4 Chapter 4

[November 15th, 2383]

[Location: Bunker 030]

The figure of the young Ranger lay on the warehouse floor, next to the imposing freshly assembled Humvee. Boredom weighed on him like a heavy burden, and fatigue had become his most loyal companion. The overwhelming sense of loneliness surrounded him, and the desire to escape from that bunker became more and more unbearable with each passing day.

As the days progressed inexorably, his mind uncontrollably drifted through memories of the past. He clung to images of his childhood, when he shared laughter and special moments with his mother, those days when life had a special glow. The faces of the girlfriends he had had slid through his mind like shadows from a past that seemed distant and irretrievable. All his friends, those who had been his unwavering support, had already fallen into the cruel whirlwind of war, and the Ranger found himself trapped in a world where loneliness was his only companion.

Day after day, he delved into that routine of recalling his past, holding onto memories like a castaway clutching a piece of driftwood in an ocean of solitude. He knew well that in that desolate world, loneliness was a insidious enemy, capable of sowing madness in anyone's mind. Rumors of hallucinations and psychological disorders caused by the lack of companionship were a constant echo in his mind.

For that reason, he plunged tirelessly into his thoughts, like a shipwreck locked in the tower of his own mind, the only way he had found to remain sane amid that forced isolation. And so he continued, trapped in his memories, as if they were a lifeline in the vast ocean of loneliness that surrounded him.

Although he had had so much in the past, at that moment, he felt as if he had nothing. The feeling of being fed up with solitude was overwhelming. He desperately longed to get out of there, to search for signs of human life, any indication that he wasn't alone in that devastated world.

He fervently desired the company of another human being, craving to share moments, even if it meant getting drunk with someone or enjoying a meal in the company of a woman, regardless of her appearance or peculiarities. The simple idea of having someone to talk to and share experiences with was a soothing balm for his soul. Even if it were a woman with mutant features, like three eyes or three breasts, that no longer mattered.

In his right hand, he held a Sig Sauer P229 firmly, while in the other hand, he clutched an old, half-empty bottle of whiskey. The overwhelming drunkenness that had ensnared him left him sprawled on the floor, unable to stand.

He played dangerously with the pistol, alternating between aiming it at his head and hesitant attempts to pull the trigger, as if seeking the easiest way out to escape his tormented reality. However, the simple act of ending his own life felt like an insurmountable challenge amid his confusion and desperation.

"What do I have to do to get you back with me... let's leave the past behind!" he sang clumsily as his eyes wandered up to the dark ceiling of the warehouse.

Although his voice was drowned in the desolation of the place, something managed to capture his attention. A message was flashing in the corner of his vision, as clear as the words he had sung into the void: "New Mission: Exit Bunker 030."

Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol, he thought, as he struggled to focus his mind amid the alcoholic haze. "This shit... Hmpf, it's 300 years old; that surely affects you in some way," he muttered, trying to downplay the strange message he had seen.

The idea that alcohol might be causing him hallucinations didn't seem far-fetched. Or perhaps, he considered, the overwhelming situation he was in was seriously affecting his sanity. It was as if he were trapped in an absurd role-playing game, where he was given missions at every turn, as if his life had become an adventure in search of thrills to break the monotony of his loneliness.

However, the incredible thing was that even his own hallucinations encouraged him to leave the bunker.

He was urged to venture out into that radioactive wasteland, although he felt completely incapable of taking that step. The idea of facing the outside world again was terrifying to him. He knew that in doing so, he would have to confront the devastation that had befallen the places he had once known, now reduced to rubble or simply gone.

However, without dwelling too much on his thoughts, he decided to say screw it. With a brisk motion, he threw the whisky bottle far away and huddled on the cold warehouse floor. Desperation and confusion overwhelmed him, and the idea of facing the outside world was momentarily put on hold.

[November 16, 2383]

[Location: Bunker 030]

Half an hour after waking up from his brief sleep, the ranger noticed that the text persisted in front of his eyes. Although he was slightly hungover, he couldn't ignore the incessant flash of tiny letters that seemed to have become embedded in his field of vision. It irritated him deeply.

He wondered how it was possible that a night of excess had affected his mind in such a way, causing that strange message to be etched into his consciousness. The idea that his life had transformed into a role-playing game, as if he were a character in search of missions to add excitement to his solitary existence, seemed increasingly absurd and bewildering.

Despite the persistent discomfort that the message caused, he also felt a strong intrigue about the idea of exploring the outside world. He longed to see if somehow leaving that bunker would remove the annoying text from his view.

He contemplated his options for a while, weighing them with a mix of fear and excitement. Yes, venturing outside was terrifying, as it meant facing a world he had once known and loved, now transformed into an apocalyptic wasteland, a shadow of its former glory. However, he also felt a palpable excitement at the idea of rediscovering this transformed world, full of challenges and mysteries.

After a long and refreshing shower that brought some mental clarity, the ranger sat down to eat. As he savored each bite, his mind continued to revolve around the idea of facing the outside world.

