Ray woke to the faint hum of the Temperate Lands’ forest, the glowing bark of his shelter casting soft light across his face. The air was damp, heavy with mist rolling in from the coast, and the pulsing vines overhead thrummed quietly, a reminder of Islathia’s restless energy. His body ached—bruises from the fight with the bark-scaled beast, stiffness from sleeping on uneven ground—but his mind snapped awake. The shelter held through the night, a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. He needed power, protection, and a plan to survive beyond the scraps he’d salvaged.
He reached for his laptop, its screen dark, its battery nearly drained from last night’s use. That machine was his lifeline—not just a tool, but a piece of home, carrying the LLM he’d built during late nights in San Francisco. It wasn’t perfect, but its suggestions had sparked the shelter’s frame, and in this alien wild, it was the closest thing he had to a guide. Without it, he’d be guessing blind. He rummaged through his salvaged gear, pulling out the Jackery Portable Power Station Explorer 300, a 293Wh backup battery. Its LED blinked green, still holding power. He connected the laptop with a pristine USB-C cable—one of several he’d salvaged from the wreckage—watching the screen flicker to life. Relief hit him hard. Step one: keep it alive.
Next, the solar panel. Among the SUV’s remains, he’d salvaged the Upgraded 100W Portable Solar Panel for Power Station. Ray stepped outside, scanning the clearing around his shelter. The single sun climbed higher, its rays piercing the canopy in patches of gold. He unfolded the 100W panel, propping it on a flat chunk of the SUV’s hood, angling it toward the brightest light. The battery’s input cable slotted in with a click, and a tiny red light blinked—charging. He’d need to check it later, adjust its position as the sun moved, but for now, it worked. The laptop’s lifeline held. Looking through the wreckage, he spotted a chargeable flashlight, its battery still good. He tucked it into his pack—a small win.
With power secured, Ray turned to the camp’s edges. The shelter stood firm, but it was exposed—a glowing beacon in the dark, vulnerable to whatever roamed these woods. The beast that trashed his SUV wasn’t alone; that roar last night proved it. He needed a wall, something to slow down trouble. His lean frame wasn’t built for heavy lifting, but he’d hauled gear on hikes before—he could manage this if he paced himself.
The Land Cruiser’s wreckage offered a start. He’d already stripped the doors and roof rack, but more remained. Using his tire iron, he pried loose the rear hatch, its hinges groaning before giving way. It was heavy, maybe 40 pounds, but he dragged it to the shelter’s west side, propping it upright against a tree. The side panels came next—dented sheets of metal he yanked free with the wrench and some elbow grease. Each piece weighed less, around 20 pounds, manageable if he took breaks. He positioned them in a rough arc around the camp’s perimeter, leaning them against the glowing trees for support.
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The forest had more to give. Ray eyed the fallen bark from his failed dome—light, flexible, but tough. He gathered armfuls, stacking them between the metal panels to fill gaps. The vines caught his attention again, their pulsing strength perfect for binding. He cut lengths with his knife, wrapping them around the metal and bark, tugging until they tightened like rope. The sap from the trees oozed onto his hands, sticky then solid—he smeared it along the joints, sealing them tight. It wasn’t a fortress, but it was a barrier, chest-high and sturdy enough to buy him time if something charged. He stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow, the wall curving around three sides of the shelter. The east stayed open, facing the clearing—he’d need a way in and out.
Exhaustion tugged at him, but his stomach growled louder. He checked his salvaged supplies: a dented canteen half-full of water, a ziplock of his mom’s adobo, a few protein bars—enough for a couple days if he rationed. After that, he’d be out. The forest stretched around him, alive with possibility and danger. He didn’t know what was safe—plants glowing with lunar-timed blooms, berries glinting in the undergrowth, streams he’d heard trickling beyond the trees. Some of it might kill him; some might not.
Ray crouched near a bush, its dark berries catching the light—small, round, like blackberries he’d picked on Earth hikes. They looked familiar, but the faint shimmer on their skin threw him off. He plucked one, rolling it between his fingers, its juice staining his skin purple. Edible? Poison? He couldn’t tell. The adobo would hold him for now—he’d test the berries later, maybe boil them if he could start a fire.
Water was trickier. The canteen wouldn’t last, and the streams might carry things he couldn’t see—bacteria, toxins, magic he didn’t understand. Coastal kelp forests and tidal flats teemed with fish, seals, tidewalkers—he’d glimpsed them from the cliffs yesterday. If he could rig a spear or a net, maybe he’d catch something. But that was a big if, and he’d need to scout first, map the land in his head.
The sun dipped lower, the two moons—half Earth’s size—fading into view. Ray sat by the shelter, the laptop humming softly beside him, charging through another USB-C cable he’d found. His phone, plugged into a third cable, ticked up its battery too. The LLM’s last advice glowed on the screen—it couldn’t tell him what to eat or drink, but it could help him think—plan, adapt. He’d built a wall today, kept his lifeline charged. Tomorrow, he’d hunt for food and water, figure out what this world offered and what it hid. For now, he chewed a bite of adobo, the familiar taste grounding him as Islathia’s alien night closed in.
