Atlas gritted his teeth, his mind still fixated on the vote that had just taken place. So many settlements had voted against him. They had voted against letting the baby trolls live. It infuriated him.

He was surprised how quickly he'd grown attached to those new baby trolls, and planned to give those who voted against his baby trolls a piece of his mind.

Preferably with two sharp swords and an army.

His rage was interrupted by a happy voice from above.

"People of the wasteland, portals incoming."

‘What the fuck?‘ Atlas thought, his eyes darting around. The Red Fairy had already left; he’d seen it himself. But things clearly weren’t going according to plan anymore. ‘What now?‘

"John!" Atlas barked, looking for his second-in-command. "Get yourself ready. I hope you've got a plan for this."

John nodded confidently, although there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Yep, there'll be no problems. Or at least I hope not."

"Portal Crushers, Plan A!" John called out.

Within moments, over a hundred men were gathered at the settlement's kiosk point, their crossbows aimed and ready at the portal. The sight of the bone-armored warriors was enough to strike fear into any onlookers. John took his place at the front of the assembly, standing just in front of the swirling portal, waiting for the incoming refugees.

As people began to portal in—confused, panicked, and disoriented—John raised his voice, trying to calm the chaos.

"Welcome, everybody, to Fort Bone!" His tone was firm but not unkind. "I know you're confused, but calm down. Earth’s Children, hit them with a song."

The Earth Children, a small group of singers, began to belt out the ‘Welcome to Fort Bone‘ song. The absurdity of the moment was not lost on anyone: a bunch of crossbow-wielding warriors in bone armor serenading bewildered refugees. But somehow, it worked. The newcomers started to relax, at least slightly.

"What’s going on?" one man asked, looking around at the unusual scene.

‘Well, it’s early morning, so no one's dressed for this,‘John thought, noticing most were in their pyjamas. Except for one guy who was clearly either stoned or drunk, still passed out on the ground. The balding guy had a convention name tag on his chest that said “Hi my name is … Crospiak.”

"My name is John," he continued. "Welcome to Fort Bone. Has anyone seen the TV show?"

"What TV show?" a woman asked, confused.

John pointed back to Atlas, who was watching the scene unfold with a raised eyebrow. "Atlas, Back to the Present."

That was all it took for one man to practically shout in recognition, "Holy crap, I love that show! So, this is real?"

"Yes," John said, his voice serious. "I'm not sure what the government has been telling you, but this is real. You’re not dreaming."

Another man, still shaken and panicking, managed to ask, "So everything on the show is true?"

John gave a heavy sigh. "I don’t know what’s going on in the show anymore. Everything in season one was true, but I’m not sure about the rest. What season are you guys up to?"

A tiny blonde woman, her eyes wide with excitement, said, "Well, in season two, you guys are trying to save the world from being invaded through the portals. There are giant sea snakes and robots!"

Atlas, who had been half-listening, whipped his head around. "What? Sea snakes? Robots invading Earth?"

The woman blinked, confused. "Yeah… so that’s not happening?"

John shook his head. "No, none of that’s happening. Try to forget everything from season two onward. I’m pretty sure none of that is for real."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Hold on a second, “ a man dressed in military uniform said.

“Oh great, thought Atlas, ‘another Major Briggs. A dick who's here to take charge.”

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Sanders."

"Your name is Colonel Sanders?" Atlas couldn't help but laugh.

"Go ahead, get it out of your system. Men, gather up." He had a hundred men in various military uniforms. Guns were ready, and while they weren't pointing at the Portal Crushers, they looked ready to go.

John said, "Well, welcome, Colonel Sanders. What's the situation on Earth?" He tried hard to keep the smile off his face.

Lieutenant Colonel Sanders straightened up, his voice taking on a sharp, authoritative edge. "The situation on Earth? We have an idea of what’sgoinb on here in the wasteland, thanks to the micro-dramas being broadcast. The government’s been watching. Orders are clear: by directive of the Global Defense Council, all operations in this sector fall under military jurisdiction, effective immediately. Our mission parameters are to secure this territory, establish command authority, and ensure all unauthorized factions—"

He glanced directly at Atlas, "—fall in line or face immediate neutralization. Full asset retrieval protocols are in effect. We’re to capture, classify, and return any advanced or anomalous technology. Any resistance will be met with force."

