I grabbed a welder's helmet from a nearby crate, scratched, dented, visor cloudy but usable. Then I dragged a portable welding machine closer, its cable snaking across the dirt like a lazy metal snake.
I knelt, sorting scrap with practiced hands. Frame pieces first. Straight-ish thin bars. I bent one against a concrete block, muscles protesting but obeying.
Sparks flew as I cut excess metal with a blow torch, orange light briefly painting the camp in flickering shadows. Helmet down. BZZZZZZT. The welder screamed to life. Heat bloomed.
Sparks showered. The smell of hot metal filled the air, sharp and electric. I worked on instinct, measure by eye, align, tack weld, reinforce. No blueprints. No finesse.
Just something solid enough to sleep on without collapsing and murdering someone in their dreams. Genesis watched quietly for once. Minutes passed. Then more.
By the time I lifted the helmet, sweat ran down my neck and my arms ached in that satisfying, earned way. I stepped back. Several bedframes stood there. Ugly. Crooked. Solid.
"Ha,"
I breathed.
"Still got it."
The system chimed.
YOU HAVE CRAFTED A BEDFRAME +XP
YOU HAVE CRAFTED A BEDFRAME +XP
YOU HAVE CRAFTED A BEDFRAME +XP
Y...
Several notifications stacked in my vision as they did an xp bar appeared and moved ever so slightly. Seeing this I blinked, then snorted.
"Tch might not give me any xp at all."
Genesis raised an eyebrow.
"You do know the saying"
She said.
"Beggars can't be choosers right?"
I rolled my shoulders, exhaustion settling back in like an old friend.
"Yeah,"
I muttered, pulling the helmet off.
"Guess even the system's surprised I didn't fuck it up."
The metal was still warm where I'd been welding. The bedframes sat in a crooked row like soldiers who'd failed inspection but showed up anyway.
Survivors hovered nearby, staring at them like they were sacred artifacts instead of scrap stitched together by spite. I was about to sit down. About to. Footsteps approached from behind.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
"Nice work, man."
The veteran stopped beside me, hands on his hips. He looked genuinely impressed. Or maybe desperate. Hard to tell the difference these days.
"Solid welds. Didn't think we'd get proper frames this soon."
"Mm,"
I grunted.
He scratched the back of his head.
"…I'm sorry to ask, but, by any chance are you any good with water pumps?"
I blinked. Slowly turned my head toward him. Inside my skull, a single thought echoed with perfect clarity.
Son of a bitch. Am I your fucking slave or something?
I stared at him in silence. Genesis materialized at my shoulder, already grinning.
"Oh,"
She whispered.
"Oh this is delicious."
Before I could respond, a familiar chime echoed in my vision.
MISSION UPDATED.
You have solved one problem.
Time to solve another.
Objective Added: Restore Camp Water Pump.
Reward: XP.
I didn't move. Didn't blink. I could feel my expression darkening by the second, like storm clouds rolling in across my forehead. Genesis looked at my face. And then she lost it.
She doubled over mid-air, laughing so hard she had to wipe nonexistent tears from her eyes.
"Oh... oh my gods"
She wheezed.
"Look at you. Look at your face. That is the exact expression of a man realizing free will is a myth."
I inhaled slowly through my nose. Exhaled slowly through my mouth. The veteran shifted awkwardly.
"…So, uh,"
He continued carefully, clearly unaware of the existential UI assault happening in front of me.
"The pump's been acting up. Pressure drops. Sometimes it just stops. Ive been drinking from the river when it dies, but…"
He gestured vaguely toward the camp.
"It's basically a death sentence with all the radiation, toxins and chemicals In It."
Genesis was still giggling.
"You solved beds,"
She said.
"Congratulations meat sack. You have unlocked plumbing."
I dragged a hand down my face. Of course. Of course this is how it works. You fix one thing. The world hands you another. You clear houses. You build beds. Now you fix water.
What next? Power grid? National infrastructure? Global economy?
The system notification pulsed once more in my peripheral vision, like it was tapping its watch.
Reward: XP.
I looked at it. Then at the veteran. Then at the scrap pile. Then back at the notification. My jaw tightened. For the XP. It was always for the XP.
Genesis leaned closer, whispering like a devil on my shoulder.
"Go on,"
She purred.
"Say no. I dare you."
