Jack paced back and forth in his pod, his mind a whirlwind of grief, anger, and fear. The loss of his father was still raw, but the suffocating walls of his pod—and the city itself—pressed harder. He kept telling himself he could bail at any time, but deep down, he knew he wouldn’t. Not now. Not after everything.
At 11 o’clock, Jack took a deep breath, scanning the pod he hoped to leave behind forever. Packing was simple; he had almost nothing. He tucked Rob’s worn notebook into his pocket, slipped a pencil into his sleeve, and gathered basic toiletries, including his toothbrush and toothpaste. His account balance stood at -4 tokens. He’d been rationing every credit for months, but tonight, that didn’t matter.
Jack had one advantage: you could overdraw your account to -20 before facing penalties. The Eternals designed the system to keep people desperate but compliant, constantly paying back what they owed with interest. Jack didn’t care. He spent 16 tokens on four protein bars—more than he’d ever splurged before. If he failed, he’d be punished, but if he succeeded, the tokens wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t coming back.
He hid his limited possessions as best he could. If questioned, he’d claim he needed a walk to clear his head. He wasn’t sure if anyone would believe him, but it was better than trying to explain the truth.
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The walk to the meeting point was uneventful, the streets unnervingly quiet. Jack didn’t try to be stealthy. He walked like a pissed-off, desperate human. It was better to seem unremarkable than risk the cameras flagging him for suspicious behavior.
Smog choked the air as Jack approached the token kiosk, a familiar fixture he’d visited too many times to earn extra credits. The kiosk was the Eternals’ idea of a “reward system”—a way to earn credits by completing quizzes on policy and propaganda. It was self-brainwashing disguised as opportunity. Jack had hated it at first, but like everyone else, he’d given in. When you’re told the same thing over and over again, you start to believe it. Or at least, you stop questioning.
Jack tapped the kiosk’s screen, starting a quiz to look inconspicuous. He leaned casually against the machine, using it as an excuse to linger. He glanced around, but the thick smog limited his vision to about thirty feet.
Fifteen minutes passed, and Jack’s nerves started to settle. He answered quiz questions absentmindedly, earning a token he didn’t plan to use. As the clock crept toward midnight, doubt gnawed at him. Maybe it was a prank. Or worse, maybe whoever was coming had already been caught. His fingers tapped restlessly against the kiosk.
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At exactly midnight, Jack saw movement—a van creeping through the fog. It was old and battered, its scratched metal sides reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights. The engine was quieter than Jack expected, but it still rumbled unevenly, like a machine being pushed to its limits. He froze, his heart pounding as he slipped into the shadow of a nearby building, poking his head out to observe.
Out of the shadows, four figures emerged—two men and two women. They moved cautiously toward the van, their silhouettes barely visible in the smog. Jack’s chest tightened. Had they been hiding there the whole time? He suddenly felt exposed, his pulse racing. These people looked like him—poor, afraid, carrying nothing but themselves.
Jack inched forward, trying to maintain cover. He heard a woman’s voice from the van.
“There’s one more,” she said.
“We can’t wait forever,” a man replied from the driver’s seat. “It’s three minutes past midnight. Every second we stay is a risk.”
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“And if they’d left the night you got out?” the woman shot back.
The driver grumbled but relented. “Two more minutes. Then we’re gone.”
Jack’s mind reeled. Could it really be a trap? But the others looked no better off than he was. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Fuck it, I’m going.
Before he could move, the screech of tires shattered the tense quiet. The woman’s voice rang out. “Go, go, go! They’re on to us!” The van started to pull away.
“Wait!” Jack shouted, breaking into a sprint. He waved his arms wildly, trying to get their attention.
“There’s the fifth!” someone in the van yelled. “Open the side door!”
The door slid open as Jack lunged forward, throwing himself toward the moving van. His chest hit the floor of the van hard, his legs still hanging out. Hands grabbed him, dragging him inside. The door slammed shut behind him.
“About fucking time,” the driver said, a hint of relief in his voice.
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The van sped toward the district gate. Dakota, one of the women, turned to face the group. “I’m Dakota. This is Ray,” she said, gesturing toward the driver. “We’re extractors. Congratulations—you made it out. But we’ve got a long drive ahead.”
“How long?” Jack asked, his voice shaky. “And... are they going to chase us the whole way?”
“About 500 miles,” Dakota replied. “It’ll take us sixteen hours, give or take, depending on the weather. And no, they won’t chase us far.”
“Why not?” Jack pressed. “Why wouldn’t they come after us?”
Dakota hesitated, then answered. “It’s not just distance. Something out here messes with their tech. Nothing they send works for long in the Wasteland. You’ll understand soon.”
Jack frowned, unsure what she meant, but the explanation gave him a flicker of hope. Whatever was out here, it was something the Eternals couldn’t control.
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The van hit the district gate with a metallic crunch, barreling through. Jack winced as a meat puppet flew into the air, its lifeless body spinning before crashing to the ground.
“Hold on, everyone!” Dakota called as the van swerved onto a rougher road.
The tension in the van eased as the city fell farther behind. Some of the escapees began to cry softly—tears of relief, not sorrow. One woman clutched a small cloth bundle to her chest, as if it were her most valuable possession. Another man whispered a quiet prayer under his breath, his hands shaking.
“Here are your augmentors,” Dakota said, handing each of them a metal bracelet.
Jack turned the device over in his hands. It was heavier than it looked, its smooth surface cool against his skin. The way it caught the dim light made it look both alien and strangely ordinary. “What are these for?” he asked warily.
“They’ll augment your skills and help you survive,” Dakota explained. “You don’t have to wear it, though. Out here, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Jack hesitated, then slipped the bracelet on. It latched snugly around his wrist, adjusting automatically to fit. A faint hum vibrated through the metal, and the screen lit up with a soft glow.
Total Level: 0.
Jack stared at it, his heart skipping a beat. It felt surreal, like he’d stepped into someone else’s story. For a moment, he wondered what his father would think if he could see this—if he’d approve of Jack’s gamble.
Dakota smiled. “When you do something—almost anything useful—the augmentor tracks your experience. Once you gain enough, you’ll level up. Every ten levels, you unlock abilities that’ll help you thrive. For example, Ray’s at level ten in driving. He unlocked Reflex Sync—it makes him almost impossible to crash for five minutes. Comes in handy when he’s pulling stunts like that.” She jabbed a thumb toward Ray.
Ray smirked. “It’s saved your ass more than once.”
Jack’s fingers brushed over the bracelet’s surface as he glanced at the screen again. Total Level: 0. He had no idea what he’d need to do to change that, but one thing was certain.
The Wasteland awaited.