About half of the theater's patrons are in absolute rapt attention of the Sheriff's broadcast, while the other half is filled with varying degrees of apathy, amusement, or anger. It's clear that plenty are taken in with his words, though you aren't sure if it's the words themselves, or the underlying psionic energies that come with them.
Either way, what you hear is deeply worrying.
"It's been years since the invasion," begins the Sheriff. "Years since our lives have been ripped away from us. Since they began to march the streets and killed us wherever we stood."
You're taken aback, right off the bat. The Sheriff does his best to describe the events from years ago as an alien invasion of some kind. As though someone or something caused this to happen to the world on purpose.
"Some of you might wonder who 'they' even is, or why they're doing any of this in the first place," he continues. "Well that's a tale as old as time. We did it. Our ancestors did it. Our ancestors' ancestors' did it. They attacked others for their land.
"So that means whoever's invading us, well they're here 'coz they want our land. Whatever bugs are out there, or otherworldly creatures - just know that they're the advance guard. Don't believe me? I watched as Armored Crags marched on the capital in formation, and completely wiped out everything in front of them. They tore through people and humvees and even opened up a tank like it was a can. Saw it all with my own two eyes. There's no denying it.
"It's long since become clear to me that someone or something invaded us. Is still invading us, honestly. They're wiping us all out day after day, whittling us down to nothing. So that they can have it all to themselves."
There's a general murmur of agreement from many below, especially from the group that Carl identifies with. You sense their collective anger piqued by this idea, that the world is under siege by some otherworldly invading force. It whips them up emotionally, and deeply.
You can't help but scoff at what the Sheriff's saying, though. Through all your experiences, you've never once seen an attack force as he claims. Even the ones that almost nearly overwhelmed the Stadium back in the day - that was hardly an attack force and more like a panicked populace.
Of course, you can't doubt that there is a possibility that some part of what the Sheriff's saying is true. For all you know there is some kind of invading force, somewhere. They very well could be destroying some human settlement wherever they are.
But to say it's everywhere… well, that seems incredibly dishonest and deceptive to you.
"Now I don't got all the answers," the Sheriff keeps talking. "Got no idea who's doing all this in the first place, much less where they are. But I've got an idea what this person might look like. I'm sure some of you've seen the Shadow Sweepers.
"For those who haven't, they're huge people-shaped shadows that float around in purple armor. They swing around giant swords that cut everything in half. They're usually found at the head of these armies, leading Iron Crags or Devil Horns or Scarlet Fogs - it doesn't matter what they're leading.
"All that matters is that they lead armies to destroy us."
This you can't refute as much, considering you've also seen this happen. That shadow creature, er, Sweeper, certainly pushed Crags into the Stadium. Although you're certain it wasn't leading them, it definitely used its presence to drive the insects into an initial attack.
Still, the words make you stop and think at the possible truth of it.
The Crags didn't necessarily form up into a military unit by choice, but were instead shaped into one by something else. Or at the very least, their orderly natures were exploited for martial roles and warlike intent. What differentiated them from an actual standing army at that point? Willingness? How would that change their ultimate purpose in the end? They were still used as an assaulting force, albeit not a very effective one.
Although this Sheriff's words are in part laughable, you can certainly see a few grains of truth from behind them.
But you're still far from convinced any of it is an invading force. For one thing, the Shadow Sweepers don't even need any armies - they go wherever they want unopposed and unobstructed, and kill whatever they want.
Everything that's stampeding in front of them is only doing so because of their nature.
Not only that, but the Sweepers don't seem to have any goals, and don't appear to move with any kind of specific purpose, or as part of any kind of unit. Of course, you're not sure about any of this either and can't make any kind of judgment either way. You're no expert on these Sweepers.
"We're living in the middle of a massive battlefield," continues the Sheriff. "The kind where thousands of us die every day. Because the invaders are united on every front - they even attacked our sun, our sky and turned them against us! Their weapons have ripped their way out of the ground, and destroyed our buildings…"
You can hear a sense of weariness come from the Sheriff, but none of it seems real to you. It seems rehearsed in a way. A truly subtle wave of weariness sweeps over you, through the radio. It's followed by a hint of anger sharp enough to notice.
