The world, seen from the top of the tower, was a vast, silent sea of red. The only island of consequence was the rock quarry in the distance, a nest of vipers that was about to send its venom their way.
"Twenty-four hours," Alex repeated, the words feeling like a death sentence. He looked at Maya. The playful, bubbly woman from the bunker was gone. In her place stood Sergeant Rostova.
Her eyes were cold, her jaw was set, and she was already doing the grim calculus of survival. One skilled soldier with limited ammo, Alex thought, his own mind racing, cataloging their situation.
A system, which I don't fully understand yet. A concrete bunker. A broken ankle. And a war party of hungry cannibals on the way. The odds aren't just bad; they're laughable.
"Okay," he said, turning to her, his voice adopting a calm, analytical tone that surprised even himself. "Let's get to work. What are our assets?"
Maya didn't miss a beat. "One Stalker-1 rifle, your toy. One standard-issue military sidearm. Ninety-four rounds of rifle ammunition, two full clips for the pistol. Two M-18 Claymore mines. My knife. Your wits."
She gave him a sharp look. "Let's hope that last one is a significant force multiplier."
"It will be," Alex promised. "They're expecting a fortress. We're going to give them a slaughterhouse. That electric fence I mentioned… how powerful can we make it?"
Maya's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Depends, boy?"
They immediately go to work, Alex saw one thing that Maya didn't consider an important asset.
[Object: Damaged K-7 Military Radio.
Properties: Salvageable (Copper Wiring, Power Converters, Vacuum Tubes), Repairable (Partial), Power Source (Depleted).]
The next several hours were a frantic job of creation and fortification. Maya was a whirlwind of disciplined energy.
She stripped the small compound of anything useful, barricading the lower-floor windows with metal shelving and reinforcing the main bunker door.
She showed Alex how to create kill zones, fields of fire from the rooftop and the second-floor windows that would funnel the Scrappers into specific, exposed areas.
She handled her two precious Claymore mines like a holy priestess preparing a sacrament, placing one near the main gate and another along a likely flanking route.
Alex, meanwhile, declared war on the defunct radio. With Maya hauling the heavy chassis onto the workbench, he went to work, his hands a blur.
Analyze.
The System broke the machine down into its component concepts. He saw not a broken radio, but a collection of possibilities.
He Extracted the concept of [Conductivity] from the pristine copper wiring, storing it in his mind. He found the main power converter. It was heavy, but intact.
"This is our heart," he said to Maya, who had stopped to watch him, a curious glint in her eyes. "But it needs a way to store and discharge a massive amount of energy all at once."
He found a bank of large, cylindrical vacuum tubes. He laid his hands on them.
Analyze.
[Object: Military-Grade Vacuum Tubes. Properties: Energy Regulation (High), Brittle (Moderate), Potential Energy Storage (High).]
'Perfect.'
He focused.
'Extract [Energy Storage].'
He did this for all six tubes, the concepts stacking in his mind like invisible charges. Then, he looked at the power converter.
'Integrate [Energy Storage] x6 into the power converter.'
[Attempting to Integrate Complex Concepts...] Success!
The converter, a dull grey box, seemed to hum for a moment, a faint blue light tracing its internal circuits before fading. He had turned it into a massive, high-capacity capacitor. A battery capable of delivering a single, monstrous jolt of power.
They worked through the day, a strange, efficient team. He'd struggle with a heavy component, and she would lift it with an easy strength, a teasing smirk on her face. "Need a hand, city boy?" she'd ask.
He cut his hand on a sharp piece of metal, and she was there instantly, her playful demeanor gone, replaced by a medic's calm efficiency.
She was about to use a dirty rag and some ration-grade alcohol when he pulled a small, sealed antiseptic wipe and a sterile bandage from his jacket.
She stopped, staring at the pristine medical supplies with the same awe she'd shown for the chocolate bar. Their two worlds, colliding in a moment of shared work and quiet understanding.
As the rust-colored sun began to dip below the horizon, they were finished. A web of copper wire, barely visible in the dust, was strung across the main chokepoints, all leading back to Alex's super-charged converter.
The tower was quiet. Ready.
"I think they are here already…"
"I expected that!" Maya gritted her teeth in frustration.
The attack began not with a roar, but with a rhythmic, unnerving beat.
Thump. Thump-thump. Thump.
In the dying light, they saw them. The Scrappers. At least thirty of them, emerging from the rocks at the edge of the compound. They weren't charging. They were just standing there, silhouettes against the crimson sky, banging on scavenged drums and howling like wolves, their voices a chilling chorus of madness.
Alex felt his heart pound in his chest, a frantic rhythm against the steady, terrifying beat of the drums. This was it. This was real. He looked at Maya, who was lying prone on the rooftop, the Stalker-1 rifle resting comfortably on a sandbag.
She was perfectly calm, her breathing slow and even, her eyes scanning the field. Her absolute professionalism was an anchor in his storm of fear.
After an eternity of psychological warfare, a group of five Scrappers broke from the main line and sprinted toward the fence, brandishing their weapons.
"The probe," Maya whispered. "They're testing us." The lead Scrapper hit the tripwire connected to Alex's device.
Alex, watching from the bunker's firing slit, slammed his hand down on the activation switch.
"SHIIIIIIGNNNNNNN!!"
A brilliant flash of blue-white light arced across the compound. The five Scrappers were lit up like skeletons in an x-ray, their bodies convulsing violently as thousands of volts coursed through them.
"UeGHHHHHHH!!"
"GEHHHHHHHHEHE!!"
Their screams were short and sharp. They collapsed, twitching, smoke rising from their bodies.
Alex's invention had worked. A savage grin split his face. From the rooftop, a single, sharp CRACK echoed. Maya's shot. One of the cannibals further back, an archer who had been raising a bow, crumpled to the ground.
The first wave was over in less than ten seconds. The drumming stopped. The remaining Scrappers stared in shock and fear at their fallen comrades, then retreated back into the darkness.
They had won the first round. Maya came down the ladder, a rare, genuine smile on her face. "Not bad, boy," she said, her eyes shining with adrenaline and newfound respect.
"Not bad at all." At that exact moment, an urgent, ice-cold notification blazed in Alex's vision.
[Warning: Dimensional Anchor is destabilizing. The 7-day safety protocol has been reached.]
[Mandatory translocation will occur in 10:00 minutes.]
The blood drained from Alex's face.
'No. No, no, no. Not now! '
The main attack was still coming. He couldn't leave her. He couldn't. "Maya…" he started, his voice a choked whisper.
He looked at her, at the trust and camaraderie that had just begun to form in her eyes, and a desperate panic flooded him.
"Something's... something's wrong. I have to..." He couldn't explain. How could he possibly explain? She saw the look on his face, the sheer terror that had nothing to do with the cannibals outside, and her smile vanished, replaced by a cold, familiar suspicion.
The System's countdown timer ticked silently in his mind.
9:59… 9:58…