A wasteland walker walked down a street. It was a completely ordinary well-maintained street. The road stretched into the distance until it terminated at a turn. The concrete that composed it had developed light cracks after years of use.

The wasteland walker was walking through a subdivision. Buildings of similar design but made unique by their inhabitants lined the street. Happy children played on the street and grassy yards. Adults tended to their lawn plants and overwatched their offspring. The occasional automobile passed by.

Onlookers kept a healthy distance from the wasteland walker, casting wary looks onto the passerby. He was covered top to bottom in a thick coat, and his face was concealed by an opaque gas mask. On his back was a large backpack containing rifles, ammo, and artifacts. A robotic hound trotted beside him. Red iron oxide had been painted over much of its chassis, to stave off the rust. Its name, Rover, was embossed upon its side. Upon its back were the rest of the wasteland walker's gear.

The wasteland walker stood out of his environment like a character out of their native genre. He looked like a somber survivor lonelily trekking the world in the post-apocalypse whilst the world around him was reminiscent of 20th-century American suburbia. His surroundings, so colorful like that of a children's program, yet he appeared dull and desaturated like a soldier in a war movie based on a real story.

The wasteland walker eventually came to his destination. A smile crept into his face. He touched the mailbox that faced the street, bearing the numbers and name of residence:

"B7 L14

Fernandez Residence"

Suddenly, the front door of the house banged open as a 9-year-old girl exited.

"Brother!" The girl screamed as she ran to meet up the wasteland walker.

The wasteland walker caught the girl in his arms and lifted her into the air. He twirled her as she embraced him. "It's good to see you. You're no longer as little as I remember you to be."

The girl chuckled. "Oh brother, I grew eight inches since then. I'm now four feet and seven inches."

The wasteland walker laughed. "You're growing up a big girl, I see." To which the girl giggled in reply.

"She's been anxiously waiting for you," their mother exited the house. At the age of 56, she stood hale at the door albeit with strands of graying hair. "We almost thought you'd never come back."

The wasteland walker chuckled. "I wouldn't be your boy if I couldn't come back whole."

"You really inherited his outlook," the mother remarked. "Well, come on inside and have a rest. We'll prepare you lunch."

"That would be lovely," he replied.

Their mother beckoned him to follow her into the house, and the wasteland walker gingerly walked in. Her younger sister jogged ahead, entering the house before him.

The inside of the house had jogged many memories. He sniffed the house air, inhaling the many familiar scents that lingered in the house; the smell of unwashed carpet, old wood, and food invaded his senses. He found himself in a living room with beige carpet and light green walls. A blue sofa faced one wall where a large TV was situated. A cabinet displaying medals, novelties, toys, and their DVD collection stood by one wall. Picture frames framing the faces of his family hung from another wall.

He looked at the framed pictures on the wall. They held within memories of his siblings. In one of them was the picture of her little sister, Rose, standing on stage being pinned with ribbons on a recognition day. Another held the memory of his younger brother, Mince, in a toga, graduating elementary school and entering high school. His mother, Alberta, posed in another, wearing her uniform as an accountant. His father, Matthew, stood in front of a water plant, wearing his engineer outfit. Another has a picture of him, the eldest of his siblings, before he went off to his first wasteland walk, with the thick coat, opaque gasmask, waving at the camera standing beside the robotic hound, Rover. Beside it was the picture of his late grandfather, Barton, a career wasteland walker, standing in the middle of the street in his walker outfit beside Rover back when it was brand new with a coat of bright yellow.

Everything was as he had remembered it, except for the picture of his older sister. Mary, 27, turning 28 this year, had a different picture. Instead of her standing in front of the university gates, in this one, she was wearing a formal attire.

"Vincent, welcome back!" His siblings celebrated and found him in the living room. It was a Sunday, so his whole family was home for the weekend. Alberta, Matthew, Mary, Mince, and Rose came to meet with him. They group-hugged the wasteland walker.

"It's good to be back," Vincent remarked.

"Come to the dining room. We have lunch prepared," his father replied.

"Wait. Let me change my clothes first."

"Okay. We'll wait for you there."

