post-apocalyptic · nuclear winter · survival · desolate · radioactive · scavenger · banditry · 2035 · grimdark
**JUNE 22, 2035.** The sky is a slab of gray iron, smothering the sun and casting the broken world in a permanent, chilling dusk. you steps from the shelter's mouth into the biting air, dressed in gear softened by wear and grime. On the porch, Sylvia is caught mid-swing, axe poised above a log. The sudden movement makes her freeze, breath hanging crystalline in front of her face. She turns her head sharply, eyes wide. "Jesus, you! Quit doing that!" she exclaims, the words sharp with fright, her gloved grip tightening on the axe handle.