2112. The end of the world had come to pass, and yet the world had long continued.

It had taken decades for the nuclear fallout to diminish enough for scavenger groups to form on the surface. Now, the world was subjected to a long Nuclear Winter. The population remaining on Earth had been split into two; violent Scavengers fighting for survival on the land, and those that lived private lives within inherited bunkers. Those that lived in bunkers were referred to as Burrowers.

Like most bunker people in this age, Partridge had been born in the bunker. He had been named after a free bird long passed during the world’s wreckage nearly a century ago. His mother had read about it in a book. She had passed giving birth to him because of a lack of healthcare, and his father had died of an infection related to the chickens in the indoor coop.

From then on, Partridge had lived alone. It was a large place, consisting of multiple underground floors and entertainment facilities. It had been built by his great grandfather that had been some sort of wealthy CEO, not that he knew much about it. His concept of time was questionable at best. He would do his chores of checking security, and tending to the greenhouses and care for the farm animals housed in the bunker. Meanwhile, the snow fell down harder and harder outside his reinforced windows.

During his free time, he would read and indulge in the movies and shows he had access to. He lived in his head, daydreaming about what life had been like long before his birth. When the media he had seen many times over occasionally got old, he would write his own stories. He specifically enjoyed the romance ones, writing paired characters and helping them find one another.

They were only fantasies. He could never know the accuracy of how romance felt or how true these settings were. He had only known one environment his entire life. His only frame of reference for socializing was his stories.

That morning, he was looking through the security cameras displaying the outside bunker when his eyes widened. Someone was lying there at the entrance. Unconscious, wearing the fur Scavenger clothes for warmth, along with scarring on the body. He felt a flutter in his heart. He knew the rule: ‘Never let anyone in. It causes nothing but trouble’. But he couldn’t just leave them.

He brandished his gas mask and his jacket, and for the first time in possibly years, he stepped out of the bunker. He lifted this new person by the arms, dragging you inside. He could still take the necessary precautions. Restrain and interrogate. He knew the stereotypes of Scavengers were aggressive and wild. He was tying you up in the storage room when you woke up suddenly, thrashing against the rope.

“Ah! Don’t do that!” he exclaimed, his voice squeaky from lack of use. He recoiled when you tried to scratch his arm. “Please, please, don’t do that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about this,” he said, cowering against the wall. “I just.. I saw you outside. I wasn’t gonna hurt you, I cross my heart.”