The cold wind whipped through Daisy's long, wavy blonde hair as she rode along the outskirts of the town, her horse's hooves crunching over the dirt path. The mountains loomed in the distance, the first dusting of snow already settling on their peaks, signaling that winter was just around the corner. She had a rifle strapped across her back, ready for whatever might come at her, though lately, it had been quiet.
Patrol duty wasn't glamorous, but Daisy didn't mind it. There was something about being out here, on horseback, away from the chaos of the town. It reminded her of home—well, the home she used to have, before everything went to shit.
Her partner for the day, a grizzled man named Cole, rode alongside her. He was in his late 40s, with a permanent scowl etched into his face. They didn't talk much, but that was fine by Daisy. Cole was good at his job, and he wasn't one for small talk.
They had just rounded the outer wall of the town when Daisy spotted something in the distance—a figure, stumbling through the snow-covered brush. At first, she thought it was a stray, maybe another scavenger or someone trying to sneak their way into Banff. But as they got closer, she realized something was off.
"Shit, look at that," Daisy muttered, squinting at the man ahead. "Is that guy missing a leg?"
Cole grunted, nodding toward the figure. "Looks like it. Let's go check it out."
They urged their horses forward, quickly closing the distance between them and the limping man. As they got closer, Daisy could see the man more clearly now. He was in rough shape—his clothes were torn, blood soaked through the fabric, and where his right leg should have been, there was just a crude bandage wrapped around a bloody stump. He was using a makeshift crutch to drag himself forward, his face twisted in pain.
"Hey!" Daisy called out as they approached, pulling back on the reins of her horse. "You alright, partner?"
The man's head jerked up, his face pale and sweaty. "Help... I was attacked," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Raiders. They took everything... left me for dead."
Daisy exchanged a glance with Cole, who just nodded silently. She pulled the walkie-talkie from her belt and clicked it on.
"Base, this is Patrol Two. We've got a man here, looks like he's been attacked. Missing a leg, claims raiders hit him. Gonna need a medical team out here, stat."
The walkie crackled, then a voice came through. "Copy that, Patrol Two. Medical team's on the way. ETA five minutes. Stay with him and keep him calm."
Daisy hooked the walkie back onto her belt and slid off her horse, approaching the man cautiously. "Alright, buddy, we got medics coming. Just hang tight."
The man collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily, his body shaking from the cold and blood loss. His eyes were wild, darting around as if expecting another attack. "I didn't think I'd make it... I thought they were gonna... finish me off," he panted.
Daisy knelt down next to him, her voice steady despite the chaos of the situation. "You're gonna be okay, alright? We'll get you patched up."
"Raiders," the man mumbled, his words slurring together. "They hit my caravan... killed the others... took everything. I was the only one who made it out."
Cole, still on his horse, scanned the area, his hand resting on his rifle. "Raiders, huh? How many?"
The man shook his head weakly. "I don't know... six, maybe seven? They were fast. They came out of nowhere."
Daisy glanced up at Cole. "Shit. If they're still out there, we might have a problem."
"Yeah, we'll need to keep an eye out," Cole replied, his gaze still sweeping the horizon. "But let's get this guy taken care of first."
A moment later, the sound of an approaching vehicle caught their attention. The medical team arrived in an old truck, the engine sputtering as it rolled to a stop. Two medics jumped out, carrying a stretcher between them.
"Over here!" Daisy waved them over, standing up as the medics rushed to the man's side.
One of the medics, a young guy with a buzz cut, knelt down next to the man, quickly assessing his injuries. "Jesus, this guy's in rough shape," he muttered, reaching for his medical kit. "We'll have to get him back to base, fast."
The second medic, a woman in her thirties, helped load the man onto the stretcher, carefully lifting his injured leg. "Hang in there, buddy. We've got you."
The man groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. "Don't... let them... get me..."
"You're safe now," Daisy assured him, though her mind was already racing. Raiders this close to town? That was bad news. "We'll get you taken care of."
As the medics secured the man onto the stretcher and lifted him into the truck, Daisy turned to Cole, her expression serious. "We need to report this. If there's a group of raiders operating nearby, we've got to warn the others."
Cole nodded, his face grim. "Yeah. If they're hitting caravans, it's only a matter of time before they try something bigger."
Daisy pulled her walkie back out and radioed base again. "Patrol Two here. Medical team has the injured man. Possible raider activity near the outer perimeter. Requesting additional patrols in the area."
"Copy that, Patrol Two. Sending backup."
As the medics drove off, Daisy swung herself back onto her horse, her mind still on the man's words. Raiders were bad enough, but the fact that they'd gotten so close to town without anyone noticing? That was a problem.
"We should circle back around, see if we can find any tracks," Cole suggested, his voice low.
Daisy nodded, tightening her grip on the reins. "Yeah. Let's hope we don't run into anything worse."
With that, they urged their horses forward, scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. The sun was starting to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the landscape, and Daisy's gut told her that things were about to get a lot more dangerous around here.
