(A post-action report by Myles, long-suffering base engineer and part-time adult supervision.)
Let it be recorded in the sacred annals of our Rift Breakers campaign that on this hallowed evening, Dave was absent—felled not by monsters, nor firestorms, nor catastrophic reagent depletion, but by the lesser demon known as “not feeling up to it.” And so it fell to the remaining three: Zaph, Craig, and myself, to continue fortifying our little patch of alien real estate.
Thus begins the tale of The Great Wall, an epic architectural endeavour that would make Hadrian sigh, the Chinese emperors nod approvingly, and OSHA have a cardiac event.
Craig, Architect of Dubious Intent
With Dave offline and therefore unable to apply his signature “Please Stop That” brand of quality assurance, Craig was free to unleash his pure, unfiltered creative energy. This resulted in walls. Many walls. Walls three, four, sometimes five blocks thick—not because this was planned, mind you, but because Craig kept forgetting he’d already built a wall there and built another one on top of it. And another. And sometimes on the side. Just in case.
But then—revelation.
We discovered the mystical art of steps.
Steps you could stack.
Steps you could climb.
Steps that would let your mech peer over the top of the wall like a nosy pensioner at a neighbourhood BBQ and say, “Hello, lads. I brought lasers.”
This was good. This was great. This was overpowered, even.
Naturally, it was immediately countered by the fact that every enemy in the Rift Breakers universe is apparently unionized under the “Abolish Steps First” collective bargaining agreement. They ignored the walls completely and just gnawed the steps to dust, leaving us standing on flat dirt, staring up helplessly at our now-unshootable fortifications like medieval peasants who misplaced the ladder.
We made do—grenades lobbed blindly over parapets, flamethrowers jammed into cracks like we were trying to deep-clean the grout with napalm—but the message was clear:
Steps are a privilege, not a right.
Craig vs. The Bees: A Learning Experience
A highlight of the evening came when Craig finally internalized our long-standing lesson:
Stop fighting the bees. Kill the thing that makes the bees.
To his credit, the bee-spawner thing is… visually challenging. Imagine a hive, but on stilts, shimmying around like it’s auditioning for War of the Worlds: Interpretive Dance Edition. Craig could never quite remember what it looked like, so he bravely fought the bees instead. All of them. Endlessly.
Only after the waves had ceased, corpses steaming all around us, were we able to take Craig gently by the metaphorical hand, guide him to a dead hive-titan, and say:
“This.
This is the thing you must kill.
Stop punching the bees.”
Progress was made. Possibly.
Towers, Power, and the Cult of AI Controllers
Craig has recently embraced the notion that walls alone do not make a fortress. Towers—glorious, bullet-spitting towers—are required.
But towers need power.
And power needs cables.
And cables need, well… access.
Craig built the towers.
He built the walls around the towers.
He built more walls around those walls.
At one point we had a tower so entombed that archaeologists will one day rediscover it and declare it an early attempt at mech burial rituals.
Meanwhile, each tower blinked the sad little “No Power” icon in unison like a chorus of neglected Tamagotchis.
His other discovery of the night: AI controllers.
Craig built them. Many of them. Possibly one per tower.
We now have so many AI buildings that if they ever gain sentience, we will be overthrown in under four seconds.
Some strategic deletions were required. Some rewiring. A few sighs.
Live and learn.
Live and learn.
Credit Where Credit Is Due (Craig, You Get One Point)
To be fair—and I must record this for the historical record lest Craig accuse me of slander—his layered mega-walls were genuinely effective. The Grand Great Wall around the entire map is turning out to be brilliant for slowing hordes and keeping them away from the vulnerable organs of our base.
So yes.
Good job, Craig.
(This line will self-destruct after 24 hours.)
Dave Arrives: Confusion Ensues
Just as we wrapped, Dave logged in, blinking at the mess like a teacher returning to a classroom after leaving the substitute in charge for five minutes.
We attempted to recap.
We attempted to explain steps, towers, wall-thickness, power issues, bees, and Craig’s architectural renaissance.
More importantly, Dave illuminated the mystery of the mission-objectives-that-don’t-exist-in-the-build-menu. Turns out, you have to stand on the base to build the required widgets. Naturally we’d never done that. Who stands on buildings? That seems like a health hazard.
Once we finally constructed the needed widget—powered by our shiny new Cobalt haul—Dave added:
“Oh yeah. By the way. Doing that triggers a massive assault.”
…
Thank you, Dave.
So we saved the game with mere minutes before the next monstrous tidal wave.
Next week, we will log in cold, half-awake, and immediately be eaten.
Should be fun.
The Side Mission: Cobalt Edition
We successfully located a Cobalt rift, set up a reasonable outpost, and fortified it well enough that, despite a few attacks and the usual sprinkle of deaths, no major infrastructure was lost.
The mechs did most of the heavy lifting—as always—but the walls bought us crucial time. Repairs were manageable. Loot was acquired. No major disasters occurred.
Frankly, it felt suspiciously competent.
I blame the lack of Dave.
Or possibly the lack of Craig wandering off into the wilderness chasing bees.
Closing Remarks
We now sit poised on the edge of an imminent base-wide siege, our Great Wall fortified(ish), our towers powered (mostly), our steps destroyed (always), and our morale… well, our morale is what it always is:
A cocktail of grim determination, mild exasperation, and utter, chaotic friendship.
Next week:
We log in.
The assault begins.
Craig forgets the shape of the bee monster again.
And Zaph and I try desperately to remember what any of these buttons do.
Tune in for the carnage.
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