Ammo sat on the railing that spiralled upwards in the silo. He sighs as he runs his hand through his hair. He’s taking a moment to himself in the Silo, away from the main bunker; getting a breather. His mind still on the surface; the desolate, toxic mutant filled wasteland.

He barely feels the burn of the cigarette as it continues to burn, the ash threatening to fall on his fingers. His equipment under his feet on the floor, just taken off and discarded haphazardly. He knew he’d have to find the tattoo guy to add a new tally on his neck, 7 but after this trip it was 8. 8 times to the surface, in two years…that feels like a lot. Especially considering they spend days…weeks…once was a month, no one really knows how long a deployment can be. All any Outcast knows, it’s always by pure luck when you get back alive.