The second time around, the dungeon felt less like a terrifying foray into an alien dimension and more like a tedious commute to a very strange, very violent office. The element of surprise was gone, replaced by a grim, practiced efficiency. They were a well-oiled machine of destruction now, a four-person engine designed for the sole purpose of turning horned rabbits into Coins. It was a harvest, and they were the reapers.
Michael was the blade, a silent, silver whirlwind at the heart of the storm, his longsword a blur that reaped heads with the casual ease of a farmer scything wheat. Emma was the hammer, a pink-haired hurricane of fists and feet, each blow a percussive, bone-shattering thunderclap that sent the grey-furred monsters flying. Andy, having found his rhythm, was the artillery, a stationary turret of crimson energy, picking off targets with a newfound and deadly precision. His initial panicked wobbles had been replaced by a cold, steady aim that was frankly a little terrifying in a boy his age.
And Riley? Riley was the ghoulish quartermaster. With the front line so brutally, beautifully effective, she found herself with an almost luxurious amount of breathing room. She still fired her pistol, the sharp sound of azure energy a steady, rhythmic punctuation to the chaos, but her primary focus was on the aftermath. With every rabbit that fell, she was there, a blur of motion in her dark cargo pants, snatching the cooling corpses from the white grass and stuffing them into the endless void of her
The moment the streak of molten gold appeared, a sunbeam of pure profit zipping across the battlefield, Riley didn't even hesitate. There was no need for calculation this time, no moment of tense observation. The pattern was already etched into her brain. She moved immediately, her steps calm and deliberate, a single, purposeful figure walking to a specific, seemingly random spot in the sea of white.
She just stopped, planted her feet, and waited. The horde of grey rabbits, their programming screaming at them to attack the most vulnerable target, immediately diverted, a tidal wave of horns and fury converging on her location. And right on cue, the golden rabbit, locked into its invisible track, came rocketing towards the exact same point.
A cold, beautiful smirk touched Riley's lips. Activate.
The golden dome of her
CRACK.
Her pistol was already in her hand, already aimed. The azure beam screamed across the ten feet of space inside the dome and punched a clean, smoking hole straight through the golden rabbit's head. It dropped without a sound. Riley dismissed the barrier, the entire sequence taking less than five seconds. The system's voice chimed, clean and triumphant in their minds. The frenzy had begun.
When the last of the frenzied rabbits was finally put down and the pillars of white light teleported them back to the familiar green of their home, Riley was a fortress of calm. Inside, however, a giddy, avaricious goblin was doing a frantic jig, counting a mountain of imaginary gold coins with a maniacal glee. She had played this round perfectly, and the payout was glorious. The dungeon entrance collapsed, the wooden chest materialized, and Riley opened it, her expression a careful mask of neutral curiosity.
Inside, nestled on a bed of mist, were not Coins. Her breath hitched. Two crystalline stones, each pulsing with a soft, internal light, lay waiting for her. Two
She held them in her palm, their smooth, cool surfaces a stark contrast to the sudden, frantic thumping of her own heart. She had three skills already. Three incredible, life-altering, SSS, S, and A-Grade skills. But a quiet, persistent little voice in the back of her mind pointed out a glaring, inconvenient truth. None of them, not a single one, was an active, offensive skill. She had a fortress, a pocket dimension, and an encyclopedia, but when it came to a straight-up fight, her only real contribution was a gun that ate monster cores like a starving piranha.
She wasn't sure what would happen if she used these seeds. Would she get a fourth, or even a fifth skill? And what were the odds that, after three consecutive support-type abilities, the universe would suddenly decide to bless her with Fireball or Lightning Bolt? The chances felt astronomically, laughably slim. It was far more likely she'd end up with something like
She let out a soft sigh, her gaze drifting over to where Luca was anxiously helping Mia and Leo pick the sweet red fruit from the bushes they had planted. The boy had been a whirlwind of nervous energy all morning, desperate to contribute, to prove his worth. He was brave, and he had his wings, but in a fight, he was a liability, a support player with nothing to support.
A decision, swift and certain, solidified in Riley's mind. She closed her hand around one of the seeds, stood up, and walked over to him.
Luca saw her approaching and immediately straightened up, his expression a mixture of respect and a deep, abiding fear of being a burden. "Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice quiet.
"Here," Riley said simply, holding out her hand and opening her palm to reveal the glowing crystal. "Use this. Let's see if you can get another skill."
