2. Welcome to the Wastelands

The Wastelands—just hearing the name makes you think of barren deserts, empty of life. It couldn't be further from the truth. Life thrives out there. Overflows, even. The problem is, everything's mutated to the point where you're more likely to end up as lunch for some random Scourge than to last an hour outside.

"Hey, you!"

The old man's voice cut through my thoughts. His eyes locked on me, and yeah, he was definitely calling me over. I walked to him, already half dreading whatever task he had cooked up.

"Yeah, boss? What's up?"

Standing next to him was the nerdy-looking girl, all nerves and awkwardness. For a second, I figured this was about carrying her bag or something. Like hell I would. I'd chew off my own foot before doing charity work without a payoff.

"I've got a simple task for you," he started, tone dripping with sarcasm. Great. Classic setup for dumping something awful on me. "I hear you're pretty good at your job. Think you can handle it?"

"Well, that depends," I said, trying to mask my suspicion. "What's the job?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying this. "This young lady here is Elizabeth. From now until we're back inside the dome, your job is to keep her safe. Follow her. Protect her. At all costs."

And there it was.

"Why me?" I asked, folding my arms. "There are nine others to choose from. Why not them?"

"Because, boy, out of everyone, you've got the best reputation," he said. "Don't misunderstand me—I don't trust any of you wall-dwellers. But when it comes to my options, you're the least lousy."

I almost laughed. He wasn't wrong, but flattery wasn't going to manipulate me. Not that it needed to. The gig didn't sound hard. Babysitting one nervous girl? How bad could it be?

"Fine. Sure. Whatever," I said, glancing at Elizabeth.

"Good boy," the old man said, smacking my shoulder hard enough to feel like a full swing of a bat. With that, he wandered off, leaving me with her.

I sighed. "Alec Drey," I introduced myself. "Most people just call me Drey. Feel free to do the same."

She hesitated for a second before replying, "I'll call you Alec."

"Yeah, whatever." Internally, I was already annoyed. What was the point of bucking the trend? Everyone else calls me Drey, so why make it complicated? Not that I was going to argue with her. Yet.

"I like being unique," Elizabeth said, smiling like she'd cracked some kind of code. "If everyone calls you Drey, then it'll be special when I call you Alec. That way, if someone says Alec, you'll know it's me!"

Cute logic, I guess. Not that it made this situation any less annoying.

"Hmm...sure, use whatever you want," I said, barely paying attention.

"So, you probably couldn't tell, but uh…this is my first time outside the walls," she admitted nervously.

No shii, I thought. What do you mean, "couldn't tell"? God, I wish I could just say that out loud.

"So...I'm a little nervous," she continued. "I've only ever heard about the wastelands from what the council says. Is there anything else I should know?" She tilted her head, her curious eyes gleaming with the energy of a professional nerd.

"Yeah. First off, don't trust a word those goofs in the council say—it's all lies." I paused for effect, then smirked. "Let me guess. They said something like, 'Oh, it's been years since the outbreak. We've killed so many scourges by now, there's hardly anything to worry about,' right?"

"Well, yeah...but isn't that true?"

"It is. Except for the parts they conveniently leave out. Sure, it's been 200 years since the outbreak. And yeah, we've probably killed millions of scourges. But here's the catch: anything still alive out there after all that time? Those are absolute monstrosities. One of them is worse than a thousand of the old ones. They've evolved. They're no longer just mindless beasts following instinct. Well, except zombies, I guess. They're cunning in their own way.

"And they're not just stagnant, sitting around waiting for us. Like humans, they reproduce. And every generation is worse than the last. Stronger, more terrifying." I let the silence linger for a second before finishing. "It's not like we'll run into them all the time...but when we do..."

She gulped. "We're doomed," she finished dramatically.

"HEY! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?!" a shout cut through the tension, making both of us flinch. It was one of the Riftblades ahead of us—a wiry guy stomping back in our direction, furious.

"I…I…uh…" Elizabeth stammered, startled by his outburst.

The guy's glare shifted to me. "You gonna handle your newbie or what? She's your responsibility, right?"

I sighed, rubbing my helmet. "Relax. It's her first time out here. She doesn't know any better."

"No shii, Sherlock!" He stepped closer, puffing out his chest despite being a full foot shorter than me. "Shouldn't you be educating her, then?"

I rolled my eyes behind my visor. The guy was trying to look intimidating, but at 5'3" with a scrawny build, it wasn't working. Not on me. At 6'2", with the bulk I'd built over years of grueling work and expensive nutrition, I could probably crush him like a twig.

I stared him down in silence.

"What? Got nothing to say?" he scoffed, but I could hear it in his voice—that slight quiver. Fear. It was intoxicating.

With deliberate calm, I tilted my head. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again…uh…what was your name again?"

He faltered, then extended a hand. "Uh…Sylus. Grade 3 Riftblade."

I shook his hand, gripping just tight enough to assert control. "Drey. Grade 2." I let the rank sink in. He paled slightly, the shift in his tone immediate.