Both wash over the crowds below, filling half of the theater with indignation. All you're awash with is deeper skepticism, a feeling you share with a handful among the other half of the audience.
After all, you haven't seen evidence of a single battle field. If there's a massive fight happening everywhere, all at once, and on every level you'd see the results of it. You'd hear cannons and gunfire, wherever this fight would be happening. Beyond that, there'd be thousands and thousands of dead bodies on both sides, just out there baking in the sun, a result of some devastating fight over a stretch of land.
But again, you've seen zero in that regard. Not a corpse, not a battle, not a single wayward weapon of war. In fact, things have been mostly tranquil since you started traveling.
"They're winning the war, you know. We're losing hard, everywhere. Little towns everywhere are vanishing every day. Yours might be next. It might not be the Crags that take it, or even a Sweeper. It might just be the heat that empties it out. Or maybe it'll get flooded in the next Flash Storm.
"It's all part of the invasion, part of the plan to destroy our way of life. They want to throw the world into a violent, bloody chaos so they can have it all to themselves. And they almost got it all… Almost got it all.
"Every old nation in the world's hanging on by a thread at this point. Just grasping and trying not to die. But they can't handle this invasion, not individually, not even together. No giant vote is gonna save any single one of them."
Those who have allowed themselves to get angered by the Sheriff, their emotions shift and sway all throughout the broadcast. They allow themselves to get worked up in anger and fear over all these half-truths, almost like they want to.
As though they've been seeking reasons to get worked up in the first place. It hardly matters if these are obviously half-lies. You can sense their camaraderie weave through their psyches, as they bind themselves to the words of the Sheriff.
"Except one place," says the Sheriff. "One place is fighting back against this invasion, and it's the only place that's winning the war. And I'm proud to say that it's my Fortress that's doing so. The Southern Fortress. Say it with me."
A handful of people do actually say 'Southern Fortress' aloud, Carl being one of them.
"The Fortress is the only port of call from this undying storm. It's the only place where we can be protected from this neverending assault. It's the only place where we can still be who we are, even if the rest of the world's trying to kill us.
"It's here where we repel the vast invading hordes daily, whether it's millions of aggressive Crags or powerful Crazed armies. Nothing gets in here. Hell, we fought off a Sweeper just the other day. Ask anyone who lives here. They saw it with their own eyes. Drove it back with our weapons and our willpower."
You want to audibly scoff on hearing the Sheriff's boast. You've experienced first hand just how overwhelmingly powerful a Shadow Sweeper is. Absolutely nothing can stop it from doing what it wants to.
Although if that was completely true, you wouldn't be alive right now.
After all, Kaja did stop one of them… It took every ounce of her being to do it, but she did. You suppose it's certainly possible for the Fortress to do something similar, especially if they have dozens or even hundreds of psions to defend them.
You imagine that they could have, with one powerful Network, obliterate a Shadow Sweeper through whatever means. However possible that actually is, well, you don't have a clue. And you simply don't know enough to outright deny.
You exhale out of annoyance. You don't want the Sheriff to be correct in any way, but you can't exactly refute his claims.
A part of you wonders why you want this person to be wrong, and why you want to reject their broadcast whole-heartedly. It's seemingly coming from nowhere. But then another part reminds you that his words are laced with psionic energies, and your defenses are automatically rejecting them. It makes sense that you would automatically reject his words alongside them.
Whatever his purposes, it's clear that they aren't good for you, though you don't exactly know why.
"If you want true safety, then come to my Fortress," he keeps talking. "Safety from the invasion, from certain death. My family and I built this entire place from the ground up just to keep everyone safe, to keep us people from dying out, to keep us all strong for generations to come.
"We welcome you all with open arms, now and always. So long as you fight alongside us and help protect everyone else, then you will have a place beside us, as one of us. You too can become a member of the family, and stand strong in our Fortress for all time.
"You'll be fed, you'll be clothed, you'll be safe, here with us."
The Sheriff's broadcast ends shortly afterwards, and old music fills the speakers in his stead.
You're left thinking of his words and their implications, as well as what his true purpose and intent for all this is. In contrast, half of those still remaining downstairs are in excited conversation with each other. You can practically feel their enthusiasm wafting off them in waves.
