The silence in Haven-17 was absolute.
After days spent fleeing monsters and mercenaries underground, the quiet almost felt like a trap.
Elias walked slowly through his hideout, taking in every detail as if seeing it for the first time.
The place, carved into the remains of an ancient mining facility, was cold, damp, and eternally dark.
But it was home.
The entrance was shielded by false rocks, camouflaged traps, and improvised sensors.
Inside, reinforced tunnels led to storage areas, a makeshift workshop, a minimal dormitory, and a common room.
Everything was arranged with ruthless efficiency. No luxuries.
The rusted metal walls still bore scars — marks from old explosions and forgotten wars.
Maps, faded documents, and yellowed newspapers covered parts of the walls, chronicling a world that once was... and had fallen to ruin.
Memories Elias had witnessed — and survived — while everything else crumbled.
---
Grimm and Ash rested near a makeshift heater, curled up, slowly regaining their strength.
Elias ran a hand over Grimm's coat, earning a soft, satisfied sigh.
These dogs were more than companions.
They were family.
The only family he had left.
He moved to the small improvised kitchen.
Boiled water over a battered gas stove, prepared a simple meal — dried meat, canned rice, bitter coffee.
While eating in silence, his eyes drifted to the old radio in the corner of the room.
Still silent.
Still peaceful.
But for how long?
---
After the meal, he sat back in a battered iron chair.
He uncorked a dusty bottle of bourbon — one of the few luxuries he allowed himself.
Pouring a glass, he leaned back.
Here, in the forgotten heart of the world, he could finally breathe without immediate fear of death.
But even in rest, memory was a sharp blade.
He remembered other nights in Haven-17.
Avoided ambushes by seconds.
Poorly treated wounds.
Endless days watching the dust settle outside, waiting for something — anything — that never came.
---
Then, the silent alarm triggered.
A discreet red light blinked on the improvised panel.
Someone was approaching.
Elias didn't react with fear or surprise.
He simply slid his hand to his holster, drew his pistol, and waited.
Minutes later, a soft knock on the reinforced door.
Three short taps, two long, one short.
The code.
Elias relaxed.
Holstered his weapon.
Walked to the door and released the locks.
The door creaked open, revealing a tall, rugged man with a scruffy beard and a crooked smile.
"Still poisoning people with your cooking, Thorne?" the man teased.
"Only the ones who deserve it, Nazirino," Elias replied, stepping aside to let him in.
---
Nazirino was a rare face in a dead world.
A friend.
A battle-brother.
Someone who knew the scars Elias hid under his skin.
They had met decades ago, during a war for control of oil fields that now lay rusted and forgotten.
Nazirino had been a smuggler, a mercenary, a survivor.
And most importantly, someone Elias could trust — a rarity beyond value.
---
The newcomer stepped inside, shaking dust from his worn leather jacket.
Grimm and Ash approached, sniffing him with cautious curiosity.
Nazirino knelt, stroking both dogs with rough affection.
"Good boys. Smarter than most humans still breathing."
"Better trained too," Elias muttered, pouring two glasses of bourbon.
They sat in battered chairs, toasting in silence.
The liquor burned going down.
A familiar, almost comforting sensation.
---
They talked for hours.
Nazirino shared stories of his latest work — smuggling medicine to a besieged village, bartering generator parts for rare ammunition.
Elias listened in silence, absorbing every detail.
The outside world remained as savage and desperate as ever.
In return, Elias spoke about the Morrow mission.
He spared the worst details.
Some horrors didn't need retelling.
Not tonight.
They laughed about old battles — clumsy ambushes, foolish plans that somehow succeeded, betrayals averted by sheer instinct.
Memories of brutal times... but times where camaraderie still existed.
---
By the third bottle, Nazirino leaned back, his eyes half-closed.
"Remember the ambush at Dry Canal?" he asked.
Elias smirked.
"How could I forget?"
They had been trapped for three days between two rival factions.
No ammunition. No food. Only ingenuity and stubbornness.
It was there Nazirino had saved Elias's life, distracting enemy snipers at the crucial moment.
It was there Elias realized Nazirino was someone he could trust with his life.
"You should've died that day," Nazirino chuckled.
"So should you," Elias shot back. "Too damn stubborn to die easy."
They toasted again.
---
Nazirino decided to stay a few days.
He needed rest, he said.
Time to regain strength before facing the wasteland once more.
Elias didn't object.
Having company, even briefly, was a silent blessing.
Over the next days, they repaired security systems, reinforced traps, shared old stories, and emptied more bottles.
Grimm and Ash quickly adapted to Nazirino's presence, accepting him as part of their temporary pack.
For the first time in a long while, Haven-17 felt less like a fortress.
And more like a home.
---
But all peace was fleeting.
One cold morning, Nazirino packed his few belongings.
Donning his battered coat, checking the pistol at his hip, adjusting the pack on his shoulders.
Elias watched in silence.
No plea for him to stay.
No dramatic goodbyes.
Just a firm handshake.
And a look that said everything words could not.
Grimm and Ash followed Nazirino to the entrance, as if understanding the farewell was inevitable.
Elias stood at the door, watching his friend vanish into the gray rocks and biting wind.
Alone again.
As always.
---
He returned to the battered chair.
Lit another cigarette.
The radio remained silent.
But Elias knew.
Silence was merely the world's breath before the next storm.
The next mission was already stirring.
The cycle never ended.
And he would keep moving forward.
A ghost among the wreckage.
Until the world — or he himself — ceased for good.
---
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