Re: Apocalypse Game



The US military had been embroiled in the game for 3 years, and throughout this period, they had faced countless challenges, learned their lessons, and sharpened their strategies. Their preparation was evident in the establishment of their own farms. Corn, intended to provide sustenance for their vast ranks. However, their calculations did not include the  hunger penalty, which was threefold. This oversight meant that their harvests, although bountiful, still fell short of the army's demands.

Alan had sympathetically anticipated the military's reluctance to expend a whopping 50,000 survival points on food, despite the pressing need. While it was a significant setback, he had contingencies in place. Rather than pressing for immediate payment, Alan's adaptability came to the forefront. He offered flexibility in payment terms: a deferred payment post the current round, or even bartering items that the military deemed superfluous.

His next request was specific. "I'd appreciate it if you could assign some of your players proficient in 'farming' to assist with the farm," Alan proposed.

Dylan, understanding the logic behind this request, promptly responded, "Yes, of course." Having players with farming skills would undoubtedly optimize the farm's productivity, expediting growth cycles and maximizing yields.

Having reached an understanding, Dylan oversaw the preparation to transport the procured food to the military camp. As the final crates were being loaded, Dylan approached Alan, his expression grave. Alan, if those Blood Patriots ever cause any disturbances again, don't hesitate to reach out." he advised earnestly.

Alan, appreciating the gesture but confident in his camp's capabilities, replied with a calm smile, "We can handle them, but your concern is appreciated." With a firm handshake sealing their newfound understanding and alliance, Alan bid Sergeant Dylan farewell.

Once the dust settled and the military convoy began to fade in the distance, Alan took a moment to catch his breath, reflecting on the tumultuous events that had just transpired. The farmstead, now buzzing with activity and chatter, became the backdrop for Alan's next crucial task: tallying the survival points and dividing the spoils among his companions.

From the sale of firearms to the players, Alan amassed 19,200 survival points. The Blood Patriots had contributed a heftier sum, purchasing weapons for 46,500 points. In total, the firearms had yielded a substantial 65,700 points. This pot would be distributed amongst the core team responsible for the raid: Alan, Luiss, Vicky, Milo, and Daniel. After careful deliberation, the group had earlier decided to allocate 5,700 points to Rose in recognition of her contributions, leaving 12,000 points each for the primary members.

Across the farm, Merle and Redneck, overhearing the distribution details, exchanged rueful glances. They couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for hastily claiming their initial share. The value of patience was underscored that day.

However, the firearm sale wasn't Alan's only source of income. The meat sales had fetched another 15,000 points. Given the tremendous effort required in hunting and crafting the meats, Alan felt it was only right to share this bounty with Luis, Shamus, Gus, and Marie. Each of them, pivotal in turning the hunt into a tangible asset, was awarded 3,000 survival points.

The atmosphere was one of jovial satisfaction. Still, Alan, ever the prudent leader, took a moment to address his companions. "Use these points wisely," he cautioned.

For Alan, however, the mood was more introspective. As he accessed his game interface, the displayed balance brought a smile to his face: [Survival Points: 25,450]. His primary goal, securing the 10,000 points required to purchase the elixir for his ailing daughter, was now within grasp. Yet, deep down, Alan knew that this sum, while considerable, was still a far cry from the amount he'd need to truly tilt the game in his favor.

As the noon sun warmed the earth, Alan gathered his companions and the fifty new recruits, directing them to a large makeshift table laden with a hearty meal. The fragrance of cooked meats wafted through the air, a comforting reminder of their recent successes. Yet, amidst this casual feast, an undercurrent of anticipation persisted. Every eye was trained on Alan, seeking direction and clarity.

Alan, absorbing the palpable tension, finally broke the silence.

"So, what's next for us, Mister Alan?" echoed the collective sentiment.

He hesitated for a moment, gauging the group's diverse composition. While Alan was itching to embark on his personal quests and tasks, he felt an inherent responsibility towards these players.

"Your path in this game is yours to choose," he began, "But first, reflect on the role you wish to play in this game?"

"The frontline," Alan began, his voice steady and firm, "It is a brutal, unforgiving territory where only the most resolute thrive. It demands more than just physical strength or agility; it demands unwavering determination." He let his words sink in before continuing, "And if you falter, not only will you perish, but you'll jeopardize everyone fighting alongside you."

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in, before offering an alternative. "However, there's another way in this game. Crafting, hunting, farming – these tasks can earn you survival points. These points can keep you in the game even if things go wrong."

As they mulled over his words, the mood was contemplative. He could see the mental calculations, the weighing of risks and rewards. The aroma of the food was almost forgotten as the gravity of their decisions weighed on their minds.

By lunch's end, decisions were made. Shamus, Gus, Marie, and 17 others decided to focus on support roles. Their skills were better suited for crafting and farming.

The remaining 30 were determined for battle. "Lead us, Mister Alan," one of them voiced the collective sentiment. "We'll fight by your side."

Alan nodded in acknowledgment, appreciative of their spirit but he had one more revelation to lay before them, a test of their commitment.

"To fight in this round, for me, it means joining the US military's militia. Can you put aside any past grudges and do that?"

The group hesitated, exchanging glances. After a tense moment, the reply came, firm and resolute, "Yes, we're willing."