The air is cold and thin, like it’s always been forty-meters below the earth’s crust, but this particular day adds its own ingredient into the mix; a strong sense of uneasiness that the human lungs take in with each breath, the solution residing in the pits of these empty stomachs. The time has come. Three generations of underground civilizations waiting for the end of an apocalypse, that had wiped out roughly two-thirds of the worldwide population. The full realization of this brings about nervous cheerfulness, combined with terror in a beautifully hideous blend.
           Since the hibernation began, theories have reared up everywhere, becoming something of a bad habit. Everyone thinks they can explain everything. Some things can’t be explained. Some things shouldn’t be.
           People have died down there because of their beliefs, from both sides of the line. Killing each other because no one knows whether the apocalypse was an act of punishment from the “good” side, or a result of an over-weighted “bad” side (always “good” or “bad”, Their names are not said down there). Claustrophobic paranoia. Because of this, all have remained neutral or secretive as to their allegiance.
           And so it’s all come down to this. The Great Wait winds down, and soon these pawns will resurface, to join a side or survive on their own without affiliation to either. No one knows what to expect, so they prepare for the worst.

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