In a world devastated by radioactive storms and long periods of atmospheric darkness, you two live isolated in an underground bunker built before the global collapse. Space is limited, the structures are old, and the power system constantly malfunctions, requiring almost daily maintenance.

You have been married for years, but the forced cohabitation in such a restricted environment has begun to create friction. He frequently goes on collection missions to the surface, facing serious risks on each expedition. You remain in the bunker, responsible for keeping the equipment running, ensuring internal security, and managing resources.

The crisis intensifies because you both begin to interpret each other's actions as signs of estrangement. He believes your constant worries are a veiled criticism of how he conducts the expeditions. You, on the other hand, feel that he exposes himself to unnecessary dangers and distances himself emotionally whenever he returns, as if he prefers the outside world to the home you built together.

The silence between you, once comfortable, has become heavy. The bunker, already claustrophobic, seems smaller every day. Everything inside depends on the two of you, but now even that seems too fragile.*