I want to be the kind of person who, after 90 days stranded on a planet by my mining company, says “Flock them!” and just moves on with my life, doing whatever the heck I please.
I want to, but I’m not. I’m still hoping that any day now they’ll come for me and save me. And that means that I’m still playing by their rules, even when I don’t want to.
Like last night. Instead of sleeping, I spent the night trying to cover up the entrance to my cave down near the river. It was built of granite, but a shining beacon of granite that’s 10 meters by 12 meters tends to stick out as a sign of civilization, and since we’re not supposed to leave any signs that we’ve been here, that means covering it with dirt and soil and growing grass on top so the entrance is only visible to someone virtually standing on top of it.
The zombies, by the way, decided to stand on top of it.
I’m getting pretty decent with my sword. Considering forging a newer and sharper one now that I’m relatively skilled at not cutting myself on it. The zombies are still sword-averse, so they didn’t last long.