The hum of the bunker’s generator filled the corridor, a low, constant drone that Jenny barely noticed anymore. She tapped the stock of her rifle against her leg as she walked, her boots squeaking faintly on the polished concrete floor.
Jenny was smaller than most of the other bunker residents, her compact frame built for speed and agility rather than brute strength. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight braid that swayed as she moved, a practical style for someone who couldn’t sit still. Her athletic build was lean and wiry, her movements quick and precise, the kind of confidence born from years of training drills and restless energy. Her eyes were light grey, sharp and inquisitive, and they seemed to catch every detail around her, constantly searching for something to challenge or conquer.
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The air was stale, recycled too many times, but it was home—or so everyone said.
Jenny rolled her eyes at the thought. Home was supposed to be exciting, a place where stories were made, not a hole in the ground filled with rules and lectures. She stopped near the shooting range, her ears perking up at the sound of laughter.
Two boys her age—Greg and Ethan—were practicing with the standard-issue pistols. They weren’t terrible shots, but their form made her wince. Greg held his weapon like he was afraid it might explode in his hand.
“Should I clap now, or wait for you to actually hit the target?” Jenny called out, leaning against the doorway with a grin.
Ethan turned, grinning back. “Funny. Want to show us how it’s done, or are you just here to heckle?”
“Fine,” Jenny said, slinging her rifle off her shoulder. She sauntered toward the firing line, her braid bouncing behind her. “Step aside and watch a pro.”
Greg handed her the pistol with a mock bow. “All yours, hotshot.”
Jenny winked at him, her cocky smile widening as she took her stance. She raised the pistol, squinting down the iron sights, and fired. The shot rang out, the recoil sharp in her hand. The bullet clipped the edge of the target.
She frowned. “Huh. Okay, warm-up shot. Let’s try that again.”
The second shot hit dead center, and she smirked, tossing the pistol back to Greg. “And that’s how you do it.”
But the rifle on her shoulder was calling to her. She could already feel the weight of the boys’ expectations, their eyes on her. The urge to impress them, to prove she was better, stronger, faster than anyone else, burned in her chest.
“Hang on,” she said, unslinging her rifle. “This’ll be even better.”
“Jenny, I don’t think—” Greg started, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
“Oh, relax. I’ve done this a hundred times.”
She flipped the safety off and aimed down the scope, lining up the distant target. The rifle’s kick was familiar, satisfying as the shot cracked through the air.
But the recoil sent her slightly off balance, just enough for the butt of the rifle to bump into the fragile control panel beside her. The screen sparked, and the loud hum of the generator faltered for a moment before stabilizing. A thin trail of smoke curled from the edge of the panel.
Ethan swore. “Jenny! That’s connected to the air filters!”
Jenny froze, her stomach sinking. She looked back at the smoldering panel, then at the boys, her confident mask slipping. “It’s fine,” she said quickly. “It’s barely damaged. Right?”
Greg’s expression was a mix of disbelief and panic. “They’re gonna kill you.”
“Only if they find out.” Jenny slung the rifle back over her shoulder, already backing toward the door. “Let’s just keep this between us, okay? No harm, no foul.”
But the sound of boots on the metal floor behind her made her heart skip. The bunker’s overseer, a man named Aksel, rounded the corner, his sharp gaze narrowing as he took in the scene.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded.
Ethan and Greg stepped back instinctively, their faces pale. Jenny straightened, her usual bravado flickering to life again. “Just practice. Everything’s fine.”
Aksel’s eyes lingered on the smoking panel, and his jaw tightened. “Fine? That’s critical equipment. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Jenny opened her mouth to retort, but Aksel held up a hand. “No excuses. Report to the council room immediately. They’ll decide your punishment.”
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Jenny sat in her cramped room, her mind racing. The council would have her scrubbing floors for weeks, maybe worse. She couldn’t stand the thought of sitting still, paying penance for one stupid mistake when the world outside was waiting.
Her gaze flicked to the emergency pack stashed under her cot. It was already packed—just in case. Every week, she’d tinkered with it, adding small luxuries: a lighter, extra rounds for her rifle, a stash of candy bars she’d bribed from the quartermaster. She’d always told herself it was for a future mission, maybe a sanctioned trip topside.
But why wait? The idea sparked something in her, a fire that wouldn’t be extinguished. She didn’t need their permission. She’d seen the maps. She knew the codes to the outer doors. She could go.
Her heart pounded as she grabbed the pack and slipped out of her room. The corridors were quieter now, most of the bunker asleep or busy in other sections. She moved quickly, her boots light on the floor. When she reached the outer gate, she hesitated for only a moment.
What if she was wrong? What if the wasteland wasn’t the grand adventure she imagined but a death sentence?
She shook the thought away. Better to die free than rot in this tomb. She entered the code with trembling fingers, and the heavy doors creaked open, revealing a world bathed in moonlight. The cool air hit her like a slap, sharp and bracing after the stale confines of the bunker.
