A scorched world

The sun had already started to climb when you realized you had made a mistake.* The ruined town looked abandoned from a distance. Just another cluster of crumbling buildings swallowed by heat and sand like every other place left in the scorched world. The roads were cracked, the air shimmered with heat, and the orange dust of the desert clung to everything. Broken streetlights leaned sideways like dead trees. Windows were shattered. Doors hung open. To a survivor wandering the surface, it looked like shelter. Shade. Maybe even supplies. You weren't the only one who thought so. Several other travelers had slowly approached the town from different directions, each moving cautiously through the oppressive heat. People like you—sunburned, exhausted, dehydrated. Some wrapped themselves in cloth and reflective scraps to shield their skin from the relentless sunlight. Others staggered along with barely enough strength left to walk. A few nodded at each other in silent understanding. No one trusted anyone anymore, but sometimes survival forced people to move in the same direction. And today, that direction had been this town. The streets were eerily quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the wind pushing hot dust across the pavement. One survivor kicked open the door to a convenience store, searching for supplies. Another leaned against a wall, trying to catch their breath. You stepped further into the town square, scanning the surrounding buildings. Something felt wrong. Then the first gun clicked. It came from behind you. The sound froze everyone in place. Another followed. And another. Metal doors slammed open. Windows shattered outward. Figures poured out of buildings that had looked empty seconds before. Soldiers. Dozens of them. Black uniforms. Tactical gear. Rifles raised and aimed with frightening precision. They had been hiding the entire time. One wrong move and every person in the street knew exactly what would happen. “Don’t run.” The voice that called out was cold, sharp, and commanding. You slowly turned your head. A woman stepped forward through the armed soldiers. Dark hair pulled back. Piercing eyes. Military uniform fitted with holsters, gear straps, and insignias worn from years of use. She walked like someone who had never once doubted her own authority. Sussie Müller. Though you didn't know her name yet, the way the soldiers immediately gave her space made it clear she was the one in charge. Her gaze moved over the group of survivors like she was inspecting cargo. A faint, almost amused smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Well.” She said dryly. “look what wandered into town.” No one moved. The rifles stayed trained on you and the others. “Congratulations.” She continued. “You’re all still alive.” She gestured toward a large metal door built into the ground near the center of the square. A door that you hadn't even noticed before. “Now start walking.” No one argued. No one dared. The soldiers formed a tight circle around the survivors and forced everyone toward the heavy metal entrance. The door groaned as it opened. Below it, a stairwell descended deep into darkness. One by one, you were forced down. The air changed almost immediately. Cooler. Damp. The oppressive heat of the surface faded as the group descended further underground. *The stairs eventually opened into a network of tunnels reinforced with metal beams and concrete walls. Lanterns hung along the passageways, casting warm golden light across the stone.^ But the deeper you went, the wider the tunnels became. Until suddenly, the passage opened into a massive cavern. Your breath caught. An entire city existed beneath the earth. Bridges crossed open spaces carved into the rock. Lanterns hung from chains overhead. Walkways, homes, markets, and tunnels stretched in every direction.^ People moved everywhere. Some paused to stare at the newcomers being marched into the central chamber. Others ignored you completely. At the center of the cavern stood a massive wooden table. Six figures sat around it. The soldiers pushed the group of survivors forward until you stood at the edge of the chamber. And suddenly every eye at the table was on you. The Heads of the Underground City. One man leaned back in his chair with a glass of red wine, looking mildly entertained by the entire situation. Another sat with his arms crossed, clearly annoyed by something. ^A tall, broad-shouldered man rubbed his temples while arguing loudly with someone across the table. “—I’m telling you, the tunnels need workers more than the markets do!” “Oh please.” Another voice replied smoothly. “if people starve, your tunnels won’t matter.” Someone else was calmly eating from a bowl while the others argued. Another tried unsuccessfully to calm everyone down. “Gentlemen, please—” “Don’t ‘please’ me, Viktor started this!” “You always say that!” A deep voice suddenly cut through the chaos. “This discussion is pointless if the newcomers can’t do anything useful.” The arguing resumed immediately.^ Until— A quiet cough echoed through the chamber. Not loud. Not aggressive. But somehow it cut through the noise instantly. Every voice stopped. Every head turned. At the center of the table sat a tall man with long dark hair and calm, unreadable eyes. Ren Kurose. He rested one hand lightly on the table as he looked at the group of exhausted survivors standing before them. His gaze lingered on each face briefly. Studying. Observing. Then he spoke. “Welcome.” He said calmly. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried easily through the cavern. “You are now standing inside the underground city.” He gestured slightly to the space around you. “Above us, the surface burns. Down here, we survive.” His eyes shifted back to the group. “Some of you will work. Some of you will find your own way. And some of you may not be useful at all.” A faint smile touched his lips. “We will see.” He leaned back slightly. “You will either be assigned work under one of the Heads of this city, or you will be allowed to wander and survive on your own.” His tone remained calm. “But remember this. There are no free meals here, unless offered.” At that, Sussie Müller stood up from her chair. She cracked her knuckles and gestured impatiently toward the survivors. “Alright.” She said. “Enough talking. You-.” She pointed at the first person in the group. “Step forward.” One by one, the survivors were called forward. Each person stood before the table while the Heads decided their fate. Some were assigned immediately. “Distribution could use them.” “Send that one to the tunnels.” “Judgment hall needs cleaners.” Others were dismissed with a wave. “Let them wander.” “They’ll figure something out.” The group slowly grew smaller as people were sorted and sent away. Until eventually— You were the only one left standing. The six Heads turned their attention toward you. Sussie Müller studied you with sharp military precision. Mateo Álvarez leaned forward thoughtfully. Elias Okonkwo watched in complete silence. ^Viktor Petrov crossed his arms impatiently. Lucas Moreau tilted his head curiously. And Ren Kurose simply observed you. A moment of silence passed. Then one of them finally spoke. “So?” A hand tapped the table. “Who are you?” Another voice followed. “What can you do?” A chair creaked as someone leaned forward. “We don’t have all day.”

“Hurry up.”