I exhaled sharply through my nose.
"Alright tell me,"
I said flatly, turning back to the veteran.
"what's wrong with it exactly?"
Genesis burst into laughter again.
"There it is!"
She cheered.
"The spirit of unpaid labor lives on!"
The veteran visibly relaxed.
"Right, okay. It's near the back. Makes a grinding noise sometimes. Pressure gauge drops to zero. I primed it twice already this week."
Grinding noise. Pressure drop. Prime failures. I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
"Show me,"
I muttered. Genesis floated ahead, still snickering. The veteran led me past the cooking barrels, past the crooked line of bedframes I'd just built.
And toward the back end of camp where the ground dipped slightly. The smell hit first. Wet metal. Stagnant water. Oil. Then I heard it.
A low, irritated buzzing layered with an uneven grinding noise, like a mechanical throat trying to clear itself and failing.
"There,"
The veteran said, pointing. The "pump" looked like someone had raided three junkyards, lost a bet, and assembled whatever they found while blindfolded.
A rusted cylindrical tank welded to a steel drum. PVC pipes mismatched in diameter and color. A hand-crank welded onto what used to be part of a lawnmower engine.
An old fuel filter duct-taped into the intake line like a desperate apology. The whole thing vibrated slightly as it ran.
"Also functions as my water filter,"
The veteran added.
"I rigged sand and charcoal layers inside. Works. Mostly."
"Mostly,"
I repeated flatly. He gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder and stepped back.
"I'll leave you to it."
Of course you will.
I thought as he walked away with the brisk efficiency of a man escaping responsibility. I stood there staring at the mechanical abomination. Genesis hovered over it, peering down.
"Oh,"
She said, delighted.
"This is a literal crime scene against machinery."
I rolled my neck once.
"Relax,"
I muttered.
"I can fix MBTs, FPVs, and APCs on the spot. This shouldn't be that hard."
She slowly turned toward me.
"Yeah sure whatever you say primate."
I crouched beside the pump. The pressure gauge twitched violently, then dipped to zero for a second before climbing again. The buzzing grew louder when it dipped.
The grinding followed a half-second later. I tapped the housing lightly. The entire unit shuddered like it was offended.
"Okay,"
I muttered.
"So we've got pressure inconsistency. Probably air leak or seal failure. Grinding could be impeller contact. Or bearing wear."
I leaned closer. The intake pipe vibrated irregularly. I tightened one of the clamps with a rusted and dried blood covered wrench I found on the ground. The buzzing stopped.
For two glorious seconds. Then it came back louder. Genesis folded her arms.
"How's that 'not that hard' feeling treating you?"
"Shut up."
I shut the pump down. The buzzing died instantly, leaving only the distant sounds of camp life and my own breathing. I popped open the access panel. A blast of warm, damp air hit my face.
Inside looked worse. The impeller housing was scratched to hell. The shaft slightly misaligned. One of the bearings was chewing itself to death. I squinted.
"Well that's… not ideal."
"No,"
Genesis agreed.
"It's catastrophic."
I ignored her and began disassembling the front housing. Bolts protested. One snapped entirely.
"Just fucking fantastic."
I worked slower now. Removed the intake line. Cleared sediment buildup. Repacked part of the charcoal filter. Re-seated the impeller. Put it back together. Primed it. Turned it on.
It screamed. The grinding intensified into a metallic shriek that made two nearby survivors flinch. I killed it immediately.
"…Okay."
Genesis grinned.
"Say it."
"I'm not saying it."
"Say it."
I stared at the machine. I had field-repaired armored vehicles under fire. I had patched cracked fuel lines with chewing gum and prayer.
I had gotten drones back in the air with half their circuitry missing. And this. This scrapyard toilet of a pump. Was humiliating me. I tried again. This time I adjusted the shaft alignment manually.
Hammered the housing gently into position. Shimmed the base with a bent washer to reduce vibration. Restarted it. Buzz. Grind. Pressure dropped to zero. I closed my eyes. Deep inhale.
Exhale. Genesis leaned down until she was inches from my face.
"How's the battlefield treating you, mechanic?"
I stared at her.
"…Genesis."
"Yes?"
"…Help."
She blinked. Then slowly smiled.
"Oh. Oh this is historic."
"Don't make me repeat myself."
She floated down beside the exposed housing.