[Current Objective: Reach Meryll]

Trudging for hours with a suitcase nuke bouncing over cracked and crumbling asphalt was an ordeal that tested both my patience and sanity. Each jostle of the wheels against a stray rock sent shivers through me, as if my insides were a nest of agitated serpents. I couldn’t shake the image of a blinding white flash followed by the abrupt and unceremonious end of my existence.

The uncertainty of whether Apocalypta had respawn or regeneration mechanics did little to ease my anxiety. Regan had assured me the tactical warhead was completely safe.

“Completely and utterly safe,” she had insisted, her tone almost fanatical. “Well, I wouldn’t recommend shooting at it or setting it on fire, but under normal conditions, it’s as secure as can be.”

“You know, Regan, that doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,” I had replied, my skepticism dripping from every word.

“Don’t doubt my craftsmanship, Jonas. Unless you’re deliberately trying to be idiotic, the nuke won’t detonate.”

“If it’s so safe, why not just keep it here?” I’d asked, pointing out the glaringly obvious.

“Because,” she said, as if revealing a profound truth, “I don’t trust that someone around here wouldn’t do something incredibly foolish if they stumbled upon it. Look here.”

She unfastened the heavy buckles on the side of the reinforced casing, and the lid swung open to reveal a chaotic tangle of wires and a complex assembly of components. A screen blinked to life, briefly showing “readying” before flashing an icon of a fully charged battery.

Regan pointed to a retractable terminal plug, partially hidden behind the screen. “This device,” she explained, “can’t detonate unless you insert this gizmo into a computer and use that computer to start the countdown. It’s a safety measure I built when I reassembled the device. Still, I have a nagging suspicion some well-meaning Notter will stumble upon it and turn this place into a crater.”

“I can definitely see that happening,” I admitted, having dealt with Notters enough to know their grasp of complex safety protocols was, to put it mildly, limited. “But there’s something else that bothers me. What’s with the battery icon?”

“Ah, that,” Regan said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “is because the explosives were already primed and degrade over time. It’s like storing a lit stick of dynamite; the timer’s always ticking down. Even if you store the whole rig, it naturally deteriorates. What I managed to do was shift the countdown from a time-based mode to a battery-based mode.”

I fixed Regan with a look of barely concealed panic. “So, you’ve effectively extended my time from...?”

“Hours to weeks,” she replied with a casual nonchalance that only someone well-versed in doomsday devices could manage. “You’ve got about two to three weeks to dispose of the thing before it goes off.”

“Two weeks,” I said, forcing a semblance of gratitude. “Well, that’s better than nothing.”

“Maybe two weeks,” she cautioned. “Just remember, don’t go setting it on fire or microwaving it. Apart from that, you should be fine.”

Feeling profoundly miserable as I dragged the wheeled suitcase across the wasteland, I was far from “okay.” The trek was moving at a pace that could generously be described as glacial.

I’d already endured two brief but decidedly unwelcome skirmishes with Raiders and Rust Badgers, which did nothing to lift my spirits. Despite these setbacks, I trudged onward towards the forest, now a dark, impenetrable mass on the horizon. What had once been a vague smudge was now a dense, suffocating canopy of black leaves, swallowing every scrap of sunlight. Even the burnt orange hue of dusk did little to pierce the oppressive gloom cast by the twisted branches reaching skyward.

It quickly became apparent why Rolland had such a pronounced aversion to this forest. Before I even stepped inside, I could almost feel the malevolence oozing from the shadows, a palpable menace pressing against my senses.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath me began to rumble. I braced for a confrontation as my entire body quaked with small tremors that rapidly escalated into uncontrollable shivers. The suitcase rattled ominously as I readied my pistol. Suddenly, the earth erupted beneath me with a deafening roar. I was catapulted backwards, clutching the suitcase as if it were a lifeline in a storm.