The wasteland walker, Vincent, went up the stairs. His heavy boots created thuds on the oh-so-familiar steps. He moved through the relatively narrow second-floor corridor until he came to a door, a plain plywood door painted a nostalgic lavender, standing against a light red wall.

He opened up the door and entered his old room. Even in his absence, his room was regularly cleaned, although for less sentimental reasons. His bed and mattress were turned on their side to make more floor room. Various cardboard boxes filled with junk such as holiday decorations, old devices, and tools that weren't due to be thrown away piled in the room.

Vincent took off his backpack and it dropped to the floor with a thud. He removed his gasmask that he hadn't taken off for months, revealing the rugged face hidden beneath. He began to strip off his thick clothes, beginning with gloves, then coat, boots, and pants. Soon he was standing in his room wearing only boxers.

His skin was pale, yellowing in some places from the lack of sun and less than stellar diet. Lean muscle strung his bones, and a bush of ungroomed hair covered his head. He reached into his closet for his homely clothes. He wore a red t-shirt with some generic printing and some black shorts.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He stepped down to the dining room where his family waited for him. Served on the dining table were a tupperware of lasagna, a bowl of chop suey, and a container of beef stew. A plate with appropriate eating utensils was laid on the table, reserved for his use. Rover, the robotic hound, lounged on one corner of the room, plugged into an outlet, charging.

With a smile pasted on his face, Vincent joined his family for lunch. Laughs and smiles were exchanged as they chatted along with their meal. At times, Rover would bark as if joining in their conversation. Vincent heartily ate more than a few servings of the meal. This was a rare moment when he could partake in a wholesome meal.

In the afternoon, he and his family went to the park to have an ad hoc picnic. They basked in the sunlight whilst they fed on some savory street foods. Mince and Rose enjoyed some popsicles Matthew bought while Vincent munched on a few saucy street barbecue.

Mary read a romantic pocketbook under the shade of a tree, and Vincent played with his younger siblings on the playground where seesaws, swing sets, and monkey bars were. Rose demanded Vincent to push her so hard that she would feel like flying. She would regret that afterward when she vomited on the grass. Alberta and Matthew relaxed on the grass, talking with each other, while Rover stood in the open, flying a kite high in the sky.

Afterwards, they attended the evening mass. They listened to the priest preach to them the gospel accompanied by choir and music. During mass, Vincent contemplated the teachings being delivered.

It was a rather uneventful relaxing day. Vincent would need it. Even as he was fast asleep on his bed in his room in their house, the reality of a wasteland walker awaited him tomorrow. Rover lay within arms reach from the bed, plugged into the wall, recharging. They'd need this one night's restful sleep.

Early in the morning, Vincent would find himself at the exit road of the town. A guard booth with a raised boom gate stood here. Beyond would be the long cracked road that had seen better days. Standing by the booth, a large green sign declared:

"You're leaving

Pag-Asa

Come back soon"

Rover stood by Vincent as he readied himself to leave his family behind to walk the wastelands beyond. Vincent turned, finding his family standing just right behind him, seeing him off. They bid him farewell and prayed for his continued safety.

"Will you be back earlier next time?" Little Rose asked.

Vincent smiled. He patted her on the head and answered, "I can't promise you, but I'll try."

He turned away and faced the exit. The fair sun shone its buttery morning rays upon him. Alongside him were a variety of travelers, all wearing a similar outfit as him, thick coats, large packs, and opaque masks. They have turned to leave the town behind to once more walk the wastelands.

"Do we have everyone?" One individual asked.

"I believe so," another answered.

"Howard?" "Here."

"Joe?" "Yo."

"Phoebe?" "Here."

...

"That's everyone," Alice remarked.

"Yes," Rover confirmed with its distinctly beepy voice.

And so they began their march for the wasteland. Passing through the boom gate and into the distant horizon. The town shrank behind them, their families watched them walk away. The large sign that welcomed them to Pag-Asa shrank to illegibility.

Their march soon came to a sudden halt when the blue sky above became a wall before. In front of them stood a holographic wall that projected the fair-weathered sky upon its surface. The road which they trod upon extended beyond the art of the wall, extending into the illusory distance. Floating in the air was a metal door with a valve handle. It was affixed to the holographic wall, warping the image being projected.

