Surviving the Simulation: The Grand Crusade

Xander stepped over a severed Rodentia limb, the wet squelch of blood beneath his boots barely registering as he and Zoey moved through the wreckage of the battlefield toward the gathered survivors. Though the fight had ended, its presence still lingered in the air. The sharp tang of spilled guts and coppery blood mixing with the acrid scent of fear-sweat, while the shallow, ragged breaths of those who had made it through whispered through the silence like ghosts refusing to leave.

The truck stop had become a graveyard, littered with bodies of people and monsters sprawled across the pavement, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles where they had fallen. Thick, dark blood had seeped into the cracked asphalt, pooling in the spaces between the fallen like ink blotting into old parchment. The air itself felt wrong, pressing against Xander's chest with an oppressive weight, as though reality itself struggled to hold together beneath the weight of what had just unfolded.

Ahead, near the center of the lot, a loose cluster of survivors had gathered around a tall man standing atop a stepladder, his stance tense as he tried to take control of the chaos. Xander recognized him immediately as JT, the Starlight Oasis manager, still wearing his logo-embroidered polo, though it was now stained with sweat and dirt. He had seen the man plenty of times before during his routine stops, but never as the person fighting to hold together what remained of a shattered world.

The survivors weren't just shaken; they were rudderless, drifting between shock and panic with no clear path forward, clinging to whatever scraps of control they could still grasp. And people without direction weren't just lost. They were dangerous. This was the moment that would determine if everyone stuck together or fell apart into a mob where it was everyone for themselves.

Some clung to each other, whispering prayers between broken sobs as they huddled together for comfort, while others simply stood frozen, hollow-eyed and staring into nothing, their minds trapped in a looping denial of what they had just survived.

A man in a filthy dress shirt staggered away from the group, gripping the side of a rusted sedan as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. The retching sound barely drew a reaction as numbness had already set in to those around him.

A few people weren't shutting down, though. Some people were furious.

As Xander and Zoey closed the last few feet, a voice cut through the clamor of the crowd, all trying to talk at once.

"Who the hell put you in charge?" an older man snapped, his voice raw with exhaustion and anger. He stood in the middle of the survivors, glaring up at JT. "You don't own this place! You're just some damn manager. What makes you think you can tell us what to do?"

Zoey let out a weary sigh. "Well, this is gonna be fun."

Xander didn't disagree, but fun wasn't exactly the word he'd use for what was about to unfold.

He scanned the survivors as JT squared his shoulders, preparing to answer. The real danger wasn't just the monsters. It was what people did next.

The uneasy chatter of the crowd swelled into a rising storm of voices, overlapping in fear, confusion, and frustration, their panic feeding off one another in a feedback loop of escalating noise. JT stood his ground on the stepladder, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the top rail, his posture rigid as he tried to hold their attention before the chaos could spiral completely out of control.

"No one else is stepping up," JT said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade, laced with exhaustion and barely checked frustration. He let the words settle for a second, let the weight of them press into the survivors before he continued. "If you want to walk out that door and take your chances alone, fine. Go. But I'm telling you right now. None of us are making it alone."

The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight. Voices surged at once. Some shouting in protest, others talking over each other, the beginnings of a full-blown argument swelling in every direction. JT had thrown fuel onto a fire that had already been smoldering, and now it was ready to burn.

"The hell you think you are, telling us what to do?" an older man snapped, shoving his way forward. He had a weathered face and a beer gut, and Xander pegged him as the type who probably worshipped Big Jon, the actual owner of the truck stop. "This ain't your place, JT. You don't own it, and you sure as hell don't get to play king just because the world went sideways."

"I'm not playing king, and I'm not forcing anyone to stay. I'm trying to keep people alive."

A brittle, hysterical laugh cut through the noise. "Alive?" The woman's voice wavered as she shook her head, her hands trembling at her sides. "Are you even looking around? There are bodies everywhere." She sucked in a ragged breath, her torn business suit smeared with dust and blood. "Monsters, weird words floating in mid-air. This isn't real. It can't be real. I just… I just need to get home."

She wasn't the only one who felt that way.

"This place is a death trap," someone else added. "We're sitting ducks if more of those things show up."

"We don't even have weapons!" A younger guy, maybe mid-twenties, lifted his empty hands as if to prove a point. "How the hell do you expect us to fight?"

The energy was spiraling fast, panic feeding off itself, turning into something dangerous. Xander recognized it. This was the part where people made stupid decisions. Where someone broke off on their own, thinking they had a better shot alone, only to wind up dead before the next sunrise.

