.

The right wing of the warehouse the buried side was different from the rest.

Darker. Heavier. The air had weight, like it hadn't moved in years. Some of the rusted rebar still smelled faintly like heat-warped metal, even though the fire that scorched it was decades gone. The ceiling sagged in parts, and one wrong move would've sent a few hundred pounds of concrete into someone's skull. So they moved careful. Step by step. Breath held.

The first few days were just clearing garbage. Bent scaffolding, old file cabinets, twisted support struts, moldy insulation. Someone found an old hardhat with a bullet hole through the front. No one commented.

Cal rotated three people at a time into the tunnel crew. Always supervised. Always with a lookout nearby, in case the wall cracked or something crawled out.

Tasha called it "grind work." Backbreaking, thankless, slow.

She wasn't wrong.

But over the first weeks, something changed.

They found the wall.

It was half-collapsed, behind a barricade of fallen metal beams and what looked like the remains of a stairwell. But the frame was intact — just buried. And welded into the center of it was a steel access hatch, the kind with a rusted locking wheel and faded hazard stencils.

Cole confirmed it.

"Maintenance shaft," he said, voice low with that rare edge of real respect. "Could lead anywhere. Sewer junctions, buried subway paths. Maybe a drainage system that runs under the perimeter wall."

Rusty scratched his chin. "Can't promise it's intact. Could be waterlogged. Could be infected."

"Could be our way out," Cal muttered.

The others looked at him. He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but no one questioned it.

Because it was true.

No matter how well things were going, the growing trade network, the tolerated status with FEDRA, even the scav runs that actually turned profit it was all inside a cage. A nicer cage, sure. But a cage nonetheless.

This hatch? This tunnel?

It was potential. Not escape. Not yet.

But a door to something bigger.

So they kept working.

By the second week, Cal had pulled four more people from other teams to assist. Not full shifts — just temporary trades. They didn't complain. Everyone saw what the tunnel could mean.

Progress was slow. They had no power tools strong enough for real excavation, just what Meredith had traded with them and a few modified crowbars. Moving the concrete meant chipping it piece by piece. Rusty used an improvised jack system to keep beams from collapsing, and Cole rotated patrols around the dig site. Cal handled the logistics, rest times, hydration, alternate work paths so people didn't burn out. While Kev repaired the broken equipment or salvaged it, more often than not it was turned to scrap and made into something else.

While Donny. Eh... He was mostly the lookout, surprisingly he's got a decent eye for detail and can spot what's unstable and what's somewhat stable.

It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't dramatic.

But it was working.

Every few hours, Cal would check the system menu, half-hoping for a mission ping. None came. But the EXP trickled in. The system, apparently, approved.

One afternoon, while watching the crew wrestle a half-ton chunk of drywall away from the hatch, Cal made a note on his clipboard. His handwriting was messy. He didn't care.

Progress: 24%Estimated time: 5 weeksMorale: cautiously optimisticRisk: manageable (for now)

Then, almost as an afterthought, he scribbled at the bottom:

They're working like a team.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The deeper the dig went, the heavier the decisions got.

Cal sat alone on a chunk of concrete near the warehouse's side wall, the quiet, shadowed side where dust always lingered longer and noise seemed to die on arrival. The others were inside or at their shifts: the patrol, the bunk check, the generator rounds. Routine now, clockwork. But his mind wasn't in it tonight.

It was on that damn tunnel.

With that tunnel, they'd have an exit. A ghost door. One FEDRA didn't know about. One no one used. No checkpoints, no questions, no oversight, FEDRA thought that they used the other smuggling paths but haven't caught them, or did and shot them.

And right now, they have a new smuggling route, their exclusive, it was buried under metal, concrete, rebar, and half a car wheel.

Cal rubbed the bridge of his nose and opened the system.

Summon Tokens: 1Scavenger Rank Credits: 3System Points: 4Condition: StableBuffs: Charisma +1, Comfort +1Debuffs: NoneLevel: 15 (EXP: 135/850)

One token. He could use it.

But not for another scavenger or bruiser or even a medic.

No. This time, he needed someone useful in a way no one else was. He needed diggers. Engineers. Someone who'd look at a blocked corridor and start muttering measurements instead of cursing it.

