Bo scowled up at the slate-gray sky. Heavy clouds blotted out the fading sunlight. He could smell the damn snow coming. Soon, fat flakes would be swirling down, re-blanketing the muddy hill in white.

"Ah shit," he muttered under his breath. He had to name the Settlement. Right now. He could round up the others, and they could take a vote, but that would waste precious time. There was too much to do.

It's just a name. Fuck it, it's my fiefdom.

Bo racked his brain for something good. Oakdale? No. Pinewood? Lame. Fucking Bo-town?

Precious seconds ticked by, and his frustration mounted.

Finally, he picked 'Raintree' to be done with it.

[You cannot name your Settlement the same as your Kingdom.]

"Damnit, who gives a shit!" Bo's fists clenched.

This system is bullshit.

He focused, and changed the name to 'New City'.

Don't care. Whatever.

[Would you like to establish the Settlement of New City in the Kingdom of Raintree?]

Bo stared at the prompt. He sighed, and rejected it.

If I give this place a bullshit name, people won't take it seriously.

Bo closed his eyes and ran through every city name he could think of, real and fictional. Nothing seemed to be a good fit.

Something tickled his eyelid.

The first delicate snowflakes had begun falling. He was out of time.

He needed a name that conveyed structure and safety. A place that would be a solid start to surviving the apocalypse. This place was going to be the foundation to—

Bo filled in the Settlement's name.

[Would you like to establish the Settlement of Foundation in the Kingdom of Raintree?]

Yes.

He blinked as dozens of screens and prompts cascaded across his field of vision.

Holy hell.

There were so many screens: supplies; resources; professions; reputations; morale . . . as [City Planner] and [Lord of Foundation], he had access to all kinds of information.

The first screen showed a giant list of all the people who had earned reputation with Raintree, including their names, professions and reputation scores.

Another screen displayed a count of 623 Copper Coins available in the Settlement's coffers.

As Lords, does our personal money count toward the Settlement's money?

Either way, it was more than he'd thought. That was something.

The completed buildings and open project lists were depressingly empty; only one [Crappy Shack] was on the list so far. But again, it was a start. He'd make this work, one way or another. He would push through his exhaustion and get as many people inside today as possible.

He took a deep breath of frigid air and dismissed the screens with an impatient wave. It was time to bust ass. There was a town to build.

There was a crowd gathering around the first Shack. Some stood in awe, and others walked around the outside, rubbing their hands along its rough walls.

Bo caught sight of Blake lurking at the edge of the group, watching and mumbling something to himself. Bo's jaw clenched. He'd have to keep an eye on that mother fucker. He needed to get with the program, or get the fuck out.

What am I gonna do, banish him?

Well, maybe. Technically Bo was Lord of this land; could he do that? What would people think? What about all the other people who were not as bad as Blake, but who were taking advantage of everyone else's hard work? Bo had his eye on a number of people who had yet to pick a profession, contribute, or help in the town's defense, but they sure didn't mind eating the free food. What to do with those people?

A problem for another day.

Bo pulled up the list of people with professions inside the Settlement, and quickly identified the remaining [Carpenters].

"Ethan!" Bo called. "Is there an Ethan who is a [Carpenter] around here?"

A middle-aged White man raised a deeply tanned arm.

"You're with me." Bo waved the man forward. "We've got more Shacks to build. You ready to help?"

The man shuffled forward, looking uncertain.

Bo led him to the next plot he'd marked out, his mind already racing ahead.

Ben was ready and waiting for them.

"Ben, you take the lead on this one," said Bo. "Show Ethan the ropes. Furniture [Carpenters], let's do it again!"

As the [Carpenters] started working, Bo hovered nearby and watched their progress with a critical eye. His fingers twitched with the urge to jump in and help, but he forced himself to step back. He had to delegate, or he'd run himself into the ground and eventually become a hindrance.

Time crept by. The snow wasn't a blizzard yet, but a thin layer of it crunched beneath his boots. Evening was rushing toward them, stealing their light.

Cooks delivered fresh food at all the wrong times.

Hana and several other [Toolmakers] moved between the [Carpenters] and [Lumberjacks] with a steady supply of new tools: in the wrong order of when they actually needed them.

As the snow continued to fall, some around the campsite used blankets, sleeping bags, and discarded branches to erect makeshift tents.

Decent idea. We'll have to keep knocking the snow off so they don't collapse.

Bo kept handing out new orders, setting up new Construction Zones, and recruiting new workers. Everywhere he looked there were inefficiencies. He wanted so badly to address the problems, but there was no time.

Slowly, steadily, several more Shacks were completed. However, darkness had fallen, the snow was thickening, and everyone was exhausted.

