TAKE ON ME [Survival LITRPG Apocalypse]

Bo strode through the blood-and-snow-covered main 'street' of Raintree, his breath puffing in the frigid air.

Tess had wanted some time alone, and she had headed up the hill with tears in her eyes. Bo wanted to comfort his daughter, but he was never really good at that kind of thing.

In the long run, this will make her stronger. Right?

He hoped so: but really, he had no clue. The same for Finn, he didn't know how to help him either.

Parenting was hard as hell.

Instead, he focused on what he was good at, and got to work: or at least, tried to.

He groaned as he stepped off the walking path to rub at his temples. Something was wrong. He was having disturbing hallucination after disturbing hallucination: nightmarish visions of screaming people trapped inside a collapsing Town Hall, squashed alive by falling beams and planks; a family sleeping in their [Crappy Shack], frozen into human popsicles because the shelter . . . sucked.

Did that fucker cast a spell on me?

The tragedy of losing over fifty people was gut-wrenching, but all that showed Bo was that they had to work harder. He gritted his teeth, and headed to the newest [Lumber Zone] to speak with Sam.

No, wait . . . Dammit, Sam. I'm sorry, buddy.

Bo glanced down the path behind him. Pieces of smashed Shacks lay strewn across the ground, mingling with smoke, and the blood that still clung to the hill.

He shook his head. There was only one path forward: keep building. Keep pushing hard. They had lost a lot of good people, and it was sad.

But to stop is to die.

It felt cold-hearted, even to Bo. But what other choice was there? He couldn't let his loved ones die because of one bad night.

Bo's calloused fingers traced the edges of the asphalt pathway blueprint folded up in his coat pocket as he scanned the citizens milling about. A team of construction workers sat around a half-destroyed Shack: its roof had collapsed, and there was a gaping hole in one side. The door hung crookedly from its hinges; as Bo passed, it crashed to the ground and broke in half. Now they'd need to make another damn door, as well.

Bo stormed over. "Hey guys, c'mon," he barked at them. "Let's get to work, and start repairing these buildings. People need warm places to sleep tonight."

The workers looked up at him, eyes dark with unspoken grief.

"Bo, give it a rest, man," one of the men said. "Not today. Not after . . . last night."

Bo waved impatiently. "It's exactly because of last night that we have to push harder! Get up!" His voice rose.

"Leave it alone," one of the women muttered.

"Goddammit, I said get up or get the hell outta here!" Bo snarled. "Last night was horrible, but that means we have to work twice as hard. Now get off your asses and fix these fucking buildings!"

He spun around and stomped off.

He halted after a few paces since there was only silence behind him. Whirling around, Bo fixed the workers with a glare: until they grumbled, and grudgingly shuffled into action.

Bo stalked away, his gut churning. He knew he was being an asshole, but it was for everyone's own good. They had to keep moving forward.

We can have a day off when we're dead.

His heavy boots crunched through the snow as he surged down the path. His temples throbbed. Timber, stone, Copper, professions: they needed it all, and he couldn't find a damn person to talk to about it. Not Bridget, Ben, or Steve.

And certainly not Sam.

Bo reached the hillside and halted abruptly. White-hot rage flared behind his eyes at the sight before him. Piles of lumber lay haphazardly in the snow. Unused stone and construction scraps littered the ground. Those Shacks: the ten he'd given explicit instructions on before leaving. "Build 'em parallel and in a simple row, just like the others," he'd said. "No shoddy work."

And here they sat: in a fucking diagonal line down the hillside, like a giant middle finger aimed squarely at him and his carefully laid plans.

Bo closed his eyes, and tilted his head back.

Deep breaths. In and out.

No, fuck that.

The idiots had created a logistical nightmare. The clean mental road map he envisioned was no longer an option.

Bo stormed around the Shacks, his jaw clenched and his beard bristling. Each was worse than the last: crooked frames; gaps in the walls; roofs sagging under the snow.

As he rounded the corner of the last Shack, something caught his eye. A table—one of the new ones Raintree had paid hard-earned Copper for—sat outside in the snow, piled high with junk. One of its legs bowed dangerously under the weight.