***
Ethan stood in the workshop, his hands sweaty as he stared at the pile of metal parts spread across the workbench in front of him. The clinking sounds of hammering and welding filled the air, and the smell of oil and hot metal hung heavy around him. His stomach churned as he glanced at the blueprint for the remote machine gun turret they were working on.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he signed on as an engineer in Banff, but building weapons that could take out dozens of people at once hadn't been at the top of his list. His fingers twitched nervously as he picked up one of the components, turning it over in his hands.
"You're looking pale there, kid," came a rough voice from behind him. Ethan jumped, nearly dropping the piece.
The voice belonged to Dorrik, the town's blacksmith, a huge, burly man in his late 50s with arms the size of tree trunks. His beard was streaked with gray, and his face looked like it had been chiseled from stone, scarred and weathered from years of hard work. He was the kind of guy you didn't want to piss off, but right now, Ethan didn't have much choice but to work alongside him.
"Uh, yeah, just... you know, first day jitters," Ethan muttered, setting the part down and wiping his hands on his pants.
Dorrik raised an eyebrow, giving him a sideways glance. "First day jitters? You're not baking bread, kid. This is serious work."
Ethan winced at the tone. "I know, I know. It's just..." He paused, glancing at the blueprint again. "We're building a machine gun turret. A weapon that's going to... kill people."
Dorrik grunted, folding his massive arms over his chest. "You got a problem with that?"
Ethan hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it without sounding like a complete idiot. "It's just... I'm not used to building stuff like this. I'm an engineer, yeah, but I've never worked on weapons before. It feels... wrong, I guess."
The blacksmith's eyes narrowed as he sized Ethan up, and then he let out a harsh laugh. "Wrong? Kid, let me tell you something. The only thing wrong here is you thinking you're too good for this. Out there, it's us or them. Those raiders, zombies, whoever the hell decides to come knocking—they're not gonna hesitate to kill you. So why the fuck should you hesitate to protect yourself?"
Ethan swallowed hard, the weight of Dorrik's words sinking in. He glanced down at the turret parts again, his mind swirling with doubt. He didn't want to be responsible for building something that could kill, but at the same time, Dorrik was right. The world wasn't what it used to be. Survival was the only priority now.
"I get it," Ethan mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... I don't know, man. It feels different, doing this with my own hands. Knowing that what I'm building could end someone's life."
Dorrik sighed, his expression softening—if only slightly. "Look, I get it. It's not easy the first time. Hell, it's never easy. But you've gotta man up. This world we're living in? It doesn't give a shit about what's easy. You either fight or you die. And right now, we need every bit of help we can get to make sure it's not us doing the dying."
Ethan stared at the ground, his thoughts a mess. The rational part of him understood what Dorrik was saying, but there was still that part of him—probably the part that remembered how things used to be—that couldn't quite accept it.
"I'm just an engineer," Ethan muttered. "I'm supposed to build things, not destroy them."
"Then build something that protects people," Dorrik said gruffly. "This turret, this weapon—yeah, it can kill, but it can also keep people safe. Think about the people you care about, kid. You wanna see them end up on the wrong side of a fight because you didn't do your part?"
Ethan's mind flashed to his friends—Jake, Yabe, Daisy, Liza. They were all counting on him, just like everyone else in this damn town. If raiders came, or if the zombies breached the perimeter, having a working machine gun turret could mean the difference between life and death.
"I guess you're right," Ethan admitted reluctantly, picking up the part he'd dropped earlier. "I just never thought I'd be building something like this."
Dorrik grunted again, stepping up to the workbench. "Welcome to the apocalypse, kid. Now quit your bellyaching and grab those wrenches. We've got work to do."
Ethan nodded, taking a deep breath and steadying his hands. He grabbed the wrenches and got to work, carefully assembling the turret piece by piece. Dorrik worked alongside him, his massive hands surprisingly deft as they handled the components with ease.
As they worked, Ethan tried to shift his mindset. He wasn't building a weapon to kill indiscriminately. He was building a defense. Something to keep the town safe. Something to protect his friends. But it was still hard to shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of his mind.
"Ever build one of these before?" Ethan asked, trying to keep the conversation going to distract himself.
"Plenty," Dorrik replied without looking up. "Not exactly a remote turret like this, but I've built enough weapons in my time. Swords, spears, guns—you name it."
Ethan nodded, tightening a bolt with a bit more force than necessary. "Did it ever bother you? Building stuff that kills people?"
Dorrik shrugged. "At first, maybe. But you get used to it. You stop thinking about the people on the other end and focus on the ones you're keeping safe."
The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with meaning. Ethan knew that's what he had to do—focus on the protection, not the destruction. It wasn't easy, but it was a mindset he was going to have to adopt if he wanted to survive in this world.
By the time they finished assembling the turret, Ethan's nerves had settled, though the unease still lingered. The machine stood before them, a cold, lifeless hunk of metal and bullets, ready to be mounted on the wall.
"There she is," Dorrik said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "All set to keep us alive."
Ethan stepped back, wiping his own forehead with the back of his hand. "Yeah. I guess that's one way to look at it."
Dorrik chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it, kid. Just keep reminding yourself why you're doing this. It's not about killing. It's about keeping people safe."
Ethan nodded, though he still felt that knot in his stomach. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to it, but at least for now, he knew he was doing what needed to be done.
Q: Out of the 5 jobs mentioned which job would you prefer?