Primary Quest Granted: Survive the Assault

Your Home Base will be attacked. Enslave or kill the attackers. Reward: 5 Race Advancement Orbs (L), Unlock Auction House. Time Remaining: 232:38:29

Chase stared at the quest prompt, unable to feel surprise at the news that he was going to be attacked. From the quest name, he gathered that there would either be a horde of attackers, or one big ass boss monster with some minions type attacker. Either one meant he needed to prepare.

The quest prompt said there were a bit over two hundred thirty hours remaining, which…divide both sides by two…again…again…so three goes into twenty nine a total of nine times, nine days and change. He still had a bunch of pelts and bones to work with, and he could still go back to the jackalope cave to retrieve the remains of the offspring that he’d left behind.

It had been a couple days since he had gone to the cave, so the scent of the carcasses should be pretty faded by now, especially if any more beasts had passed through. So, the first thing to do was get the remains. But after that, he needed a plan.

The fact that he could enslave the attackers instead of killing them gave him some pause. He didn't want to enslave anyone, he was an American. Slavery was antithetical to everything he believed in. But the game mechanics of this new world might force his hand. It was either that or risk losing everything he’d built up so far. And the game didn’t seem to care about moral gray areas.

Shaking off the disquieting thoughts, Chase went straight to work. The first order of business was fortifying his Home Base. He had limited resources, but the pelts and bones could be useful. Besides crafting basic armor and weapons, he considered setting traps around the perimeter of his base.

Using bones tied with sinew, Chase constructed tripwire traps that would trigger a net made strips of jackalope pelt to fall onto an attacker. Then he set them up in a circle around the base. Hopefully the nets would hold them long enough for him to finish off whatever he didn’t manage to kill immediately.

Then, using the remainder of the pelts and bones, he created a simple spike wall that was angled to face outwards from his cabin. It would hopefully catch a beast on the front side and then the fall would drive the spikes through its body, trapping it.

With these initial defenses in place, Chase took a step back to assess his handiwork. The spike wall looked menacing enough, and the tripwire traps were well hidden, blending almost seamlessly with the natural surroundings. He hoped they would be effective against whatever was coming. Next, he turned his attention to crafting some weapons. He had already created a decent bone and antler pick, but he’d rather have more than a single weapon on hand in case it broke like his last one had with the jackalope.

It would probably be good to have some kind of ranged option, he could use teeth and antler tips as arrowheads…but how would he make a bow? He was pretty sure he needed a wood with specific properties to craft it. But what those properties were and were there any trees around that would be suited? After a moment, he remembered hearing about a weapon used to throw spears farther…he couldn't remember the name, but it would be a lot simpler and straightforward to make.

Chase decided against wasting time trying to remember the name of the weapon and instead started gathering suitable materials. He found a stout, flexible branch from a nearby ash tree that seemed like it would serve his purpose. Using one of his sharper bone knives, he whittled the branch into a rough approximation of what he needed. It wasn't perfect, but it would allow him to throw spears with greater force and accuracy than by hand.

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Next, he turned his attention to creating a handful of spears. He chose straight branches, stripping them of bark and sharpening one end to a point. For extra lethality, he affixed jackalope antlers to the shaft, making sure they were securely fastened with strips of leather and sinew.

After several hours of working diligently, his fingers were covered in blisters and the beginnings of a makeshift quiver of spears tipped with sharpened antlers and fangs was beginning to take shape. As Chase looked down at his calloused hands, his mind flashed back to his old life, and the soft and pampered life he had lived before the Network came.

He rubbed his hands together, feeling the roughness of his new reality bite into his fingertips. Chase couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and melancholy wash over him. He had adapted, yes, and he was surviving—thriving even—but at what cost? The simplicity of life in the Network was both brutal and direct, a sharp contrast to the complex social subtleties of his previous existence.

With a deep breath, Chase focused back on the present. He looked at the fortified cabin and felt a twinge of satisfaction. It might not be much, but it was his—a product of his own skills and determination. His preparations were solid, and the rest was up to whatever beasts were coming his way.

~*~*~*~

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Chase shouted as he ran about the cabin, placing buckets under the leaks. The torrential rainstorm had come on suddenly, and within minutes the roof was leaking and the ground floor was soaked.

It had been a week since the quest had been dropped, and he was on the second to last day before the attack. He had been preparing all the while, but the weather was not cooperating. He was soaked to the bone, and the pelts, bones, and anything else he could find that could be used to protect the base were getting soaked too.

If he made it through the upcoming assault, the first thing he’d do after was roofing. Chase scrambled outside, barely noticing the chill of the rain as it lashed against his skin. He had to protect the materials. Grabbing the largest tarp he could find, he began covering stacks of pelts and bone caches, tying them down with whatever he could—twisted vines, spare strips of leather, even bits of wire he had scavenged earlier.

As he worked against the biting wind and driving rain, Chase couldn't help but feel the cruel irony. He had prepared for beasts and marauders, yet here he was, nearly undone by nature itself. Every bucket he placed inside seemed to fill at an alarming rate, mocking his efforts at shoring up his defenses against more animate threats. The storm raged around him with a relentless fury, as if challenging his right to claim this land as his own.

Chase paused for a moment, leaning against the wall of his cabin to catch his breath. The cold rain plastered his hair to his head and ran down his face like countless tiny rivulets converging into a single stream. He looked out at the forest, its familiar shapes masked by the torrential downpour. The howling of the wind through the trees sounded almost like laughter, as if the wilderness itself was mocking his plight.

Determined not to be defeated by weather or beasts, Chase resumed his frenzied efforts to protect his supplies. After what felt like an eternity, he was finally satisfied that nothing else could be done. Exhausted and soaked to the bone, Chase trudged back into the cabin.

The inside of the cabin was a mess, but at least the floor was mostly dry. With a sigh, Chase stripped out of his wet clothes and lay down on the bed, pulling a fur blanket over himself. His body felt heavy and sluggish, the fatigue weighing him down like an anchor.

As thunder roared outside, Chase fought off the spectre of sleep to consider how the assault would go if the storm didn’t end soon. Summers were typically dry in this part of Oregon, but when the Network came to Earth, it did state something about the world expanding or something like that. Regardless, it had been a good four months since the last rain, so the ground was dry and would absorb a lot of the rainwater.

If the storm ended before morning, then there would probably be enough time for the ground to dry enough that he wouldn’t be defending the cabin in mud. However, if the rain persisted, the very ground he'd be fighting on could become his enemy, transforming into slippery mud, hindering movements and possibly twisting ankles. Chase knew that battling creatures in such conditions would severely hamper his ability to maneuver and effectively wield his antler-tipped spears. His strategies would need adjusting; perhaps he'd have to rely more on traps and less on direct confrontation.

Lying in the dim light of the cabin, Chase ran through mental simulations of different attack scenarios. He visualized where he might place tripwires and pit traps around the perimeter. Every sound of thunder was a reminder of the clock ticking down, each flash of lightning a warning that his enemies could be near.

Eventually, Chase succumbed to sleep, his exhausted body taking control and shutting down his racing mind.

But even in the depths of his slumber, the storm continued to rage.