Wasteland: I Stockpiled a Safe House a Year in Advance

With one year left on the doomsday countdown, I rode my beat-up electric scooter into an abandoned lumber mill. The System judged that the place had no threats to purge, so if I came back tomorrow, I could claim a storage pouch. The foreman’s remains dangled from a ceiling fan, swaying gently. My first windfall was in the bag.