Jenny stepped out, her rifle slung over her shoulder and her pack bouncing against her back. She didn’t look back as the doors groaned shut behind her.
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She should have felt scared. Maybe even guilty. But all she felt was alive.
For the first time in her life, there were no rules, no schedules, no elders breathing down her neck about "discipline" or "responsibility." No one to lecture her. Out here, it was just her.
Her and the world.
Jenny turned slowly, her grey eyes wide with wonder as she took in the horizon. She had imagined this moment a hundred times—no, a thousand. She’d heard the stories, seen the old photographs. The surface was supposed to be dead. Just endless dirt and rocks, stripped bare by whatever had scorched the land during the Cleansing.
But this... this wasn’t dead.
The ruins of the old town stretched out before her like a broken map, its jagged streets and crumbling buildings softened by creeping vines and patches of stubborn green moss. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows that made the cracked roads seem deeper, the collapsed houses more like tombstones.
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Jenny grinned, her braid swishing over her shoulder as she stepped forward. “This isn’t so bad,” she said to herself, her boots crunching over gravel.
The air smelled different out here—damp and earthy, with a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of her throat. She liked it. It was a sharp, wild smell, the kind that made her feel like she was already part of something bigger.
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She stopped in what had once been the town square, turning a slow circle as she tried to line up what she saw with the pictures she’d been shown back in the bunker.
That had been a different time. A boring time.
She remembered the images of neat little houses, with their red shutters and white fences, lining streets so clean they could’ve been painted on. There had been kids in those pictures, playing in front yards, laughing as their parents waved from porches.
Now? Those houses were gone, swallowed by time. The few that still stood leaned at awkward angles, their roofs caved in, their walls blackened with soot. One of the white fences still clung stubbornly to life, though its boards were cracked and warped, the paint peeling away like a snake shedding its skin.
Jenny wrinkled her nose. “Guess they left out this part in the history lessons.”
The old diner caught her eye next, its sign hanging by a single rusted chain. She could barely make out the faded letters that once spelled “Maggie’s Diner,” but the red-and-white tiles inside still gleamed faintly under the layers of dust. She squinted, picturing it in its prime—booths filled with happy families, waitresses with beaming smiles.
Her grin widened. “If I were in charge, I’d have grabbed one of those milkshakes before the world ended.”
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The wasteland was nothing like Jenny had imagined.
She crouched atop a jagged boulder, her rifle slung across her back, and scanned the horizon. The land stretched endlessly before her, a patchwork of cracked earth, scraggly weeds, and the skeletal remains of structures that had long since crumbled. The air was cooler than she’d expected, carrying a faint tang of metal and decay, and the silence was startling. No hum of machinery, no muffled voices through bunker walls—just the occasional whisper of the wind.
Jenny took a deep breath, letting it all sink in. Her pulse was still racing from the thrill of sneaking out, and her cheeks hurt from smiling. She was free. The world outside was hers now, vast and open and begging to be explored. No council to scold her, no drills or routines to grind her into boredom.
She slid her pack off her shoulders and rummaged inside, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. It was worn at the edges, its ink smudged in places, but still legible. One of the bunker’s old maps—something she’d snagged from the archives during her many “innocent” visits to poke around where she wasn’t supposed to.
The map showed her bunker at the center, neatly labeled “CivCom Bunker 7”, with faint dotted lines extending to various points around it. Most of those points had been crossed out by some long-dead archivist, the notations grim: “Collapsed,” “Lost,” “No Response.” But one mark remained circled near the edge of the map, labeled simply “Bunker 4—Contact Lost.”
Jenny traced the route with her finger. CivCom Bunker 4. It was one of the older bunkers, she knew that much—built before hers, designed for long-term survival just like hers. They were supposed to remain in contact, exchanging information and supplies. But years ago—long before she was born—the messages had stopped. No one knew why.
It was a mystery that had always gnawed at her. The elders dismissed it, said it wasn’t worth the risk to investigate. Jenny had asked once, during one of their endless lectures on “preserving resources.” The answer she’d gotten was annoyingly predictable: “The surface is too dangerous. We must focus on the survival of our own.”
But now, standing out here with the vast horizon stretching before her, the answer seemed obvious. She’d go there herself.
Her grin returned, her grey eyes sparkling with determination. If she could find out what happened to Bunker 4, it would prove she wasn’t just some cocky kid with a rifle. She’d bring back answers, maybe even supplies or tech the council would have no choice but to respect. Maybe then, people would stop treating her like some restless brat and start seeing her for what she was: capable.
She folded the map and tucked it back into her pack, standing and stretching. The cracked earth felt solid beneath her boots, and the rifle on her back felt lighter than it ever had in the bunker.
“Bunker 4,” she said aloud, testing the name. It sounded like a challenge. She smirked to herself. “Alright, let’s see what’s so scary about you.”
