Abyssal border wall protocol: Ch 11 (Rough Draft) (Patreon)

Chapter 11: The First Door

The screen went fuzzy as Liz watched Justin choose Border Wall Field Mage. She smiled. “There is no way he was going to pass up on magic,” she said, remembering all the magic they had imbued their childhood with. Now it was more of a reality than ever before.

 A chime sounded as Liz watched him transfer her XP.

XP transfer received.Sender: Justin Barnes.Amount: 130 XP.Transfer fee paid by sender.

Current XP Pool: 219.

“Well, that changes things. Time to get this personal crafting room open.” Liz moved away from the screen for the first time in six days. It was her window to the outside world, or what counted as a window and the outside now. 

“Love you, Justin, but I’ll skip watching you fix the traps. I have a room to explore,” she said as she focused on the system. “System purchase personal crafting room upgrade.”

System Purchase Request:

Personal Crafting Room Upgrade.Cost: 100 XP.

Current XP Pool: 219.

Upgrade includes:Private attached crafting chamber.Basic crafting tables.Basic hand tools.Cabinet storage.Material purchase terminal.Crafting listing access.Progenitor commerce access.Permanent tower-to-tower communication access with approved linked progenitors.

Warning:Material acquisition requires XP expenditure.

Would you like to purchase the Personal Crafting Room Upgrade?

Yes or no?

“Yes.”

Purchase confirmed.

XP Pool: 119.

For one breath, nothing happened.

Then a line appeared on the far wall, opposite the bed.

Liz stared as the grey stone changed. The line widened, gaining depth and shadow until the shape of a door pressed out from the wall like it had been waiting there the whole time. The grey surface took on color. Brown first, then grain. A plain wooden door stood where the blank wall had been moments before, set into a simple frame. It looked so normal that the sight made her chest hurt.

Wood. It was real wood, or at least close enough that her heart did not care about the difference. A brass handle gleamed on the right side.

Liz crossed the room with bare feet against the cold floor. She stopped in front of the door and lifted her hand. Her fingers hovered over the handle for a second. It was such a small thing. A handle. A door. A way into another space.

Her throat tightened. For six days, the room had given her everything except distance. Food. Water. A bed. A toilet. A screen. A cage with amenities was still a cage.

Liz wrapped her fingers around the brass handle. It was warm. She turned it. The latch clicked. The sound was small, but it struck through her like a bell; it was a new sound, one not heard since she was kidnapped from Earth. The door opened inward.

Fresh light spilled across her feet. Liz froze on the threshold.

The room beyond was about half the size of a garage, wide enough that she could take ten good steps before reaching the far wall. Tables lined two sides of the chamber, simple and heavy, with smooth pale surfaces marked by faint measuring lines. Cabinets hung over them, each with wooden doors and small brass knobs. A few tools rested on the tables. She saw shears, needles, a small hammer, a carving knife, awls, clamps, wooden forms, a hand drill, a little saw, a mortar and pestle, glass jars, measuring cups, and several tools she did not know by name.

Liz stepped inside.

The floor was warmer than the stone in her cell. The air changed against her skin, carrying the smell of dry wood, clean dust, faint oil, and sun-warmed cloth. She breathed it in, and for a second she could pretend the tower had a window open somewhere.

Then she saw the actual window.

It filled most of the left wall, tall and broad, set above one of the worktables. Beyond the glass were clouds.

White clouds rolled past in slow hills, bright under a blue sky. They stretched forever, soft and gold-edged, as if the room sat high above the world in some impossible tower. The light that came through touched the tables, the cabinets, and Liz’s bare arms with a warmth that felt fresh. Real. Like morning through a kitchen window.

Liz went to it at once. She pressed both hands to the glass. It did not move. The glass held firm beneath her palms.

She should have been angry. Part of her was. But the light soaked into her face, and she closed her eyes for one second. The tower had given her a window. She would take it. She would take anything that did not look like grey stone.

“Okay,” she whispered. “That is better.” The words came out rough, with tears edging the corner of the whispered words.