His fists balled. He pictured himself pounding on the door, and dragging the lazy asses from their beds. Did they have any notion of the daily risks and sacrifices made just to meet their basic needs?

But he restrained himself. He closed his eyes, and tilted his face to the icy sting of freshly falling snowflakes. At least the rage temporarily masked the nightmarish visions still haunting him.

With a long exhalation, he unfurled his fingers and walked on, his gaze fixed ahead. One foot in front of the other.

A familiar voice cut through the glacial air. "Bo! I'm glad I found you."

He turned to see Bridget hurrying toward him, her auburn hair whipping loose from her braid in the biting wind. Bo bit back the sharp retort on his tongue, and forced his features into something resembling composure: anything but unbridled rage.

"Bridget. Been looking for you, actually."

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She reached him, her breath puffing out in icy clouds. "Me too. Just missed you at your Shack this morning. Been looking for you ever since. Do you have a few hours to catch up? We've got a lot to cover before we speak with the rest of your family members. Last night and the losses, the town, resources, funds . . . everything that happened while you were gone."

"Hours? Bridget, I don't have time for that! I was looking for you to discuss the [Blacksmith], the [Lumbermill], the repairs, the new pathway I want—"

"Lord Bo, the Town Hall has a time-dilated office." Bridget gestured at the building. "If I had my way, which I'm gonna, we'll have an eight-hour meeting every morning to discuss Kingdom business. In the time-dilated office, it's eight hours for every one real-world hour."

Bo's stomach sank. "And how long do you intend to keep me in there this morning?"

"Just one real-world hour. No big deal."

Fuck.

"Lead on," Bo grunted.

Bridget strode ahead, Bo falling in beside her.

Neither spoke until they entered the battered Town Hall, escaping the worst of the brutal chill. Bo scowled, noting the sizable gap where the door used to be; its splintered remains were strewn several meters away.

Wonderful. Must get someone on that.

Inside, he paused, blinking hard. The large meeting space—empty when they'd left for the Dungeon—now brimmed with rows of rough-hewn pews. A raised dais stood ready at the far end. All of the furniture was extremely rough, but it looked functional.

"What the . . . "

"One of the things I wanted to discuss," Bridget interjected. "But offices first. Come on."

"Offices?"

Shaking his head, Bo followed her down a narrow hall. She led him to a small room dominated by a rickety desk and two chairs.

"Your office. Have a seat." She gestured at a chair that looked barely fit to support a child, let alone his stocky frame.

He circled the desk, and lowered himself gingerly into the chair; it creaked ominously, but it held.

Bridget plopped into the other, and leaned forward.

"I've got a list of things we need to cover. Mind if I start?"

Bo winced as the chair cracked loudly under him. "Hit me. God knows, I could use some competence today."

Bridget pulled a stack of slate tablets from her satchel, and ordered them neatly on the desk. "First things first. The final death count from the attack stands at fifty-three."

Bo's stomach clenched. He nodded silently, not trusting his voice.

"Fourteen were high contributors to the town through their professions," she continued. "We'll need to recruit replacements. I know it seems callous to worry about such things now, but resources were stretched thin even before . . . well, before last night."

"It's not callous, it's practical. I'm glad you get it at least. Had it out with some [Builders] this morning over the Shacks."

Bridget met his gaze. "Yeah, they pointed me your way earlier. It's how I finally found you. Bo, you owe those people an apology. What are you trying to do, run off our best workers? They're solid people, but two of them just lost family members. Cut them some slack."

Bo sighed heavily.

I am an ass.

"I'll make it right. It's just that every minute not working puts us further behind, and we're literally fighting for our survival here."

"The town needs a minute to grieve, Bo. To process." She tapped the stack of tablets. "Please make sure you apologize. Hana's going to be pissed at you when she hears about it."

Bo rubbed his face and groaned.

"Anyway, moving on. While you were gone, we had another influx of refugees. About sixty."