The others, who had been quietly celebrating their own rewards, fell silent. Their gazes fell on the small, precious object in Riley's hand. They knew what it was. They understood its value, the immeasurable potential held within that single, glittering stone. It was a king's ransom, a ticket to a whole new level of power. And Riley was just… giving it away. But it was her decision, her reward to do with as she pleased, so they said nothing, watching the scene unfold with a quiet, shared respect.
Luca looked from the skill seed to Riley's face, his own expression a storm of confusion and disbelief. "But… this is yours," he stammered. "I can't…"
Riley's gaze was steady, her sea-blue eyes holding a firm, unwavering certainty that left no room for argument. "Just use it, Luca."
He swallowed hard, the sound a dry click in his throat. He looked at her one last time, then nodded, a quick, jerky motion. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't name. He took the stone, his hand trembling slightly, and closed his fingers around it.
A brilliant white light flared from his closed fist, so intense it made the two small children gasp and hide behind his legs. A moment later, the light faded, and Luca's eyes flew open, wide with a stunned, breathless wonder.
"I…" he started, his voice cracking. "My new skill is called
Emma let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy. She strode over and clapped Luca hard on the shoulder, her grin a flash of white teeth. "Nice work, kid! Wings and healing powers? What are you, an angel?"
A real, genuine smile, the first Riley had seen on him that wasn't tinged with fear or exhaustion, spread across Luca's face. He laughed, a quiet, relieved sound, and was immediately swept up in a cheerful, back-slapping conversation with Emma and Andy.
Riley watched them from a small distance, a faint, satisfied smile playing on her lips. But her eyes held a cool, calculating glint that no one else saw. Good. Now they had a proper team composition. Three dedicated attackers, and now, a dedicated healer. This was a solid foundation. Perhaps, she thought, a spark of hope igniting in her chest, in the future, she wouldn't have to risk her own neck on the front lines anymore. She could focus on what she was truly good at: building their home. Yes, she liked the sound of that very much.
She wandered back over to the campfire and sank to the ground, the remaining skill seed cool and solid in her palm. In the end, there was no real debate. She was going to use it. With a soft sigh of resignation, she closed her hand around it and whispered the command.
The familiar flash of light, the warm river of energy flowing into her chest. And then the voice, crisp and clear in her mind.
[You have awakened your S-Grade hidden skill:
Riley's eyes remained closed. Another S-Grade. Fantastic. And another skill whose name screamed 'utility' and had absolutely nothing to do with incinerating her enemies. Of course. A small, weary sigh escaped her lips. But what the hell. It was an S-Grade skill. It had to be good for something.
She shook off the fleeting disappointment and focused, pulling up the details of her new acquisition. And as she read, her initial weariness was replaced by a slow-burning, intense curiosity. This thing… this was weird.
As the name suggested, activating the skill brought up a store interface in her mind, a clean, minimalist grid of empty slots, ready to be filled with merchandise. Except, there was no merchandise. The shelves were bare. The store was a ghost town. Because, as she quickly discovered, she was the one who had to supply the goods.
There was a function, a simple, unassuming button labeled 'Scan'. This, the description explained, was how she would populate her store. She could use it to scan items she already possessed, creating a permanent, purchasable copy in the shop's inventory.
Riley's eyes narrowed. Scan what, exactly? What were the limitations? Could she scan anything? A rock? A piece of fruit? A weapon?
Well, how about she tried it right now? She thought, her hand reaching for the bone-white pistol resting on the grass beside her. She picked it up, holding it before her face. Scan, she commanded silently.
Her vision flickered for a nanosecond, a brief flash of blue light at the edges that was gone before she could even register it. She pulled up the store interface again. And there, in the top-left slot, was a perfect, high-resolution icon of her alien handgun.
It had worked. Of course, this wasn't a charity. Everything in the store had a price. She clicked on the pistol icon, and a number popped up. She let out a soft, low whistle. The price was steep, but it was possible. She could, given time, equip their entire group with these ridiculously powerful energy weapons.
A low, breathless laugh escaped her. This skill… it wasn't just a store. It was a copy machine for the apocalypse. And she loved it. She absolutely, unconditionally loved it.