"So what do you think?" asks the Mayor.
You want to tell her honestly that you think the Sheriff is full of shit, and not to listen to him. Probably, they should stop tuning in to these broadcasts altogether. But you remind yourself that none of this is your business.
Whatever they want to do with their lives is on them, not you. You've got your own problems to deal with, and sticking your nose in theirs is only going to make your life more complicated. Could even get you killed.
"So I guess that's what you were talking about earlier," you say. "About the town moving, I mean."
"You've guessed right," she tells you. "Plenty want to pick everything up and join the Fortress."
"Why? Life looks ideal here."
"Already said, town's slowly dying. It's not growing. Only a matter of time until there's none of us left. Then what? The whole place just vanishes? Some of my people think that joining the Fortress is the only way to make it in this new world, for the town to keep going."
"But you've been making it already these past few years. What's wrong with trying for a few years more?"
The Mayor sighs at length, as though letting loose a bit of pressure from deep within.
"What if trying for a few years more only kills us faster?" she says. "What if one day the city thugs come at us with body armor and heavy rifles? What if they end up killing all of us anyway? What if they've joined the invaders in taking what's ours?
"You don't know any of that," you refute. "There's no way to tell the future, and you can't possibly know if any given choice will be better than the other."
"And what if a Shadow Seeker shows up tomorrow? What then? Think we could fight one off like the Sheriff did? What would you do if you were me?"
She looks at you for answers, but you purse your lips, unable to say anything. It's unlikely that they'd get attacked by a Sweeper, but it's not an impossibility. What's that saying? Possible doesn't mean probable? Sure, it's not as though a Sweeper will suddenly show up tomorrow and clean the town of everything that's alive. It hasn't happened in three years, and probably won't happen for another three years yet. Or ever.
But if it does, they're all as good as dead.
"Think about this way instead," the Mayor continues. "Think about how much power it took to get that broadcast out. It takes the entire town daisy-chaining all our solar chargers to power up all that radio equipment for all of a half hour.
"Imagine how much actual electricity's available in the Fortress, if they've got enough to transmit radio like they do. If they can do that, then they can also keep the people cool, the people fed. You hear me on that? How could anyone with so much extra power, so much obvious wealth… how could they be wrong in any way?"
You find yourself at the market sooner rather than later, unable and unwilling to further engage with anyone about the Sheriff and his divisive worldview. You wonder how anyone can believe that someone like him has all the answers, when it's clear the majority of what he says is dubious at best.
You certainly don't think it's wise to keep dwelling on him and instead turn your thoughts to your own future. Right now, your continued survival is the only thing that matters. Not only that, but you've already spent the majority of your life thinking negatively, and it's high time to change that.
And so the shops over at Town Square seem to be the best bet, at least in terms of spending your time.
Certainly one of the more prominent stores here is the basic survival shop. Not that it calls itself that - Ted is the one who owns it, so he simply calls it Ted's Necessities. Not terribly creative or descriptive on Ted's part, but you suppose it doesn't matter - the name is highly accurate.
His shelves are filled with first aid kits and bottles of water among various sundries that most simply can't live without. There's other stuff beyond the purely functional, such as packs of playing cards and a few small board games. There are also old puzzles and brain teaser books in the mix, all of which at first glance aren't considered necessities.
But you know better, as does Ted. our minds also need regular exercise, not just our bodies. His inclusion of these things show a greater consideration for more than just our physical selves, and as a result you gain an increased appreciation for his shop. And for Ted, too.
One of his shelves is filled with all kinds of water filtration devices. Some are those jugs with a disposable water filter in them, much like the one you used to have at home. They're the kind where you fill a top reservoir with tap water, and the filter supposedly cleans it down into the bottom reservoir. While this could be handy, it's also kind of unwieldy.
There's an entire box filled with water filters designed for water bladders such as the one you've got. So you spend a few minutes sorting through them to find one that fits yours. It could certainly come in handy, much more than any other filter you see on the shelves.
You also grab a small jar half-filled with water purification tablets, to pair with your filter. Those two combined means you could potentially drink water from a lake or stream without worry of contaminants and undesirables. Well, most of them anyway. Mostly, it means you'll always have drinkable water wherever you go.