Lieutenant Colonel Sanders gave John a hard look before continuing in a softer voice, “It's chaos on Earth. The government’s been in full lockdown mode for weeks, trying to figure out why so many people are disappearing into this wasteland. They’re scared. They're making assumptions based on rumors and what little intel we can scrape together. Most think it’s some kind of experiment gone wrong. Others... well, they’re convinced it’s a hostile alien invasion.”

Atlas raised an eyebrow, “And what's your take?”

Sanders frowned, “Doesn’t matter what I think. I’m here to complete a mission and get my men out alive."

"And, are you going to follow those orders?" asked John, his gaze steady as the mini faeries floated around the portal, their wings shimmering harmlessly. The new refugees stood nearby, oblivious to the real danger they were in.

Lieutenant Colonel Sanders didn’t flinch. "Those are the orders," he said, his voice firm. "And that's my job—to follow them." His eyes scanned the area, noting the faeries and the Portal Crushers, sizing up the situation. "Whether anyone likes it or not."

John crossed his arms, a cold smile creeping onto his face. "That's a shame," he said, his voice calm but edged with threat. "Because the last guy who tried to order us around is buried deep in the garden back there as compost." He nodded towards the distant stretch of wasteland behind them, where the remains of past challengers lay hidden beneath the soil. A bone stake had been driven into the ground, and perched on top was a worn military helmet with the word ‘Potatoes‘ scrawled across it.

Lieutenant Colonel Sanders didn’t respond, but a flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes.

"Last chance," John continued, his tone serious. "Do you or your men want to surrender your arms and join the wasteland peacefully? You won’t become citizens of Fort Bone, but you also won’t be prisoners. I’ll give you some time to think about it."

The tension thickened as the soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the offer hanging heavy in the air.

The men stood in tight groups, murmuring amongst themselves. Most were from the U.S. Air Force, familiar with each other from past missions. They exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to make of John’s offer.

One of the sergeants, a tall man with a Southern drawl, broke the silence, “Look, boys, we ain't in Kansas anymore. These folks don’t look like they’re bluffing. Last thing I want is to end up as fertilizer.”

A younger soldier piped up, “We came here to follow orders, not die for them. If we lay down our weapons, we’re not betraying anyone, right?”

Another chimed in, “What’s the point of sticking to protocol if the world’s gone to hell? We can still get out alive without playing heroes.”

The men nodded in agreement, but one, a grizzled captain, shook his head. “This is still military jurisdiction. We have a duty to—”

“To what?” interrupted the sergeant. “Get shot by these guys who clearly run the place? We ain't in control here, Cap. We’re outnumbered, and they’ve got their own rules.”

Lieutenant Colonel Sanders stood silently, listening to his men. He knew what was coming.

The sergeant turned to Sanders. “Sir, with all due respect, I think it’s time we lay down our guns. No point in a standoff if it means getting us all killed.”

Sanders sighed, looking around at his men—his brothers-in-arms. He nodded slowly. “Alright. Lay 'em down.”

The soldiers, one by one, began to lower their rifles, the sound of metal clinking softly against the dirt. Tension hung in the air as they surrendered their weapons, unsure of what came next.

John nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Welcome to the wasteland."

After the men laid down their guns, Atlas strolled forward, picking one of them up casually. The soldiers shifted uneasily, exchanging nervous glances. They had seen Atlas on the micro-dramas, but just like John had said, those shows might be heavily scripted, and they weren’t sure how much of what they’d seen was real.

Atlas looked at the rifle in his hand, weighing it like it was some outdated relic. "These guns," he said with a slight smirk, "they’re worth shit in the wasteland." He paused, his eyes scanning the group. "I’d fire one off to show you what would happen, but I don’t feel like catching a receiver in the face when this thing explodes."

The soldiers watched as Atlas ejected the cartridge with ease, the clink of metal loud in the silence. He tossed the rifle back down, shrugging. "You guys are used to a different kind of war. This place doesn’t play by the same rules."

A ripple of doubt crossed the soldiers' faces, some looking at the guns they'd just laid down as if they were useless trinkets.