A dedicated excavation crew. Temporary or permanent — didn't matter. He had people with muscle already. What he lacked was experience with structural failure, makeshift rigging, rubble load balancing, and safe support clearing.

The system didn't let him filter summons by profession, not yet anyway but the personalities it produced were always a little aligned with what he needed most. Like it felt the moment. Maybe it could feel this one too.

He tapped his fingers against his knee, still thinking.

Even with the right people, they'd need tools. Better crowbars, stabilizers, lifts — anything to reduce the raw weight and keep the ceiling from collapsing on someone's head. Which brought his eyes back to the Scavenger Rank Credits. Three of them.

He hadn't touched any yet.

He could use one to request a minor equipment drop from the system. He still wasn't sure where it pulled them from, some warped blend of time and memory and half-buried possibility — but the drops were real. Always real.

And one of them? Might be the difference between weeks of hard labor and a breakthrough.

Or, he could trade.

Not with Robert, obviously, that guy had already smelled the blood in the water. But maybe Joel, or one of Tess's quieter contacts. Cal still had access to a few routes Lia's aunt had charted. If he offered one of the credits in exchange for high-end construction salvage — old QZ tools, or even abandoned Firefly bracing gear.

Still — they were stuck. And being stuck was worse.

He closed the system, jaw tight.

He'd decide in the morning. Either summon someone and hope the system sent someone with practical know-how — or spend a credit on a hard tools request. Or maybe even both.

But for now?

He stood and looked across the warehouse's interior.

Someone was hammering down new support struts over by the bunks. Two others dragged a crate of half-bent pipes to the crafting table. Quiet, tired efficiency.

They trusted him.

That scared him more than the infected sometimes.

Because if he made the wrong call now — if that tunnel caved in mid-dig, or someone died trying to cut corners — it wasn't on the system.

It was on him.

He turned toward the right wing and stared into the dark beyond the last working lantern.

"Tomorrow," he muttered to himself. "We go deeper."

-----------------------------------------------------

Meredith didn't look surprised when he showed up or when he told her what he wants.

She was seated behind a rust-bitten desk in what used to be a shipping supervisor's office now converted into a den of controlled chaos and non-judgmental capitalism. Maps were spread over crates stacked with tagged gear, faded charts pinned to the wall behind her, and a pile of ration packs she definitely hadn't acquired legally. The air smelled faintly of oil, old ink, and confidence.

Cal stood just inside the threshold, arms folded, the weight of his decisions dragging on his shoulders like wet rope. Cole flanked him silently — not for intimidation, just in case Meredith decided today was the day to get weird.

She didn't even look up from her notes when she spoke.

"So. You found a tunnel."

Doh.

Cal's stomach dropped like a stone.

He said nothing.

Meredith smiled, just faintly, as she flipped a page. "Don't look so shocked. You wouldn't be back unless you needed equipment you couldn't justify for basic salvage. Not unless you were digging."

"I could be digging out more crates," he said cautiously.

"Could be," she replied. "But if that were the case, you'd have sent Lia. Or Joe. You come in person? It's important."

She finally looked up, fixing him with a sharp, clever gaze that reminded him way too much of his mother when she caught him lying.

"So… tunnel?" she pressed.

He exhaled slowly. "Maybeeeeee."

"Thought so." Meredith tapped the edge of her mug against the desk and gestured toward a closed storage case in the corner. "Then you'll want what's in there. Heavy-duty shovels, multi-head breaker bar, two charges of concrete softener foam, and three old-world filtration masks. Plus a compact battery auger. It's loud, though — better for deep clearing, not stealth."

"That's a lot," Cal said.

"So is finding your own way out of the QZ," Meredith replied smoothly. "Assuming that's what the tunnel leads to."

He didn't answer.

She didn't need him to. She'd already decided it was true.

"Here's my price," she said.

He stiffened.

She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms. "I don't want your rations. And I don't want weapons — I've got my own sources for that. What I want is access."

Cal blinked. "Access?"

"To the tunnel. Limited. Just me and a few of mine, when needed. No big groups. Quiet runs only. I won't tell FEDRA. I won't send raiders. I just want the option."

Cal's pulse ticked up, fast and sharp. Ah shit. "You want to move people through my tunnel?"

"Your tunnel?" she raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember seeing your name welded onto it."