Of course, you grab as much bottled water as you need to fill your water bladder, along with one more spare bottle to stow in your messenger bag. You're already low and can't exactly go around looking for lakes to drink out of at this point in time.
Finally, you grab enough ingredients to top up your electrolyte powder - more salt, more sugar, some potassium chloride, and magnesium chloride. Ted also thankfully has lemon juice powder, and powdered ginger. Both of these definitely will help out the flavor of your drink.
There are a few other things that pique your interest, such as survival hatchets, multitools, and cooking kits, but you decide against them for now. You certainly could use them without a doubt, but you've already racked up quite a bill with just your hydration needs.
You ultimately haggle for your ingredients, filter, tablets, and water bottles with your spare tool kit and both your random electronic devices, which you find more than fair. Someone certainly has more use for them than you do. Besides, you still have plenty to trade with, particularly your spare pistol, ammo, and your katana, and could certainly get some of the other stuff you've got your eye on.
But you reserve them for later - you've got other shops to visit after all.
So you say farewell to Ted, at least for now, and head over to the next shop that piques your interest. You wander down the street a bit until you come to a quaint little bookstore. It's tended to by a resident, who's sitting on a stool just inside the doorway.
They greet you warmly and invitingly, so you can't help but oblige.
The store itself is rather tiny, but it's filled to the brim with shelves from top to bottom. Each one is packed with all sorts of books, most of which are fiction. In fact, there's so many of them that numerous shelves make up for entire genres. The biggest being romance, for reasons you're not sure of.
Though you're tempted to pick up a few paperback books, particularly one of those adventure game books, you decide to focus on the nonfiction books instead. You're mostly focused on finding wilderness survival books, or something similar.
Like, how to tie knots, or how to start fires, or how to find water sources. Stuff like that. Sadly, you find very little in regards to those kinds of topics within the shelves. There are certainly some that could be useful, such as about soil cultivation and farming, or animal identification and husbandry. There's also a book about mycology, and how to spot various kinds of mushrooms and fungi.
You certainly spend a bit of time flipping through it, if only to confirm if the mushrooms you've picked are safe to eat or not. You determine that they're not. The ones that you picked look almost exactly like an edible kind, except these ones look like they'll cause some serious upset. The kind that results in lots of vomit and diarrhea and whatnot.
You toss your mushrooms into the nearest bin, thankful that you didn't try them. Then you decide that mycology isn't going to be your thing after all. The whole adage about brightly colored mushrooms being poisonous might be true, but it doesn't mean that earthy colored mushrooms aren't.
You'd rather not experiment and find out the hard way, regardless. So you shelve the book, along with any ideas of picking mushrooms in the future.
Among the shelves is, oddly enough, a copy of The Anarchist's Cookbook. You've certainly never read it before, so you pick it up. The title is most certainly intriguing, as it promises recipes for the more revolutionary or rebellious kind of person. As you flip through its pages, you find yourself more enraptured by the information listed in it. How to make explosives, like molotov cocktails. How to make hallucinogens, such as LSD.
It's got whole sections on weapons, their usage, electronics, surveillance, and so on. There are even illustrations on how to make home-made traps. The whole thing is deeply interesting and if the world hadn't imploded you might have purchased this (or stolen it) back then.
But you certainly don't need it now, so you slip it back on the shelves where it came from.
You sigh in frustration at not finding anything that you actually need, at which point a voice comes up from behind you.
"Looking for anything in particular?" asks the voice.
You spin around to find Frank. He gives you a warm smile.
"Saw you as I was walking by," he continues. "Figured I'd see if you needed anything."
"That's, uh, quite considerate of you," you reply. You're not quite used to this small-town vibe, having come from the city and all. Back there, in your old life, the only people that asked if you needed help were salesmen looking to extract money from any old sucker.
"But yeah, I was kinda looking for some kinda survival manual," you continue. "This place doesn't have anything like that, though."
"I know what you mean," Frank says. "I guess those might be pretty rare these days, all things considered. You're welcome to come by my place - I've got a few you can take a look at if you want."
"Would you trade for them?"
