I sat on the couch for an entire hour debating on what I might do to make up the cost for raiding what would be a heavily guarded workshop. I wanted to start making weapons again, but in doing so I would be dealing with multiple raids and production would be slowed down considerably with only me working. It just wouldn’t be profitable anymore, whereas taking a job from a guild or an NPC might get me some fast credits. Depending on the job that needed to be done, I could be doing anything from scrounging for resources to taking on monsters in the Ruined Zone or beyond.

On the other hand, if I did a job for Zephyr or one of the other large guilds, I just might come out of it with enough to fund the next raid, but I’d have to face the threat of betrayal, an unsalvageable reputation, and a much higher bounty than before. After going around in a circle in my head for five minutes I just sent a message to Valentine, asking if they had any work available for freelancers that paid well. I got a response back about fifteen minutes after that while I was looking through the forums to get an idea of what regular contracts were like.

It turned out that I couldn’t even work for Zephyr or any of the other guilds, since the jobs I was asking for were ones they didn’t hire freelancing players to take care of. This caused my plans for another big payday to come to a screeching halt. Valentine telling me these things did raise my opinion of him ever so slightly however, although I would never admit it.

The contracts in Bastion didn’t pay nearly as well as I needed them to, the list of screenshots and guides scrolling by with every swipe of my hand. If I wanted to fund the raid, I’d have to do at least five difficult contracts to earn an extra twenty five hundred credits. Some of them did pay more, but were only available to parties of players. While I was warming up to Hugh, I still didn’t trust him with my virtual life.

In the end I just closed down the menu and forums, opting to don my armor and disguise. When I put everything back in place however, I noticed that the hoodie was a bit more ragged than before, and my armor had taken a decent beating from the fights it had gotten me through. I let Hugh know that I was heading out to do some shopping and quests, receiving a thumbs up and a reminder to let him know whenever the next big thing came up.

While I’d originally intended to just go and check what jobs were available, I instead ended up heading for the market so that I could buy new clothes. It felt counterproductive to spend the money that I was trying to save up, but if I was going to be operating solo for a day or two, I might as well look good doing it.

I ended up buying a black t-shirt and a more durable pair of jeans to go with it, along with a dark brown jacket to hide the shoulder holster, finishing the look off with a blue baseball cap and a pair of aviators. I didn’t know what it was about them, but aviators always seemed badass to me no matter what situation they were worn in. I ended up not buying any replacement armor, deciding I’d cover that as a necessary expense for the workshop raid later on.

Once I had changed into my new disguise I set off toward Bastion’s central building, my worn boots thumping against the concrete sidewalk. I passed by a group of Lion’s Mane players and two groups from Crescent Shield, though none of them seemed to recognize me. I allowed myself a small smirk as I went about my business freely, not even noticing any NPCs similar to those in the service of the Whitman Arms Dealers. It was quite nice, really.

The contracts however, were the exact opposite. Resource collection quests inside Bastion that paid barely fifty credits upon completion. Lost technology location and salvage quests worth just under two hundred credits. The best one I could find was an extermination quest regarding a group of alien scouts who were setting up a forward operating base in the Ruined Zone, paying five hundred credits. I might earn more from selling their weapons, but there was still a chance it still wouldn’t be worth it. The money barely covered the potential death cost that came with it. To me it almost seemed like a trapped quest meant to ensnare and drain the player of all they had.

In the end I figured I could use some relaxing quests to ease my paranoid mind, so I took some basic transport quests that had me driving around Bastion to various buildings that produced the resources the city lived on. At each one I loaded up the back of the truck before taking crates of scrap metal, food, cloth, and the occasional locked crate of unknown items to other locations within the city. Some went back to Bastion’s center, while some went to factories or storage warehouses.

It was nice to just have to tap on a touch screen in order to go somewhere, with the odd bit of manual labor thrown in. If I were a more regular player, I might even feel like I was making good money. The only problem was that I wasn’t. With each contract completed I only got around fifty to one hundred credits per delivery, with two hundred credits for the special crates.

