Apocalypse Architect: A Tower Defense LitRPG

Pike slammed the transport door shut, sealing Jax inside, before climbing into the chase vehicle.

As the convoy groaned into motion, a sound pierced through the rumble of engines—a raw, heart-wrenching wail, like a child watching their world collapse.

Jax looked back through the slats.

Lennox was straining against the weight of a two-meter giant, his boots digging into the dust as he held Barnaby back. The big man was sobbing uncontrollably, thrashing and reaching out, desperate to follow the truck.

Jax felt a sharp pang in his chest.

He had only been in this world for a few months, but the memories of the original host were vivid. Barnaby wasn’t just a sidekick; he was family. Before his injury, the gentle giant had saved Jax’s life. He was loyal to a fault, innocent in a world that devoured innocence.

Seeing Barnaby break down like that… it cut deep.

Jax turned away, forcing himself to stare at the floorboards. He couldn’t watch.

Miles later, the outpost was a speck in the rearview, and Jax had mostly adjusted to the bone-rattling suspension.

The smell, however, was another matter.

The truck bed reeked of unwashed bodies, stale sweat, and fear. It was a thick, suffocating miasma that clung to the back of his throat. Jax leaned against the side railing, pressing his face into the gaps to gulp down mouthfuls of the hot, dusty—but clean—desert air.

As the journey settled into a rhythm, the initial tension in the truck began to thaw. The recruits started sizing each other up.

“Hey,” a grizzled older man with graying hair called out to the recruit opposite him. “Where you from? Which district?”

“Outer City District Six.”

“District Eight here. Neighbors, eh?”

It started normal enough. Standard small talk. Then the old man dropped the real question.

“So, son… how many you kill?”

The young man didn’t flinch. He answered as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

“Twelve. Three Inner City bastards and some trash.”

The old man nodded appreciatively. “Not bad. I got five. Would’ve been more, but someone snitched on me.”

The conversation rippled through the truck like a contagion. Soon, everyone was trading kill counts like baseball cards.

“Three.”

“Seven.”

“Only two? Pfft. Sit down, rookie.”

It became a hierarchy. Those with higher body counts puffed out their chests; those with fewer shrank back, socially demoted.

Listening to them, Jax realized a pattern: almost everyone here was a convict from Redrock Bastion. Specifically, they had killed Inner City residents.

The Inner City. A paradise of running water, fresh meat, and air conditioning. Rumor had it they threw parties costing hundreds of thousands of credits just for kicks.

Jax envied the hygiene, sure. He missed clean showers and non-synthetic food. But the parties? The social climbing? He didn’t care. In his old life on Earth, corporate dinners and networking events were just another form of work.

Here, his biggest struggle wasn’t social anxiety; it was his dormant OCD.

He was a Virgo. Back on Earth, he had a mild case of mysophobia. The Apocalypse had beaten most of it out of him—sleeping on dirt floors tended to lower one’s standards—but the obsessive need for order remained. It was why he spent so much time planning the layout of his fortress.

“Hey.”

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

A man with a mouthful of rotting yellow teeth shuffled closer, extending a grimy hand.

“Name’s Finch. I killed three people.”

Jax stared at the hand, then at the man’s expectant grin. This culture was insane.

He took the hand briefly, resisting the urge to wipe his palm on his pants. “Jax. I’ve killed… a few.”

Finch narrowed his eyes, clearly wanting a specific number to determine if Jax was a peer or a subordinate.

Before he could press, the truck lurched and ground to a halt.

Jax exhaled, relieved. He didn’t want to explain that he wasn’t a convict, nor did he want to play the “who’s the bigger murderer” game.

From the rear, the chase vehicle stopped.

Jax, Finch, and the others crowded the railing to see what was happening.

Captain Sterling hopped out of the jeep, his assault rifle resting casually on his shoulder.

“Take five!” he barked at the convoy. “We got a tail. I’m going to check it out.”

Sterling strode down the road, stopping in the middle of the track.

Dust swirled as a civilian truck approached. It slowed, screeching to a halt ten meters from the Captain.

“Out of the vehicle!” Sterling commanded, leveling his rifle.

The driver raised his hands instantly. But the passenger door opened, and a familiar, bulky figure stepped out.

Jax’s eyes went wide.

“Butch? Is he serious?”

The thug was relentless. Like a haunting ghost, he just wouldn’t disappear. Was he crazy enough to follow them into the Insectoid nesting grounds?

Butch walked toward Sterling with an ingratiating, oily smile plastered on his face.

“Captain Sterling! Apologies, apologies. We’re just tagging along. Thought we might shadow the expedition into Mount Sepulcher.”

Sterling’s expression darkened. “Get lost.”

Butch didn’t retreat. He waved a hand, and his lackeys scrambled out of the truck, lugging crates of supplies.

“Just a token of respect, Captain! Food, water. We just want to scout the perimeter, get some intel for the Sprawl. Harmless.”

“I said get lost,” Sterling growled, his finger hovering over the trigger. “We don’t need scavengers. Turn around before I open fire.”

Butch stopped, his smile faltering. He gritted his teeth, deciding to drop the act.

“Captain… let’s cut the crap. I have a grudge against one of your recruits. Jax. I want to buy his life.”

Sterling paused. He glanced back at the truck bed packed with recruits, his eyes scanning the faces. He didn’t know which one was Jax, and he didn’t care.

“You think this is a market?” Sterling sneered. “You think you can just buy a Vanguard soldier? You aren’t worthy to breathe the same air as my mission.”

Butch reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound deed. He held it out with trembling hands.

“A small token. A property deed in the Inner City. Fully paid off. It’s yours, Captain. Just… look the other way.”

Sterling looked at the deed. He hesitated.

The Inner City was expensive. A house there was worth a lifetime of soldier’s pay.

“Stay behind the convoy,” Sterling said quietly, snatching the booklet and stuffing it into his pocket. “Two hundred meters back. If you close the gap before we hit the engagement zone, I’ll kill you myself.”

He leaned in. “Once we engage the Insectoids… chaos happens. Accidents happen. Find your own opportunity.”

Butch’s face lit up with cruel triumph. “Understood, Captain. Loud and clear.”

Sterling turned and walked back to his jeep without another word.

Butch retreated to his truck, his eyes locking onto the recruits in the distance. A cold, murderous glint sharpened his gaze.

“Keep eyes on them,” he hissed to his men. “Identify Jax. As soon as the bugs attack, put a bullet in his head.”

“Yes, boss!”

Butch smirked. He had bled his finances dry for that bribe, but it was worth it. Today, the snake dies.