The gray-white sky hung over the Seventh Safe Zone like a huge, dirty canvas. An indescribable smell always lingered in the air—the sharp, pungent scent of disinfectant stubbornly suppressed a deeper, more persistent mildew and a faint trace of rot, but whenever the wind shifted, the latter would surge, reminding everyone that this world had long been terminally sick.
The high walls, a cold, massive mix of metal and concrete, crudely separated so-called "safety" from absolute "danger." Inside, laser arrays and automated turrets grew like steel thorns, their cyan scanning beams endlessly sweeping over the deadly world beyond the walls. On top, sentries in heavy protective suits were wedged like nails in their posts, their eyes scanning past the walls at the radiation-scarred ruins left after the collapse of human civilization.
This was the world Ethan recognized when he opened his eyes.
A memory not his own surged into his mind like cold tidal water.
In 2731 AD, a chain of nuclear disasters later called "The Great Rift" swept across the globe. It was not war, but a punishment born of arrogance and negligence. One nuclear plant, research reactor, and waste processing center after another went out of control. Deadly radioactive dust drifted with the wind, erasing the heart of civilization. Humanity was no longer the master of the planet, forced to retreat, erect walls, and survive in isolated "safe zones." Beyond the walls, nurtured by radiation, a new, terrifying ruler was emerging—mutated beasts of various forms, highly adaptive, and hostile to humans. Habitable space was being slowly devoured by these monsters and the contamination they brought.
Ethan's current identity was a new member of the "Rescue Team" in the Seventh Safe Zone. His name remained Ethan, but his past had been overwritten with fragmented memories of struggling to survive in this desperate post-apocalyptic world: training, rationing, alarms, and endless fear of the world beyond the walls.
He stood in a plaza within the safe zone, surrounded by low, dense, aesthetically unappealing modular buildings stacked like blocks, their exterior walls stained and rusted. People, wrapped in dull, worn clothing, hurried past with little expression, mostly numb fatigue, eyes hiding unspoken terror of the world outside the walls. The queue at the ration point stretched long and eerily silent, broken only by the heavy boots of soldiers maintaining order.
"Ethan! Daydreaming again? Assemble!"
A hoarse voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Ethan turned to see a tall, burly man with a menacing scar glaring impatiently at him. Captain Barton. A veteran as hard as stone, reputed to have dragged half a team torn apart by beasts back from a wall-outside mission—the scar a mark of that ordeal. His eyes were sharp enough to scrape skin, revealing the courage—or lack thereof—inside.
"Yes, Captain," Ethan replied quickly, suppressing all turmoil in his chest, and strode to the assembly point in the corner of the plaza.
A few others were already there.
A fiery woman in a fitted combat suit, lazily wiping a large-caliber pistol. Lina, codename "Black Widow." Her gaze was lazy, lips curled in a faint, teasing smirk, but when she scanned her surroundings, it struck like a venomous snake—cold and lethal.
A young man with thick glasses, holding an old military tablet, muttering constantly. Rick, technical support. Fully immersed in his data world, indifferent to everything around him, only his fingers moving rapidly across the screen revealed a trace of obsession.
And a towering Black man leaning against the armored vehicle, checking a multi-barrel rotary gun's ammo belt with meticulous strength. Morgan, firepower specialist. He rarely spoke, but his mere presence was a statement—anything attempting to breach this team would be shredded.
These were his temporary teammates. A group of survivors, tough and distinctly marked by their pasts.
"Rookie, first wall-outside mission—don't piss your pants," Lina flicked nonexistent dust from her gun, teasing, "I don't have time to babysit you."
Without looking up, Rick added, "Statistics show first-time wall-outside recruits have a 67.4% survival rate, but 31.8% fail due to psychological breakdown, affecting teammates. Suggest deep breaths, keep heart rate at—"
"Shut up, Rick," Barton growled. The tech immediately fell silent, adjusting his glasses.
Barton's gaze swept over everyone, finally resting on Ethan with scrutiny: "Mission brief is in the vehicle system. Quick recap: One week ago, a six-person research team led by Dr. Dunn went missing in B-7 sector. Last signal was weak, mentioned 'major discovery' and… 'abnormal activity.' Our mission: find them alive if possible, if not..." He paused, voice colder, "...retrieve their research data and samples. Understood?"
"Understood!" they replied, even Rick murmured agreement.
"Check your gear! Departure in five minutes!"
Like the others, Ethan checked his equipment: standard assault rifle, full energy battery, a high-frequency combat knife, first aid kit, radiation neutralizer pen, and most importantly, the personal protective suit—gray-black composite with reinforced armor at key points, auto-sealing neck system, helmet visor with multi-mode vision and vital/radiation monitoring. Their only safeguard against the world of death beyond the wall.
