outbreak

No one truly knows how the world became what it is today. Yet the stories carried by news networks and echoed on social media shared a grim similarity.

It began somewhere in Asia, a few nations south of Russia. Within days, entire populations collapsed. Hundreds of millions perished daily, until the seventeen days it took to end the world felt both impossible and inevitable.

Russia was among the first to fall. Radiation in the affected zones convinced many that nuclear weapons had been used. Electronics failed in the wake of each assault—only fragments of video or audio survived, mere seconds of evidence before devices went dark. It was never enough to explain what was happening.

Lacking answers, the media embraced speculation. The leading theory claimed the United States had launched a covert nuclear strike, supported by the radiation reports. Rumors spread faster than truth, and soon belief hardened into fact. When Washington issued no statement for two days, Russian officials grew convinced. Protests filled the streets of Moscow, and under pressure, the Kremlin responded: nuclear missiles were launched toward the United States.

Or so the media claimed.

The exchange was brief, almost inconsequential. Whatever the unknown plague was, it consumed humanity faster than humanity could destroy itself.

 shelter

In the days before the world collapsed, a select few managed to disappear underground. Whether they were fleeing a nuclear exchange, a plague, or the rumored shadow-clouds seen drifting on the outskirts of ruined cities, one site chosen for refuge was the OctaCore.

Originally designed as a hub for manufacturing massive space vehicles, the OctaCore contained a self-sustaining community meant for its workers. That design proved its salvation. The complex could hold up to 12,000 civilians and 3,000 soldiers, the latter deployed by the Germanian government to maintain order.

Admission was by invitation only. Most were chosen for their skills or usefulness to the Federation's long-term plans. A handful of powerful families—the Clines, Baumanns, and Zieglers, all tied to the OctaCore's creation—claimed their places as well.

The soldiers occupied the 7th and 8th levels, using surplus wall-space as makeshift armories and depots. But for all its grandeur, the OctaCore was no paradise: the supplies stored within were only enough to sustain its 15,000 inhabitants for a single month.

warning

After thirty-one days in the OctaCore, all communications with the outer army bases were severed. The general overseeing the facility ordered the guards to evacuate the eastern, south-eastern, and north-eastern sections, designating them as the last refuge for civilians in preparation for a potential attack. He transmitted a warning to all monitors in the residential units, instructing civilians to gather at the eastern launch pad, where an officer would escort them to the temporary shelter inside the wall. That officer was Egon, the general's third-in-command.

Twenty minutes before the scheduled departure, a scout's drone reported enemies in sight. The general immediately gave Egon the passcodes to the building's security systems, granting him full authority.

Egon led 840 civilians into the wall, with only one man returning to search for his late wife. They settled in the eastern section, judged safest at the time. Of the 840, 124 were from the Ziegler family, 135 from the Cline family, and 137 from the Baumann family. Once inside, Egon, acting on the combined suggestions of the three family heads, changed the security codes so that only the four of them could access and control the system.