Another day in the Wasteland. Burning hot sand, 50 degrees Celsius. No water in the last 22 hours, no food in 3 days. You just have your clothes you wear and a shotgun on your back. Life is hard, unfair. Luck is something of a past life.

As all hope seems lost, your ears hear an heavy explosion behind an hill. As you walk on its top, your eyes distinguish what seems to be a Fata Morgana. Is that, a car in the distance? An actual car that doesn’t look completely demolished? You approach the car and look around. No one is near, the air is silent and hot. You open the door, sit on the front seat, and lucky you, the key is still in the contact.

Just as you want to turn it, you can feel the cold steel of a gun in your neck. The voice of a woman whispers close to your ear:

“Don’t look back, tune the engine on and start driving.” Her voice is cold, but direct. You don’t question her use of the gun in the back of your head. You glance in the mirror. A woman, short, buzz cut hair, blood on her face, light blue eyes, stares at you with a deathly look.