Re: Apocalypse Game



Alan had a good inkling of Marcus's intentions. The leader of Blood Patriot wanted to seize these firearms and allocate them to his primary troop, thereby bolstering their firepower. The 50 players were most likely destined for more menial tasks that didn't necessitate firearms, like hunting for food — a skill they had been trained for.

By offering them the option to retain their survival points rather than spending them on weapons, Alan thwarted Marcus's plan. Should they choose to buy, the weapons would be theirs personally, ensuring Marcus's hands stayed well away from them. And from the look on the faces of these players, many seemed to grasp this too.

Alan's proposition was rapidly embraced by the players. Many began to approach and select weapons that matched their preferences and budgets. After a few minutes, only half chose to spend their survival points on firearms; the other half likely planned to use their points for skill upgrades.

Marcus, who had been watching the scene unfold with a calculative eye, finally broke the silence, "Alright then. I'll pay for the remainder." His voice carried an edge, betraying his barely concealed frustration. This wasn't the Marcus from five days ago who scoffed at the idea of needing more firearms. It seemed that somewhere, in the span of those days, he had run into trouble obtaining weapons for his group.

Alan, seizing the moment and the upper hand, replied with feigned regret, "I'm sorry, Marcus. With the new rescue quest coming up, I might need the remaining weapons. However, if you're willing to pay a premium, we might be able to negotiate. Say, 1500 for the assault rifles and 750 for the handguns?"

Marcus's face reddened in barely concealed rage, the veins on his temples pulsing. Before he could retort, Sharon stepped in, her voice silky smooth but firm, "Alright, Alan. We will pay the extra." She paused for effect, a sly smile playing on her lips as she added, "However, let's not forget the massive food reserves you've amassed, thanks in no small part to these dedicated members of Blood Patriot. It's only fair that you share, don't you think?"

Within the group of fifty players, diverse opinions swirled about the unfolding events. For many, the food, weapons, and armor they had received seemed like boundless generosity. Considering the fact that all the missions and strategies were orchestrated by Alan, they hadn't thought of demanding more. But with the Blood Patriot's bold claim, a blanket of concern draped them. The prospect of running out of food, with the looming threat of hunger status, was daunting.

Although such distribution was a common practice, Alan and the players had no prior agreement neither written nor verbal, about sharing the loot. This left Alan in a precarious position, where his decision would influence his standing among the players.

Sharon, wielding her expertise as a lawyer, cleverly framed her words to paint Alan into a corner. "So, what will it be? We're asking for half. It's not an unreasonable request, don't you think?" Her smile, while directed at the fifty players, held an underlying challenge. The implication was clear: refusing would label Alan as greedy and undermine his credibility in the eyes of these players

To Sharon's chagrin, Alan was already a step ahead. He had anticipated this confrontation and his next words were not a mere impromptu retort but something he'd intended to communicate to the players all along.

"It's my intention to share it of course" he looked at the players and added 'If you guys ever feel hungry, this farm always be open for you, anytime"

The players, attuned to the nuances, understood the depth of what Alan offered. More than just sustenance, he was extending an invitation of belonging, a place in his circle, an acceptance into his fold.

Marcus's eyes flashed with suppressed fury. "Don't be a fool with the meager offer of warm foods, these people cannot protect you the way we can!"

Alan's demeanor remained unflustered, acknowledging Marcus's claim. "It's true, I can't guarantee your safety" he mused thoughtfully. Then, locking eyes with the players, he emphasized, "but… I believe if you want to survive in this game, you are responsible for your own safety, and so are your survival points"

The gravity of Alan's words settled deep within the players' psyche. They realized that in the last few days, Alan had instilled in them something beyond Xp or survival points, but also a sense of self-worth, independence, and confidence to tread their own path, rather than blindly following the dictates of a domineering faction like the Blood Patriot.

Marcus, witnessing the shift in allegiance, felt his control slipping away. His voice trembled with barely restrained anger, "If you don't enter the truck now, consider you are not welcome back to our group"

Sharon's eyes flitted nervously between Marcus and the players. Sensing the dangerous undercurrents, tried to interject, to mediate, but Marcus was past reasoning.

His threats, rather than cowing the players, seemed to further galvanize their resolve.  He had expected obedience, not resistance. However, in trying to exert his authority, he inadvertently stirred a dormant defiance among many of the players. To them, Marcus's tyranny resembled the oppressive government they so deeply resented, and his ultimatum only reinforced their discontent.

Amid the palpable tension, a lone figure stepped forward, determination etched across his features. It was Shamus the Smiththing expert, a man no stranger to injustice, having experienced firsthand the betrayal of those sworn to protect him. His voice was steady, almost defiant, "I choose not to side with you. My skills, I believe, are better utilized here."

His decision acted as a catalyst. Nods of agreement rippled through the crowd, and it was evident that none would be boarding that truck.

With a clenched jaw, Marcus shot a venomous glance at Alan.

"I should've never entertained your offer." Without warning, his next signal was lethal – his armed men, on cue, raised their weapons, pointing them directly at Alan. The atmosphere turned electric, charged with tension and imminent danger.

######

Author Note

Dear Reader, I should have finished the privilege chapters yesterday. Unfortunately, I spent the last 36 hours in the hospital taking care of my wife. Daily chapter will be shown again tomorrow or the day after. Thank you for your patience.