Andrew approached the door began to twist the valve loose. Once the valve had been sufficiently loose, he pulled the door open, revealing a dark dingy tunnel. The walls were lined with pipes caked with blackened grease. Wires with thick insulation snaked upon the walls like vines in a jungle.

They entered the tunnel one by one. Their steps echoed in the claustrophobic halls. The sounds of greasy mud squelched beneath their boots filled the tunnels alongside the dings of their equipment hitting the metal walls and pipes. Their path was dark, illuminated only by the lights they'd brought. It turned and twisted as if a path within a labyrinth. The hum of machinery from far away rang in their ears. The smell of noxious oils permeated the air. Rusted doors that led to maintenance rooms popped up every so often.

At the very end of their path stood another metal door with a valve handle. As leading the group, Andrew reached for the handle and began to twist it open. Beyond the door was a dirty tunnel with walls lined with brick. The darkness permeating the tunnel was much more profound and primal than the metal-lined tunnels they had emerged from, but was nonetheless pierced easily by the torches they bore.

The tunnel was much more straightforward than the labyrinthine metal hallways they emerged from, but it was of a much more primitive make, made with inexperienced masons. The tunnel was a claustrophobic corridor that ran for hundreds of meters. The floors and ceilings were uneven, the tunnel's vertically varied at parts, requiring to duck at some parts while a particularly tall person may stand comfortably in others. The tunnel was straight for the most part, but it curved slightly, making what's far ahead and behind obscured by the tunnel's own walls. The tunnel often branched, but only one of them led to their destination.

Soon after probably an hour of walking, the wasteland walkers came to a dead end. It was a large boulder blocking the tunnel. Rays of sunshine peeked through the holes dirt and stone failed to block. The exit was purposely plugged. With some effort of pushing, the crew managed to peek into the wasteland outside. Seeing no hostiles beyond, the crew began moving the boulder fully.

With enough space to emerge, the wasteland walkers exited the tunnels and entered the outside world. The tunnel they emerged from was situated on a cliff of red dirt. The air around them was hazy with noxious gas and dust and the sky above was an ugly yellow haze. The soil that surrounded them was dry and dead with only a few weedy plants struggling to survive in the metal-laden soil. They couldn't see the sky dome that protected their town from invaders and the elements. They were far from home. In the distance, they could see an armada of dark clouds bring corrosive rain. They could hear the ringing of blasts and bullet fire going wild in the distance yond what they see.

They trudge forward, deeper into the wasteland to search for loot. Corpses of machines and automata littered the wasteland, ready for the picking of scavengers. They moved forward to scavenge these corpses, to bring home whatever useful parts still remain functional in their broken bodies. They sometimes had to compete with rogue robots, machines with allegiance to any human or robotic overlord. That's usually a good sign as these things are pretty canny on where there are skirmishes going on.

They walked through the wasteland. Their health would suffer in their treks into the unknown. The outside world's quite hostile and inhospitable to most biological life. In their travels they would come to forests of scorched trees, standing defiant towards the sky while standing like used matchsticks. They would come across fields of gravel. Whatever city or concrete structures had once stood in these spots had been completely erased, perforated and aerated by a generous exchange of bullets. Gaunt animals suffering grave diseases would sometimes come towards them, hungry for whatever amount of food they could derive from the wasteland walkers. They camped in temporary shelters dug into the dirt, to protect them from the elements as they sleep and to hide them from the sensors of roaming hostile machines.

They had to do this. The sky dome over Pag-Asa cannot protect them forever. They had to periodically scavenge the wasteland to keep the dome from ever coming down. It protected them from everything, including the harsh reality that they truly lived in. If it ever breaks down, the air would become toxic and unbreathable, the waters laden with toxic and radioactive minerals, and the factories would stop producing food. They couldn't make everything they need to repair the dome. They don't produce enough metal and don't possess sophisticated enough machinery to manufacture certain electronic components.

So time after time, they had to walk into the wasteland in search of metal, components, and loot. The world they lived in was perforated by bullets and bruised by war. They had to do what they must to keep the dying dream that is Pag-Asa alive long enough.

Maybe even one day, their dying dream would come alive and bring them through the apocalypse. Life would find a way, like every seedling that's birthed in this wretched world only to find itself scorched by the pollution that plagued it.