Apocalypse Architect: A Tower Defense LitRPG

Chapter 142: Bring Me Some Food

The Insect Swarm’s assault grew more ferocious by the hour. The addition of the Spiked Dune Lords—even just the juvenile ones—had turned the city’s outer walls into paper.

Sawyer’s villa had transformed into a makeshift command center.

In the study, Jax stared at a mountain of paperwork. Every report detailed a private stockpile of Defense Towers owned by the various families. The sheer quantity was staggering.

“Good grief,” Jax muttered, flipping through a manifesto. “They have thousands of towers. Why didn’t they deploy these sooner?”

“Because they’re idiots,” Sawyer spat, pacing the room. His face was a mask of frustration. “They think hoarding weapons is the same as survival. They forgot that a tower in a warehouse can’t shoot a bug that’s eating your face.”

Jax nodded grimly. He looked at the three women standing by the door, bored and anxious.

“Ladies, I need hands,” Jax said. “This data needs to be sorted.”

Elena perked up immediately. “Finally! Just tell us what to do.”

Jax pointed to the pile. “Categorize them. High damage output in one pile. High fire rate in another. Crowd control—slows, stuns, AOE—in a third. I need a clear inventory before I can build the grid.”

“On it,” Raven said, already grabbing a stack of files.

While the team worked inside, the hallway outside was filled with the anxious mutterings of the city’s elite. The patriarchs and matriarchs sat on uncomfortable chairs, checking their watches every thirty seconds.

Suddenly, the door opened. Jax stepped out, rubbing his temples.

The mob descended on him instantly.

“Mr. Jax! Do you have a plan?”

“We’re ready to deploy! Just give the order!”

“It’s been two hours!” a heavy-set man complained. “Why is there no news? Are you stalling because you can’t do it?”

“Don’t play games with us, kid. Those towers are our lifeblood. If you lose them…”

Jax’s eyes flashed with anger. He slammed his hand against the doorframe, silencing the room.

“You’re in a rush now?” Jax sneered. “Where was this urgency yesterday? You have enough firepower in your basements to turn the wasteland into a parking lot, yet you let the walls fall because you were too cheap to buy ammo!”

The family heads looked at each other, shuffling their feet. No one dared to meet his gaze.

One man opened his mouth to argue, but Director Quinn silenced him with a glare.

“Enough,” Quinn said, his voice calm but firm. “Recriminations won’t save us. Mr. Jax, do you have a strategy?”

“I do,” Jax said, his tone cooling. “But I need the current status of the walls. I need to know exactly where the breaches are.”

“Captain!” Quinn barked. “Report!”

The captain of the City Defense Force stepped forward, looking exhausted and angry. He quickly outlined the critical failure points on a holographic map.

Jax nodded, absorbing the data. “Understood. I’m going back in to finalize the deployment grid. Get your transport crews ready. When I give the coordinates, you move those towers immediately.”

He turned and went back into the study, slamming the door.

Sawyer watched the faces of the elite crumble. For weeks, he had tried to rally these people, and they had ignored him. Now, they were dancing to the tune of a scavenger. It felt good.

Back inside, Jax stood before a large blackboard. He had taped a map of The Sprawl to it.

“The city is a square,” Jax muttered, uncapping a marker. “To control the flow, we need to compartmentalize.”

He drew a line down the center, then another across. Four quadrants. He divided those again.

“Grid defense,” Jax mused. “We turn the streets into kill boxes.”

He looked at the data Elena had compiled. The “Special Towers”—Cryo, Stun, Glue—were rare and expensive, but the families had them.

“Crowd control goes at the intersections,” Jax said, marking red dots on the map. “Maximize the AOE.”

Next, the heavy artillery. “Long-range towers in the center of each sector. They cover the whole grid.” He marked them in blue.

Finally, the rapid-fire turrets. “Standard kinetics line the streets. Shred anything that gets slowed by the CC towers.”

He worked for hours, his mind entering a flow state. He was building a machine, a perfect engine of destruction made of stone and steel.

Outside, the mood was turning ugly.

“Ten hours,” a man whispered furiously. “He’s been in there for ten hours! The Sector 4 wall just collapsed!”

“He’s stalling,” another hissed. “He’s going to sell us out to the bugs.”

“I’m pulling my troops,” someone declared. “I’m not waiting for this charlatan.”

“Director Quinn!” a woman pleaded. “You’re just drinking tea? Do something!”

Quinn sat motionless, his knuckles white as he gripped his teacup. He was terrified. Every report of a fallen wall was a nail in his coffin. But he had no other card to play.

“We wait,” Quinn said, his voice cracking slightly.

Just as the tension threatened to boil over into violence, footsteps echoed from the office.

The door swung open.

Jax stepped out. He looked tired, his eyes red-rimmed, but he stretched his arms over his head with a casual yawn.

The room went dead silent. Every eye was fixed on him, waiting for the words that would save or doom them.

Jax looked around, blinking in confusion.

“You guys are still here?” he asked. “Perfect. Can someone get me some dinner? I’m starving.”