190 Sir, yes Sir

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Safe Haven could have been one of the many wonders of the world in a different time, but now it stands alone. This enormous building housed the most important leaders, politicians, scientists, physicists, spiritual leaders, astronomers, and surviving citizens on multiple levels, both above and below ground. It was constructed in the middle of the great desert, the former North America, which was one of the hardest-hit areas by the solar storm known as "Judgment."

Years before, NASA had already issued warnings that the ozone layer was slowly deteriorating due to the harmful gases we were emitting. The hole in the ozone layer grew larger and larger, gradually weakening the Earth's magnetic shield that had protected us for centuries against the most powerful force in our universe—the sun. Yet, we ignored the warnings and continued to pollute our planet until Judgment appeared on the horizon.

The haunting echoes of sirens lingered in our collective memory, a constant reminder of our vulnerability. As ordinary citizens, we found ourselves defenceless in our meagre shelters, while the privileged few sought refuge in opulent bunkers. These subterranean sanctuaries, originally constructed under NASA's insistence to prepare for a potential apocalyptic event, now served as repositories of history, safeguarding relics and artifacts that encapsulated the knowledge and essence of human civilization, even at the cost of sacrificing innocent lives.

In the aftermath of the solar storm, the tattered remnants of our once-abundant food supply left us teetering on the brink of desperation. Once fertile fields withered under the unrelenting assault, freshwater sources dwindled to mere trickles, and the vibrant tapestry of flora and fauna faded into a somber silence. The toll exacted upon humanity was staggering. What was initially dismissed as an anomalous solar storm soon revealed itself to be a harbinger of deeper, more sinister truths—a cataclysmic revelation beyond the confines of natural phenomena.

In an unprecedented turn of events, nations cast aside their long-standing differences, coming together with a shared vision of peace and unity. From this collective determination, the Federation For All Humanity (FFAH) arose—a formidable alliance symbolized by a flag depicting Earth embraced by a constellation of stars, each representing a different nation. This historic accord heralded a transformative era, transcending the barriers of geography and ideology.

Taking centre stage in this global endeavour, the United States became the epicentre for the unified rescue mission. With utmost precision, a highly specialized military unit was assembled, honed to perfection in their ability to deliver humanitarian aid and safeguard the lives of survivors in the ravaged corners of the world.

Across the American continent, a beacon of hope emerged in the form of Safe Haven—a sanctuary offering solace and protection to those displaced by catastrophe. In Europe, the resilient souls found refuge within the walls of New Hope, while Asia embraced those in need through the haven known as Last Resort. In the vast expanses of Africa and Oceania, Keepers stood as steadfast guardians, providing sanctuary for the vulnerable.

Within the confines of these immense structures, meticulously designed with both above-ground and underground levels, an impenetrable dome and fortified heat shields ensured protection against any calamity.

And how did I come to possess this knowledge? For I am not merely an observer but a resident of Safe Haven itself. My modest chamber rests on the 16th floor, perched on the outer edges of the building. From here, I survey the barren expanse of desert, the haunting remnants of a time when joy and contentment were commonplace. I bear the mantle of a soldier, entrusted with the crucial task of participating in the rescue missions across North America. My name is Jason Baker


"BAKER!" a voice thundered from the other side of the door. "Open up!" 

Startled by the unmistakable voice, I swiftly rose from behind the small folding table beneath the window, The sketch pen with which I had been mentally depicting the landscape slipped from my trembling hand and clattered to the floor. With a sense of trepidation, I hurried towards the door and unlocked it. But before I could react, the door swung open with a forceful jerk. Standing in the doorway, a formidable figure loomed—Sergeant Major Matthew Connors. "Stand at attention, soldier!" he commanded, his tone seething with anger. I snapped into position, awaiting further instructions, all the while assessing just how deep I had gotten myself into trouble.

Sergeant Major Connors strode inside, his presence filling the room with an air of intensity. His pulsating carotid artery betrayed his mounting frustration. "You must know precisely why I am here," he uttered, his voice a near-shout.

With disciplined composure, I held my stance, awaiting the opportune moment to speak, keenly aware of the perilous situation I now found myself entangled in.

Connors abruptly halted his frenetic pacing within my cramped compartment, fixing me with an unwavering gaze that made me feel smaller than ever. "Answer me, soldier!" His deep voice resonated, granting me the opportunity to speak.

"I believe it's due to my actions during this morning's exercises, Sergeant Major," I replied calmly, maintaining my composure as I carefully chose my words, heightening the contrast between us.

"You believe?!" His response carried a sharp edge of aggression.

"I apologize, Sergeant Major. You are here because of my actions during the last training session this morning," I swiftly corrected myself.

"I've been informed by Sergeant McCartney that you openly disagreed with the exercises. And you know the consequences of a soldier defying a sergeant's orders, especially followed by an unauthorized departure from the training grounds." The Major's voice began to steady, his volume gradually diminishing. He walked towards the door, firmly shutting it behind him—a surprising move. To my utter surprise, he then took a seat on the chair, his facial expression shifting from a state of agitation to one of unexpected calmness, tinged with a hint of weariness. Sergeant Major Connors had been a familiar presence during training sessions, often engaged in conversation with Colonel Helene Hill in the background. Yet, never before had he ventured into this section of Safe Haven, let alone set foot inside a lowly soldier's dwelling.