Bo gathered the [Carpenters] around him. "Nicely done, everyone. I know you're tired, but we need to keep at it. Let me know what you need, and I'll do my best to make it happen. The snow and cold are getting worse, and we need more Shacks."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Fat flakes swirled through the air and settled on the rough-hewn roofs of the newly built Shacks. Small fires burned in the Shacks' fireplaces. People were inspecting the dwellings and growing excited. Some had lined up outside the now-stable [Profession Booth], eager to sign up and contribute.

Bo allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, before steeling himself once more. There was still so much to do.

Bo strode over to the first completed structure, its door hanging slightly askew. He gestured to Tom and his family. "Grab your stuff and head inside. It's yours."

Surprised mutters broke out, some tinged with resentment.

"Hold up, now," a burly Black man called out. "Why do they get first dibs?"

Tom shifted uneasily, and looked ready to refuse.

Bo rounded on the crowd, his patience fraying. "Are you seriously gonna begrudge the man who tanked the Dungeon and nearly got himself killed? He can barely walk, for Christ's sake!"

The man had the decency to look abashed as he took in Tom's battered form.

Bo used a gentler tone. "There will be more houses. But Tom's family needs this right now. He's earned it, and he needs that buff."

Mollified, the crowd dispersed, but Bo could see the unease lingering in Tom's eyes. The man had always been too damn self-sacrificing for his own good.

Sure enough, as soon as Tom had deposited his meager belongings inside, he limped back out and shuffled toward the cookfires.

"I'll help with the food," he called over his shoulder. "Least I can do."

Bo turned to find Bridget at his elbow, her eyebrows pinched together. "Bo, how many do you think can be made today? How many do you have funds for? I know it's not my place to ask, but there are a lot of vulnerable people."

"Perfect timing, Bridget." Bo rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion dragging at his bones. "How about you handle that? Prioritize based on needs like sickness, and those with young kids. However, don't pass up on merit. Those who've been pulling their weight need to be rewarded for doing so, and that should incentivize the others."

"And your family?"

"No special treatment. My family will squeeze into a tent tonight." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but it was the right call. He had to put the town first. "Cram in as many as you can tonight. I hate to say it, but remove furniture if you have to."

Maybe the Damascus's can make room for Finn.

Bridget nodded. "Thanks, Bo."

He gave a tight nod. "Okay, let's get to work."

Bo was off again, rallying the builders, and directing the flow of supplies. They had ten Shacks now, with more underway. The [Carpenters] were finding their rhythm, settling into the familiar motions. All except—

"Hey!" He barked at a pair of younger men who were walking away from a halfheartedly hung door. "The hell are you doing? That door's about to fall right off!"

They jumped, and guilt flashed across their faces. "Sorry, boss. We're just . . . we're beat, you know?"

Oh, are YOU tired?!

Bo bit back a surge of anger, his head pounding.

"We're all tired," he said, his voice rising. "None of us have the luxury of slacking off. We have a lot of people who need to get out of the cold. If you fuck off and go slow, someone could die. It's that simple. Now get your asses in gear and do it right!"

They scrambled to obey, red-faced.

Bo watched them go, his chest heaving. Christ, he hadn't meant to blow up like that. But the weight of it all was crushing him: the responsibility; the intensifying storm; the constant, gnawing fear that it wouldn't be enough.

Bo drew in a deep breath, and squared his shoulders beneath the now relentless fall of snow. He wandered through the budding Shacks, checking progress and materials.

"Bring me back the finished product for inspection, please," he said—again and again—until his voice went hoarse.

He watched as money began to change hands, a hesitant economy taking root before his eyes. Some were trading their precious Coppers for the few pre-apocalypse blankets and clothes that had survived. Many others were bartering or buying New World loot drops.

Despite his exhaustion, Bo felt a flicker of hope at the sight. It was working.

The snow was now severely impeding building progress, but seventeen [Crappy Shacks] were lined up in a line along the hill. They were rough and cramped, but blessedly solid against the bitter wind.

"All right, I think that's good for tonight," Ben called. "Let's pick this up in the morning."

"Wait!" Bo hurried over, his breath puffing in the frigid air. "Just a few more, okay? We've got a lot of seniors who are still out in the cold. They need shelter."

Ben frowned. "Boss, we're running on fumes here. My guys need rest. We don't even have shovels to clear away all the snow."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Bo met his gaze. "But this can't wait. I need you to dig deep. I'll make it worth your while. How about an extra Copper Coin each for the overtime work? Please."

A beat passed. Ben sighed, and rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Okay. A few more. But then we're done, we've already put in several shifts of work with no sleep in those time-dilated zones."

Relief crashed through Bo. "Got it, just a few more. I appreciate it. Thank you."

