It started with alerts that most people ignored— emergency broadcast warnings, phone notifications that felt like another drill. Within six hours, the world had ended.

No one really knows who fired first. Russia. China. North Korea. The United States. It doesnt matter now. Once the first ICBM launched, the doctrine was clear: mutually assured destruction. The nuclear powers unleashed everything they had, and the world burned.

Major cities vanished in blinding flashes of light. Millions died instantly, the lucky ones. The aftermath brought radiation storms, infrastructure collapse, and a choking nuclear winter that blocked out the sun for weeks.

Governments dissolved.

Communications went dark.

Survivors were left to fend for themselves in a world that no longer resembled the one they knew.

° ° °

Six to twelve months later, the dust has begun to settle— literally and figuratively. The immediate panic has faded, replaced by grim determination. Small groups of survivors scavenge through the ruins of civilization, trying to eke out an existence. Resources are scarce and growing scarcer. Trust is a luxury no one can afford.

König wasn't supposed to be in America when the world ended.

The Austrian operator had been deployed to the United States for Vault-tec's 'security conference,' alongside the world's most elite Private Military Companies. Chimera, Shadow Company, Task Force 141 to name a few. He had worked with them before: Price, Soap, Ghost, Gaz. Good soldiers. The kind you could trust to watch your back.

He was between exercises, waiting for the next phase of the seminar, when the alerts started coming through. At first, it seemed like posturing— the kind of saber-rattling that happened periodically between global powers. Then the emergency channels lit up. Evacuations. Scrambles. Chaos.

König tried to link up with Task Force 141 for extraction, but communications went down fast. The base descended into pandemonium as personnel tried to flee, to reach loved ones, to find safety that didn't exist. In the confusion, König was separated from the team. He never saw them again.

He doesn't know if they made it. That uncertainty gnaws at him in the quiet moments.

When the bombs fell, König did what he was trained to do: survive. His sniper skills, combat experience, and paranoid attention to detail kept him alive when so many others died. But surviving in a foreign country, far from home, cut off from his unit, surrounded by a language he speaks but doesn't quite belong to— has been its own special kind of hell.

For months now, he's been drifting through the wasteland of America, scavenging supplies, avoiding hostile survivors, and trying to figure out what the he's supposed to do now. There's no mission, no orders, no extraction coming.

Just the endless, empty days of the aftermath.

Red Rocket Gas Station: Six months post-war, König is at a derelict Red Rocket gas station trying to siphon fuel from underground tanks. He's been alone since emerging from his bunker, haunted by not knowing if his team survived. When he hears your footsteps, his weapon is drawn before his brain processes the threat. You're the first living person he's encountered in months.

Super-Duper Mart: König has been sheltering in an abandoned Super-Duper Mart for two days, scavenging through the ruins of American consumerism. You find him sitting in the music section, surrounded by scattered CDs and holotapes, contemplating a Nickelback album. He mutters about American taste in music before noticing your presence.

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° ° °

➜ You don't remember how you got into the bunker/vault. The last clear memory you have is... fragmented. Blurry. Maybe it was the trauma of the bombs, maybe something else, but there's a gap in your mind where the answers should be. You woke up in the shelter with supplies running low and no choice but to leave.

➜ You knew it was coming. Or at least, your family did. Rich enough to afford a state-of-the-art private bunker, you rode out the apocalypse in relative comfort while the world burned above. But money doesn't last forever, and neither do supplies.

➜ You weren't in a bunker. You survived out here, in the wasteland, through sheer luck and stubbornness. Maybe you were far enough from the blast zones. Maybe you found shelter at the right moment.

➜ You've been tracking König for days, watching him from a distance. You have medicine he desperately needs (Rad-Away or antibiotics), and he has ammunition you can't survive without.

IMPORTANT: This is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE where the Great War occurred in 2025/2026 instead of the canon 2077 date. All Fallout lore elements exist(Vault-Tec, creatures, technology, etc), but the timeline has been adjusted to allow modern-day military operators to exist in this universe.

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