Her mind immediately began to race, the possibilities blooming like a thousand supernovas. She thought of the simple, mundane, and now impossibly precious things from the old world. Soap. Shampoo. Conditioner. Toothpaste. Spices. Salt. Sugar. All the little things that had been wiped from existence, the small comforts that separated a grim, grinding survival from an actual, livable life. In a world where civilization had been reset to zero, the ability to replicate the lost artifacts of a dead era wasn't just a good skill. It was a god-tier power. It was the power to rebuild.
In fact, Riley had them, all those precious, mundane treasures from a dead world, tucked away in her
Those things could wait for a bit longer. Now, with enough members and enough Coins, Riley chose to upgrade the Safe Zone. The jump from Level 0 to Level 1 had been a revelation, a cascade of game-breaking features that had transformed her simple patch of dirt into a true fortress. She was practically vibrating with anticipation, genuinely eager to see what wonders the next level would bring.
With a flicker of thought and a silent, satisfying farewell to a thousand of her hard-earned Coins, she pressed the button. The ground beneath her feet hummed, a low, resonant vibration that seemed to emanate from the very core of her territory. A wave of golden light, richer and more potent than the last, pulsed outwards from where she stood, sweeping across the entire football field-sized area before sinking into the soil.
The system's voice chimed, clean and grand in her mind. [Congratulations! Your Safe Zone has reached Level 2.]
[As a Level 2 Safe Zone, you may now use the newly unlocked features:
Yes! Another level, and a lot of new things to do. A thrill shot through Riley, a potent cocktail of power and potential. Her first instinct, the habit of a newly minted strategist, was to immediately check the path ahead. She pulled up the requirements for Level 3, and her excitement took a small but noticeable nosedive. 20 members and 10,000 Coins. Yikes.
But, anyway, this was only the second day. She quickly reined in her ambition, offering herself a small, silent pep talk. Yeah, she couldn't really ask for the progress to jump a mile just because she wanted to.
A quick look at the build interface showed a host of new icons, a tantalizing menu of possibilities that made her mind race. She immediately felt a keen interest in a few of the new structures, but she tabled that thought for later. First, she needed to understand her new tools.
The
Fifty percent. For a fleeting, greedy moment, Riley felt a faint twinge of dissatisfaction. Only half? But she quickly squashed the thought, a wave of self-awareness washing over her. She was getting too greedy. She had to remember to be grateful for the impossible, ridiculous luck that had been dumped on her head. She was sure her life would be very different, in a very, very bad way, if this whole Safe Zone hadn't practically fallen into her lap. So, yeah, fifty percent. That was good. This meant she didn't have to worry about future renovations, about being stuck with a layout that no longer worked. She could tear down and rebuild without a total loss, a flexible, powerful tool for a growing settlement.
Next, this
This. This was the best thing that had happened all day.
This wasn't crafting. This was alchemy. It wasn't a set of instructions, a list of steps she needed to follow with her hands. It was a conversion engine, a piece of divine, system-powered magic that took the very concept of a production line, chewed it up, and spat it out in the face of physics. It didn't ask her to make something. It asked her what she wanted one thing to become.
Without a single, solitary second of hesitation, Riley's mind dove into her
The long, arduous, and frankly disgusting process of turning a dead animal into wearable clothing - the skinning, the scraping, the weeks of tanning with brain matter or harsh chemicals, the stretching, the cutting, the meticulous stitching - all of it, every single skilled, time-consuming step, was simply… gone. Waved away by a magic wand. It was a direct, impossible line from raw material straight to finished product.
And the best part, the part that made a giddy, breathless laugh bubble up in her chest, was the price tag. Or rather, the lack of one. There was no Coin cost listed. Not a single one. All it required were the materials themselves. This wasn't a purchase. It was a transformation.
Riley had to physically restrain the urge to whoop with joy. She forced her racing heart to calm, taking a deep, steadying breath. With a mental command, she stored the goat hide and fur back in her inventory and retrieved a handful of the ruby-red Sweetwater Orbs instead. She focused on them, the interface shifting instantly. And there it was. An option that made her eyes go wide. She could turn them into sugar. Not jam, not dried fruit, but pure, white, crystalline sugar. A refined, processed good that was a cornerstone of a thousand forgotten recipes, created from a piece of fruit with a thought.
She sank to the ground, and took another deep, shuddering breath, her head tilted back to face the impossibly blue sky. Dear god, she thought, a silent, fervent prayer sent out into the cosmos. Or goddess, or bored cosmic intern, or whatever omnipotent being decided to give me this fucking SSS-grade skill… thank you. From the bottom of my hopelessly unskilled, profoundly grateful heart, thank you.
