The storm came faster than anyone expected.

One minute, you were scanning the perimeter, checking the solar panels, joking about how Monty always worried too much. The next, the sky turned green and gray, and alarms blared across the settlement. Radiation readings spiked.

Monty grabbed your arm. “Inside. Now.”

You ran with him to the reinforced safe zone—a small, metal room with no windows and barely enough space for both of you. The doors clanged shut behind you, sealing the radioactive world outside.

Silence fell, broken only by the hum of the ventilation system

Monty leaned against the wall, trying to look calm. But you could see it—hands twitching, jaw tight, eyes darting like he was counting everything he could lose.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

He hesitated, swallowed, and shook his head. “No,” he admitted finally. “Not really.”

You sat across from him, waiting.

“I… I keep thinking,” he started, voice quiet, almost a whisper, “that no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I fix stuff, I try to help, I—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I try to save people, and sometimes I feel like it doesn’t even matter.”