I switched over to collection contracts which took me outside of the city. My armor and Recycler Pistol made quick work of opportunistic players in the forest near the areas where I could gather the wood that Bastion regularly used up. The only issue with this one wasn’t with the pay, but with the time it took and the risk associated with it. A single completed quest took about three times as long as transport quests, paying almost double that of a special crate. On top of that, I had to be on constant watch for other people, straining my nerves far more than I wanted to.

I tried working in one of the factories within Bastion so that I could turn my brain off for a little while. Nearly losing a hand to an assembly line arm put a stop to that idea within minutes of starting. I didn’t even make more than ten credits.

Eventually I just ended up exploring and found myself wandering along the inner edge of the walls surrounding the city. I was in the north west section when I found a heavy metal door that was bent inward, revealing a set of stairs leading upward. Since I had nothing better to do, I sidled past the door and began my ascent, the metal steps creaking here and there.

The lights in this part of the wall weren’t working, so I had to flick my lighter on to see where I was going. This saved me from falling through a hole in one of the many catwalks I walked along. What surprised me most of all were the rather large rats that also called this area home. With my pistol in one hand and the lighter in the other, I blasted the diseased vermin until eventually I encountered no more, fried corpses sizzling and smoking in my wake. It was almost cathartic in a way. Almost.

I got no notifications for what I’d done, so I could only assume that either the rats just existed as part of this area or that they were part of some contract that I hadn't found. Either way it didn’t matter, as I found a door leading to what I assumed to be the top of the wall. The electronics powering it were completely dead, but luckily the door was cracked just a bit, able to be pried open through time and effort. It didn’t reveal the top of the walls, but instead what seemed to be a maintenance closet that was exposed to open air.

The floor was made from the same metal used for the catwalks, rusted but still sturdy enough to hold my weight. My eyes stopped on the closed storage lockers, my instincts telling me that there might be loot inside and that there would likely be nothing at the same time. I could only resist for a moment before walking over and opening them up, rusty hinges squeaking in protest. Nothing remained for me to pilfer except cobwebs and dust. I closed the locker rather quickly and dusted off the hand I’d used because of said cobwebs. One customary shiver later I turned my focus to everything else.

A slight breeze whistled through the area and back out again, blowing a strand of hair out of my face as I glanced around. A few empty crates, a rusted table with equally deteriorating chairs, and a railing that overlooked the ocean, deep blue waves calling back memories of when I’d gone surfing for the first time. I’d been good at it, enough that I ended up sore for three days after finally having my fill of fun in the water. I found myself leaning on the railing experimentally, testing to make sure it could hold my weight. It could, and did.

Finally I just stood there and stared out over the seemingly endless ocean, distant water shining beneath the sun as the ocean breeze put my heart at ease. I let myself sink into memories that were likely only remembered by me. I was dimly aware of the ship arriving and dropping off another load of new players, many of them watching the sky for any signs of attack. Few stuck around to find out, getting their gear and sprinting for Bastion’s walls.

The alien craft never showed up, allowing the new players the luxury of not being thrown to the proverbial wolves. I was slightly annoyed that they didn’t have to deal with it, though another part of me was glad. I didn’t have nearly enough firepower to retaliate against it, and I hadn’t seen or heard of anybody else who could even make a decent attempt, though there were many who had tried since the game was launched.

I dusted off one of the rusted chairs before dragging it over to the railing where I sat down, crossing one leg over the other and pulling up the best attempt I’d seen so far. Someone had a grenade launcher like me, and they were sending round after round against it, causing its shields to flicker repeatedly, though never enough to fail. The player was struck down after shooting around five times, unable to shoot and dodge energy blasts at the same time.

Attempts at beating the tutorial’s hidden boss for the other factions were meeting similar results. The aliens had to deal with an AI built attack helicopter with heavy shielding but little to no armor that was armed with missiles and anti-infantry machine guns. I didn’t know where they spawned in particular or how the helicopter fit in, but it seemed pretty brutal. The AI players had it worse, dealing with a human designed virus that manifested as a minotaur guarding the gate to what were their physical bodies, and all they could do was hope it didn't get them first.

I wondered if I might be able to manufacture weapons for every faction to use, though I had no idea how an AI player might bring a physical machine gun into a virtual representation of a digital world. I let the problem slide for the moment, taking a deep breath of the salty ocean air. It was the sweetest breath of air I’d had in a long time. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts sink beneath the waves.