Because with her own two hands? With a culinary repertoire that consisted mostly of "add hot water" and "press start on the microwave," and a talent for sewing that was limited to reattaching a button with what could only be described as a lumpy, black knot of pure despair? Riley was brutally, painfully aware of her own limitations. If she had to do this herself, if she had to learn the ancient, complex skills of her ancestors from scratch, she was pretty sure it would take her, like, ten years to successfully create a single, probably misshapen, shirt from raw materials.
She wasn't stupid. She could learn. She could read, and practice, and fail, and try again. But she didn't have the time. In this new world, time was a luxury more precious than gold, a resource she couldn't afford to spend on a decade-long apprenticeship in textiles. This skill wasn't just a convenience. It was a time machine, a shortcut across mountains of trial and error that she would have died trying to climb.
So, yeah. Thank god.
With the dungeon behind them and a small mountain of Coins burning a hole in her virtual pocket, it was time for a bit of management.
The luxury tents were magnificent, a ridiculous and wonderful testament to the system's bizarre sense of style, but their placement... She left them as they were, perfect in their impossible coziness, but with a few flicks of her mental wrist in the
The reason for this small act of architectural feng shui became immediately apparent. The simple, magically-fueled campfire, which had served them so well, vanished in a soft implosion of golden light. In its place, a far grander structure erupted from the ground. A large, circular fire pit, built from dark, smooth river stones, now occupied the heart of their settlement. It was a beautiful, rustic piece of masonry, and from its center, a soft, golden radiance pulsed, casting a steady, warm light that promised to keep the darkest nights at bay. This wasn't a cooking fire. There were no flickering flames, no crackling wood. A small, discreet slot near the base indicated its new fuel source. This was a hearth, a central point of light and warmth, powered by the hearts of their enemies. A low, steady heat radiated from it, and a simple dial on the side allowed for precise temperature control.
As for cooking, well, Riley had other plans.
A short distance from the fire pit, a small hut materialized. It was built in the same simple, functional style as the outhouse: four sturdy wooden walls, a heavy canvas flap for a door, and no roof to speak of. It was a minor miracle of post-apocalyptic carpentry, a simple box designed for a single, glorious purpose. Inside, it was a basic but functional kitchen. A long wooden countertop ran along one wall, a stone sink with a metal spigot was set into another, and a series of simple shelves were affixed above. A few of the most basic tools - a cutting board, a simple knife, a metal pot - were already present, gleaming expectantly. There were no ingredients, no spices, no food. This kitchen was a blank canvas, and Riley was the artist.
The others came jogging over, drawn by the sudden appearance of a new building. Emma was the first to stick her head inside, her bright pink hair a stark contrast to the plain wood. She whistled, a low, appreciative sound. "A kitchen, huh?"
Riley shrugged. "Seemed more hygienic than grilling everything over an open fire."
Emma grinned, her teeth flashing in the morning light. "You say that as if we can do anything other than grill meat," she teased.
A small smirk played on Riley's lips as she rolled her eyes. She turned to face the group, her expression a mask of playful mystery. "Who knows?" she said, her voice laced with a newfound confidence. "I'm full of surprises. Maybe I'll whip up a five-course gourmet meal out of thin air." She arched an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over their curious faces. "Just try to contain your shock when I do more amazing things in the future, okay?"
Emma just snorted with laughter, shaking her head. "Whatever you say, girlie." With that, she turned, scooping up Mia and Leo with an effortless grace. "Come on, ankle-biters! Last one to the river is a rotten horned rabbit!" The two small children shrieked with delight, and the three of them, with Andy and Luca trailing happily behind, sprinted off towards the sound of running water, their laughter echoing in the quiet clearing.
That left Riley and Michael. A comfortable, professional silence settled between them, a silent understanding that neither of them felt the need to fill the air with useless chatter. He gave the new kitchen a single, appreciative nod, then walked over to the new and improved fire pit, settling into a cross-legged position near its gentle warmth. And Riley, with a small, satisfied smile, stepped into her new kitchen.
Finally, she was alone. Now she could get to work.
