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<blockquote data-quote="馬冠宇" data-source="post: 43332" data-attributes="member: 162">[ATTACH=full]7131[/ATTACH]June 3, 2030. I’m Magonia, steering the Infection Free Zone Wellington through Wellington’s ruins. Since April 1st, we’ve been all-in on transforming the portrait gallery on Customhouse Quay into our research hub, leaving the dockside restaurant behind. The gallery’s solid stone and vast rooms were perfect, but it was the haul from Te Awe Library that gave us an edge. I sent teams to raid its stacks, and we struck gold—books, journals, and old drives packed with medical data. My call was to make this place a beacon of answers, and we’ve been at it non-stop, my word law.The infected were relentless, skulking in the gallery’s dark corners, their wails testing our nerve. Our handgun crew fought daily, clearing them out with steady aim, while we burned the bodies by the quay to keep the stench at bay. The library’s loot—textbooks on virology, anatomy charts, even a few lab manuals—got hauled in alongside scavenged gear from shattered clinics. The kids, cooped up in a side room, doodled on scrap paper, their noise barely tolerable. After two months, we’d wired the gallery’s old skylights to solar rigs, lighting up our new labs stacked with Te Awe’s treasures.The gallery’s our stronghold now, buzzing with research fueled by the library’s haul. Tables groan under piles of reference books and sample vials, our team piecing together the infected’s puzzle. Shooters guard the reinforced exits, eyes sharp. I’ve nabbed a high-ceilinged office, feet up on a desk littered with library notecards, savoring a scavenged cigar. The past months were brutal, but the Infection Free Zone Wellington’s rooted in this knowledge fortress. We’re chasing truth, and I’m calling the shots, barely breaking a sweat.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="馬冠宇, post: 43332, member: 162"] [ATTACH type="full"]7131[/ATTACH] June 3, 2030. I’m Magonia, steering the Infection Free Zone Wellington through Wellington’s ruins. Since April 1st, we’ve been all-in on transforming the portrait gallery on Customhouse Quay into our research hub, leaving the dockside restaurant behind. The gallery’s solid stone and vast rooms were perfect, but it was the haul from Te Awe Library that gave us an edge. I sent teams to raid its stacks, and we struck gold—books, journals, and old drives packed with medical data. My call was to make this place a beacon of answers, and we’ve been at it non-stop, my word law. The infected were relentless, skulking in the gallery’s dark corners, their wails testing our nerve. Our handgun crew fought daily, clearing them out with steady aim, while we burned the bodies by the quay to keep the stench at bay. The library’s loot—textbooks on virology, anatomy charts, even a few lab manuals—got hauled in alongside scavenged gear from shattered clinics. The kids, cooped up in a side room, doodled on scrap paper, their noise barely tolerable. After two months, we’d wired the gallery’s old skylights to solar rigs, lighting up our new labs stacked with Te Awe’s treasures. The gallery’s our stronghold now, buzzing with research fueled by the library’s haul. Tables groan under piles of reference books and sample vials, our team piecing together the infected’s puzzle. Shooters guard the reinforced exits, eyes sharp. I’ve nabbed a high-ceilinged office, feet up on a desk littered with library notecards, savoring a scavenged cigar. The past months were brutal, but the Infection Free Zone Wellington’s rooted in this knowledge fortress. We’re chasing truth, and I’m calling the shots, barely breaking a sweat. [/QUOTE]

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