I landed with a sickening crunch, the suitcase slamming into my chest and delivering a jolt of pain that cost me ten percent of my health in fall damage. Struggling to my feet, I stared at a dusty hill that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. But this hill wasn’t just a mound of earth; it was a living, breathing entity, hissing with the malignancy of a demonic steam engine. As clumps of dried mud and wasteland grass tumbled away, the true horror was revealed: a colossal creature with six insectoid legs and a body so immense it could have served as a small fortress. Its eyes were the size of my fists, positioned behind formidable mandibles and a horn as long as I was tall.

I didn’t need a wasteland bestiary or survival guide to recognize the monstrous creature before me. This was unmistakably one of the Titan Beetles Rolland had warned me about on my first day. Its carapace was a deep, inky blue, so dark it bordered on black. It was instantly clear that my weapons would be as effective against it as a feather duster against a tank.

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My grim realization was confirmed when the five bullets from my pistol bounced off with a series of ominous clinks. The Titan Beetle, clearly unimpressed by my feeble attempt at defense, lowered its massive head and charged with a force that could make an avalanche rethink its career path.

Abandoning the suitcase nuke—somehow managing to wrench myself away from thoughts of my impending doom—I bolted to the right. There was no grand strategy; just raw, instinctual panic driving my every move. I hoped to put enough distance between myself and the Titan so my Yellow Belly perk would kick in and convince the beast to lose interest. It didn’t.

My assumption that such a colossal creature would be slow and cumbersome was quickly shattered. The beetle pursued me with unnerving speed, each pounding step resonating with murderous intent. The low hiss that emanated from its massive form rattled my bones, while the sharp clacking of its mandibles was a grim reminder of the grisly fate nipping at my heels.

Desperate to avoid being flattened, I threw myself to the ground, curling into a defensive ball and shielding my head with my hands. This, of course, was about as effective as using a wet noodle as a shield. Each crushing footfall reverberated through the earth, flattening everything in its path.

Peeking through splayed fingers, I assessed the Titan Beetle more thoroughly. Its top was armored like a tank, but its underside was a fleshy, vulnerable expanse. The leg joints were similarly exposed. Striking these areas might be my ticket to survival, but the odds were far from favorable. Maintaining a dance of diving and dodging to wear down the monster seemed like a death wish. One decisive blow from the beetle could end me, and even a glancing hit could cripple me, making it easy for the beetle to finish me off.

Fortunately, the beetle’s terrifying speed combined with its bulk made it awkward to change direction. The creature rocketed past me with such force that it continued its momentum, hurtling away into the wasteland’s bleak expanse.

I scrambled to my feet and saw that the beetle had skittered at least fifteen feet away, with that distance growing steadily. I briefly considered running again but quickly dismissed the idea.

The beetle’s glossy, black carapace tensed, and its pearlescent wings unfurled.

“No,” I muttered, watching the beetle’s wings unfurl. “There’s no way that thing can fly.”

It couldn’t fly in the traditional sense, but it used those wings to generate enough lift for a sweeping, arcing maneuver. The drone of its wings was a discordant roar that drowned out everything else, a mechanical symphony of impending doom. The Titan Beetle hurtled back toward me, maintaining its relentless momentum. This was a true wasteland nightmare, and I felt woefully unprepared.

The beetle crashed back to earth less than fifty feet away, sending splinters of rock skittering as it pulverized everything in its path with its monstrous mandibles. Its strategy was brutally straightforward: it would slice me in half if I tried to slip beneath it again, or impale me with its horn if I did nothing.

I opted for a third, decidedly reckless option. Gripping my spear with both hands, I braced myself for what could only be described as a truly idiotic maneuver. With the Titan Beetle bearing down on me, I scrambled through my inventory, desperately searching for a bottle of Eclipsed Nightshade I had taken from Crushing Feilds.In my panic, I overshot the item and had to scroll back with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. Once I found the vial, I drenched the spear's blade in the toxic concoction and charged toward the oncoming juggernaut.

At the last possible moment, I thrust the spear’s shaft into the ground and propelled myself skyward. With minimal concern for the now-green-tinged blade, I vaulted over the stampeding beetle. My strength and agility enhancements worked together as I twisted mid-air, lifting the spear above me.