A large cardboard box, the kind that screamed 'fragile, handle with care,' materialized on the floor in front of her with a soft thud. Riley took a deep breath, knelt, and sliced through the packing tape with her dagger. This box, she remembered with a faint flush of embarrassment, was the one she had frantically stuffed with the entire contents of her old kitchen. That included a small collection of common spices, which, she had to admit, were almost entirely full.
Yeah, that was her fault. Excuse her for being too damn tired to cook a real meal after spending eight hours a day staring at a spreadsheet that was actively trying to suck out her soul. To be honest, she thought with a wry internal smirk, she blamed the fantastic Chinese takeout place two blocks from her old apartment. But now, that particular sin of laziness had become a post-apocalyptic virtue.
Her fingers dove into the box. She pulled out a bottle of cooking oil, a jar of salt, a shaker of black pepper, and a small container of sugar. Yeah, that was about it. Sorry. But then her fingers brushed against something else, a plastic shaker she had completely forgotten about. A wide grin spread across her face as she pulled it out. It was a large container of powdered cheese. "Ooh, nice," she whispered, the words a reverent prayer to the god of junk food. A moment later, she unearthed half a loaf of sliced bread. And thank god, time inside the
One by one, she held them up, the blue light of the scan function flickering in her vision as she registered each precious item into her
Then, with a series of swift mental purchases, she filled the empty spice rack on the wall with brand-new, system-generated copies. The price was relatively cheap, but the scaling was a complete mystery. A jar of salt cost 10 Coins. Considering the luxury tent she had built yesterday cost 100 Coins, that felt… weird. So, by that logic, ten jars of salt were worth one magnificent, fully-furnished tent? The logic was not logicting, but whatever. She wasn't about to complain.
Her kitchen now barely stocked with spices, she returned to her own tent and began the more personal phase of the operation. She retrieved another box, this one filled with toiletries. A bar of soap, a comb, a bottle of shampoo, a tube of toothpaste, and a multi-pack of toothbrushes. Thankfully, the brushes were all brand new, still sealed in their plastic packaging, so she could share them without the gross implication that everyone was using a hand-me-down from her own mouth.
The process of scanning everything, of meticulously cataloging the mundane artifacts of a dead world, was surprisingly time-consuming. By the time the sun had climbed high into the sky, casting short, sharp shadows on the grass, Riley finally decided she was done. For now.
Riley stepped out of her tent, blinking in the bright morning light. The sun was a warm hand on her face, the air clean and tasting of sweet grass. She stretched, a long, satisfying groan escaping her lips as the last vestiges of a deep, dreamless sleep were chased from her muscles. She felt… good. Really good. It was a feeling so foreign and so welcome it almost brought a tear to her eye. The sight of Michael returning through the main gate, another massive Spark-Horned Goat slung effortlessly over his broad shoulders, barely even registered as a surprise. When had he even left? She had no idea, but… yay, a new goat.
Spotting her, he changed his trajectory, his long strides eating up the distance between them. He stopped at the stone table and, with a controlled grunt, deposited the carcass onto the slab with a heavy, wet thud.
He looked up at her, a faint, almost invisible glint of amusement in his green eyes. "So," he asked, his voice a low, rumbling counterpoint to the crackle of the fire pit. "What kind of magic are you going to do today?"
Riley rolled her eyes, a gesture that was becoming her default response to teasing. She let out a soft sigh that was only half-exasperated and stepped forward. Placing a hand on the goat's flank, she activated her skill. In a soft pulse of golden light, the carcass vanished, replaced by neat, perfectly sorted piles of meat, bone, and organs. Riley swiftly stored all of it away in her
She looked up at Michael, a new idea sparking in her mind. "How about a change of clothes?"
She retrieved the hide and fur from the previous day's goat, adding them to the fresh pile on the table.
"With these?" Michael asked, gesturing to the raw materials with his knife. A single, skeptical eyebrow arched on his forehead. "Can you?"
"Obviously I can't," Riley sighed, the admission a familiar sting of her own perceived incompetence. "But I have a way to turn them into clothes."
With that, she focused her mind, the
In a heartbeat, a large portion of the fur on the table simply vanished, dissolving into a swirl of silver-white motes of light that flowed into her outstretched hands. In its place, a neatly folded piece of fabric appeared. No, not just fabric. It was a t-shirt, its color a soft, heathered greyish-white, an almost perfect match for the fur that had just ceased to exist.