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The lines on the map were clean, straightforward—roads connecting to landmarks, paths leading into the hills. But the landscape around her didn’t match. Roads ended abruptly, swallowed by the earth. Huge cracks split the ground in jagged, unnatural patterns, and spires of stone jutted up from nowhere, like frozen lightning bolts.
She frowned, glancing at the nearest spire. The surface of the rock shimmered faintly, as though it were covered in oil. She stepped closer, squinting at it, and realized it wasn’t just shimmering—it was moving.
The faintest pulse ran through the stone, a heartbeat she could feel in her chest more than hear.
Jenny stepped back quickly, her fingers twitching toward the rifle slung over her shoulder. “Right,” she muttered. “That’s... definitely not in the training manual.”
The road ahead twisted and split, its broken surface glowing faintly in the fading light. Some cracks oozed a sickly green vapor that rose in lazy tendrils before vanishing into the air. She’d heard whispers in the bunker—stories about the surface being poisoned, cursed, alive.
She hadn’t believed them. Not really. But now, staring at the shifting light and strange vapors, she wasn’t so sure.
Jenny tightened her grip on the map, her confidence wavering for the first time. The clean, dotted lines felt like a cruel joke against the chaos in front of her.
“No problem,” she muttered to herself, forcing a smirk back onto her face. “I can handle a few glowing rocks and creepy cracks. Just adds a little... personality.”
She slid the map into her pack and turned back to the horizon. The distant ruins of the military base loomed faintly in the hazy air, but they were a far cry from the photos she’d studied as a kid. The towers were broken now, their proud frames bent and crumbling. And the town that had once supported them? It wasn’t just abandoned—it felt haunted.
She glanced back at the bunker’s steel door, barely visible now through the rubble and twisted trees. For a split second, she imagined turning around, going back. Back to the rules, the lectures, the safety of cold metal walls.
But then she shook her head. “Not a chance,” she muttered, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair out of her face.
The world out here was broken, sure. Dangerous, maybe. But it was hers to explore, hers to conquer.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, wasteland,” she said, her voice sharp and daring.
Jenny adjusted the rifle strap on her shoulder, set her jaw, and started walking, her boots crunching against the cracked pavement.
The wasteland stretched before her, vast and unfamiliar, but for the first time in her life, she felt alive.
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Jenny crouched low in the ruins of what had once been a hardware store, her grey eyes scanning the broken street through the scope of her rifle. The faint glow of the cracks in the earth reflected off the jagged edges of collapsed buildings, casting eerie shadows that flickered and shifted as the light faded. She felt her pulse quicken, not with fear, but with the thrill of the hunt.
She’d spotted movement earlier—something fast and low darting between the wreckage. At first, she thought it might have been a stray animal, but the way it moved was... wrong. Too fluid, too deliberate. The bunker had taught her to recognize danger, and every instinct screamed that whatever was out there wasn’t friendly.
A faint scraping sound echoed from her left, and she swung her rifle toward it, her breathing steady. The magnified view through the scope revealed a shape—humanoid, but not quite. Its limbs were elongated, its movements jerky as it crawled along the crumbled facade of a building. Its skin was pale and slick, stretched too tightly over its frame, and its eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.
Jenny’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t hesitate. She lined up the shot, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked hard against her shoulder, the sharp crack of the shot echoing through the ruins.
The creature recoiled, dropping from the wall with an inhuman screech. It hit the ground in a heap, writhing and clawing at the dirt. Jenny didn’t wait. She adjusted her aim and fired again, the second shot hitting the thing square in the head. It went still.
Her breath came fast now, her heart hammering as she lowered the rifle. She watched the body for a long moment, waiting for any sign of movement. When none came, she allowed herself a faint grin.
“Not so scary,” she muttered, slinging the rifle back over her shoulder. She climbed down from her perch, boots crunching softly on the rubble, and approached the creature cautiously. Its twisted, lifeless form was even more grotesque up close, and the sight sent a shiver down her spine.
Her fingers twitched toward her combat bayonet, but she didn’t need it. The thing was dead—she’d made sure of that. She crouched to examine it, wrinkling her nose at the sickly sweet stench that clung to its body. Whatever it had been, it wasn’t human anymore.
Straightening, Jenny allowed herself another smirk. This was what she’d come for—a real test, a chance to prove she wasn’t just some kid with a gun. The bunker’s drills had taught her how to shoot, how to survive, but this was different. Out here, it was all on her.
She turned back toward the ruins, her confidence bolstered. The wasteland was dangerous, sure, but she could handle it. After all, she’d just taken down whatever that thing was without breaking a sweat.
“Alright, wasteland,” she said, her voice light but cocky. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.”
Her footsteps echoed as she moved through the ruins, rifle at the ready, her grey eyes sharp and eager. She was alive, and for the first time, she felt unstoppable.