Re: Apocalypse Game

Alan and his team took their position at the fringes of the Blood Patriot camp, patiently awaiting the arrival of their new recruits. When a group of fifty individuals finally materialized in front of them, it wasn't exactly the kind of assembly Alan had hoped for. The selection was distinctly Sharon's handiwork. Her choice demonstrated not only her cunning but also a touch of mischief.

Alan's initial scan revealed women who seemed out of place in a combat situation, younger men who lacked the grit of experience, and older gentlemen whose best days seemed to be behind them.

Deeper scrutiny showed that their backgrounds were equally unimpressive. Absent were the telltale signs of military rigor or fighting expertise. Their achievements were also negligible: none had managed to secure a rank at the training ground, and their levels never surpassed the tenth mark. What was perhaps even more disheartening was their financial state. Their pockets were nearly empty, with their survival points teetering on the brink of exhaustion.

Indeed, by any standards, they seemed to be the most disadvantaged group one could assemble.

Sharon stepped forward, her keen eyes catching the group's evident dismay. With an assuring tone, she spoke up, "There's no need to be concerned. they might not look like much, but they'll follow your orders without hesitation"

To Alan's surprise, Marcus added a bonus to the mix: 10 of his own trained Blood Patriot soldiers. Sharon's smile grew more pronounced, a hint of slyness touching her eyes. "Consider them... added assurance. They are here to make these new members feel safe"

While Sharon's words seemed transparent, Alan and Merle grasped the true implication behind them. These trained soldiers were not just guardians. They were Marcus' eyes and ears, meant to report back on every move Alan made and, if necessary, to intervene if he took any steps that could be construed as 'out of line'. Yet, Alan wasn't worried. His conscience was clear, and he had nothing to conceal.

Alan nodded slowly, realizing the underlying message, "Absolutely. And rest assured, their food will be on me."

"That's what I like to hear," she responded, the smile still in place.

Merle, on the other hand, was less sanguine about the situation. He leaned towards Alan, his voice barely more than a husky whisper, tinged with exasperation, "This is so messed up."

Sharon, in the meanwhile, wasted no time. Her keen eyes assessed the vast assortment of weapons Alan had brought with him, selecting a third of the stockpile that matched the agreed-upon value of 40,000 survival points. As the transaction seemed close to conclusion, Merle's voice, suddenly more assertive, cut through the air, "Give those to me."

Alan's eyebrows rose a tad in surprise, but before he could voice a query, Merle's grin explained it all. Leaning in, Merle's voice was a sly murmur, "I'm claiming my share now. Whatever remains, that's yours."

With a nod and a casual shrug, Alan responded, "Alright, it's your call."

Sharon, respecting the dynamics between the two, seamlessly transferred the survival points to Merle, finalizing their deal.

Alan now faced a sea of 60 expectant faces, all waiting for guidance, a touch of nervous anticipation evident in their eyes. Clearing his throat, Alan introduced himself, emphasizing their safety under his watch. He then directed them towards his base camp, five miles eastward by the shore.

The journey had only just begun when Alan noticed the group's varying levels of fitness. Many of them, lacking basic conditioning, were already struggling, gasping for breath even before they had covered a mile.

As the ragtag assembly approached the farmhouse, Alan could discern half a dozen figures emerging from the shadows, their expressions a mix of curiosity and alarm.

"Mister D, who in the world are this lot?"

Alan responded with a calm authority, "They are here to help"

Without waiting for more questions, Alan began his inspection of the newcomers. He believed that the game had its unique way of choosing participants; it wouldn't draft just anyone. Each individual, he surmised, possessed a particular talent or skill, making up for any physical deficiencies.

His intuition served him right.

[Marie - Weaving]

[Gus -Woodworking]

[Shamus - Smithing]

He grouped them separately, assigning them roles that matched their unique skills. However, a twinge of disappointment passed over him as he realized no one had the farming skill he so desperately sought.

Drawing on intel from his reconnaissance team and his own past experiences, Alan divided the rest into two main groups. One would focus on hunting for food, while the other was tasked with building a place to sleep and defensive fortifications around the farmhouse.

Merle, ever the voice of pragmatism, questioned, "Shouldn't the ones with higher agility focus on hunting and those with higher strength work on the fortifications?"

Yet, Alan's strategy seemed counterintuitive. "It's those with lower agility who will hunt, while the less strong ones will handle the fortifications," he clarified.

Realizing what Alan was doing, Merle shook his head again "You are crazy!"

Though skepticism clouded the faces of many, they reluctantly accepted their roles.

Delegating further, Alan appointed Merle's squad to oversee the hunting, while Daniel and Milo were put in charge of the fortifications. The Blood Patriot soldiers, with their seasoned expertise, were stationed strategically around the perimeter for security.

"Once everyone has done their part, we feast," Alan declared, passing the responsibility of preparing the meal to Luis.

With the teams in place, Alan shifted his attention to a special project he had been concocting in his mind.

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Author Note

Dear Reader, I should have finished the privilege chapters yesterday. Unfortunately, I spent the last 36 hours in the hospital taking care of my wife. Daily chapter will be shown again tomorrow or the day after. Thank you for your patience.

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