JT must've recognized it, too, because his frustration flashed for just a second before he shoved it down and leaned forward.

"You're right," he said. "We don't have weapons. We're not trained. We're not ready for any of this. But standing here yelling at each other doesn't change that. Like it or not, this is the world now. And the sooner we accept it, the better chance we have of surviving it."

That at least got them listening.

A few in the crowd looked away, swallowing hard. Others shifted, glancing toward the parking lot, the bodies, the harsh reality of it all.

JT let the silence stretch for a moment, then drove his point home.

"You want to leave? I'm not stopping you," JT said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. He let his gaze sweep over the survivors, holding their eyes, making sure they heard him. "I don't have a lot of answers right now. I don't know what's coming next, and I don't know how bad it's going to get. But I know this. This Simulation isn't bringing back the world we lost. We either figure this out together, or we die alone."

Xander shifted his weight, crossing his arms as he studied the survivors, watching as JT struggled to hold their attention. They were listening, but understanding? That was something else entirely. There was hesitation in their eyes that told him they weren't quite ready to accept this as their new reality.

"Just after the first wave of the attack finished, I received one of those messages from the Simulation. It's a quest for those of you familiar with RPG mechanics. It's the opportunity to establish a safe zone," JT said, scanning the faces in front of him, trying to gauge whether anything was sinking in. "If we establish it, monsters can't spawn inside. That doesn't mean we're untouchable. If something comes looking for us, it can still attack. But this place will be defensible."

A few people nodded, mostly the younger ones. Gamers, most likely, who grasped the concept quicker than the rest. Others hesitated, their eyes darting between the bloodied pavement, the sprawled bodies, and the open road stretching beyond the gas station, as if hoping that if they looked long enough, reality would snap back into something they recognized.

"We don't just get the safe zone for free," JT continued. "We have to complete a handful of tasks, or we're just sitting here, waiting to die."

Xander watched as JT lifted a hand and started counting off objectives, his voice straining to sound confident.

"First, we have to eliminate the remaining hostiles in the area. The quest says there are at least twelve left, probably in the auto shop, the hotel, or the restaurants across the street."

Xander didn't miss the shift in the crowd. The subtle step backward, the way shoulders tensed and hands gripped weapons just a little tighter. Unease moved through them like a wave, a ripple of instinctive fear, as if even speaking of the monsters might summon them from the shadows.

"Twelve?" someone blurted. "We barely survived the last attack!"

JT pushed forward, ignoring the outburst. "Second, we need to build defenses. There's a flatbed full of plywood we can use to board up windows, and if we push some cars out toward the edge of the lot, we can make a makeshift barricade."

Xander followed a few survivors' gazes as they took in the abandoned vehicles around them. Some of them were wrecked, others just parked haphazardly after their drivers had died or run. None of them would move under their own power anytime soon, but as barriers, they might just do the job.

"Third, we need to scavenge supplies. Food, water, weapons, anything we can get from those buildings before something worse comes through."

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Silence settled over the group for a moment, tension thick in the air.

Xander could see it in the way people shifted, the way their gazes flicked to each other, to the ground, to anything but JT. This was the moment of decision, where survival started meaning more than just hoping for the best.

JT's voice was flat, steady as he delivered the last part.

"This isn't about playing hero. You don't have to fight, but we all have to contribute. If you can't fight, help fortify the buildings. If you don't want to fortify, help find supplies. No one sits on their ass while the rest of us do the work."

For a second, Xander thought JT might have actually won them over.

Then came the pushback.

"This is ridiculous," the businesswoman from earlier scoffed, arms crossed. "You're telling me we're supposed to trust some… some video game quest to keep us safe?"

JT let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "I don't care what it sounds like. I care that it works."

"This isn't how the world works. The government won't let this continue. The national guard will deploy."

"Where are they?" His voice cut through the air, sharper than before, slicing through the scattered whispers and side conversations. Even those who hadn't been listening turned to look. "Where's the National Guard? FEMA? The cops? You think if help was coming, they'd let people get slaughtered like this?" He let the silence hang, just long enough for the words to settle like stones in their chests. "Even if help is coming, it won't be today. It won't be tomorrow. And until then, the only people we can count on, the only ones standing between us and whatever comes next, are standing right here, right now."

The words hung there, cold and heavy, pressing into the space between them like a weight none of them could lift. The businesswoman's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the strap of her purse as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. For a second, she looked like she wanted to argue, lips parting, brows furrowing, but whatever words had been forming never came. Instead, she exhaled sharply, shoulders tightening as she took a single step back, putting just a little more distance between herself and the reality she wasn't ready to face.

