The BASE

THE BASE

"Come closer, rookie, and listen up. See that big fence? That's the Main Gate, but it's not the real border. The real border is the line between life and death out there, and this place, The Base, is where you find a little bit of the former. 

We all came here for the same reasons: artifacts, survival, and a chance to make something of ourselves. This junkyard of a town is our home, our church, and our bank. It's a neutral zone, a safe haven where you can trade, get some shut-eye, and not have to look over your shoulder every two seconds. 

The big bosses here, the ones who call the shots, are the BAS-SÄK. They keep the peace. You don't mess with them, and they don't mess with you. Just outside The Base, it's a different story. It's full of bandits, outlaws, and things that go bump in the night. It's a gray zone where nobody's got your back. But inside these walls, you can let your guard down for a minute, grab a drink at The BAR, and swap stories with other freelancers.

The Base is a second chance, but don't get too comfortable. The Zone's always waiting."

The BAR
"Alright, kid, let me tell you about The BAR. It's not just a watering hole; it's the heart of this entire operation. It's the one place in the Zone where you can actually take off your helmet and breathe without waiting for a bullet. They've got a strict no-weapons rule, and for good reason—it's the only spot where PMCs, traders, and freelancers from warring factions can actually sit down and talk to each other without drawing blood. 

For your hard-earned cash, you can get a hot meal or a cold drink, but more importantly, you can find a job. The job board is where you’ll see the current bounties on those poor sons of bitches who got a price on their head, and it’s also where you can get paid for simply exploring the borderlands or bringing back any piece of information you found out there. 

And if you’re looking to get your hands on some of that shady tech, you can find a contact for the scientists who lurk in the back and who are willing to let you rent their scanners and their skills, for a price, of course."

The Gate
"Alright, listen up about the Gate. That fortress you see is the only way in or out of the borderlands that won't get you a bullet in the back of the head. It's manned by the OPC, the Outer Perimeter Control, and they're the gatekeepers of this whole mess. For a freelancer like you, it's a blessing and a curse. You get a safe passage, but you also have to pay a tax on everything you bring back - every artifact, every bit of valuable loot. It's the price of doing business, kid. 

The OPC might seem small, but don't ever underestimate them. They've got a tight contract with the BAS-SÄK inside the Base, and they're also loaded enough to hire any of the major PMC factions for "services," and believe me, when they say "services," they mean violence. They play fair as long as you play by their rules, but break one, and you’ll find out just how fair they aren't."

The PMC camps
"Tucked away in their own corners of The Base are the PMC camps, a vital but tense point of contact for anyone with enough money. This is where you can "buy" their services, whether you need heavy firepower for an incursion or intel on a rival. Just don't come around waving a gun in their base, that might be the last thing you ever do. 

While they operate with a suspicious eye toward one another, all disputes are settled outside the gates. They maintain this uneasy truce because the BASE serves all of them, a neutral ground where even the fiercest rivals recognize the mutual benefit of not starting a war in their own backyard. You don't shit where you eat..."

The shanty town
"The shantytown is the real beating heart of The Base, a sprawling collection of makeshift sheds and tents huddled together around The BAR. This isn't some military barracks; it's a home built from scavenged parts and pure necessity. Its close proximity to The BAR is no accident—it's vital for a freelancer's survival. Here, you're always just a few steps away from the latest rumors, a new job, or a key contact. Scientists and other specialists live side-by-side with freelancers, drawn by the same need for connections. It's in these cramped, chaotic spaces that alliances are forged, missions are planned, and the information that keeps everyone alive - or gets them killed, is traded."