Finally, with a knot of determination in his stomach, he headed to his equipment. He found his ranger backpack ready and waiting, filled with essential supplies for survival in that desolate wasteland. It contained an array of items: a bulletproof vest, spare clothing, food and water provisions, a tent, a radiation-protective suit, an oxygen tank, and an impressive Scar-H rifle with a reflex sight, a silencer, a laser sight, and a set of extra magazines. There were also first-aid kits and everything else that could fit into the large backpack.

While meticulously organizing his equipment, a question relentlessly circled in his mind: Why was he doing this? Why was he preparing to face the outside world when his own cowardice threatened to keep him in the safety of his refuge?

He sat on the bed, surrounded by his carefully prepared equipment, and an inner voice scolded him harshly. "I'm an idiot," he self-critically thought. "They're all dead... why bother going out?" he asked aloud, letting out a deep sigh. The loneliness and desperation of his situation weighed on him like a heavy burden, and the internal struggle between the need for connection and the fear of the outside world tormented him overwhelmingly.

However, his tormented reflection was abruptly interrupted when his gaze landed on the message, which had changed once again. Instead of the strange mission, it now said: {Leave the bunker, You have 3 hours or you'll die}.

An intense shiver ran down his spine, from the base of his backbone to the nape of his neck, as he read those ominous words.

The mysterious warning in the message left him plunged into even deeper confusion. Why the hell was it urging him to leave the bunker? What did that impending death threat mean? Uncertainty intertwined with growing paranoia, and he wondered if he might be suffering from mild schizophrenia, or if, in fact, his life had turned into some kind of macabre and senseless role-playing game.

The idea that his reality might be a delusion of his own mind troubled him, but as time passed, the urgency of the message became too real to ignore.

Unable to shake the weight of the threat, a growing sense of dread washed over him. What if, in reality, that warning was genuine? What if his life depended on leaving the bunker before the three hours were up?

"Damn it, no..." he said to himself, but the words sounded like a hollow whisper, a faint hope amid the suffocating uncertainty. Trying to reassure himself with positive thoughts seemed futile. Paranoia and doubt were closing in on him, and sanity seemed to be slipping away rapidly.

Finally, he lay down on the bed, trying to find some clarity in his cloudy mind. He wondered over and over why the hell all of this was happening to him. Was madness starting to consume him? Despite the confusion and fear overwhelming him, he knew he couldn't stay there indefinitely. It was time to make a definitive decision.

"What if I go outside?" he asked himself once more, but this time, feelings of curiosity and courage began to take hold within him. He felt determined to face the unknown. "Damn it, I'm going out!" he said to himself with resolve.

With his heart pounding, he started dressing in his ranger uniform, feeling the weight of the decision he was making. Then, he donned the radiation protection suit and secured the oxygen tank. The backpack filled with supplies clung to his back, ready to accompany him on his adventure. Finally, he took his weapons: a pistol and his trusty Scar rifle, loaded with a reflex sight, a suppressor, and a laser sight.

Of course, he had internal conflicts tormenting him. Was he really about to open the bunker doors and venture into the outside world? The same world that had, at some point, shattered the world as he knew it. Fear overwhelmed him at the thought of the unknowns that awaited him. What terrifying creatures might lurk out there? What challenges, dangers, or people could he encounter in this new post-apocalyptic world?

The fundamental question on his mind was whether any traces of civilization remained in that post-apocalyptic landscape. Were there still organized communities, or had everything descended into absolute chaos? His decision to face the unknown was filled with uncertainty and fear, but also with bravery. The intrigue to discover the truth and the need to seek companionship and answers to his questions drove him forward.

With his heart pounding in his chest, feeling like it was about to burst from anxiety, he advanced through the long corridors of the bunker. He firmly held the rifle in his hands, while his steps echoed through the place, shrouded in an eerie silence.

His breathing was labored and uneven, and the soft hum of oxygen flowing from the tank to his radiation protection suit provided him with minimal comfort. On his wrist, a small screen, resembling a digital tablet but actually a Geiger counter, displayed the radiation levels in the environment.

As he reached the massive bunker door, he found a console filled with screens and control panels. With determination, he began entering all the necessary codes to open the imposing and thick steel door.

The screens responded to his commands with flashes of lights and graphics indicating the process in progress. As he worked on the keys, a robotic voice emerged from the bunker's speakers, resonating with authority and urgency.

"Alert, alert, bunker opening, everyone stay in your positions."

The voice filled the corridor, and a sense of anticipation washed over him. The opening of the bunker was underway, and there was no turning back.

Just as the robotic voice stopped, the bunker entrance began to shake violently, metals creaked and groaned, and alarms filled the room with their deafening clamor. The massive bunker door slowly began to open, with a slow and powerful grinding of gears and mechanisms, as the blinding sunlight slowly seeped into the interior of the shelter, momentarily blinding the soldier.

When the door finally opened completely, revealing the outside world he both feared and longed for, a voice echoed in his head, in a triumphant and reassuring tone.

"Mission accomplished, you have exited the bunker, Arnet Lowhelm."