It was the year 2025. The planet had gone into disarray, with resources becoming rare and the environment deteriorating rapidly. We humans were all in it together; we had to band together to fight off this looming disaster and create a brighter future.
The cities were desolate graveyards, strewn with rubble and the broken remnants of lives that once were. Trapped in fear, families were torn apart as chaotic government forces scrambled to maintain order. Everywhere the rasping moans of zombies echoed as they hunted for survivors to mercilessly slaughter and join their vile ranks of the undead. Death lurked in every corner, consuming all light and hope from the world.
The survivors huddle in makeshift shelters built from the rubble of a world gone mad. The stench of decay and death permeates every corner. Exhausted and terrified, they cling to each other for comfort, knowing that at any moment, they could be snatched away by the ravenous hordes of the undead. Night falls and the moans of the dead grow louder, testing the resolve of those left alive. But even in this bleak existence, there is a flicker of hope - a chance that they might see another sunrise.
Darius slowly stirred from his restless sleep, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the windows of Fallout shelter 23. The sound of birdsong echoed through the air, a welcome sign of life in this otherwise desolate domain. He yawned and stretched out, feeling strangely refreshed despite the chills still lingering in the air.
Darius slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness. He lay in his bed, the only source of warmth in this frigid world. He looked around his room, dimly illuminated by a single lightbulb. Electricity was scarce, that was a fact he knew as he is in the apocalypses. Everywhere he looked was the same: rubble and darkness.
He rose from his bed and stood up on unsteady feet. He felt weak and disoriented, unused to the sensation after weeks of being confined in this small shelter.
The sun set on Day 778. He stared at the horizon, eyes piercing the darkness. Even though his heart was heavy with exhaustion, not for a second did he forget why he was fighting. Still strong and ready to face what came next, he murmured: "Day 778, still surviving, still ready to fight..."
He dragged his feet across the floor, pushed himself off the bed and walked to the bathroom. He swayed as he stepped through the doorway, looking at his tired reflection in the mirror. Silence hung between him and his doppelganger before fading back into nothingness.
A man with a head of thick, black curls and sharp blue eyes looked back from the mirror. That he was tall was apparent even if he were not standing next to a petite redheaded woman. He grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste, and starts brushing his teeth, he feels the freshness of the mint in his mouth.
After thoroughly cleaning his teeth, he washes his face with water and walk out of the bathroom. He proceeds to walk to the closet, opening it and changing into a new outfit, this time he choose to wear a black jacket, blue jeans and a dark blue t-shirt.
He moved to the end of his bed where an oak chest sat. He ran a hand over the top before quickly unlocking it, revealing a Kar98k bolt action rifle, a backpack and a first aid kit. He pulled them out carefully and placed them on the bed, taking a few moments to make sure everything was secure and in place. With one last glance around his room, he slung the backpack onto his shoulder and locked the door behind him before heading down the stairs.
The stairs creak under his feet and a sour odor wafts into the stairwell. The smell of mildew was pervasive, and it clung to the back of your throat like the stench of death. He made his way down the narrow corridors, past rooms where people were huddled in bunk beds, hoping for protection from the bombs that were raining down on them. The buildings shook from the distant thunder, and everyone else could hear their death rattle but all he heard was the silence among the wreckage. A pair of boys stumbled past him, clutching a backpack between them. They had no idea what they were carrying or why. As he pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs, he saw that most of the streets were deserted, save for a few soldiers who didn't let him pass until he showed them his papers.
He stepped outside to survey his surroundings, relieved to find that some semblance of civility remained. People were bustling about, setting up makeshift stalls and markets for food and supplies while other roamed aimlessly looking for scraps to scavenge. Everywhere he looked there was an underlying sense of hope that perhaps one day things may get better.
Darius walks to a tavern and orders something to eat. He thinks about the long day he has infront of him, and looks forward to relaxing.