She opened her eyes and looked around again, forcing herself to see the room as a tool instead of a gift. The tables had space for sewing, cutting, shaping, mixing, and sorting. The cabinets held more than she expected. Empty shelves waited for supplies. Small drawers opened beneath the tables, each sliding out with neat, smooth motion. One had thread spools, but they were empty cores. Another had labels. Another held small wooden tags, thin cord, and blank listing cards.

The tower was generous with containers but charged for anything worth putting in them.

At the far end of the room stood a screen mounted above a table that looked different from the others. White stone shining brightly, almost like glass, covered the tabletop, with faint orange lines running across it like a grid. When Liz came near, the screen woke.

Material Purchase Terminal Activated.

Current XP Pool: 119.

Available material categories:Fiber.Wood.Clay and stone.Metal.Food ingredients.Herbs and reagents.Glass.Leather analogs.Basic dyes.General crafting supplies.

Liz touched Fiber first. The list unfolded.

Raw linen fiber: 10 XP per pound.Raw wool: 10 XP per pound.Flax stalk bundle: 5 XP per pound.Spun linen thread: 80 XP per pound.Spun wool thread: 100 XP per pound.Undyed linen fabric: 250 XP per yard.Undyed wool fabric: 300 XP per yard.Dyed fabric: price varies by dye, weave, and quality.

Liz read it twice, then laughed under her breath. “Of course.” Raw materials were cheap. Anything processed costs a fortune. The System wanted them to craft. It wanted labor, skill, time, and XP. Buy wool for ten XP and spin it yourself, or buy thread for ten times that. Buy thread and weave, or pay three hundred for a yard of cloth.

The math was ugly and also made sense. She backed out and opened Clay and Stone.

Pottery clay: 10 XP per pound.Fine pottery clay: 25 XP per pound.Stone powder: 5 XP per pound.Chalk: 2 XP per stick.Basic glaze powder: 15 XP per ounce.Kiln access token: 20 XP per firing.

“Kiln tokens,” Liz said. “Fuck, but I guess if you need a pot, then you need a pot.”

Metal was worse.

Crude steel bar stock: price varies by size and weight.Iron wire: 25 XP per pound.Copper wire: 40 XP per pound.Thin steel sheet: 60 XP per square foot.Needle steel blank: 5 XP each.Basic rivets: 100 XP per hundred.Small hinges: 150 XP per pair.Simple blade blank: 500 XP each.

Liz tapped one of the steel bar listings, and a size chart opened. The prices climbed with every inch and ounce. She closed it before irritation could turn into a headache. 

Food ingredients looked better, at least at first.

Basic flour: 5 XP per pound.Sugar: 8 XP per pound.Salt: 2 XP per pound.Butter: 12 XP per pound.Egg substitute: 10 XP per dozen equivalent.Dried fruit: 15 XP per pound.Basic yeast: 5 XP per packet.Cooking spice packet: 20 XP.

Herbs and reagents made her pause.

Mint: 5 XP per bundle.Chamomile: 5 XP per bundle.Yarrow: 8 XP per bundle.Willow bark: 8 XP per bundle.Comfrey: 10 XP per bundle.Basic potion herb set: 50 XP.Minor soothing draught reagent set: 75 XP.Minor stimulant draught reagent set: 75 XP.

“Potions, like in games, and those stories… what is it called, Alchemy, that’s right. ” Liz said.

Justin had magic now. The tower had herbs. The System had crafting categories. There were paths here. Maybe small ones. Maybe slow ones. But paths all the same.

She looked at her XP.

Total XP: 119 XP.

She wanted to buy everything. Wool, clay, herbs, metal, food. She wanted to fill the cabinets and make something, anything, with her hands until the terror in her chest was gone.

But Justin had bled for those numbers. She would spend them carefully. A soft chime sounded from the first room.

Liz turned.

The screen near her bed had changed. Orange light spilled from the screen, bright against the grey walls of the cell she had left behind.

Tower communication access updated.

Personal Crafting Room Upgrade has removed full isolation status.

Approved linked progenitor communication available.

Permanent two-way audio and visual connection available between approved linked rooms.

Incoming connection request:

Kathleen Barnes.

Connection type:Permanent two-way video and voice communication.

Accept connection?

Yes or no?

Liz stood between the grey cell and the warm-lit crafting room, one hand still resting on the material table.

