Shattered Flats: The Architect Hunted by His Own System

Chapter 3 - The Trading Game

The wind howled outside, but within the six-foot radius of the Light Core, the air stayed strangely mild, like the heat had hit an invisible wall and simply couldn't reach him.

Nathan leaned back against the dusty toolbox, holding the half-empty water bottle in one hand. He stared into the pulsing blue glow for a moment, then turned his attention inward. The pale panel unfolded in front of his eyes again.

Now that the immediate crisis was handled, he finally had time to sit and actually explore this so-called system.

Below his personal stats and inventory, a row of function icons waited: Server Channel, Friends List, Trading Market, Crafting Manual.

Friends List was empty. No surprise there. He hadn't exactly been the social type back home, and he wasn't about to start now in a wasteland where everyone was fighting for their next hour.

He tapped into the Server Channel.

A line of numbers appeared in the top corner.

"Server: DF-014 Current Online: 9,876 / 10,000"

Ten thousand people had started. Less than ten hours in, a hundred and twenty-four were already gone.

"That doesn't add up."

Every starter crate came with a basic iron axe and five units of kindling. Plus whatever fuel the Core had on arrival, that alone bought at least ten hours, even if someone sat there doing nothing.

What had those people done to get eliminated that fast?

The channel scrolled fast, messages piling on top of each other. Desperation dripped off every line.

"Somebody help, I'm cooking out here. This stupid axe won't even bite the wood, every swing just bounces off. Anyone got spare logs? My dad's a partner at a law firm downtown, I'll wire you real money once we're back, I swear."

"Buddy, if your dad's alive, he's out there swinging an axe too."

"Don't get me started. I spotted a crate half buried in the sand, ran over excited, and before I got within ten feet some lizard thing shot out of a hole. Fast as hell, teeth like needles. Almost took my hand off. Missed the crate entirely, wasted all that energy for nothing."

"Saw that too! Random crates spawn out in the open. Opened a wooden one earlier, got two protein bars and some shard."

Reading through the noise, Nathan picked out two phrases that mattered: "random crates" and "dangerous creatures."

So this world had more depth than he'd assumed. Wooden crates, copper crates, whatever spawned randomly out there, that was the real path to getting ahead.

Shard came from crates. Good to know.

If shard was in crates, iron probably was too.

But something bothered him. According to the chatter, these crates weren't exactly rare. So why hadn't he found a single one during his whole run through the trees?

He doubted it was just bad luck.

Nathan backed out of the chat and tapped into the Trading Market.

"Seller: RidgeHopper Item: Stone x2 Wants: Bread x5" "Seller: DustRunner Item: Cloth Wants: Clean Water" "Seller: StillTicking Item: Wood x3 Wants: Anything edible"

Most people were trading for food and wood, the things keeping them alive right now. Stone and cloth were basically going for scraps, nobody had the luxury of thinking long term.

Nathan looked at his own inventory. Seventy-plus units of wood staring back at him. His pulse ticked up.

In this opening stretch, where wood meant the difference between life and death, what he was holding was practically gold.

"Time to trade," he muttered. "Shard, iron, can't get those from cutting trees. And right now wood's at its peak value. Wait too long and the rate shifts."

Even with the chainsaw dead, he still had the handsaw. Slower, sure, but he could always gather more. Short term, he wasn't running out.

He tapped to post, and a prompt blinked up.

"System: No handle detected. Enter a display name (cannot be changed once set)."

Nathan stared at the blank box. Naming things was always the worst part.

He sat there a long moment, nothing clever coming to mind. Finally he gave up trying to sound smart and just typed the first thing that surfaced, half a joke at his own expense.

STILLUNEMPLOYED

"Set successfully. Handle locked."

The prompt closed. He posted his message.

"STILLUNEMPLOYED: Selling wood in bulk. Looking for Shard, Iron, high-calorie food. DM with your offer and rate. Deals move fast."

For three seconds after it appeared, the channel went dead quiet. Then it exploded.

"That handle is sending me. Bulk wood though? We got a whale in here."

"I need some. My Core's down to two hours. Not trying to find out what happens at zero."

Half the channel started scrambling.

But the skeptics crawled out fast.

"Hold on. Everyone started with the same rusty axe. Cutting anything solid in this heat takes twenty, thirty minutes easy. Where's this guy getting 'bulk' from? Sounds like a scam."

