Orbist

The camp had barely settled before trouble arrived.

A sharp whistle cut through the evening air, sending a ripple of tension through the gathered survivors. You looked up from the makeshift command table where the General had been outlining defensive plans. Plavo, sitting nearby with his wrist device, shot you a concerned glance.

"They're here," one of the scouts panted as they sprinted into the camp. "Armed settlers, moving in from the west. They must have been watching us."

The General didn't hesitate. "Everyone, to your positions! We hold our ground."

The camp sprang into motion. You and Plavo rushed to a vantage point near a cluster of debris, eyes scanning the dimming horizon. A ragged line of figures emerged from the desert haze, their silhouettes framed by the setting sun. They carried crude weapons—salvaged tools, sharpened metal rods, and makeshift clubs. They were desperate, and desperation made people dangerous.

One of them stepped forward, a man with a weathered face and piercing eyes. He raised a hand, signaling his group to stop.

"You have no claim here," he called out. "Leave your supplies and go, and we won't have to spill blood tonight."

You exchanged a glance with Plavo. His jaw tightened. "They're bluffing," he muttered.

The General stepped ahead, voice firm and unwavering. "This is our land now. We don't seek a fight, but we will defend what's ours."

Tension thickened, each side waiting for the other to break. The settlers shifted, their grip tightening on their weapons. Then, without warning, a rock flew through the air, striking one of the survivors near you. Chaos erupted.

Shouts filled the night. You ducked behind cover as the camp defended itself, makeshift barricades turning into battle lines. The settlers pushed forward, but their lack of coordination became their downfall. The General's commands kept your side organized, and within minutes, the tide began to turn. The settlers hesitated, their numbers dwindling under the resistance.

Then, just as quickly as they had come, they broke ranks. The man with the piercing eyes cursed under his breath before signaling a retreat.

"Fall back!" he barked. His people scrambled away, disappearing into the darkness of the desert.

As the dust settled, the camp took stock of the damage. A few injuries, some scattered supplies lost, but nothing beyond repair.

Plavo exhaled sharply, rubbing his wrist. "That could've gone worse."

You nodded, watching the horizon where the settlers had vanished. A wave of exhaustion suddenly hit you like a crashing tide. Your vision blurred, and the sounds of the camp faded into a distant hum. The weight of everything—the journey, the fight, the struggle—became unbearable.

Your knees buckled.

The last thing you heard before darkness swallowed you was Plavo shouting your name.