A five-story building sat at the edge of the industrial district, where the city met wastelands beyond. Dark gray concrete, reinforced steel, the kind of construction that said "functional" more than "pretty." It looked like it could take a beating, which made sense in a world where beasts sometimes ignored the concept of city limits.
Above the main entrance, a symbol caught the afternoon light—a moon and sun crossing each other, mounted in brushed metal. The eclipse.
Inside, the ground floor was still being set up. Sam had claimed most of it for his operation center, multiple screens showing contract listings and faction network feeds. The second floor would be armory and storage once they had enough gear to actually store. Third floor was medical—recovery rooms and treatment spaces for when people got hurt, which they would.