"Ah...uh, sorry, sir Drey. I didn't mean to lose my temper earlier. I truly apologize," he stammered, glancing at Elizabeth as if she were the root of all evil.

I nodded, my voice firm but even. "It's fine. Just keep your cool next time."

Sylus backed off quickly, leaving me to explain the situation to Elizabeth, who was still watching with wide, confused eyes.

The group trudged forward, their boots sinking into the damp soil with a muted squelch. The wasteland stretched endlessly ahead, a surreal mix of decaying ruins and creeping nature reclaiming its domain. The morning sun poured its golden light over the scenery, casting an almost dreamlike glow over the desolation, transforming the decay into fleeting beauty.

I moved in silence, my eyes scanning the crumbled horizon for danger. A few paces ahead, the systemsmith Ortega was absorbed in his work, muttering under his breath as he tightened the straps of his bulky rucksack. His grizzled face was set in a look of intense concentration, his calloused hands fiddling with a peculiar device that looked half-finished. Its small antenna twitched sporadically, as if alive. I didn't know what it was for—knowing Ortega, it probably had an equal chance of saving their lives or exploding at the most inopportune moment.

Further along, the team's two scientists—Dr. Collins and Dr. Drew—were locked in their usual quiet argument. Collins, the stout older man, gestured animatedly at a glowing map on his data tablet, his voice raised slightly with exasperation. Drew, with his neat glasses and impatient demeanor, sighed loudly, half ignoring him as he scrutinized the screen with his sharp gaze. Their bickering rarely ceased, yet it seemed to propel their work forward rather than hinder it.

At the head of our group was the captain, a veritable mountain of a man encased in hulking ironclad armor. Every step he took seemed to make the earth shudder, the sound reverberating with the kind of authority that could only belong to someone like him. It was impossible not to marvel at how effortlessly he moved in that cumbersome suit, his calm, unyielding presence radiating a confidence forged in countless battles. He wasn't the kind of leader who faltered; he was the kind who dragged everyone forward, whether they were ready or not.

Behind me, Elizabeth had slowed her pace, falling back from the rest of the group. I turned, just in time to see her staring, wide-eyed, at the world beyond the dome.

"Wow…" she breathed, barely audible, as if afraid she'd break the spell of what she was seeing.

Following her gaze, I saw what had stopped her in her tracks. The skeletal remains of once-great skyscrapers rose in the distance, their shattered frames tangled with thick roots that snaked up the fractured walls. Vibrant moss covered every surface, broken here and there by delicate, defiant flowers bursting out of cracks. The rain from last night lingered in sparkling droplets on the foliage, reflecting the muted sunlight in dazzling bursts of light. For a moment, even I couldn't deny the beauty of it—a fragile kind of elegance in the midst of all this destruction.

But the wastelands weren't beautiful. Not really.

"Enjoy it while you can," I muttered, cutting into her reverie. "It's never this quiet for long."

As if on cue, the ground beneath us began to tremble. A deep, groaning sound echoed in the distance—a sound I knew all too well. Shifting metal. My instincts flared in warning, and my hand went to the hilt of my weapon.

The tremors escalated into a deafening crash. The world seemed to explode around us as the side of a nearby building caved in, chunks of debris hurtling outward in a storm of destruction. The air filled with the roar of collapsing steel, the screech of shattering glass, and the choking sting of dust.

I staggered back, coughing against the thick debris cloud that surrounded us. My lungs burned, my ears rang, but the sound that cut through everything—a guttural growl—froze the blood in my veins.

Through the haze, something massive loomed. A hulking silhouette began to take shape, its movements deliberate, heavy, menacing. Every step it took sent tremors through the ground.

"Form up!" the captain roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. He drew his massive axe and hammer, the Aeon energy humming to life along their edges with an otherworldly blue-white glow.

Nearby, Ortega scrambled upright, clutching his bizarre gadget like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Collins and Drew crouched behind a chunk of fallen steel, panic etched across their faces. Elizabeth, though, stood motionless, pale as death and wide-eyed with fear.

The beast emerged from the dust—a grotesque titan of gnarled flesh and jagged, wet-looking appendages. Veins of glowing energy pulsed across its massive frame, pulsing like corrupted arteries. It hesitated, its eyes locking onto us, before letting out a snarl that shook the air. Then it lunged.

Shards of concrete erupted in every direction as the monster slammed into the ground, its monstrous bulk ripping through the terrain like it was nothing. I cursed, instinct kicking in as I drew my sword. Aeon energy flared along the blade with a sharp, metallic hum, and I braced myself.

"This day just keeps getting better," I muttered, shaking my head. Through the chaos, my gaze caught Elizabeth's frozen figure, her face filled with a kind of terrified awe.

Something bitter twisted in my chest. Maybe they were right. Maybe she really had jinxed us.

Smirking grimly, I hefted my sword. "Well, Elizabeth," I called, my voice sharp with dark amusement, "welcome to the wastelands."