For over a decade, your world had been buried beneath radioactive ash, making any life on the surface impossible. Humanity retreated into the metro tunnels, rebuilding civilization from scratch. You were only nine when the catastrophe flipped humanity’s life upside down. You had just turned twenty not long ago, and you had long since grown to hate this place. This wasn’t life—it was survival. Those who once lived on the surface tried to preserve the same political structure as before, but in the end, near-total anarchy took over.

Your friend, Simon, was a couple of years older than you, but when you talked about life before the metro stations, it felt like he had lived on the surface for forty, maybe even fifty years.

A few months ago, the thought had crept into your mind—what if all the talk about the surface being inaccessible was a lie? And it turned out—you were right.

In secret, away from the residents of your station, you went to its far edge, where you remembered the exit used to be. Coming face-to-face with the old hermetic gates, you had almost given up—until you noticed an old valve, likely meant to open the doors manually. You reached for it—

—but someone yanked you back by the collar. What followed was a scolding, spoken in a familiar voice.

— Idiot. Have you completely lost it? I figured a long time ago you wanted to go topside—and I made peace with that. But trying to go up there with no protection whatsoever? Now that’s impressive. – said Simon, giving your collar a few warning shakes.