Warning: Contains wasteland curiosity/horror elements (only once). If you mind, please enter with caution or skip this chapter. Let's respect each other's preferences.
You can also skip this chapter — it gets more exciting later!
This is a fictional world. All settings are based on the author's vision.
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['Wasteland: Civilization Fortress' loading complete! Game eligibility activated]
[Congratulations, you have obtained the status of 'Survivor Player']
[Survivor Ethan, initial area extraction complete! The result is — Riot District]
[The following are friendly reminders. Please keep them in mind:]
1. In the Wasteland world, survival is your only goal. Therefore, do your best to build and hide your Shelter — it's the only thing you can rely on to stay alive.
2. You only have one life. If you die in the game, your entire existence will be erased. For a way to break through this, please refer to the first tip.
3. Special disaster events will be triggered irregularly. They could be natural disasters or extreme events. Stay vigilant. They may be the greatest threat to your survival in the Wasteland. For a way to break through this, please refer to the first tip.
Ethan stared at the virtual light screen in front of him, his brow furrowed. After a few seconds of silence, he cursed softly:
"That son of a bitch Nikita. Even games have virus links now?"
A few minutes ago, he'd been in a certain hardcore extraction shooter, grinding against campers and veterans like always.
Then he turned around and found a blood-stained letter in a virtual foot massage parlor. Weird place for loot, sure — but as a veteran player, he knew every item in that game inside and out.
Except this one. He'd never seen this letter before.
Curiosity killed the cat, they say. He clicked it open.
Inside was some nonsense about a wasteland game invitation. The options? Just [Yes] and [No] .
Ethan shrugged and hit 'Yes'.
Next thing he knew, he was here. In this godforsaken place. With those system messages fresh in his mind.
Well. Complaining won't fix anything.
He scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. Abandoned dental clinic. Overturned chairs. Shattered glass crunching under his shoes. Footprints everywhere — looked like a whole crowd had ransacked the place.
Only one thing caught his eye: a beat-up dentist's headlamp lying in the corner, stained but intact.
Could be useful.
He pocketed it.
This must be the [Riot District] — his starting area.
Ethan held his breath for a few seconds, listening. No gunshots. No footsteps. No weird scraping sounds. Safe. For now.
He pulled up the virtual screen again. Looked like a game UI, but... realer. Tangible.
Five tabs: [Combat] , [Survival] , [Social] , [Leaderboard] , [Special] .
Red dots blinked on [Survival] and [Social] .
He tapped [Survival] first.
[Please determine your Shelter location as soon as possible to enable Shelter management functions]
Right. Priorities.
He switched to [Social] .
A chat channel exploded with messages — people begging for help, trading scraps, sharing warnings. Pure chaos.
But one thing stood out: every message cost 1 survival point. And messages were capped at five words.
Ethan checked his balance.
Survival Points: 0
He let out a dry laugh. Of course. Gotta pay to talk. Keeps the spam down, I guess.
The other tabs were interesting, but [Leaderboard] grabbed his attention.
Shelter Leaderboard
Rows upon rows of Shelter names, ranked by something called Civilization Value.
Civilization Value. Integrated scoring based on facilities, resources, influence, risks, potential, achievements... The whole package.
9,999 ranked Shelters displayed.
Ethan wasn't on it yet. Probably number 10,000 once I build mine.
He scrolled through the names. Some were try-hard serious. Some were jokes. Some made him genuinely curious about the people behind them.
Then his eyes caught the chat again. Someone was talking about new players.
[Hive Shelter] : Fresh meat should be in by now. Anyone seen a new Shelter pop up? Curious where they dropped. Newbies been dropping like flies lately.
[Babel Tower Shelter] : Hope they didn't roll urban or polar. Those maps are death sentences. Anyway — dibs on this one. I need those S-rank frags.
[Stag Shelter] : Y'all don't get it. District Thugs rolled through my area yesterday. Modified APCs, man. MODIFIED. I barely made it out.
[Hive Shelter] : Same. Ran into a Thug Knight convoy last week. Almost soiled myself. Whoever claims the newbie gets invasion rights. Too bad we gotta wait out the protection period.
[Star-Lord Shelter] : Y'all planning way too far ahead. Newbie might not even make it through the night. Wasteland doesn't do safe zones.
Ethan's stomach tightened.
Thugs. Death maps. Civilization fragments. Novice Protection Period. Snatching newcomers.
Please don't tell me—
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
BOOM!
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Of course.
Gunfire erupted outside — close. Real close. Sounded like a full-blown firefight in the next block. Engines roared, tires screeched, metal crunched.
Ethan dove behind the nearest wall, pressing himself against the grimy concrete. He risked a glance through the shattered window.
Modified off-road combat vehicles screamed past, trading shots like it was a damn parade.
BOOM!
A grenade lit up the street.
Shrapnel and debris sprayed the clinic's facade. Glass rained down. A rock fragment caught Ethan's cheek — shallow cut, but it bled.
He pulled back, wiping blood with his sleeve.
Move. Now.
The engines faded. But they'd be back. Or worse — someone else would.
He needed a Shelter. Fast.
Underground. That was the play. Subway stations, parking garages, bomb shelters — all prime real estate.
Which means they're either already taken or turned into thug dens.
Concealment > Defensiveness. At least for now.
Thirty minutes later, Ethan found himself climbing down a rusted ladder into darkness.
The sewer tunnel stretched before him — three meters in diameter, a central channel of... let's call it water... flowing slow and foul. Walkways on both sides.
Surprisingly breathable down here. The city above was abandoned, so maybe the sewage system had backed up or dried out. The air smelled sour but not suffocating.
He clicked on the dentist's headlamp. Weak light, but enough.
The sewer network was a maze. Tunnels branched off in every direction, some collapsing, some still solid. Ethan moved carefully, listening, watching.
Then he found it.
A ladder leading up.
Not to the surface — to something in between.
He climbed.
The space above was... old. Ancient, even. Brick-vaulted ceilings, arched doorways, cobwebs draped like curtains. An air-raid shelter, maybe from some forgotten war decades ago. Dry, sturdy, hidden.
Air-Raid Shelter Level (Masonry Structure)
Someone had designed this city with layers — wet below, dry above. A refuge within a refuge.
And now it was his.
Ethan explored deeper. Behind a half-height archway, he found an open chamber. Big enough. Hidden enough.
This is it.
He pulled up the virtual screen.
[Do you want to set this location as your Shelter?]
[Friendly Reminder: The choice of Shelter is crucial. Please decide carefully!]
Ethan didn't hesitate.
Yes.
[Shelter under construction... 1%... 25%... 88%... 99%...]
Green light bloomed across the archway. Data streams swirled, coalescing into solid form. A wall materialized — then a door. Wooden, simple, real.
[Congratulations! Shelter construction complete]
— Facility Management Log enabled!
— Resource Management Log enabled!
— Shelter Event Memo enabled!
[Please determine your Shelter name to enable Shelter Leaderboard]
Ethan stared at the door. His door. His Shelter.
He typed his old gamer tag — the one he'd used for years, through countless virtual battles and digital apocalypses.
Fish Abyss.
The screen flickered.
[Shelter 'Fish Abyss' registered. Leaderboard status: Pending first evaluation]
Ethan leaned against the brick wall and let out a long breath.
Made it.
For now.