"Fine," she said. "I'm not staying here, playing along with whatever this is." She turned toward the exit, walking like she had somewhere to be, like this was just another problem to handle. "I'll find real help."

Xander watched a few others hesitate, then move to follow her. One by one, they made their decision, peeling off from the group, some moving quickly, as if afraid of changing their minds, others slower, reluctant but unable to fight the pull of denial. Some left in anger, still clinging to the idea that someone else should be in charge. Others left because they simply couldn't accept the world had changed. But the ones who worried Xander the most were the ones who left because standing still felt more dangerous than running blindly into the unknown.

Then, the real show started.

The loudest dissenter from earlier, the guy who had been shouting at JT, stepped forward. "I'm out too," he said, chest puffed out. "I don't take orders from some second-rate manager."

JT didn't even react.

The man smirked, scanning the remaining survivors as if expecting someone to back him up. "I'm gonna go find Big Jon. When I do, we'll see who's really in charge."

Xander didn't know Big Jon personally, but he knew of him. The guy was a walking stereotype of a truck stop owner, and there was a reason they called him Big Jon.

JT let out a slow breath. "You do that."

The man huffed, adjusting his belt like he'd just won something. He turned on his heel and marched off, his little faction trailing behind.

Xander waited until they were well out of earshot before muttering to Zoey, "Yeah, I'm sure Big Jon is still out there, fighting off monsters like some action hero."

Zoey snorted. "I mean… they call him Big Jon for a reason, right?"

Xander smirked. "Yeah. Let's put it this way. The only way he'd kill one of those Rodentia is if he fell over on top of it."

Zoey chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. It was a quick, fleeting moment of dark humor in the middle of the mess, but Xander would take what he could get.

He glanced at the remaining survivors. Two-thirds of them had stayed.

JT rubbed a hand down his face, clearly exhausted, but he wasn't giving up. He squared his shoulders, addressing those who remained.

"All right," JT said, loud enough to cut through the lingering tension. "We need to split into groups. If you're willing to fight and help clear the area, move to the left. If you want to help fortify the truck stop, move to the right. If scavenging and supply runs are more your speed, stay in the center. Once we see where everyone lands, we'll go from there."

For a long second, no one moved. The survivors glanced at each other, hesitant, as if waiting for someone else to decide first. Then, slowly, they began shifting.

The largest group gathered to the right, muttering among themselves about reinforcing windows and pushing cars into place. The center group wasn't far behind, people talking in low, uncertain tones about what supplies might still be salvageable.

But the fighters, the ones willing to clear out the remaining hostiles, were the smallest by far.

Xander scanned the group of fighters, mentally tallying numbers. Maybe two dozen in total. Some looked capable, others just determined, either out of desperation or sheer stubbornness.

That wasn't enough.

He could leave. Just step back, let them figure this out, and start moving toward Jo. But these people barely had a chance as it was. If another wave hit of Rodentia or something even worse, how many of them would survive?

The answer gnawed at him, but what really cemented his choice was the thought of Jo.

She loved that he helped people. That he didn't just walk away when things got tough, when people needed him. He wasn't a hero or someone who felt they had to save the world, but he was someone who'd help someone in need when they needed it. If he ignored that now, what was he bringing back to her?

His jaw tightened. He'd help. Not forever. Just long enough to get them stable. Then he'd go find Jo.

Beside him, Zoey hadn't moved. Xander glanced at her, noting the way she studied the groups, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He could almost see the gears turning in her head.

"I don't have anywhere to go," she admitted. "But I'm not staying here long term." A pause. Then, a small shrug. "You're not terrible to fight alongside, so if you want company, I'll stick with you for now."

Xander snorted. "So I meet your incredibly high standards?"

"I mean, you didn't get me killed, so yeah, you're in the running."

Xander nodded toward the left. "I'm going after Jo. But not yet. These people need a Safe Zone first."

"Guess we better go make sure these people don't die before then."

Resolved, Xander stepped toward the fighter group. Zoey followed without a word, her compound bow still slung over her shoulder, her expression unreadable.

"All right," JT said. "Now we know where we stand."

Xander took another look at the people around him. A handful looked like they knew what they were doing. A firefighter, a guy in work boots who carried himself like he'd been in a few brawls, a woman gripping a crowbar like she'd used it before.

Not perfect. But enough.

JT stepped down from the stepladder, rubbing a hand over his face yet again before turning toward the gathered fighters. Two of his employees peeled off to join the fortification and scavenger groups, leaving him alone to wrangle the most unpredictable bunch of the three.