He scowled. "It's not a public road. It's a security breach, on my territory, so yes my damn tunnel.

She just smirked.

"It's a trade route," she corrected. "And in a city like this? That's power. You've got options now, Cal. I'm offering you more."

"And what happens if your people get caught?" he said. "What if FEDRA tracks them back to us?"

"Then you were never involved," Meredith replied. "They don't know me. They don't know about our deals. And even if they did, you could spin it. Say I broke in or somthing. You've got enough cover to survive that."

He hated that she was right.

More than that, he hated how much he was already considering it.

Cole shifted slightly beside him, just enough to show he wasn't thrilled with where this was going either.

Cal kept his voice low. "How do I know you won't screw us over?"

"You don't," Meredith said bluntly. "But if I wanted to, I already could've. I've known your name for months. I've seen you rise from nothing. I've seen what you're building. I don't want to burn that. I want to be part of it. In my own way."

Cal stared at the floor for a long second, then slowly lifted his eyes back to her.

"One person," he said. "Per month. No unannounced visits. No bringing heat. And you don't talk about the tunnel. At all. Ever."

"Three people," she countered. "Two times per month. And I'll make sure nothing comes back to you."

He shook his head. "Too many."

"Two, once a month, plus emergency access if someone's dying," she offered. "I give you a coded knock so your people know it's us."

He hesitated.

Cole didn't say anything. Didn't need to. Cal could feel the tension rolling off him like steam off a busted vent pipe.

"…Fine," Cal said finally. "Two people. Once a month. Emergency knock for medical, but if you abuse that, the deal's off."

"Deal," Meredith said, already standing.

They shook hands — her grip cool, steady, and annoyingly smug.

"I'll send the gear through tonight," she said. "You'll have it by morning. Try not to drop the auger on your foot."

They turned to leave.

"Cal," she added as they reached the door.

He paused.

Meredith looked at him seriously for the first time. "I know you're scared. You should be. But scared doesn't mean weak. It just means smart enough to know what happens if you lose."

He gave a faint nod. "Thanks for the reminder."

She gave him a small smile, probably the most genuine ever so far. "Anytime."

They stepped out into the alley, the door closing quietly behind them.

Cole let out a breath. "I don't like it."

"Me neither," Cal admitted. "But we need that gear. And if we say no, someone else will offer her worse terms."

"You trust her?"

"Hell no."

Cole didn't push further. Just nodded, warily.

They walked back in silence.

By the time they returned to the warehouse, the work crews were already clearing crates for storage reallocation. Cal called a quick meeting with Rusty and the current dig team to update them on the tools coming in — and the need for tighter route security from now on.

No one objected.

They were tired. But they were focused.

And two weeks later, the grind had become routine.

Bricks, dust, reinforced concrete, repeat. Each shift brought more cuts, more bent tools, and more swearing from Rusty when something jammed or cracked or wouldn't move no matter how much leverage they tried. But progress, real progress was happening.

The right wing of the warehouse looked like a controlled demolition site now: tarped-off zones, chalked safety lines, and a clear rotation board that tracked who was on dig duty, who was on backup, and who was on watch. Cal had even drawn a crude cartoon version of the tunnel route on the main wall, complete with smiley faces for checkpoints and a "DO NOT DIE HERE" warning by the more unstable section. Morale boost, he said. Technically true.

It wasn't glamorous. Or clean. Or even particularly hopeful most days. But it was movement. Purpose.

And then came the first scare.

It happened just past midday. The B-team a group made up of Joe, Marta, a guy named Beck, and two new summons from the dig rotation were clearing another load of debris near the lower edge of the slope when a support beam cracked. Loud, sharp, final.

Then the wall groaned.

Then the tunnel shivered.

Then the corner collapsed.

Cal wasn't there when it happened. He'd been up top still at work, he then went straight to the alleyway to log material requests and reassigning gear when the call came through Rusty's static-filled comm: "We've got a cave-in! One down, but alive. Repeat — alive!"

He ran.

By the time he got there, Beck had already dragged Marta out from under a partial stack of broken scaffolding and dust-caked bricks. Her leg was twisted, but not broken. Her breathing was shaky, but not laboured. The others had formed a rough perimeter, weapons out, in case anything — or anyone — decided the noise was worth investigating.