Time seemed to stretch into infinity as I rotated, suspended in the air, surveying the beetle below. Just as I reached the zenith of my arc, the beetle’s carapace began to rise, revealing the fleshy muscles beneath its armored shell.

I had intended to land directly on the monster, but it became glaringly apparent that I was going to overshoot. Cursing my luck, I aimed and hurled the spear with all my might. It struck true, piercing the soft flesh connecting to the beetle’s underside. The Titan Beetle emitted a spine-chilling screech, its hissing crescendoing into a high-pitched whistle. I landed awkwardly, tumbled, and crashed gracelessly onto the ground, more than a bit surprised that my attack had actually inflicted some damage.

The furious buzz of the beetle’s wings jolted me back to reality. The creature took to the air again, spiraling upward as it recalculated its attack. I watched, counting the agonizingly slow seconds as it ascended. At the peak of its climb, some fifty feet above, the beetle angled itself for a dive.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered if my earlier stunt had inspired this aerial display. Then the gravity of my situation hit me with the force of a freight train. Twelve tons of oversized insect was hurtling towards me at terminal velocity. If the poison didn’t take effect in time, the beetle would glide in on open wings and flatten me like a pancake.

Realizing that running was about as effective as using a paper fan to fend off a tornado, I resolved to make my stand. My earlier combat blunders had sharpened my reflexes and tempered my resilience, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of confidence in my physical prowess. I wasn’t about to grapple with the Titan Beetle with my bare hands; I just needed to hold out a few more seconds until the poison took effect.

“You’ve got this, Jonas,” I muttered, trying to rally my spirits. The pep talk sounded as absurd as discussing quantum mechanics with a toaster, but it was oddly comforting. I pressed on.

“Jonas Bryant, this world is yours,” I said, using the full name I had chosen for myself. “You’re not going to let an oversized roach stop you. It’s just another obstacle, another hurdle in the endless relay race of survival. You’ll conquer this one, and the next, and the next. This world may throw everything it’s got at you, but you’re designed to outlast it all. Survive and thrive. Let them try to stop you.”

The beetle plummeted from the sky, its legs twitching and flailing in a grotesque ballet of insectile agony. The cacophony of hissing and buzzing abruptly ceased, leaving only a profound, eerie silence. The poison had done its job. The Titan Beetle’s massive carcass crashed to the ground fifteen feet away, sending up a plume of dust and a sprinkling of beetle ichor. I barely registered the mess; the creature was down, and I’d just earned enough experience points to propel me halfway to my next level.

“Good riddance,” I growled, savoring the sweet, tangible sense of victory.

A new perk notification flashed before me: Life Coach. It promised a two percent boost to all skills and abilities for thirty seconds whenever I felt particularly confident. A charming addition to my repertoire, though I’d need to explore its applications later, preferably with less urgency.

I retrieved my spear from the beetle’s exoskeleton with grim satisfaction. The option to butcher the creature popped up, but the thought of bug meat burgers was unappealing. I opted instead to plunder the body, extracting chitin plates for armor crafting. No squirmy bits or unappetizing scraps—just useful materials.

“Nice work, Jonas. Seriously, bro, that was some top-notch performance,” came a voice from behind me. It wasn’t my voice. It was deeper, rougher, like an overzealous caricature of manliness. I turned to see a man lounging against a burnt-out vehicle, an intruder in a battle that hadn’t seemed to involve him.

“Really, bravo,” he continued, clapping softly with a theatrical flair. “When you leaped over that beetle, I was like, ‘No way, bro.’ And the poison? Didn’t see that coming. And the speech? Literal goosebumps.”

The man was a vision of wasteland fashion—black leather jacket with more armor enhancements than a power suit, padded and reinforced pants, and boots that could double as medieval weaponry. Despite his attempt at understated attire, he radiated an aura of casual violence and purposeful swagger.

“Who are you?” I asked, my curiosity piqued and my suspicions aroused. I had a sinking feeling that this encounter might be either a stroke of luck or a cruel twist of fate.

“Me?” The man asked, his confusion genuine but comical. “I’m the Primary Player, dawg.”