Re: Apocalypse Game

Once they had successfully taken control of the warehouse, their primary concern became the logistics of transporting the plethora of containers scattered around.

Alan surveyed the vast expanse of the warehouse, his eyes darting from one container to the next. "We're looking at over 30 containers,"

Merle, pacing back and forth, exclaimed in exasperation, "How in the world are we going to move them all?!"

Each player had their own limitations. Depending on their strength attribute, an empty bag could typically accommodate between 5 to 10 guns and their associated ammunition. They could utilize their upper body strength to carry more, stretching their arms out to their sides or even crafting rudimentary bags out of whatever materials they could find. However, even in the best-case scenario, they could only hope to transport about double the original amount.

Luis the Mexican player interrupts offering an idea "Bro...why not get a truck or some sort of vehicle?" He turn excited as he added "Better yet! What about one of those armored transports we saw a few blocks back?"

Alan shook his head. "No, vehicles are out of the question," he stated firmly. He had been down that road before and knew all too well the pitfalls it presented. A vehicle, even an armored one, would be a double-edged sword. The moment its engine roared to life, it would act as a beacon, alerting the multitude of Nazi soldiers who currently infested the city streets. Trying to navigate such a vehicle through the labyrinth of enemy patrols was a suicide mission.

Merle's frustration was palpable. He looked around at the vast arsenal of weapons, their cold steel glinting under the dim warehouse lights. It felt agonizing to have so much firepower at their disposal and yet, seemingly, no way to get it to where it was needed.

Recognizing Merle's growing unease, Alan approached him and said "Calm down, just follow the plan"

The atmosphere in the warehouse grew tense as the crimson gunner, his face shadowed beneath his hat, looked at Alan with a wary expression. "You better be right about this"

Alan met the gunner's gaze, understanding the weight of their predicament. Turning towards Vicky and Milo, he said, "Both of you, be careful"

The beautiful brunette flashed a confident grin "You can count on us."

With their roles set, the trio moved in unison, their synchronized steps echoing faintly in the vastness of the warehouse. Just as they began their mission, the front door creaked open, revealing two rugged-looking men. The two rednecks, were there to assist with the daunting task inside, while the other two stood outside, guarding the perimeter.

Alan look upon the four players in front of him and said "Alright, we've got 10 minutes. Let's get as much out of here as we can."

With practiced ease, Alan began instructing them. He pulled out tarps and ropes that lay scattered around and demonstrated how to craft makeshift bags. "Prioritize the ammunition and handguns," he ordered.

While the assault rifles were undeniably more potent, they were also cumbersome. In terms of efficiency and weight, handguns were the clear winner.

Amidst the flurry of activity, Alan's eyes fell upon a stash of grenades. Without hesitation, he began filling his own bag, the cold, metal orbs weighing it down. Once satisfied, he beckoned to a young man Daniel, signaling for him to follow him upstairs.

Outside, the amber hues of the setting sun painted the horizon, the tranquility of the scene starkly contrasting the chaos erupting in Calumet's southern sectors. The sounds of distant gunfire and explosions hinted at the fierce battle where the Black Sand Mercenaries were engaged.

Alan wasted no time. From his stash, he retrieved ropes he'd earlier scavenged from a hardware store. His fingers worked quickly and efficiently, crafting a rudimentary pulley system to hoist the loaded bags up to the roof. It was a race against time, and every second counted.

Seven minutes has passed before the distinctive sound of rustling ropes heralded the arrival of the first bag on the roof. The ambient noise of distant warfare was a persistent reminder of their precarious situation.

Daniel, whose eyes were wide, betrayed a rare moment of anxiety. In his grip, a rod with an attached long rope swayed slightly, reflecting the weight of the responsibility resting on his shoulders.

"There!"

Alan drew Daniel's attention. Following Alan's outstretched hand, he noticed an opening in the distance, roughly 150 yards away to the east, near the bustling port. A faint, rhythmic light blinked back at them from that direction—Vicky's signal.

The realization of what he had to do made Daniel's heart race. He stared at the vast expanse separating them from the target, and a shadow of doubt crept into his voice. "I'm not sure, Mr. D… That's... it's a lot farther than my usual throw. What if I miss?"

Alan, sensing the unease, moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. His voice was gentle but firm, "Daniel, you're the top quarterback from the east coast. You've made throws others only dream of. If there's anyone up for this task, it's you."

The words, infused with confidence and trust, resonated within Daniel. Taking a moment, he locked eyes with Alan, and then, turning towards the distant light, the trepidation was replaced by a newfound determination.

He retreated several paces to give himself a running start. Closing his eyes briefly, he inhaled deeply, feeling the cool night air fill his lungs. Without further hesitation, he dashed forward, and with Expert-level throwing skill, combined with a perfected throwing technique he released the rod. The weighty object sailed through the night sky, an arc of hope against the backdrop of conflict. It landed, impressively, just a few meters shy of its intended mark.

Alan, with an ecstatic grin, shouted, "Incredible throw, Daniel!" Without missing a beat, he gripped the slack of the rope, securing it firmly to the roof's edge. Retrieving one of the weighty bags, he fashioned a swift knot and, with a push, sent it sliding along the rod, its trajectory aimed at the distant port.

Raising his voice to be heard over the increasing din of warfare, he called out,

"Ready the next bag!"