No infected. Just silence. And dust. And the bitter aftertaste of too close.

Cal didn't yell. He didn't panic.

He knelt next to Marta, checked her pulse, looked her in the eye.

"You good?"

She coughed and grimaced. "Define good."

"Alive counts."

"Then yeah. Sure. I'm peachy."

They both chuckled, low and strained.

She got stretchered out by the watch team, and Cal stayed behind with Cole and Joe to inspect the damage. A portion of the outer passage had caved, but not the newly dug route. Lucky. If the rest had shifted just two degrees more, the whole slope could've come down — burying everyone.

He stared at the collapsed mess for a long time before saying anything.

Then he pointed to Rusty. "I want braces set here, here, and here before anyone goes back in. No exceptions."

Rusty nodded, already pulling chalk and a stub of bent rebar from his pouch.

"From now on," Cal continued, "helmets are required. No more hand-pulled rubble past Load Line Three. You need a bar lift, or you don't move it."

He turned to the rest of the group. "If anything creaks, shifts, or breathes funny, you shout. No playing hero. We're not dying under a some clerks dusty ass desk."

No one argued.

They were tired. They were scraped up. But they listened.

Later, back at the main hall, Cal updated the operation board with a new entry: "Safety Code Update: Dig Protocol Revision 2.0." He didn't bother giving it a cute name. Everyone had seen what could happen now. They didn't need jokes.

He went to check on Marta next.

She was awake, propped up on a pile of blankets in the sleeping bay, with a salvaged walkman in her lap and her busted leg wrapped tight. Lia was sitting next to her, handing her one of the better crackers — the kind they usually saved for morale-boosting bribes.

"You didn't have to save me a treat," Cal said as he approached.

"I didn't," Marta replied. "I traded for it."

Lia smirked. "She said she'd sell me her spot on the next tunnel shift if I gave her a snack."

Cal raised an eyebrow. "You're still trying to dig?"

"Hey," Marta shrugged. "Just a sprain. Don't bench me. I'll sit up top if I have to, but I'm not missing the payoff."

"The payoff's not until we hit air," Cal said.

She held his gaze. "Exactly."

He nodded. "Rest first. You earned it."

The next morning, the crew was already resetting braces and stringing guide ropes before Cal even finished his rounds. No one had to be told. The close call had landed. But it hadn't shaken them. It had welded them tighter.

Even Tasha, usually the first to complain about "boring labour," had volunteered for double shifts. Joe said it best when he muttered near the new dig line: "If this is the price of unrestricted movements, then lets do it."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks passed. Maybe closer to four, depending on how you counted. In the warehouse, time blurred, one rotation of labour bled into another until the clocks meant less than the scrape of metal and the ache in your back.

But the tunnel entrance?

It was no longer theory.

It was real, and it was almost open.

The area around it has cleared enough that you could stand upright without worrying a hanging pipe might crack your skull. Cleared enough to see where the old maintenance shaft began to angle downward, into reinforced concrete.

The true exit still blocked by the collapsed outer wall of the skyscraper above — was close. Close enough to feel the airflow change. Cool. Stale. Outside.

Cal stood near the threshold of it all, half-lit by lantern light, half in shadow. The air here tasted different. Not clean, exactly. But freer. He leaned against one of the bulkier support struts they'd wedged into place last week and let the muffled sounds of his people echo down from behind — pickaxes, shovels, whispered cursing, and the dull clang of a sledgehammer making slow war with rusted rebar.

It had been a brutal month. More mold than anticipated. Rust flakes in their eyes. A mild cave-in midweek had nearly crushed Reuben, his ankle was still wrapped in stiff cloth and stabilized with scrap wood, but he'd survive. Cole had insisted on a strict one-at-a-time passage rule after that. Cal backed it immediately.

Dust clung to every surface. Masks were now mandatory past the second checkpoint, and everyone had been briefed on spore precautions — even though, so far, this area hadn't shown active fungal growth. Rusty had rigged a homemade ventilation fan near the sealed corner, salvaged from an old cooling unit and rigged to a bike battery. It barely did the job, but it was better than nothing.

And it made the place feel… intentional. Like it wasn't just some half-buried hallway but something that mattered.

Because it did.

