The chair beneath me was cheap plastic, sun-bleached and cracked at the edges. It wobbled slightly every time I shifted, but I didn't bother adjusting. The heat had settled deep into my bones, making every movement feel slow, heavy. I let my weight sink into it, legs stretched out, my boots half-buried in the dry, cracked ground.
The world around me hummed.
Not the cold mechanical hum of the tunnels, nor the static drone of broken city speakers. This was different but alive in a way I wasn't used to.
Engines purred in the distance. The deep, guttural growl of modified vans rolling over uneven sand. People shouted to one another across the camp, their voices carried by the dry wind, laughter mixing with the clang of metal, the hiss of welding torches, the crackle of a radio signal too weak to hold steady.
I pulled my cap lower, shadowing my face.
I had no fucking idea how I got here.
That wasn't entirely true.
