RTS System in the Apocalypse: New World

Hans stepped out of the Command Room just as darkness fully enveloped Grefort City. He stretched his stiff limbs, letting out a heavy yawn.

As he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, he noticed a group of soldiers waiting for him a short distance away.

The leader was no other than Matilda herself.

"Commander," she greeted.

"Matilda," Hans’s eyes brightened with a pleasant surprise. "That was fast."

"Several of the veterans reached max-star promotion, Commander. The cleanup teams moved faster than before."

"I see."

Hans had a realization.

With the max-star promotion elevating his troops to basic superhuman levels, their speed in gathering loot had increased by a massive margin.

He offered a silent prayer of thanks that he didn’t have to dole out performance bonuses; otherwise, he would have bankrupted himself into a negative balance.

Hans scanned the pile of bags before him. He counted at least several dozen.

So many, he thought. I just hope a good amount of this is actually convertible...

He steadied his expectations. The System was notoriously picky about quality. Sometimes, items his soldiers assumed were valuable turned out to be completely useless in the System’s eyes.

"Are there still more?" Hans asked.

"This should be all of it, Commander," Matilda reported. "The urban structures remain untouched. We are waiting for your command before we proceed."

The recent operation had successfully cleared a small area on the northwestern edge of the city. However, the soldiers knew better than to push forward without explicit orders from their Commander.

"Is that so?" Hans chuckled softly, genuinely touched by their discipline. How considerate of them.

"Very well..."

He looked back at the pile of loot. "Move all of this inside the Command Room. Ensure no one gets near the area unless I give the word."

"Yes, sir!"

The soldiers moved with practiced efficiency. Within moments, the dozens of stuffed bags were safely delivered exactly where he wanted them.

Hans had no intention of brazenly converting loot out in the open—not unless he was certain no non-System units were spying on him. Given how disruptive his recent actions had been, he was bound to be watched from the shadows by his non-System subordinates.

And Tyrus, he knew, was the worst of them all.

The Command Room closed as the last soldier exited.

Only then did Hans allow himself to look at the bags properly. There were more than he first thought.

The fabric bulged under the warm light. If not for the durable material the bag was made of, the contents may already had burst out. He could still remember how these bags clinked metallically dull when the soldiers placed them on the floor.

This was not loot anymore. It felt like taxation to the infected.

The thought made him almost smile, but the smile never fully appeared.

He always felt strange about standing inside a Command Room surrounded by bags of valuables scraped from people. Before the apocalypse, a room filled with jewelry and precious metals would have sounded like a criminal fantasy.

Now, it was reduced to something called logistics.

Hans crouched near the closest bag and opened it.

The smell came first full of dust, old leather, damp cloth, and a faint trace of dried blood.

Inside were watches, rings, necklaces, silver utensils, small decorative plates, broken ornaments, coins, and several things Hans could not identify at first glance.

Were they valuable? Perhaps not. And there was only one way to find out.

"System," Hans muttered. "Convert."

Green pixels suddenly manifested on the materials not only from the opened bag, but from the rest as well.

Hans could hear the countless bits ticking in and out as the materials vanished.

Gold rings disappeared without sound. Several watches broke apart, their precious parts taken while the rest dropped back into the bags like rejects.

A necklace vanished but a fake necklace remained.

Some decorative stones disappeared. Others stayed behind.

Hans watched quietly.

The System was not kind enough to pretend.

One bag flattened halfway. Another barely changed. A third defused almost completely, leaving only fabric, cheap metal, and a cracked plastic case behind.

Hans’s brows twitched.

"Of course..."

The next panel appeared.

------

[ Gold: 28,045 (+14,680) => 42,725 ]

------

Hans froze, then he leaned back slightly and closed his eyes.

I did not expect that.

It was enough. No, that was more than enough!

The Physical War Factory was no longer sitting behind Insufficient Funds. It had become a decision waiting for him to be approved.

Hans opened his eyes again and looked at the rejected pile. The room still looked messy, but his mind had already left the junk behind.

"System, enqueue the War Factory."

------

[ Gold: 42,725 (-30,000) -> 12,725 ]

------

[ War Factory (Physical) enqueued for construction. ETA: 2 days and 2 hours / 50 hours. ]

------

Hans stared at the panel.

What a long construction time.

He knew the number already. The System had never been shy about punishing impatience with minutes, hours, and costs.

Still, seeing fifty hours written in front of him made the decision feel heavier than it had inside his head.

Thirty thousand Gold vanished just like that.

A battlefield’s worth of scavenged wealth. Jewelry, watches, silver, coins, and whatever else his soldiers had dragged out from the dead city—all reduced into a single command.

Then, the Construction Yard whirred into motion. A low mechanical groan rolled through the base.

Deep within the compound, something massive shifted. Hydraulic systems woke one after another, gears turning with a slow rhythm.

A living factory had begun to move.

Hans had never paid much attention to the sound before. Most of the time, he was either outside fighting, planning, or too distracted by the next emergency to notice what construction sounded like from within the base.

Now, in the quiet after battle, he finally heard it.

Hans looked back at the rejected pile of junk on the floor. Cheap metal, fake stones, cracked plastic, broken straps, and worthless scraps remained where the System had refused them.

There was no point crying over something the system did not recognize.

Lost on his thoughts, he turned back to the map.

Westgate’s northwestern edge glowed faintly under the Radar map’s observation.

The Construction Yard continued to hum beneath the silence.

Hans listened for another few seconds before narrowing his eyes.

"Where should I put this in case it’s too big?"

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