Cal glanced back toward the slope. He could still hear Joe and Tasha lightly arguing over the difference between structural support and "vibes-based optimism." Marta was up top, running water rotations and making sure nobody collapsed from heat or fatigue. Cole handled the dangerous section — always first in, last out, silent and dependable. They had become a unit, rotating crews like clockwork.

And Cal?

He watched. Measured. Directed. But more than anything, he planned.

Because when that tunnel broke open — when the outer wall finally gave way — it wasn't just going to be another forgotten hallway.

It was going to be the way out.

And that meant everything would change.

He hadn't told the others yet, not fully, but he was thinking weeks ahead now. A second entrance didn't just mean sneaking in supplies or making clean getaways.

It meant freedom.

A way to bypass FEDRA entirely if things ever went bad.

A path for allies. For trade. Even, maybe one day, a route to other settlements.

Or it meant danger.

Cal had seen the Fireflies up close now. He'd seen what desperation made people do. The idea of random scavengers or raiders stumbling into his tunnel — his — made his skin crawl. What if they found it? What if someone sold the location? What if it got mapped?

What if Lia got hurt again?

What if he lost control?

He chewed the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms. Just standing near the wall made the possibilities uncoil like snakes in his stomach.

He needed a plan.

First, reinforce the halfway checkpoint. Maybe use more of the metal crates they'd emptied and welded into makeshift barricades. Add a shift schedule. Limit who could go down here unsupervised.

Then, sensors. Not cameras — too fragile, too power-hungry — but maybe tripwires or warning strings. The kind of low-tech early alerts that didn't need batteries. Cole could help rig them.

After that?

Route mapping.

Cal pulled out his notebook — worn, water-stained, and increasingly precious — and flipped to the crude sketch he'd made. The warehouse was already a labyrinth, but this tunnel? It changed everything.

If the map was right, and the slope continued beneath the debris, it would let out past the QZ perimeter wall. Into the overgrown industrial fringe. The Dead Line. FEDRA didn't patrol there much. Too risky. Too unstable. But if they were smart — very smart — it could become a trade point. A meeting zone. A way to stash high-value goods outside city control.

A second operation entirely.

He snapped the book shut.

His thoughts were moving too fast again.

That was the other cost no one warned you about — leadership didn't just mean responsibility. It meant constantly trying to think three disasters ahead. Cal didn't get to stop and breathe anymore. He had to scan for cracks in morale, anticipate shortages, and now? Now he had to worry about tactical extraction routes and contingency planning in case someone ever sold them out.

The tunnel hadn't even opened yet and he was already seeing the future fight for control.

Cal exhaled. The stale air rasped through the cloth of his mask.

He adjusted it, turned, and walked back toward the working crew — not hurried, but not idle either. He passed Donny, who was trying to pry loose a chunk of rebar with a pipe and way too much optimism, and nodded at Marta, who didn't say a word but gave him her usual side glance: one part respect, two parts don't-screw-this-up.

The group felt different now.

Less like a bunch of desperate tagalongs and more like… a force. Unofficial. Uneven. But real.

And if the tunnel opened? Really opened?

They wouldn't just be hidden anymore.

They'd be mobile.

Cal felt something stir in him. Not excitement. Not pride.

Possibility.

That was scarier than anything else.

He glanced once more toward the slope, where the concrete wall — scarred, cracked, and half-buried — blocked their view of what lay beyond.

Cal then opened his system and the mission menu

[Side Mission – Tunnel Rat]

Objective: Fully clear and open the collapsed tunnel exit beneath the skyscraper.Progress: ~80% complete.Details: Final barrier consists of reinforced concrete and debris. Requires careful removal, structural support, and noise management.Reward:

+250 EXP

+1 System Point

+1 Storage Expansion Credit

Unlocks Hidden Exit Access tag in Base Tracker

[Major Mission – Beyond the Wall]

Objective: Create an initial map of the collapsed skyscraper above the warehouse and the surrounding outside zone.Requirements:

Establish surface access point

Send 3 successful recon teams with full return

Identify 2 potential supply points or hiding spots

Avoid FEDRA detectionReward:

+500 EXP

+2 System Points

Unlocks Scout Map Menu

Future: Enables Safehouse or Mobile Camp setup

He closed the system.

Soon, he thought.

Soon, we find out what's on the other side.