New Vance City

Repeater Vault A7 is a half-buried signal control bunker located near the southern edge of the Radio Silence Zone—one of the last functioning repeater stations before the electromagnetic corruption overwhelmed the grid. Built beneath a collapsed overpass and sealed for years, the vault was quietly cracked open by Static Cult scavengers seeking old code and relic tech. Now, it serves as a fringe sanctum for low-tier cult initiates—those not yet fully “tuned” but already lost to the signal’s lure. The station’s corrupted systems still spit out fragmented broadcast logs, pre-collapse diagnostics, and looping phrases in a dozen languages. Strangely, no full conversion rituals happen here; it’s more of a threshold, a place for lingering minds to warp. Sometimes, scavvers brave enough to venture this far describe hearing their own thoughts broadcast aloud in static. Others say the vault sings—not songs, but memory echoes twisted into binary lullabies.

Repeater Vault A7 lies like a swallowed machine beneath fractured concrete and tangled rebar. Its primary entrance is a wedge-shaped hatch surrounded by broken warning signage, half-choked in black vines and magnetic dust. A faint blue strobe pulses from inside, barely visible through a cracked access slit. Within, the bunker is cramped and oppressive—narrow corridors lined with deactivated terminals, all humming softly despite lacking visible power sources. The air carries a metallic tang and faint ozone burn, made worse by low-hanging condensation that drips in slow, deliberate rhythm. Fragmented audio loops bounce from room to room, snippets of forgotten transmissions and feedback-laced whispering voices. Walls are etched with shallow carvings—some patterns, some words, some just scratches left by trembling hands. In the central chamber, a rusted repeater array rotates slowly, projecting meaningless light patterns onto the ceiling, like constellations remembered only by machines.