The Boom and Bust of Jankytown

[Benny the Icepick]

Jankytown.

The colonists crashed in the foothills of a gigantic mountain range, one which extended as far as the eye could see - east, north, and south.  Figuring the craggy depths of the mountain offered greater protection than the surrounding poverty grass, they polished their pickaxes and got to work.

After carving out a pleasant common space and a few living quarters, they struck gold.  No, better than gold.  Buried deep inside the earth was a steam geyser.  The crashlanders discovered a nearly infinite source of power, nestled away from any imaginable threat.


Good grace continued to shine down on them over the next two months.  The colony grew undeterred, able to fend off any intruders with ease.  Once, as a particularly nasty looking raiding party appeared on the horizon, the ground began to shake.  A muffalo, frothing at the mouth and eyes burning red, caught site of the invaders and began to charge.  The motley crew, preoccupied with fending off the beast's horns, hardly seemed to notice two snipers tucked behind sandbags in the shadow of the mountain, picking off raiders one by one.


Fortune, though, is a fickle mistress.  Having tapped into a bit of dark magic and upgrading their turrets, the power-hungry colonists found themselves starved for metal, unable to rebuild the hulking guns every time the raiders came.  They'd survived four months of relentless assaults and any matter of natural disaster, but they seemed to sense that their days were numbered.


They made do well enough. They started constructing solar-powered outposts in the hills around Jankytown, where the gunfire of improvised turrets would tip them off to the presence of raiders.


Sometimes the sound was a bit more noticeable.


Life got hard.  After one nasty dustup with a gang of ruffians, all but one resident was down for the count.  The one who swore never to pick up a weapon showed more heroism than anyone else when she singlehandedly nursed the entire group back to health.


It wasn't long before the raiders started letting themselves in regularly, the report of gunfire echoing down the stone tunnel walls.  Undeterred, the brave survivors of Jankytown reveled in their resilience, gloating at the dead bodies at their feet under the breakfast table.


It was on Day 150 - five months into this gruesome Gilligan's Isle - that Jankytown finally fell.  The invasion began before the colonists had scraped together enough metal to build a single turret.  They held out as long as they could on the sandbags, but then a bullet took down Paul, one of the first residents of Jankytown.  She grimaced stoically, dropping her weapon and trying in vain to stop the bleeding.  The two "conscientious objectors," weaponless to the last, tried to rescue her, but were cut down in a shower of bullets.  A grizzled combat veteran threw down his M16 and carried Paul to safety, only to find the raiders had burst through the front door.  They slaughtered everyone, set the place on fire, and sauntered off, cackling.


Paul awoke to smoke billowing through the place she'd called home for almost half a year.  Still limping, she did her best to beat out the flames.  Almost a cruel joke, a boomrat - crazed by the fire, no doubt - found itself staring down the last living thing in the whole colony.  Normally, it wouldn't have stood a chance, but two quick bites felled the already feeble Paul.  She dropped face down in the fire.  It consumed her and the rest of Jankytown.


150 days of incredible play, put to rest by a goddamn boomrat.
Thanks for the memories, Jankytown.

(edit: resized the images to display better.  You can still open them in a new window for the full effect)

[Splinterbee]

Haha. Nice! Boom rats always finish me it seems

[baxterdavid]

I need to reach almost here