Her heart kicked once against her ribs.

“Mrs. Barnes! YES!” she yelled, rushing over to the screen, any fear of reentering the cell gone at the thought of getting to hear another voice.

“Liz dear—” Mrs. Barnes started.

“Oh god, thank you, thank you. Mrs. Barnes, it's horrible, I’ve…” Liz rambled for a solid five minutes, manic in her explanation of what had happened, or more to the point, not happened over the last six days, trapped in her room. 

After a time, she calmed down; Mrs. Barnes, Justin’s mom, eyes were wide but understanding, letting her vent and cry until she finally calmed down.

Kathleen watched her with soft eyes through the screen. The image was clear, sharp enough that Liz could see the tired lines around her mouth and the way she kept one hand tucked around Alison’s shoulder.

Alison leaned into the frame, eyes wide. “Lizzy?”

Liz broke again, but this time it came with a laugh. “Hey, Alley.”

“You look weird,” Alison said. “Your dress is ugly.”

“Alison,” Kathleen said, though her mouth twitched.

Liz looked down at the white nightgown and snorted. “No, she’s right. 

It is ugly.”

Alison gave one firm nod. “I knew it.”

That helped more than it should have, as she giggled. Liz wiped her face with both hands and pulled herself straighter. “Are you okay?”

“We’re okay,” Kathleen said. “Better than you were, I think. The System gave me upgraded accommodations because I have an active Abyssal Border Wall Warrior and a child under my care. Justin counts for the warrior part. Alison counts for the child part.”

The view shifted when Kathleen turned the screen. Liz saw a small living area, two bedroom doors, a tiny kitchen, a couch, shelves, and a window with warm light outside. It looked plain, but it looked like a home compared to the grey room behind Liz.

“You got a couch?” Liz asked.

Alison climbed onto it at once. “And pillows.”

Liz pressed her lips together. “Bragger.”

Kathleen turned the screen back. “It still isn’t home, dear. But we have space. Food. Water. A place for Alison to sleep. And now we can talk to you.”

Liz nodded. She could not trust her voice for a second.

Kathleen looked past her. “Is that your crafting room?”

Liz turned and glanced at the open wooden door. The light from the cloud window spilled across the grey cell floor. “Yeah. Justin sent enough XP. So, I bought it.”

“That boy,” Kathleen said, and there was pride in her voice. Pain too.

“He’s doing too much,” Liz said.

“He always does.” Kathleen smiled, tired and fond. “So, we make sure we support him the best we can.”

Alison leaned closer to the screen. “Can you make him cookies?”

Liz laughed. “Maybe. Apocalypse cookies. They will probably be awful.”

“He’ll eat them,” Alison said. “He eats anything.”

“That is true,” Liz said.

Liz looked toward the crafting room, at the tables and cabinets and empty shelves waiting for use. “I’m going to make him something better than cookies first.”

Kathleen’s eyes sharpened with understanding. “Good. Make him weapons. Food. Medicine. Anything that keeps him alive and moving.”

Liz nodded. “I will.”

They left the connection open, but Kathleen dimmed her side so Alison could rest. Liz left the screen on the table by the bed, the sound of another person breathing, just existing, filling the room for the first time since the System had taken her. She felt less alone now, less trapped. And though she was not free yet, she saw that the cold gray walls of her cell were not going to be permanent.

“Oh god, the other women…” she whispered the words as she thought about those that might not have anyone to send them XP. How many would go mad from isolation? “We, we’ll have to help… but how… no… no, not now, can’t do anything about it now.”

She went back into the crafting room with a goal: help Justin, help herself, then help those who might be trapped in the tower with no options.

“System,” Liz said, stopping in front of the material purchase terminal. “Search progenitor-crafted food and health items compared to System shop prices.”

System help answer:

Progenitor-crafted items are commonly cheaper than System direct-purchase items.

Reason:System direct-purchase items include full material cost, processing cost, stability cost, and delivery cost.

Progenitor-crafted items may reduce cost through labor, skill, local material substitution, protector-supplied materials, and limited exclusivity.

Liz read the answer twice.

“Protector-supplied materials,” she said.

Her fingers tightened on the table edge. “System, can Justin send me materials from Earth?”

