Arknights: Mobile City

In that moment, everything clicked for Obsidian.

It all connected. Every piece fell into place.

Energy problem? Solved.

Sure, the output wouldn't be anything impressive—but something was better than nothing. The Food Conversion Unit's energy consumption was relatively low anyway; Pioneer could power it for now.

Though… the original plan to have Pioneer leave the City in five days would have to be shelved for the time being.

Obsidian sighed inwardly. He'd intended to send Pioneer out as a kind of walking PR campaign—to promote the City, maybe even rally a few allies to help take down the Food Chain.

But now, looking at this converter… he had a new idea.

A fallback plan.

Obsidian hadn't thought of it before, but now, after observing the Food Chain's insatiable hunger—and seeing the potential of this machine—he realized something:

Recruiting people was an uncertain, far-off gamble. This machine, though? It could actually keep him alive.

"We bunker down for now. If we can't win, we focus on development. What the hell else can I do?"

He muttered to himself, eyes shutting in frustration.

Damn it… if I had even one piece of Singularity tech, I'd have wiped them out already.

But the truth was—Obsidian was sorely underdeveloped. No manpower. No power grid. Not even a stable source of food or clean water.

And as for advanced tech lines? Not even worth dreaming about.

His timber and steel still came from scrounging through local ruins or trading for external scraps. Nothing was self-sustaining. Production pipelines were slow as hell to establish. Right now, the only reliable resource stream was still… the Well.

He set the Food Conversion Unit just outside the safe zone perimeter. After confirming Texas had returned to her cabin, he had Pioneer sneak out under cover of night, accompanied by a few Doubts. Once in position, Pioneer hooked up his solar interface to the machine while the Doubts began digging up soil and feeding it into the hopper.

Obsidian then withdrew his consciousness from Pioneer and powered the body down, letting it act as a generator while he turned his focus elsewhere.

This was a last-resort measure. A backup plan. If they couldn't beat the Food Chain, then at the very least, he could buy more time before death arrived.

Even so… they couldn't just bunker down forever. Sooner or later, they'd have to face the Food Chain—and even if they won, that wouldn't be the end of it. There were still plenty more monsters out there, any of which could show up next.

Forget the top-tier Urban Star types—even a tier lower, something like an Urban Nightmare, would be more than enough to finish him off right now.

"Once the Food Chain's dealt with, we'll need to get some laborers in as soon as possible. If this food machine's output holds up, then it's time to start thinking seriously about population growth."

Obsidian whispered the thought aloud, eyes closed in quiet calculation.

In his mind, the City's population plan followed a clear pipeline.

First came refugees—they were the easiest to attract. Once the City developed further, he could then appeal to more stable settlers.

Sure, bringing in standard immigrants would be more sustainable long-term. But right now? No one in their right mind would come to a place like this.

Still, mercenaries could work. It lined up well with the "Fixer" profession anyway. And if Obsidian positioned the City as an open-enrollment sanctuary with no barriers to entry… some people would come. He was sure of it.

"One step at a time. First we survive the Food Chain. Then, we make the City enticing enough to grow… all of which takes Lunacy."

He shook his head and sighed again.

Still deep in thought, Obsidian tossed the rest of his Lunacy into the Well for the remaining three pulls.

No surprises this time—ten more Threads, plus one curious item that caught his eye.

[Wood Carving]

[Category: Artwork]

[A piece by a certain Ringfinger docentship sculptor. Known for its odd aesthetic, even by Ringfinger standards. Scored a lowly D.]

Obsidian turned the sculpture over in his hands.

Objectively speaking, the craftsmanship was exquisite. The moment of death—twisting, desperate agony—was captured in such detail that anyone looking at it would feel as though they themselves were being torn apart.

If it had been a regular artwork, he would've praised the artist's technical brilliance.

But this was from the Ringfinger.

And when it came to those psychos, Obsidian could only shake his head.

The Ringfinger cultists were absolute lunatics—sculptors of horror, and connoisseurs of psychological rot. Something this… normal? It was no wonder they rated it a D.

He stored the carving away. Might be useful later—though certainly not now.

Right then, the Emperor's steel shipment arrived.

A full truckload.

Obsidian had it brought into the City, then sent the delivery driver on their way. After that, he activated the City's drive system again, sending the entire structure forward.

Fifteen days left.

Fifteen days until the Food Chain would arrive.

That thought anchored itself in his mind.

If all went well, by the time the battle was over, the City would be approaching the borders of Kazdel… and there, Obsidian hoped to welcome his first wave of immigrants.

After all, the Sarkaz were probably the easiest group to lure in.

And so, development resumed.

Doubt after Doubt was manufactured. Food was processed nonstop. And soon, Obsidian discovered that the food converter was surprisingly efficient.

Even with limited power, it could generate roughly a ton of food per day. If he pushed it to maximum output, it might even reach ten tons—though the energy consumption would be monstrous.

He picked up a plate of the freshly synthesized food paste—grayish, toothpaste-like organic matter—and studied it for a moment before setting it down again.

No taste. Probably not even a scent.

But it was easy to make. And more importantly, the people who'd be eating it wouldn't complain.

The days blurred together as the City crawled forward, inch by inch.

Fifteen days passed in a flash.

And then, on that fifteenth day, Obsidian stepped out from his wooden cabin.

He walked to the edge of the safe zone.

There, on the farthest edge of his vision, the bugs had appeared.

Obsidian stood still, expression unreadable.

Today, he thought, is the day we fight the Food Chain.