RSAsilver
patreon
Ch5: Planning
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 21:22:47 +0000 UTCAfter Aiden had finished boarding up the storefront—hammering in the last crooked nail with a heavy sigh—he stepped back, wiped the sweat from his brow, and cautiously approached the dusty window. Peeling back a corner of the weather-worn curtain, he peered outside.
Night had fallen completely. The once-bustling little market area lay cloaked in heavy darkness, eerily silent and still. The only illumination came from the full moon hanging high in the sky, its pale silver light casting long, ghostly shadows across the cracked pavement and abandoned vendor stalls. The street lamps, once reliable sentinels of the night, were dark—some shattered, others simply dead.
Letting the curtain fall back into place, Aiden turned and exhaled slowly. The tension in his shoulders began to ease as the adrenaline faded. The store was secure—for now. He made his way over to the old wooden couch he had dragged in front of the door as a barricade. Its cushions were thin and worn, but after the day he'd had, it might as well have been a throne.
With a grunt, he eased himself down onto it, the wood creaking under his weight. For a moment, he just sat there in the dim interior, listening to the distant creaks of the settling building and the soft rustle of wind through broken windows. Moonlight spilled through a crack in the boarded window, painting a thin silver line across the dusty floor.
Aiden leaned back, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and tried to steady his breathing. The silence was heavy, but not unwelcome—it was the first real moment of calm he'd had in hours.
After a long, grueling day of killing walkers and scavenging for supplies, Aiden could at least say one thing with certainty—he had survived his first day in the apocalypse. Bloodied, bruised, hungry, and bone-tired, but still breathing.
The sun was long gone, replaced by the cold glow of moonlight streaming through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. The world outside was quiet—eerily so—but it was a silence Aiden was beginning to appreciate. For now, the dead weren't knocking.
With a heavy sigh, he dropped his backpack at his feet and sat back on the old couch, barricading the door. His muscles ached, and every joint felt like it had rusted over, but there was a flicker of relief in his chest. He was alive.
Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the spoils of his scavenging: three energy bars and a can of soda. Not exactly a feast, but after everything he'd been through, it might as well have been a five-star dinner.
He tore open the first wrapper with shaking fingers and took a bite. It was dry, bland, and vaguely chocolatey—but it tasted like salvation. As he chewed, he realized just how ravenous he really was. The gnawing in his stomach, ignored in the adrenaline of the day, now came roaring back with full force.
He devoured all three bars in minutes, washing them down with warm, syrupy soda. The carbonation fizzed against his tongue, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it like it was the last soda on Earth—because for all he knew, it might be.
As the sugar hit his system and the weight of the day began to settle on his shoulders, Aiden leaned his head back against the wall. He let the moment linger, let himself feel full—even if only slightly—for the first time in what felt like forever.
Today, he had survived. That was enough.
While Aiden leaned his head back against the door, the quiet hum of the night wrapped around him like a threadbare blanket. The adrenaline that had kept him upright for hours was finally ebbing, leaving behind an ache in his bones and a heaviness in his eyelids he could no longer fight.
The couch creaked softly beneath him as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. His grip on the empty soda can loosened, letting it roll gently to the floor with a soft clink. He barely noticed.
The air inside the boarded-up store was still, save for the occasional groan of old wood settling or the whisper of wind seeping through the cracks. Outside, the world might still be crawling with the dead—but in here, in this fragile, temporary bubble of silence, Aiden finally allowed himself to exhale.
His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he tried to resist it—the fear of letting his guard down tugging at the edges of his consciousness. But exhaustion weighed heavier than fear now.
Images from the day flashed behind his eyes—bloody hands, broken streets, a child's toy half-buried in rubble—but they blurred into each other, fading into the dark. His breathing slowed.
And just like that, without even meaning to, Aiden slipped into sleep.
It wasn't peaceful. It wasn't deep. But it was rest. And for a man who'd spent the last twenty-four hours outrunning death, it was a rare and precious thing.
