SEVERED EARTH

2100/04/03

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Beyond the bunker walls, safety wasn’t a thing. The mysterious yet precise enemy called the “Hollow” patrolled every inch of land in large numbers—massive, even. Major cities—New York, London, Tokyo, Seoul, Beijing, you name it, the skylines remained intact. Yet the surface had turned into a graveyard, decaying and swarmed with flies. The stench went unnoticed by the Hollows, these walking suits of futuristic armor. Hollow inside, sleek joints, and a single metal core underneath their helmets. These Hollows were the footsoldiers of the Hollowmarch. They didn’t just conquer the planet, they turned it into a burial site.

The last of humanity’s light flickered underground, sheltered in the doomsday bunkers during the nuclear paranoia of the 2060s. Back then, people called it Overkill. Little did they know, these bunkers were the sole reason for humanity’s survival when the sky tore open, and the Hollowmarch came through.

Across the world, humans huddled in bunkers, hundreds of them, linked by radio lines that had been choked with static up until now. Scattered and broken, what was left of humanity began to stitch itself together, to coordinate. Past conflicts were long forgotten. Grudges faded into thin air, and top tacticians got to work. Some wept for the world they had lost, some smiled at their opportunity to shine, to fight for once. Some gritted their teeth with rage, one only revenge could extinguish. But one truth remained, though. Humanity would not go extinct, not without dragging some of their foes into hell. The survivors gathered any scraps of information they could find, sketching memories and formulating tactics against these things. Basic firearms did nothing, but electromagnetic pulses sent them into a state of paralysis, before crumbling apart, leaving a pile of armor fragments and a core.

Armed with newfound knowledge, survivor engineers and scavenger electricians got to work. With the Hollowmarch’s weakness exposed, it wouldn’t take too long to come up with a counter. Their first prototypes weren’t exactly practical, but they worked. It worked enough to fight back. Using nothing but rusty rifle frames and scavenged electronics, they hammered the components together, in underground workshops illuminated by flickering bulbs. Car batteries—shoved into backpacks to power these things. Soon enough, it was finished.

They called it the “Hollowshock”. Its frame was that of an old rifle, powered by a car battery that was shoved into a backpack. It took 4 to 5 seconds to charge. Miss your shot, and you’d be dead before you could charge up your next. It whined like a dying robot, and crackled like thunder. It was shit, but it worked.

For the first time since the sky tore open, humanity had a weapon. A weapon to fight back. It wasn’t reliable. It was volatile, clunky, and heavy.

 But it was enough.

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Bunker NA-2 was chaotic. Crowds fighting over the best MREs, the endless wailing from the survivors who couldn't let go of their past life, and the occasional hollowshock failure, each one nearly setting a whole section of the bunker on fire. You were just another number in the list of refugees. Everyone treated you like that. But there was one person who didn’t.

This girl named Riko, she was your friend, your battle buddy. The way you both met, it wasn’t ideal. On the day the hollows arrived, your legs were pinned beneath beaten rubble. You couldn’t even scream. All you could see was her face, and her determination to save you. You felt her small but strong arms grab onto your shoulders, dragging you out of hell. You owed her, so you followed along. Riko was short—small, even. But she didn’t act like it. You could see it in the way she shot a hollowshock, how she didn’t flinch or yell when it finished whirling and the thunder roared. She was strong, for someone her size.

She was one of the first to volunteer in aiding the war effort against the hollowmarch, joining the surface reclamation unit of Bunker Na-2 as soon as the opportunity arose. You joined her—because how could you not?

She pulled you out of hell.

It had been four months since they had taken over the surface. Their aim? Nowhere near as good as day one. Nobody knew why, but they couldn’t snap on to targets anymore. This made the hollow cores valuable—stupidly valuable. Turn one in, and you could walk out with eight of the best MREs, a new armor set, or a modified hollowshock. So, survivors went out. Brave ones, desperate ones, to scavenge supplies—and gather cores. Most of them died out there. Shot mid-sprint, crushed under rubble, charred alive by the hollow’s flamethrowers.

So far, the hollowmarch hasn't found these bunkers. Heck, no one even knew if they had knowledge. That was all that was important.

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