He followed Morgan's example, meticulously inspecting every interface, every seal. He knew that outside, any small negligence could mean slow, painful death—from acute radiation or as a feast for beasts.
The others cast complex gazes at them—respect, sympathy, more often detachment. Like people about to enter a grave. A small girl clung to her mother, her eyes too pure for this filthy world. The woman pressed her face into her chest, as if even a glance could bring misfortune.
"Don't look, sweetie…" she whispered, voice trembling.
Ethan zipped his protective suit, feeling the cold composite cling to his body—a suffocating isolation, yet necessary.
Rick had already climbed into the modified armored transport—their "Mule." Scratched and dented, with a remote weapon station and sensor array on top. Bulky, but reliable.
"Get in!" Barton commanded.
Ethan inhaled the relatively "clean" air of the safe zone, still foul, but he knew soon even breathing would be a risky luxury. Following Lina and Morgan, he climbed into the rear of the Mule.
The heavy airtight door closed slowly behind them, a metallic thud and hiss of pressure sealing. The interior became oppressive, only the dashboard lights flickering, illuminating their expressionless faces—except Rick, who pointed excitedly at multiple screens.
Engine roared, the vehicle moved slowly through the safe zone's designated yellow-lined lanes toward the giant wall separating life and death.
Through the bulletproof window, Ethan took a last look at the safe zone—numb faces, low buildings, desperate attempts to maintain order in a frightened world cradled in concrete and steel.
The lights along the corridor grew sparse, atmosphere increasingly grim. Military installations, checkpoints, armed soldiers. Cold electronic broadcasts repeated: "Leaving Green Zone. Confirm protective measures. May fate favor you."
Passing the last inner checkpoint, soldiers saluted silently.
Ahead, a tunnel entrance like the throat of a giant beast. Heavy multi-layered alloy gates marked with a huge skull and radiation warnings, faded red words: "Beyond the boundary, hell awaits."
Warning lights spun wildly above the gate, flashing and buzzing.
"Brace yourself, rookie," Lina, already helmeted, voice twisted with excitement, "welcome to the real world."
Barton, in the passenger seat, coldly confirmed via comms: "All personnel, final status check."
"Firepower online," Morgan grunted, hand on trigger.
"Sensor array active, monitoring… radiation levels… okay, still safe," Rick said rapidly.
"Aft compartment secure," Lina responded lazily, eyes now focused like a leopard about to strike.
Ethan inhaled deeply, steadying his racing heart, checking his rifle, muttering, "Ethan, in position."
"Good."
The buzzing outside peaked, then abruptly stopped.
A tremendous, teeth-grinding metallic friction followed. The gate labeled "Hell" slowly rose.
Beyond, not total darkness, but an unsettling, dim, yellowish light. A flow of air surged first, carrying dust, metallic rust, and a faint, sweet rot that triggered instinctive alarm.
The gate rose fully, revealing the scene.
An endless, dead wasteland. Twisted rebar pierced concrete like giant bones pointing to a gray-yellow sky. High-rises hollowed, like blind giants' nests. Cracked roads, abandoned vehicles rusted into unrecognizable sculptures, buried under thick dust. Strange, colorful vegetation stubbornly grew through cement. The world seemed crushed by a giant hand, then discarded to decay.
Most chilling was the "sound." Not a usual sound, but a vast silence seeping into every space. Wind whined through ruins, faint untraceable rustling, and ubiquitous low hums from radiation detectors blended into a nerve-tingling background, pressing on eardrums and nerves.
This was the world beyond the wall: radioactive wastelands, beasts' lairs, and human forbidden zones.
The Mule roared like an arena beast, bursting through the gate onto the cursed land.
The heavy alloy gates slammed shut behind them, cutting off retreat.
The impact echoed through ruins, fading into boundless silence.
Through the observation window, Ethan watched the Seventh Safe Zone's gray-white walls shrink in the rearview mirror, eventually blurring into the radioactive yellow mist.
They were completely isolated from human civilization.
The cabin was silent, only engine roar and instrument ticks. Everyone was tense, eyes fixed on the slowly moving, death-filled landscape outside.
Ethan's palms sweated; he gripped his rifle tightly. The cold touch tempered the instinctive fear.
He knew the mission was only truly beginning.
And somewhere in this wasteland, the missing scientists and whatever caused their disappearance awaited them.
The vehicle jolted along the barely recognizable old road remnants, heading firmly toward the depths of B-7 sector.