Xander could already see the problem.

The builders and scavengers looked a bit lost, still figuring out what needed to be done, but at least they weren't posturing like a bunch of high school jocks before a fistfight. Here, though? Egos were on full display. People were shifting their grips on weapons, exchanging nods or sizing each other up. Some were already arguing about what weapons were best, how they should approach the fights, or whether it even made sense to follow JT's lead at all.

JT lifted his hands. "All right, let's get this sorted."

"What's there to sort? We find 'em, we kill 'em. Simple."

Xander turned his head just as Charlie pushed his way forward, grinning like he'd just stepped into a bar fight he'd been hoping for. "Enough talking. Let's smash these rat bastards."

A few guys chuckled, nodding in agreement. Others just stared.

JT paused for a moment in frustration. Xander could tell he was already bracing for a headache.

Charlie folded his arms, the grip of a crowbar resting against one elbow. He wasn't overtly aggressive, but his entire presence was designed to dominate the conversation.

"This ain't complicated," Charlie said. "We go in, we break shit, we kill anything that moves. Boom. Done."

Xander said nothing at first.

He'd seen this before. Guys who wanted to be in charge just to hear themselves talk. If you shut them down too fast, they dug their heels in harder. Better to let them run their mouth for a minute, let them think they'd had their say.

Charlie kept going, throwing in a few offhand comments that weren't just cocky, but toeing the line of racist and misogynistic. Nothing blatant, just enough that Xander saw Zoey's expression sour slightly, just enough that a few others in the group looked uncomfortable.

"Cool," Xander said. "You done?"

Charlie blinked. Some of the confidence slipped, just for a second.

"Here's what's actually happening," Xander said. "We're splitting into smaller groups. We know there are fourteen monsters left, but we don't know where, and we're not running in blind and getting people killed because someone wants to play an action hero. I would imagine that each building has a few monsters to fight. However, if a group finds that all the monsters are in one location, they rally back here to gather everyone."

He didn't look directly at Charlie, but he didn't have to.

"We keep it simple. Four to six people per team. We clear buildings, one at a time. No solo heroes. No charging in. We fight smart, or we die stupid."

Someone from the group, a man in a torn security uniform, maybe mid-forties, narrowed his eyes. "And why exactly should we be listening to you?"

Before Xander could answer, another voice cut in from the side.

"Because I saw him and the girl fight," a woman said, stepping forward. She looked rough, like she'd been through hell, but her voice was steady. "They killed twice as many of those things as anyone else last round. We'd be idiots not to listen."

Scattered agreements followed, low but decisive. Xander noticed some fighters shifting slightly, looking at him differently now.

Xander sighed. He hadn't stepped in to take charge. He just didn't want to die because some jackass thought swinging a crowbar at random was a valid strategy. But if people wanted to listen, fine.

JT, to his credit, said nothing. He just let it play out.

"All right," JT said after a moment. "Xander, take a team and clear the auto shop."

"Need three people."

Zoey stepped up immediately, adjusting her grip on her bow.

"I'm in," Charlie said, and Xander had to fight the urge to grimace.

The third volunteer was a wiry guy who moved a little too smoothly, like he'd spent years sneaking around places he wasn't supposed to be. He carried a pair of knives, and when Xander met his gaze, the guy just gave a casual shrug, like this was just another job.

"Fine," Xander said. "That's four. Let's move."

JT gave a quick nod before turning to the rest of the group. "The rest of you, figure out your teams and get moving. Two groups take the hotel, one on each side of the building. One group hits the restaurant. The last two teams are heading out toward the interstate to check for anything lurking near the roadway." He let his gaze pass over each of them, as if trying to gauge whether anyone looked like they already had second thoughts. "Stick together. Watch your backs. No one goes off alone."

The fighter groups moved quickly, weapons in hand, their purpose clear.

Xander caught sight of the other two groups. The ones that were taking on the tasks of building the defences and scavenging for supplies. They lacked organization. The builders were still arguing over what to prioritize, and the scavengers were half-heartedly debating who should go where. JT looked frustrated, but he let it go for now.

"So, uh," Zoey said as she looked toward the shop, "explain to me why we got assigned the giant murder garage?"

"Because we make terrible life choices." Xander said..

Charlie cracked his knuckles. "Or maybe we just ain't scared."

As if replying to Charlie's bravado, a deafening screech that sounded like metal being twisted and torn free echoed across the parking lot from the building.

"Yeah. Let's see how long that lasts."