"Depends."
He then leads you out of the bookstore, out to the southern end of town. His place seems to be at the southeastern section of the town itself, though far from its edge. The house looks relatively cozy and cottage-like in size. It's got a small overgrown garden out front with a small peach tree in the corner.
It's all of one floor, though it's deceptively larger than it seems from the outside.
The entryway leads straight into the kitchen oddly enough, but you both walk past it into the main living room. This room is perhaps the largest in the entire cottage, and it has an old leather couch along one wall. In the corner is a large dining table with a couple of chairs beside it.
On top of the dining table is a rifle that's been opened up with its parts everywhere. There's some cleaning rags and a variety of fluids and oils in a wide plastic tray next to the parts themselves. Clearly, Frank's cleaning one of his guns. Or at least, he's in the long process of it.
There are stacks of various things in the other corners, whether it's books or boxes or blankets and whatnot. There's also a stack of packaged bottled water, which Frank is seemingly hoarding. You would too, if you were in his position.
Frank invites you to sit on the couch, then ducks into an adjoining room. Presumably his bedroom. You hear him clamber and curse a bit, but after a couple of minutes he emerges back into the living room. In his arms are a small stack of books, which he sets down on the matted carpet in front of you.
When you look through them, you realize that not all of them are books - three are actually binders with hundreds of individual papers inside them, each one laminated for weather protection. When you open them up, you realize that they're military survival manuals, and are incredibly comprehensive. There's one from the army, another from the air force, and the third appears to be from a different country altogether.
Each one is sectioned off inside with labeled tabs, and are clearly marked with whatever section they are. Typically: Medicine, Shelter, Water, Fire, Food, and so on. They all also have their own unique sections, such as surviving extreme cold or heat, or inside of irradiated zones, or behind enemy lines.
These are, without a shadow of a doubt, exactly what you need. But each one is large, heavy, and unwieldy. You count them having more than 600 pages each, which is more than you're able to carry. Well, you could fit one of them into your messenger bag, but it would take up a majority of the space.
While they're filled with the knowledge that you crave, there's no way you could carry one of them with you. Definitely not all three.
You set them aside and instead pore through the rest of Frank's books. There's certainly a couple on hunting and trapping, another two on skinning and preserving, and one on smoking, curing, and salting meats. He has a treasure trove of knowledge, and part of you wishes you could snap them all up.
There is one book that catches your eye, and it's a beginner's guide to bushcraft.
This is perhaps the best you're going to get - the book itself is paperback sized, and only about 250 pages long. It'll fit great in your bag, or at least much better than the binders. Most importantly, it has most of the information you need.
It's so deeply enlightening that you find yourself engrossed in one of its many topics. Just the section about what gear to have makes you realize just how much you're unprepared for what's ahead of you.
"How'd your meeting with the Mayor go?" asks Frank. "I hope it went well."
"She gave me a trading pin, so that's probably a good sign," you reply. You even angle it a bit, so Frank can get a better look. "Though she made me listen to this Sheriff guy, and I don't honestly know what to think about that."
"She made you listen to onna them broadcasts? Really?"
"Yeah, right after a tour of the town."
Frank immediately grimaces, then exhales at length. Clearly, he isn't at all happy with hearing that, and you don't even have to Scan him to confirm his feelings on it. He telegraphs them clear as day.
"That don't sit well with me at all," he says.
"So I'm guessing you're part of the town that doesn't want to move?" you ask.
"I don't even know. Most what I hear from the Sheriff don't make any sense. Thing is, if the town moved to his Fortress or whatever he's calling it… Well, we'd all be that much safer. That much is probably true. But something about the way he says some things… I don't like it. In any case, I think that the town being safe matters a whole lot more than me not liking whatever words come outta his mouth."
"You oughta move North, to a co-op that's forming out there. That's where my Dad's going, along with the rest of the Settlement I came from. And you oughta convince everyone to go with you instead. Nothing good could possibly come from a place they call a Fortress, or whatever."
"Sure, but can they keep our people safe?"
"As far as I can see, you all are keeping yourselves safe enough as it is. As long as you keep doing that, you don't really have anything to worry about no matter where you are."
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GOT IT