"MARCUSV: Relax, people. Look at that handle, sounds like some office reject with a laptop and no muscle. I've been out here busting my hands and I've only got maybe ten logs saved. Some guy with a joke for a name claims bulk stock? Sounds like he's running a con."

"GRIDLOCK99: Agreed. Grifters made it through the apocalypse too, apparently. My advice, ignore him. How much wood can some laid-off desk jockey really cut?"

Nathan scrolled through it, expression flat. He almost laughed.

But some people pushed back.

"NightOwl77: How's it a scam? If he doesn't deliver, the trade doesn't complete. Doubting someone can chop wood doesn't mean nobody can."

Nathan gave a small nod at the screen. Fair point.

He didn't bother arguing in the channel. Instead he flipped Do Not Disturb on for private messages, only allowing requests that came with an actual trade offer attached.

Some people didn't care whether he really had wood. They just couldn't stand watching someone else get ahead.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Private messages started pouring in.

Most survivors weren't stupid. Facing a very real threat of dying out here, they'd try anything for a shot.

Nathan opened the first one.

"DustRunner: Got Shard x3 off a crate. What'll you give me for it? Can't chop anymore, my hands are wrecked. Tried burning the shard directly but the system won't let me, says my Core level's too low. I'm almost out of fuel."

Nathan thought it over. "Three shard for five wood. Deal?"

He hadn't known about that level restriction. Made sense the good fuel would be gated behind an upgrade.

The reply came fast. "Deal, but five feels light for shard."

The guy was torn. He knew what he was holding was valuable, but he was desperate.

"I'll go to six. Final offer."

Nathan wasn't sure of shard's real worth yet either. Six was his ceiling for now.

"Fine. Deal."

Both items dropped into the trade window. A flash of white light, and it completed.

His wood dropped by six. Three chunks of shard, each about the size of a fist, appeared in his inventory.

One down.

"SaltFlatJoe: Hey, got two Iron Scraps off a crate. Give me eight wood for them? Trying to stock enough to make it through the night."

Nathan replied, "Sure. Initiate."

Over the next ten minutes, his wood pile dropped fast. But his inventory filled with something better.

"Shard x9 Stone x21 Iron Scrap x5 Raw Meat x2 Bread x2 Basic Torch Blueprint x1"

The blueprint was new. The description said it was needed to craft certain items. Seemed useful, so he'd taken it in trade.

Back in the channel, MARCUSV, who'd been mocking him earlier, noticed the trades actually going through. His tone soured fast.

"MARCUSV: Whatever. Probably got lucky pulling a rare crate. Watch, once the wood dries up he'll be begging to join a real group."

The people who'd traded successfully popped back into the channel to thank him. That should have been fine, except it caused problems.

Since Nathan had stopped trading for the moment, most people still had nothing. And the sky was darkening. Temperatures outside Core radius were dropping already, fast. Gathering was getting harder by the minute. Trading was their only real shot.

The ones who'd pinned everything on him, seeing him stop, started losing it.

"You said bulk! You did like five trades and quit. What are the rest of us supposed to do?"

"Keep trading! My light's almost out. You want us cutting wood in the dark?"

"If you couldn't deliver, why post at all? Showing off, then hiding."

Whether it was coordinated or just genuine panic, the people defending him thinned out fast. Mostly attacks now. Accusations of hoarding. Playing games with people's lives.

Nathan closed the channel. Not worth the energy.

In a life-or-death situation like this, people losing it was expected. If he actually had unlimited stock, he'd have kept trading. He didn't. And nobody back home had ever handed him anything out of charity either. He wasn't about to start playing savior now.

He looked down at the Basic Torch Blueprint sitting in his inventory.

"Requirements: Wood x10, Fuel Oil, Iron Scrap x2. Note: Requires Level 2 Workbench to craft."

He leaned back against the toolbox again, feeling the weight of his stockpile push back against a low, lingering unease.

Out here, your handle didn't matter. Where you came from didn't matter either.

What mattered was who was holding the resources.

He checked what remained: thirty-one units of wood, plus the shard, iron, and stone from trading.

Time to plan.

Upgrading the Core to Level 2 required fifty wood. He had everything else. For the wood, he'd just need the handsaw tomorrow and a bit more legwork.

Settled on that, he pulled a few more logs from his inventory and stacked them into a rough windbreak against the toolbox. He curled into the small space it made, watching the pale sky outside slowly bleed into black.

His eyes grew heavy. He let himself drift off.

To be continued.