"Sixty?" He frowned. "We can barely support who we've got. Can they work, or help hunt?"

"Yes, they're a scrappy bunch. Most were barely scraping by out there, but they can handle themselves. Several even hit Level 3 already."

"Still . . . " Bo shook his head.

"Bo, listen. I doubt we'll be seeing many more refugees who can't contribute. The weak, sick, injured . . . Honestly, I'm not sure how many could still be left out there at this point."

It was a sobering thought. Bo ran a hand through his beard. He imagined what it might have been like to have been on the run this whole time, and the constant fear and desperation that would come with that.

"Anyway." Bridget set the tablet to the side and picked up a new one. "That puts our current population at five hundred and seventy-six."

Bridget cleared her throat. She met Bo's gaze. He noticed—for the first time—that her own eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. "Now then, Lord Bo. First actionable item. I spent some time with Lady Chloe, and she—"

"Bridget, you don't have to use the reputation titles or whatever. It's just us here."

"Um, no, Lord Bo. I actually do." An edge entered Bridget's voice. "Please don't interrupt."

He raised an eyebrow.

Bridget sighed. Her shoulders slumped. "Lord Bo, I'm sorry. This past week . . . it's been so hard. I'm trying, I promise I am. There's just so much to keep track of, plus last night, and I just can't . . . "

Tears welled in her eyes: Bo's kryptonite.

He held up his hands. "Bridget, you're doing great! Don't fall apart on me, now. Tell me what you need."

She nodded and sniffed. "Okay. Like I was saying, I spoke with Lady Chloe. Smart girl. She helped me work through some of the roadblocks I've hit. Trying to run this place, dealing with the prompts . . . " She took a shaky breath. "Turns out, a lot of the decisions you left me in charge of, I didn't actually have the authority to make them. Every time I pulled funds from the treasury to cover expenses, I was losing reputation. Basically for 'stealing'." She blinked rapidly. "Look at my reputation."

Bo opened his interface. He navigated to a prompt that showed a list of everyone's reputation, and he found Bridget's. Her reputation bar glowed an angry crimson, which showed a debuff toward rest, stress, and recovery. No wonder she looked so strung out.

"That's why I have to do everything I can to raise it. Constantly use titles to raise smidges of reputation. I've even been paying for worker wages myself. Out of my own salary!"

"Shit, Bridget. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize . . . it's not like I really think you're stealing!" He shook his head. "Wait, you have a salary?"

"No! We never settled on a salary. So I was stealing that, too!" Bridget's voice cracked.

"I'm sorry. I'm still learning all this. But Bridget, truly. You're doing a fantastic job."

Bridget drew in a slow breath.

"What do we need to do to fix this?" asked Bo.

Bridget slowly released her breath. "Chloe found a prompt for Kingdom positions. She thinks you should appoint me as 'Justiciar of Raintree'. It would give me the authority I need to properly run things while you and the other Lords and Ladies are away." Bridget glanced down. She twisted her hands together. "I know it's presumptive of me. It would make me the highest authority here, aside from the ruling nobles. Higher than Lord Richard, except on his own land. But Lord Bo . . . if you want me to run Foundation, I need to be able to actually run it. Chloe's on board, she just didn't want to assign the role without your approval."

Bo was already scrolling through the interface as she spoke. The list of available positions seemed endless: administration; judiciary; treasury; military; the list went on. Bo stopped looking when the list hit parks and recreation. But there, at the very top: 'Justiciar'.

It was a heavy choice. Bridget had proven herself capable by far, and he also trusted her to make the best choices for the settlement. He just didn't know if she would always make the same choices he would, and that was a hard pill to swallow. He wanted things done his way. His gut churned again.

He mentally tapped the entry. A prompt opened before him.

[The Justiciar of Raintree is a position for the chief minister of the Kingdom. This role comes with significant authority over legal and administrative matters. They can preside over courts and make judicial decisions.]

He sat in silence for a few minutes, struggling with the idea of delegating so much work.

Look at how the Shacks turned out.

Bo's mental finger hovered over the prompt.

