[Current Objective: Have A Nice Family Dinner]

Cooking turned out to be an unexpectedly mundane affair. Equipped with all the necessary gear to boost my cooking skill, I stood facing the stove tucked away in Taylor's modest kitchen. The cupboards were stocked with a variety of fruits and vegetables, a testament to Taylor's gardening prowess. I deftly stowed some in my inventory before activating the stove.

I half-expected a whimsical mini-game, but instead, the interface presented a straightforward list of available food options on one side of my vision and the required ingredients on the other. Opting to prepare burgers and fries with a side salad, using the meat pilfered from the tavern pantry, I watched as the food materialized on the stove, appearing out of virtual nothingness. Placing the plates in front of Taylor, who then passed them to Rolland, I repeated the process three more times.

We gathered around the cramped wooden table, worn and weathered yet cherished in its humble abode. Each bite was savored as we brought food to mouth, tearing off chunks with our teeth, chewing, and swallowing. The flavors danced on my tongue—salt, savory meat, pungent onions, and the peppery crunch of salad. Taste was a sensation bestowed upon us Players by the AI, a gift I appreciated deeply in that moment, the meal nearly eliciting a groan of pleasure from my lips. I wasn’t alone in my enjoyment.

With the last of the food consumed, I felt the Well Fed status condition settle upon me. I had no idea what this influenced, knowing only that I felt a little better. Our endurance stats received a modest one-point boost, courtesy of my Connoisseur perk giving the food a stat boost. These enhancements would only last a few hours, prompting me to make mealtime an integral part of our preparations for future journeys.

"So, what's the plan?" Taylor inquired, her voice tinged with concern after setting her emptied plate aside.

Rolland's expression softened with a mix of relief and gratitude as he pondered his response. "I believe our first priority should be to establish a livable environment here," he asserted. "Jonas and I experienced firsthand how perilous the conditions outside town can be. Hunger, thirst, disease, and exposure—these are threats we can't afford to underestimate. They could easily prove fatal if we're not adequately prepared."

His argument resonated with my own thoughts, though Rolland articulated it more pointedly than I had anticipated. "We need to find a place nearby, secure and sustainable, to build our operations," I interjected.

"To create that base you were talking about," Regan chimed in, her voice reflecting determination.

Taylor shook her head resolutely. "Explain why we should leave when everything we need is right here," she countered. "I have skills in gardening and animal husbandry. We can live off what we scavenge until our crops and livestock flourish."

"I'm with your mother on this," Rolland affirmed. "Taking unnecessary risks to find a new location seems unwarranted. Jonas, you witnessed the Porcs at the hospital. It was a close call. We can't rely on the Order to bail us out again. There are other dangers out there in the wasteland, and we can't afford to be caught unprepared."

Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I knew it was time to admit my earlier misjudgment with Silas. "I made an error. Silas, the guy I awakened as a player, outsmarted me. He knocked me out and looted my belongings. His note suggested he plans to become some kind of warlord. We can't predict his next move, but if he aligns with a formidable faction and directs them toward Rustborder, we'll be defenseless."

Rolland closed his eyes briefly, struggling to contain his simmering anger. It was clear he understood the gravity of the situation.

"I can't believe you were so stupid, Jonas," Rolland snapped, his frustration palpable. "Leaving you alone was a mistake. You've put us all at risk."

His words struck me like a blow. Rolland's newfound responsibility for his family had understandably altered his perspective. I tried to remain composed. "You've always been at risk here, Rolland," I countered. "There's always the chance someone will stumble upon us. Remember the sniper from last night? Who's to say they haven't tracked us here, lurking in the shadows of Rustborder?"

"No place is safe," I continued, sensing Rolland's skepticism. "And this town, as small as it is, isn't invisible. We need somewhere off the beaten path, easily overlooked. Rustborder may be quaint, but it's far from secure."

Rolland studied me intently, his expression shifting from anger to contemplation. Slowly, recognition dawned on his face. "Why do you talk like you're not planning to stay with us?" he asked, his voice softer now.

"Because..." I began hesitantly, searching for the right words. "I'm not like you, Rolland. I woke up here with no memories, no history to anchor me. No family to protect. Cooking meals can't be all I'm here for. What was the point of my awakening if I can't find purpose beyond that?"

Rolland started to respond, but Taylor intervened, placing a comforting hand over his on the table. "I understand, Jonas," she said gently. "Like you, I'm a blank slate. My role as wife and mother doesn't come with memories. I know Rolland is my husband, and Regan is my daughter, but that's all. I don't remember their pasts, our life together."

Rolland turned away, his emotions getting the better of him. Taylor continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "I know I love them," she admitted tearfully. "But without memories of our life together, I rely on the present. If I didn't have them, I'm not sure what I'd be fighting for."

A heavy silence settled over the table, laden with awkwardness. I felt a pang of guilt for my role in disrupting Taylor's fragile sense of identity, even though I understood her struggle better than anyone.

Regan broke the tension, coming to my defense.

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"The scrapyard to the northeast might just be the spot for our settlement," Regan suggested, steering us back to the task at hand. "I think I was meant to direct the Primary player there," she continued, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I vaguely remember my father taking me scavenging there when I was young. We stopped after some cult moved in."

Rolland sighed, shaking his head. "I don't recall any scrapyard trips, or taking you there."

"It's my memory, not yours," Regan countered with a hint of frustration. "I must be part of some quest to guide the Primary player there. It explains why I have skills in electronics and metallurgy."

"Metallurgy?" I interjected, raising an eyebrow. "Like a blacksmith?"

Regan nodded. "Exactly. I can smelt metal and craft things like wire, chains, and basic components. If there's a need at the scrapyard, it can't be too urgent, or my skills would be higher. But I could expand into weapon or armor smithing if needed."