System help answer:

Protector-to-progenitor material transfer:Available.

Transfer cost:1 XP per 50 pounds of mundane nonliving material.5 XP per item containing active System effects.Hazardous, cursed, abyssal, or unstable materials require inspection fees.

Materials may be crafted, refined, repaired, upgraded, packaged, listed, or returned through approved transfer methods.

Liz stared. Then she smiled. “Oh, Justin. You are going to love this.”

He had tools. Scrap metal. Cloth. Food. Wood. Herbs, if he could identify them. Glass jars. Leather. Nails. Broken furniture. The entire ruined house had become raw material, and the tower was giving her the chance to do something, something to help Justin. 

Almost like an inventory. A terrible, expensive, emotionally complicated inventory.

She searched again. “The system is there like a linked space between protector and progenitor.”

System help answer:

Protector and progenitor linked workshop storage:Locked.

Purchase cost:500 XP.

Function:Creates a limited shared transfer alcove between one approved protector and one approved progenitor.Allows free item transfer between linked parties while alcove remains active.Includes shared storage shelf, item inspection tray, and delivery table.Does not allow physical passage.Does not allow live creature transfer.

Liz looked at the black wall at the back of the crafting room. It was different from the others, smooth and deep, with no grain, no cabinet, no tool rack. A faint outline sat in it, almost invisible.

System note:Joint Resource Commons access door will manifest here when unlocked.

Cost:1000 XP.

“Five hundred for the linked workspace. One thousand for the commons.” Liz let out a breath. “Expensive, but not impossible.”

She pulled up the food list and bought what she needed with care. Flour. Salt. Dried fruit. A little sugar. Basic yeast. Then she bought the basic potion herb set and three glass vials. The XP number dropped, and she winced at every point.

But spending hurt less when it had a purpose.

XP spent: 94 XP.

Total XP: 25 XP.

She worked at the table under the cloud window. The first food she made was dense little travel cakes that smelled of flour, fruit, and a hint of sugar. They would keep better than soft bread and fit in a pocket. The System judged her efforts worthy before she could.

Skill gained:Cooking: Level 1, Novice.

Crafted item created:Basic Field Cake.Item Class: Common.Quality: Standard.Nutrition: Low.Shelf stability: 6 months to 2 years.

Liz held one up. “Low nutrition. Great, well, hard tack was never meant to keep scurvy away.”

She made six and set them aside.

The potion took longer. Mortar and pestle. Willow bark. Yarrow. Comfrey. Water that came from the wall tap was clean and cold. The mixture smelled bitter enough to make her eyes water. She followed the System’s basic guidance, heated it with a small crafting plate, strained it through cloth, and poured it into the three vials.

Skill gained:

Alchemy, level 1, Novice.

Potion Crafting: Level 1, Novice.

Crafted item created:Minor Health Draught.Item Class: Crude.Quality: Standard.Effect:Supports wound closure, pain reduction, healing, and fatigue recovery.Warning:Does not replace major healing.

Liz stared at the vials. It was pale green and cloudy. It was not much, but it was something.

She opened the shop craft listing screen. She could set the price and make it exclusively available to a warrior of her choosing. 

Exclusive listing created:Buyer: Justin Barnes.Item: Basic Field Cakes, bundle of six.Price: 1 XP.

Exclusive listing created:Buyer: Justin Barnes.Item: Minor Health Draught.Price: 1 XP.

Then she opened the general store listing page.

She paused when the suggested tags appeared. Visual content. Emotional support. Reproductive incentive content. In-person intimacy session contracts.

Liz closed those filters.

“Nope, that’s only for him.” Her voice was quiet, but she blushed at the thought of Justin wanting to look at pictures of her. 

She would sell food. Potions. Notes. Maps. Trap sketches. Thread, cloth, repair kits, field guides, whatever she could make with her hands and mind. She would build an XP stream that did not come from selling her body.

And she would save herself for him.

Liz looked back at the black wall where the commons door would appear one day, then at the cloud window pouring clean light over her worktables.

“Okay,” she said, picking up the marking stick. “Let’s make a few useful things.” She listed one of the potions in the general shop for 20 XP, then started planning what she could craft.

“System, send text message to Justin.”