The [Carpenters] trudged wearily back to work.

Bo slipped away, his thoughts already racing ahead. The hill—or Foundation—was chewing through lumber and boards at an unsustainable rate. They needed a more efficient way to process the raw logs; a way to streamline production.

He yanked out the blueprints he still had. There was a Sawmill, but the cost made him wince. Thirty Copper just to build the mill; not counting all the items it required to be complete. They also needed shaped stone blocks for a stone foundation, and a giant Iron saw blade.

They'd have to expand their resource gathering, and fast. He thought of Chloe's land, and the untapped lodes of ore and stone that were available.

He needed to find Steve the [Quarrier], and Jeannie the [Miner], and anyone else he could convince to take up a pick or a shovel. They'd open a Quarry and a Mine, and add to the list of available raw materials.

He'd have to offer incentives; ways to make the grueling labor worth their while. Extra money? Extra food? Assured housing? Anything to get the ball rolling.

Bo's eyes flicked to the Leather Packs by the fire, which seemed to fold inward as their pooled Copper vanished. He opened one of the packs and extracted enough Coins to pass to the workers; these transactions had to be done manually. Unlike the payments to the wider 'system' that were being taken automatically.

Bo went from not giving a shit about the stupid Copper Coins, to worrying about how to secure his most valuable resource. He needed a Chest. Bo had a blueprint for a Chest, but it was one more thing that needed to be built. One more problem to solve.

Bo hunched over one of his stumps of notes. His stomach growled. He had forgotten to eat today.

He heard the carpenters calling it a night.

Bo shoved himself to his feet, and swayed slightly as exhaustion crashed over him. His vision blurred. He glanced down at his plans for tomorrow, but the lines and figures swam together into a meaningless jumble.

He was making mistakes. He needed to sleep. Just for a little while. Just long enough to clear the fog from his brain, and to ease the relentless pounding behind his eyes.

Bo cast one last look over the two lines of houses. Warm light spilled from their windows into the darkness.

Bo approached the [Carpenters]. "Thank you again, everyone! You did a great job today." Bo reached into his pocket and gave a pile of Coppers to Ben to hand out. "Get some dinner, then straight to sleep. We need to do the same thing tomorrow."

Several of them groaned.

"Can't let off the gas pedal! Sleep tight, and thanks again."

Bo watched an almost-sleepwalking Bridget lead several older people into a Shack.

With a sigh, Bo turned his back on the warm Shacks, and stumbled into the night toward his family's campfire and the ragged improvised tent Hana had built. His boots crunched through the snow, and more snowflakes settled and melted on his head and in his beard.

Bo knocked the snow off the 'tent' and crawled inside.

Hana was there, huddled beneath a threadbare blanket. Her face was pale and drawn in the campfire's flickering light. She looked up as Bo approached, her eyes dark with worry. "Are you finally coming to bed?"

"Yes, I'm exhausted. We got a few more houses up though, and Bridget is moving people in." He lowered himself to the ground beside her, his muscles moaning in protest.

"Dammit, I forgot..." He started to get back up. "I just need to—"

"To work yourself to death?" Hana's voice was sharp, but her hand was gentle as she pulled him back down. "You're no good to anyone if you collapse."

Bo opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. She was right. He'd been running on fumes since the morning, powered only by the relentless urgency that gnawed at his gut like a hungry rat.

Fat flakes were already filling in Bo's footprints. The campfire's heat was vital, and it would need to be kept fed and stoked against the snowstorm. It was going to be a very long and cold night.

"I hope we can do this," he said softly. He stared into the flames. "There's so much to do, so many people counting on us. What if I fail them?"

Hana was silent for a long moment. She reached out and took his hand, her fingers twining with his. "You won't," she said simply. "I wouldn't trust this to anyone else."

Bo gave a humorless laugh. "At least one of us is confident."

"I am. You lead through example, you work hard, and you care about these people. That counts for a lot. Keep your temper in check, and this town is going to spring up around us before our eyes."

Bo squeezed her hand, taking comfort in the solid warmth of her touch. "I hope you're right."

"I am." Hana's voice was firm, and her gaze unwavering. "Now, stop worrying and get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

She was right. His limbs were heavy, and a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes. With a sigh, he fought to get more comfortable on the frozen ground.

Beside him, Hana did the same, her body curling against his beneath the blanket. Bo closed his eyes, and let the crackle of the fire and the soft sound of her breathing lull him toward sleep.

However, even as he wanted to drift off, Bo's mind started spinning. He shifted so that he wouldn't wake Hana, and pulled his [City Planning for Dummies] book from a nearby Pack. He absorbed the book, then pretended to sleep while he mentally scoured the new information.

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