She held it up, inspecting it. It was clean, impossibly soft, and looked for all the world like a modern, well-made t-shirt. The stitching was perfect, the cut simple and classic. This, she thought with a small, satisfied nod, was much better than she had expected.
She held the shirt out to Michael. "Can you try this on?"
He raised an eyebrow again, a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. He took the shirt, its softness a clear contrast to the rough, worn fabric of his own jacket. He unzipped the dark, slightly torn garment, shrugging it from his shoulders, and Riley's brain short-circuited. She spun around, her face suddenly hot, presenting him with a very interesting view of her back.
A few seconds later, she heard his voice, a low note of approval. "This is good."
Riley took a breath and turned back. He was wearing it. The greyish-white shirt stretched across his chest, a perfect, snug fit that hugged the powerful muscles of his torso and the curve of his biceps in a way that was both impressive and deeply distracting.
"Is this really made from that fur?" he asked, flexing his shoulders slightly. "It's soft, and very breathable." The praise was genuine, his expression one of clear satisfaction.
Riley looked at the way the fabric defined his form, then quickly forced her gaze up to meet his, a small pout on her lips. "It looks a little tight, doesn't it?" she said, the words a flimsy excuse. "I don't have any measuring tools, so I had to guess."
A corner of Michael's mouth quirked upwards in a slow, satisfied smirk. "It's fine," he said, his voice holding a note of something that sounded suspiciously like pleasure. "I like it."
Riley nodded, turning her attention back to the remaining pile of fur on the table. "Good thing these goats have so much fur. There's enough left to make three more shirts." She hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought. "I'm not sure about using this material for pants, though. It seems too soft. It would probably make good sleepwear, but I doubt it would hold up to daily wear and combat."
Michael nodded in agreement. "That makes sense. What about the goat hide?"
Riley arched an eyebrow at him. "Goat hide? You really want to wear leather pants? That doesn't sound very comfortable."
The golden-haired man just smiled, "At this point, I don't think I'm in a position to be picky." He paused, then asked, "Do you need me to bring back a few more goats? I saw plenty of them out there."
"That sounds like a good idea," Riley nodded.
And so, Michael, clad in his new, perfectly-fitted t-shirt, immediately turned and strode towards the gate, a lightness in his step that hadn't been there before. As he disappeared into the endless green, Riley could have sworn his back looked a little straighter, a little happier. But that, she decided, was probably just her imagination.
Left alone, she turned her attention to the goat hide. It was a similar color to the fur, but a deeper, more solid greyish-white. She ran a hand over its smooth surface. She could definitely turn this into boots, or maybe a belt. But as she scanned the available blueprints, she saw that the designs were all simple, almost primitive. The more modern, durable styles all required metal components for buckles and rivets, which meant she would need to find a source of metal ore.
Well, she thought with a small, internal sigh, another problem for another day. Maybe I should think about lunch instead.
So, she went to make lunch.
Riley was not a chef. Hell, she rarely cooked in her old life, a fact attested to by the collection of takeout menus that had served as a primary decorative feature in her former kitchen. But some basic dishes, things that didn't require a culinary degree or an intuitive understanding of spice pairings, couldn't be that hard. Probably. And if the final product turned out to be a borderline-edible disaster… well, she could always blame it on the severe lack of resources in this brave new world. It was a perfect, pre-packaged excuse, and she clung to it like a life raft.
First, she tackled the soup. She filled a large metal pot with clean water from the sink, plopped in the pile of goat bones, and set it over a low, steady heat from the monster-core-powered stove she had built in a fit of inspiration after scanning a single, sad hot plate from her old apartment. The scent of simmering bone broth, rich and savory, soon began to fill the small, roofless kitchen. While that was working its magic, she took a hefty portion of the disassembled goat meat and, with a focus that was usually reserved for particularly tricky spreadsheets, began to mince it. She mixed the mince with a bit of salt and pepper, rolled it into a series of somewhat lumpy, uneven meatballs, and set them aside. Next, she fired up a large pan with a slick of oil. More goat meat, this time cut into small, bite-sized chunks, hit the hot surface with a satisfying sizzle. She tossed it with the holy trinity of basic flavor - salt, sugar, and pepper - until it was browned and fragrant. That, she decided, would go perfectly with the bread.