Morning came gently, ushered in by the soft glow of the rising sun. Pale golden light filtered through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, cutting across the dusty floor in warm slivers. One beam reached Aiden's face, brushing his skin with enough warmth to stir him from sleep.
His eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the soft brightness. For a moment, he didn't move—his mind still caught in the haze between dreams and reality. Then the stiffness in his limbs reminded him exactly where he was.
With a low groan, Aiden sat up and stretched. His back let out a series of satisfying pops as he arched and twisted, trying to shake off the soreness. Sleeping on an old wooden couch, pressed against a door, wasn't exactly what anyone would call restful. His neck ached, his back throbbed, and his legs had cramped halfway through the night. But even so, he'd slept. Somehow.
He looked around the dim interior of the store, now softly illuminated by the early morning light. It felt a little less haunted in the daylight—less like a tomb and more like a temporary shelter. A place to regroup. To breathe.
Aiden ran a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his neck as he stood. His stomach rumbled quietly, already reminding him that three energy bars weren't going to last long. He'd have to head out again soon, risk the streets, search for more supplies.
But not just yet.
For now, in that small pocket of calm between survival and struggle, Aiden allowed himself a rare moment of stillness. A new day had begun.
But before Aiden dared to step back into the world of the dead, he knew he needed a plan.
Rushing out again without one would be suicide. Yesterday had been chaos—pure instinct and adrenaline. Today had to be different. Calculated. Controlled.
He knelt beside his pack, pulling it closer with a grunt. The canvas was stained with dirt and dried blood, the zipper barely holding together after being tugged open too many times in panic. Still, it had carried him—and more importantly, everything he'd managed to grab along the way and pulled them out of his system inventory.
He took a deep breath, then began unpacking.
First came the food:
Two half-smashed granola bars he'd found near the register of a looted convenience store.
A dented can of beans and a can of chicken soup, both from a dusty shelf in the back room.
Three more energy bars, stashed behind a fallen vending machine he'd nearly given up on.
A canteen, only half full but precious beyond words.
Next were the tools and materials. He laid them out carefully on the dusty floor like a soldier preparing for battle.
A rusted but functional multitool, with a knife, screwdriver, and bottle opener.
A roll of duct tape, almost full—an absolute treasure.
A half-used lighter with just enough spark left to be hopeful.
Three strips of fabric, torn from curtains and folded tight—good for bandages, wraps, or fire kindling.
A broken flashlight, which flickered with a weak light when smacked hard enough. He'd have to find batteries or a replacement soon.
He also had a few strange odds and ends:
A roll of electrical wire, which might be useful if he needed to rig something.
A pack of cheap plastic cutlery, laughable until you had to eat soup without it.
And, surprisingly, a hand-cranked radio with a cracked casing. It didn't work now, but Aiden didn't toss it. Maybe one day it could.
As he organized his findings, Aiden took mental notes, categorizing everything—what could be used, what needed fixing, what had to be rationed. It felt good to do something with purpose. Something that made him feel like he wasn't just surviving, but preparing.
The store itself had been nearly stripped bare when he arrived yesterday, but digging deeper had paid off. Behind a fallen shelf, he'd found a stash box some looter must've missed. That's where the soup and wire had come from. A single locked cabinet in the back had yielded the crowbar—once he pried it open with a broom handle and a little desperation.
He rubbed his chin, thinking. Food was tight, but manageable, for a couple of days. Water would become a problem soon. He needed a refill point. Tools were passable, though he could really use a proper knife and a working flashlight. And shelter—this place could hold for a bit longer if he reinforced the back door.
He exhaled slowly, stretching his arms before standing plan was perfect. But it was something.
Aiden looked toward the window, where the morning sun was rising higher, casting longer shadows across the street outside.
Today, he'd move with intent. Eyes open. Quiet steps. He wasn't just surviving anymore.
With his supplies organized and his mental checklist complete, Aiden finally allowed himself a small moment of indulgence.
