The sky was dark—not from storm clouds, but because the sun had long since retreated, leaving the moon to take its place, veiled shyly behind layers of apocalyptic haze.
The storm had ended. The heavy raindrops that once hammered the earth were gone, leaving behind shallow pools and a lingering chemical odor that clung to the air.
The convoy pressed forward, the roar of the military hummers echoing through the silent wasteland. Their reinforced tires sliced through mud and stagnant water without pause, advancing steadily until the towering concrete walls of Shelter City 8 came into view.
The battlefield outside the city had already been wiped clean. The rain had washed away the blood and filth, while work crews had cleared the dismembered bodies of the mutants. The scarred, barren land now lay disturbingly calm, as if the slaughter that had taken place only hours before had never happened.