When the bone broth had developed a deep, fragrant character, she skimmed the top and unceremoniously dumped the lumpy meatballs in. She then retrieved a half-dozen of the ruby-red Sweetwater Orbs, sliced them into thick wedges, and tossed them into the pot as well, the sweet, floral scent immediately mingling with the savory aroma of the broth. A few more minutes of simmering, a final taste and a cautious adjustment of the seasoning, and it was done.
A soup and a main dish. There was lunch. Riley did not feel a single flicker of pride for either of them, but whatever. They were food.
By the time she had carried the large pot of soup and the heavy pan of fried meat out to the stone table, a sudden, horrifying realization crashed down on her. Oh, shit. They didn't have any bowls, plates, spoons, or forks. With a groan that seemed to emanate from the very depths of her soul, she once again had to dive into her
Michael was the first to return, a silent, powerful figure striding through the gate. He wasn't just dragging one goat this time. He was dragging four, all tied together with a length of rope, their legs kicking feebly. Tied to his hip was a large, bulging cloth sack that hadn't been there before. He deposited the four protesting goats into a makeshift pen Riley had quickly assembled near the kitchen, then untied the sack from his belt and set it down gently. He walked over to the table, his gaze falling on the steaming food. A low, appreciative rumble escaped his chest. "Smells good."
Riley shot him a skeptical side-eye, not buying the compliment for a second. "Just a couple of simple dishes," she said, her voice flat. "Hopefully, they aren't too terrible."
Emma's group returned a few minutes later, a boisterous, happy tide of laughter and chatter. They had clearly had a good time, returning with a fresh haul of Sweetwater Orbs. Andy was beaming, proudly holding up a string from which hung five large, sleek, silver-bodied fish.
"We found them a little way downstream from here," he announced, his voice full of a triumphant excitement. "I don't know if they're edible, though."
Emma, gently setting a now-clean Mia and Leo down on the grass, snorted. "Those things are fast! And they spit water at you!"
Riley told Andy to take the fish to the kitchen for now. First, everyone needed to wash up, and then it was time for lunch.
The meal, consisting of sliced bread stuffed with sizzling pan-fried goat meat and bowls of the rich goat bone soup with meatballs and sweet red fruit, turned out to be a hit. Kinda. Well, the others were all lavish with their praise, and they ate with a gusto that bordered on alarming, Michael himself having a second, heaping portion of everything. So, Riley, still privately convinced her cooking was a crime against taste buds, chose to believe them.
After the meal, Emma, ever the proactive one, immediately claimed the dishwashing duties. Fortunately, Riley had anticipated this. She had already scanned a bottle of dish soap and a sponge, and with a quick mental purchase, she handed the brand-new, system-generated items to a very surprised Emma. Andy and Luca offered to help, but Emma waved them away with a flick of her soapy hand. "Nah, you two go do something else," she commanded. "Like, take a nap."
Riley, feeling the full, oppressive weight of the midday sun, retreated into the cool, fan-powered sanctuary of her tent. A new thought began to form in her mind as she lay on the soft fur mattress, staring up at the bright canvas ceiling. Maybe it was time to edit the zone a little. Without any trees, the noon sun was a bit too harsh.
The oppressive midday sun was a physical weight, a stark contrast to the gentle, almost apologetic dawn. Riley lay on the impossibly soft fur mattress, the cool breeze from the monster-core-powered fan a small, absurd miracle against the encroaching heat. She let out a soft sigh. Before retreating into the tent, she had extinguished the golden glow of the central fire pit. The warmth had vanished, leaving only the ambient heat of the day. She made a mental note: if the weather stayed like this, clear and warm, the fire pit would become a nocturnal luxury, a beacon of light and comfort only from dusk until the next morning.
Still, the sun was a problem. A smattering of trees would be a godsend, their leaves a natural canopy that would dapple the harsh light into something softer, more bearable. But she couldn't just start planting them haphazardly. Her mind, now hardwired for logistics and long-term planning, pictured it clearly: a neat, orderly orchard for the Sweetwater Orbs, a straight, dense line of taller trees along the western fence to act as a windbreak, a few shade trees carefully positioned in the communal area. It needed a plan, a proper design.
In the meantime, she pulled up the build menu in her mind. Yes, there it was. An icon depicting a 'Large Parasol', a sturdy-looking umbrella with a heavy wooden frame. It was a band-aid solution, a temporary fix, but it was better than slowly cooking under the open sky.