With a sigh, he approved it, assigning the Justiciar role to Bridget.

Done. For better or worse.

Bridget's eyes glazed over, her face slack as unseen prompts flashed before her.

Bo shifted in his seat, the wood creaking beneath him.

After a long moment, Bridget blinked and nodded. "Thank you. One moment, please." She leaned back and bellowed, "Abby!"

Rapid footsteps, then a Latine girl no older than twelve skidded into the room. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Abby, please run this slate to Mr. Peter Ness. You'll find him and nineteen others by the cookfire." Bridget handed over the slate.

"Right away, ma'am!" Abby darted off, slate in hand.

Bridget turned back to Bo. "I've started paying some of the kids to run messages. Using Kingdom funds." Her words hung in the air as she stared at him, searching his face.

"Uh, good," Bo grunted. His beard started to itch.

"The slate," Bridget said slowly, "gave permission for the twenty people interested in Kingdom administration roles to go visit Caretaker Job and get whichever profession combinations will best help with those roles. All of them had office experience before this happened. Instead of yelling at them, I actually treated them like humans, and they agreed to work today." She paused to stare at him.

Bo said nothing. His jaw was clenched.

"To be honest, we're not fully sure what Job will offer, or what to expect, but they wanted assurance of Kingdom employment first. Which is quite understandable, as there aren't many office jobs at the moment. These people will assist in the day-to-day running of the Kingdom and Foundation."

Twenty more salaries! Picking professions that don't even produce anything!

Bridget stared at Bo through squinted eyes. The silence stretched.

Why is she looking at me like that?

"What are you doing?" Bo finally grunted.

"Waiting to see if you're going to freak out and yell at me."

Bo crossed his arms. "Depends. Why do we need twenty admin jobs? Can we even afford it?"

"Yes. Or, well, I'll say it like this. We have access to the funds through Chloe. However, finances are later on the agenda. The admin jobs are very necessary. Each Robinson and Damascus family member will have a full-time administrator assigned to them, handling schedules, Kingdom needs, and running messages. They'll also keep me informed of any plans you forget to include me on. If that's all right with you, of course. The other positions will run the Kingdom's day-to-day tasks. While the prompts supply a wealth of information, they don't physically pay people, they don't create inventory reports, they don't set up work schedules . . . you get the idea. There is a lot of work to be done, and I can't nearly handle it alone."

Bo sighed. "All right. Later, I want to go over a detailed description of what we're paying each of these people to do."

Bridget nodded

"All right, what's next?"

"Let's discuss the repair effort and building projects, and what that will cost in coin."

"Yeah, in regard to building projects, what the hell is up with those ten Shacks I asked to have built? This is my settlement, Bridget, and I want things done my way. I leave for a week and everything goes to shit. Have you looked at the buildings? Including this one? They're falling apart!" He slammed a fist into his open palm. "I'm seeing equipment and materials lying all over the place, plus I gave Ben specific instructions on how to build those Shacks. And he completely fucked it up. They're built in some crooked-ass diagonal line down the hill. Unless we tear them all down, he ruined my whole plan for that area—"

Bridget held up a hand. "Lord Bo, Ben brought the issue to me during construction. The hillside you designated was eroding badly. The first Shack we built collapsed within a day from the freeze-thaw cycle." She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "We cannot unlock new land to be built on. Only you can do that. We had to build somewhere, so we picked the best sites in already designated construction zones. You said to get those ten buildings done, no matter what."

Bo deflated.

Yep. I am an ass.

He was glad he hadn't found Ben earlier.

"I apologize," he muttered, struggling to keep his expression neutral. "Go on."

There was a rapid knocking on the door.

"Come in," Bridget said.

Another even younger girl—Bo recognized her as one of Helen's orphaned kids—scurried in and bowed. "Lord Bo." She turned to Bridget, squinting in concentration. "Juus-ti-ci-ar Bridget, the scouts are on their way, but they sent me ahead to tell you!"

Bo stood quickly. "What! Are we under attack?"

"No, they found someone from outside the borders of old Raintree!"