At night, after half a day of hard work, the players finally used wasteland rocks and scrap to build rows of sheds that could temporarily block the wind farther out from the potato cultivation zone.
Bonfires burned outside the sheds, their flickering flames driving away the piercing cold of the wasteland night.
After eating warm porridge made from nutrient solution, the more than two thousand refugees who had escaped the Crimson Bright Wasteland industrial zone
finally enjoyed their safest, warmest night since leaving that hell.
Snoring soon rose and fell inside the shacks, mixed with the occasional sobs of children in their dreams.
Most of the players had logged off by then as well, and the base sank into an exhausted silence.
But on the second floor of the central cafeteria hall, in the players' command room, the lights still blazed.
The power came from several battery packs charged during the day by portable fuel generators purchased from the store.
The light was not particularly bright, but it was enough to illuminate this simply built room of piled boulders.
A group sat around the rough eight-meter-long conference table in the middle of the hall, polished from a single massive wasteland rock.
Wang Zhong sat at the head of the table.
He had taken off the field jacket he had given to the workers during the cold night and now wore only a thin gray work vest. The contours of his muscles, enhanced by Type II reinforcement, were clearly visible beneath the fabric.
On his left sat Xue Brother, Tax Brother, Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run, and White Scar.
On his right sat newly promoted chapter officers such as "Second Emperor of Holy Blood," "Soul of Cadia," "I'm Not the Regent, I'm Just a Passing Guilliman" (Brother Gui), and "Have You