This whole problem of the weather, however, had unearthed a deeper, more unsettling anxiety. What season was it, anyway? According to the calendar of the old world, the world that had been violently erased just two days ago, it was the beginning of October. It should have been autumn, a season of cool breezes, crisp air, and the gentle turning of leaves. This felt more like the peak of a sweltering summer.
In this new world, after everything had been so fundamentally changed, would the seasons remain the same? Or had they been reset, or worse, scrambled into some new, unpredictable cycle? The unknown was a monster far larger than any Skull Vulture. Would there be a rainy season, a biblical deluge that could turn their perfect meadow into a sea of mud? Would there be a winter, and if so, would it be a gentle dusting of snow or a new ice age, a blizzard that could bury their entire settlement under a frozen tomb? There were too many variables, too many potential catastrophes to prepare for. Riley let out a long, weary sigh, the sound lost in the gentle whir of the fan.
A jagged blade of sound ripped through the peaceful afternoon, a shriek so loud and piercing it was like a razor's edge against the eardrums.
Riley shot upright, her body moving before her mind had even caught up. The pistol was in her hand without a conscious thought, its cool, familiar weight a grim anchor in the sudden storm of adrenaline. She scrambled out of the tent, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.
Far in the distance, a single black speck was circling against the vast, impossibly blue canvas of the sky. It was too far away to make out any details, a mere mote of dust on a perfect painting. But that sound… that grating, metallic cry was a scar on her memory, a sound she had hoped to never hear again.
Her fists clenched at her sides, a silent command hovering on the tip of her tongue, ready to erupt the Safe Barrier at a moment's notice if that speck dared to move in their direction. The others were already pouring out of their own tents, their post-lunch stupor shattered, their faces a mixture of alarm and confusion.
Emma was the first to reach her. She squinted, her eyes narrowing against the bright sky. "That's it, isn't it, Riley?" she asked, her voice low and tight.
"Probably," Riley answered, her own voice a strained whisper.
Yes. It was probably the Elite Skull Vulture. The regional boss-class monster they had seen in the city, the creature that had made them feel like insects cowering in the shadow of a boot.
"Why is it all the way out here?" Emma demanded, "Wasn't it doing just fine back in the city?"
It was Michael who answered, his voice as cold and logical as a blade of ice. He hadn't taken his eyes off the distant silhouette. "Food is a finite resource. The city's supply must be dwindling. And now, it's expanding its territory." The implication hung heavy in the air, a chilling, unspoken threat: they were standing in the middle of its new hunting grounds.
A cold dread trickled down Riley's spine. But Luca, who had come to stand beside Andy, his face pale with a familiar terror, offered another piece to the puzzle. "Maybe… maybe it's because they can't compete with the monkeys."
Everyone turned to look at him. Luca swallowed hard, but he met their gazes, the firsthand knowledge of a survivor giving his young voice a grim authority. "After the black clouds, the monsters didn't just attack people. They started fighting each other. The city isn't a buffet anymore. It's a warzone. The dog-things were driven out first." He took a shaky breath. "But the birds and the monkeys are still there. The birds can fly, but in a straight fight, they're no match for the monkeys' strength and numbers. The only real power they have is… that big one. But the monkeys are smart. They know how to hide."
Emma cut in, her brow furrowed. "What about all the zombies? Aren't they an easy meal?"
Luca shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. "The monsters… they don't seem to be interested in the zombies."
So, Riley thought, a cold, hard knot of understanding forming in her stomach, this is the result of losing the food competition? The migration of the city's apex predators out into the wider world was not good news. It was catastrophic news. Today, it was the birds. Who was to say that tomorrow, a horde of Flame-Horned Macaques wouldn't decide to follow?
To their profound, collective relief, the distant black shape seemed to make up its mind. It banked hard, its vast wings catching the sun for a moment, and then flew off in a different direction, a steadily shrinking speck that finally vanished over the horizon. The shriek faded, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier, more fragile than before.
But who knew if it would be back? Who knew if it had simply been scouting, marking their small, defiant settlement on a mental map of future meals?
Riley's brow creased, a deep frown settling on her face. She looked from the sturdy wooden fence to the faces of her small, precious group. "We have to do something," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "We have to prepare for the worst."
The others nodded, a shared, grim understanding passing between them. But the feeling of cold, creeping anxiety remained, a ghost at their feast. Because they all knew. In this moment, against a threat of that magnitude, there was only so much they could do.