He reached over and picked up two of the granola bars, their wrappers crinkling loudly in the otherwise still room. He tore one open with his teeth and took a bite, chewing slowly as the familiar bland, sweet taste filled his mouth. It wasn't much—barely more than compressed oats and syrup—but it was enough to quiet the gnawing in his stomach.
He finished both bars quickly, licking the crumbs from his fingers, then leaned back with a sigh. A bit of energy returned to his limbs, just enough to dull the ache in his muscles.
Satisfied, he turned back to the remaining food and supplies scattered on the floor.
"Store items," he muttered.
There was a soft shimmer in the air—barely visible, like heat rising from asphalt—and then, one by one, the items he wasn't currently using blinked out of existence, transferred into his system inventory. It was a strange sensation, one he was still getting used to. The world had gone to hell, but whatever force had granted him access to the system was still functioning. He didn't know why, or how—but he wasn't going to waste it.
In a clean, efficient motion, he stored:
The last granola bar
Both canned goods
The duct tape
The multitool
The cloth strips
The electrical wire
The spare cutlery
The cracked radio
And the flashlight
The system UI flickered briefly in the corner of his vision, listing the items now safely tucked away in his virtual storage. Secure. Accessible. Weightless.
Only the essentials remained in his pack—the canteen, the crowbar, and the lighter. Tools he might need to grab quickly if things went sideways.
With everything squared away, Aiden stood, shouldered his lighter load, and moved to the window once more. The morning had fully arrived, painting the street outside in gold and gray. Shadows clung to the alleys. Movement could be hiding in any corner.
But he was ready.
With his hunger eased, supplies secured, and mind clear, Aiden prepared to face another day in the apocalypse.
"First, I'll loot the rest of the market before I leave," Aiden murmured to himself, eyes narrowing as he gazed through the narrow slit between the wooden planks covering the store window.
From what he could see, several other buildings in the small market square still looked relatively intact—some with their windows unbroken, their signs still hanging by rusted chains. There might still be stock inside. Maybe food. Tools. Anything useful.
"There's still something left here... I can feel it," he muttered, almost to reassure himself.
He stepped back from the window and turned toward the door, his voice low but firm as he thought aloud, "After that, I'll try to find a library—if there's one nearby. I need a map... and maybe even some books. Field guides, survival manuals, repair guides—anything that can help me get a real edge. I can't keep improvising forever."
[Ding!]
[For making a smart decision and laying out a plan of action, Host gains +1WIs and +1INT]
Aiden was happy when he saw the system prompt and now knew he could increase stats through actions that are related to it.
{Examples}
Increase Intelligence by Learning, planning, and making correct strategies.
To Increase Dexterity, he must train in exercises like running for speed, flexibility training, and all that.
To build strength, muscle development is key.
Stamina by doing endurance exercises.
Wisdom is making wise decisions.
Luck, I am still unsure of maybe gambling.
But with the plan settled in his mind, Aiden moved toward the makeshift barricade he had set up the night before. The wooden couch creaked under his hands as he pushed it aside, careful to avoid making too much noise. He then crouched down and began removing the boards he had nailed across the door frame. Each plank came away with a dull groan of protest, and he paused after each one to listen.
Silence.
Good.
Once the final board was pulled free, Aiden set it gently against the wall and rose to his feet. He moved slowly now, his every movement deliberate. He stepped up to the door, fingers resting on the cold metal of the handle.
Then he waited.
Ears tuned for any sound. Eyes scanning through the small peephole he had carved into the door.
The early morning light spilled across the street, casting long shadows between the rows of buildings. Dust swirled gently in the air, stirred by the light breeze. The market square remained eerily quiet—no movement, no groans, no shambling figures in sight.
Still, Aiden didn't relax. Caution was survival.
His fingers tightened slightly around the handle, not to open it just yet—but readying himself. He hadn't stepped outside since last night. The world out there hadn't gotten any safer while he slept.
But he had a plan now. Supplies to scavenge. Knowledge to find. And maybe—just maybe-a—a future to build.
He inhaled through his nose, exhaled slowly, and whispered to himself: "One step at a time."
And for now, that next step... was looting what was left of this market.
