By the time Floor 50's SafeZone was fully registered under Zethara, I had already organized everything that mattered before anyone else could arrive.
Storage facilities.
Production stations.
Material processing.
Defensive barriers.
Temporary housing.
Even the tower coin distribution had been adjusted manually through the management functions so newly arriving Zetharians wouldn't have to scramble for supplies after climbing all the way up.
Work helped.
Not emotionally.
Nothing helped emotionally anymore.
But keeping my hands occupied stopped my thoughts from wandering somewhere worse.
The snowstorm sweeping across Floor 50 howled violently against the walls of the newly established SafeZone while workers from the tower system carried out automated construction processes nearby. White fog drifted endlessly across the mountain ranges surrounding the area, reducing visibility until the entire floor looked like a world buried beneath winter itself.
Cold.
Silent.
Empty.