Considering my own skill progression, I realized butchery was just an extension of cooking, rather than a distinct skill. It seemed the game's design encouraged broad skills with specialized paths through perks.

"The scrapyard sounds promising," I agreed. "Especially if there's enough material for you two to work with."

Unspoken was my hope that the scrapyard might harbor a radio to contact Myryll. The seasoned captain knew more about the world's state than I did, and I was desperate for information.

"Perfect," Regan declared, sweeping a strand of hair from her eyes. "Jonas and I will clear out the scrapyard. Mom and Dad can handle looting everything useful from town and bringing it up."

Rolland and Taylor exchanged incredulous glances, then spoke in unison, forbidding their daughter from joining me on such a perilous quest. Given my recent combat record, I couldn't blame them. But Regan raised a hand to stop them and retrieved a pistol.

"Look, I have gun skills too," she asserted. "Apparently Dad taught me how to shoot. This world isn’t safe, I know that. But if all you do is shield me from danger, we won't succeed. Let me scout the scrapyard. If it's too dangerous, Jonas and I will return."

Taylor deferred to Rolland, who paused thoughtfully before responding.

"Okay," he conceded with a paternal sigh. "Regan, I don't think I can stop you. It seems like something you need to do. But please, let's take some time to prepare. Jonas and I stumbled into trouble earlier and barely escaped. Let's get you ready first."

Our preparations stretched throughout the day. We started by taking over the Chop Shop, Rustborder's makeshift crafting hub and melee weapon vendor. Regan put the smithy to good use, fashioning new items from the jumbled haul of junk Rolland and I had gathered. I tried not to dwell on the embarrassment of Silas robbing me of vital supplies, weapons, and ammunition. Those losses could have been better used now.

Throughout the day, we systematically cleared Rustborder of its loot, building by building. Locked doors and cabinets posed little challenge. Rolland's expertise with lockpicking made short work of most stubborn locks, and Regan crafted skeleton keys from scrap metal whenever needed. Safes and electronic locks proved more challenging. Regan attempted to crack a digital lockbox once but failed, deciding to wait until her skills improved before trying again.

We proceeded cautiously, taking care to avoid drawing attention from the Notters milling about. Twice, Rolland was caught, leading to brief gunfights that ended once guards intervened. Each time, he chose to return the stolen goods and pay reparations, deciding it wise to refrain from attempting to pickpocket high-value targets for the time being.

Taylor busied herself gathering herbs and crops from gardens, her farming skill granting her the ability to double the yield from any plant, including those with medicinal properties. Meanwhile, I discovered the Tavern’s kitchen and began preparing simple meals with a low failure rate. I also experimented with crafting healing salves from medicinal herbs. Though not as potent as the hospital medicine I had lost to Silas, they proved useful nonetheless.

"Don't you both look splendid?" Taylor commented, eyeing Regan and me approvingly.

She had outfitted Regan and me in newly crafted apparel. As I stood before the mirror, I had to admit we looked rather smart. Taylor’s craftsmanship had produced basic but effective attire: a t-shirt and combat pants for me, each offering a one percent damage reduction, along with an additional carrying capacity thanks to their numerous pockets. Regan sported similar combat pants, a tank top, and a heavy weave overshirt, all dyed in matching muddy pastel yellow, accented with warm greys and sage greens. While not ideal for blending into the surroundings, the color scheme certainly gave us a cohesive team look.

"Jonas, this is for you," Taylor said, handing me my chef's apron. She watched as I put it on.

"I haven't made any improvements yet, but I managed to dye over that awful text on the front," she added.

I stood before the mirror, marveling at the first-ever sight of myself from a third-person perspective. There I was, a guy in his mid-twenties, with unruly dark hair and the beginnings of a beard adorning my face. My eyes sparkled with the unmistakable glimmer of potential, a clear indicator of my player status. Though not the burliest, my arms and torso boasted well-defined muscles, evidence of my virtual endeavors.

Gone were the tattered rags, replaced now by freshly crafted attire that almost made me look respectable, save for the stubble dotting my youthful features and the slightly disheveled hair cascading over my brow. Taylor had lightened the fabric's color from a somber dark grey to a soft dusky lilac. It wasn't exactly my first choice, but it harmonized well with the rest of the palette. More significantly, she had adorned it with a simple yet striking graphic: a white drop of blood beneath a curved double chevron. Positioned prominently on my chest, about the size of my hand, it gave me a distinctive air. Regan sported a smaller version over her heart, echoing the solidarity of our team.

As I adjusted the fit and admired the transformation in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The gear was more than just a change of clothes; it marked a visual affirmation of our quest ahead.

"Nice design," I remarked. "Thank you very much.”

Taylor regarded me with deep concern in her ocean-blue eyes. "Just make sure both of you return from this in one piece, and then we'll decide on a name. Deal?" she proposed.

I nodded solemnly, feeling the weight of her words settle upon me.

"Thanks, Mom," Regan responded. A brief silence followed, pregnant with unspoken assurances and shared apprehensions exchanged in a simple glance between mother and daughter.

"Shall we then, Jonas?" Regan eventually broke the silence, prompting our departure under the burgeoning sun.

As we ventured out alone, Regan disclosed, "I crafted something for you." She presented me with a Boar's Tusk necklace fashioned from the item Duroc had earlier bestowed upon me. It was a fine piece of jewelry, enhancing my strength by two points.

I expressed my gratitude, donned the necklace, and immediately felt the newfound power coursing through my muscles.

"This would've been handy earlier. Might've spared me from being skewered," I mused.

Regan chuckled lightly.

"Let's aim to avoid that this time, Jonas. You do realize I'm counting on you to keep us both alive," she reminded me.

"I know. I'll do everything I can to keep us safe," I said earnestly.