"Soldier, are you going to remain rooted to the spot or will you serve me a drink?" The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Fearful of provoking the once-angry Sergeant Major into another outburst, I maintained my rigid stance. Perhaps this was another test, a subtle challenge of obedience.

Sergeant Major Connors met my gaze, his expression softening with a sigh. He waved a weary hand dismissively. "Stand at ease, soldier." I allowed the tension to release from my body, my muscles relaxing as I shuffled towards the refrigerator, feeling a sense of bewilderment washing over me.

"What would you like to drink, Sergeant Major?" I asked, trying to maintain a composed demeanor despite the tension in the air. The options were limited, especially when it came to alcohol. The life of a soldier rarely included such indulgences.

"Call me Connors, Baker," the Sergeant Major replied, his voice gruff yet somewhat subdued. "I suppose there's no chance of finding something strong around here?"

I studied Connors' weary expression, contemplating whether he was playing some kind of twisted game. "I'm afraid not, sir. As simple soldiers, we don't have access to such luxuries. I can offer you the standard nutrient-packed squeeze drinks, though."

Connors let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "I figured as much," he muttered, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. "Have a seat, Baker."

I complied, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. This unexpected visit from the Sergeant Major had me on edge, unsure of what was to come next.

"Sergeant Major... I mean, Connors," I began cautiously, choosing my words carefully, "if you intended to reprimand or punish me for my actions during the last training session, I believe you would have entrusted that task to Sergeant McCartney."

Connors nodded and pulled out a flask from his pocket, taking a long swig. His tired face seemed to relax a little. "Go on," he urged. It was evident that the flask didn't contain water, as the aroma of alcohol filled the small compartment I called home. I struggled to find the right approach to continue this peculiar conversation.

The Sergeant Major noticed my hesitation and took the lead in the conversation. "I can see you're wondering about the commotion earlier when I arrived, why you're still here without facing consequences, and why I'm drinking strong liquor while Sergeant McCartney is absent," he stated.

I nodded, acknowledging his astute observation. It was precisely what had been gnawing at me.

"This morning, Sergeant McCartney barged into my office, adamant that you should face punishment for your disobedience," the Sergeant Major continued, taking another swig from his flask. The pungent scent of his self-made concoction, known as "Connors' Companion," filled the air. "Sir, you seem to speak of McCartney as if you hold him in low regard," I cautiously interjected.

The Sergeant Major fixed me with a stern gaze. "I don't mean to interrupt, Baker, but it appears to me that you're the one consistently challenging authority during your brief tenure as a soldier."

His words landed with an impact, stirring a mix of emotions within me. I lowered my gaze, a cocktail of shame, frustration, and reflection swirling inside me. How had I once again found myself entangled in such a predicament?


I remained silent, acknowledging the truth in the Sergeant Major's words. Since enlisting and being assigned as a soldier, I had indeed clashed with Sergeant Dylan McCartney, the authoritarian figure within our division. McCartney had climbed the ranks through manipulation and brown-nosing, relishing in exerting authority without lifting a finger. From day one, tension had brewed between him and the sergeant.

Jason, by nature, possessed a calm demeanor and innate leadership qualities that the sergeant immediately recognized. Fearful of losing control over the group, McCartney consistently asserted his dominance through every exercise and assignment. Although not expressed verbally, the sergeant made his power known through physical intimidation. Aware of the precariousness of his position within the pack, Jason couldn't help but ponder the consequences. 

Throughout the mandatory daily drill exercises, Jason was frequently subjected to unjustified and excessive harshness by Sergeant McCartney. His fellow soldiers within the division would privately express their sympathy to Jason, acknowledging the sergeant's unfair treatment. However, the fear of being dismissed or banished kept them from openly standing up against McCartney. The consequences of exile meant losing the safety provided by their sheltered living environment, the absence of a protective heat shield against the relentless sun, and leaving their families vulnerable. They thought twice before standing up for Jason.

Almost everyone in Jason's division had families, with only a few exceptions for the younger recruits who hadn't settled down yet. The devastating solar flare had shattered the dreams of starting a new generation, casting a shadow of uncertainty over the prospects of family life. Jason, however, stood as a stark anomaly. His wife, Melissa, and their seven-year-old daughter, Paige, fell victim to the solar storm while he was thousands of kilometers away, undergoing gruelling training at one of the remote camps. Fate had spared him, but he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at his soul.

The tragedy had left an indelible mark on Jason, fuelling his deep-seated resentment toward authority figures. He saw the flaws in a world that had prioritized the elite, leaving ordinary families to fend for themselves. Determined to make a difference, Jason had initially vowed to abandon the military altogether. However, the harsh reality set in—there was no alternative. With his family gone and the world reduced to a charred wasteland, he channelled his anguish into completing his training, finding solace in the hope of saving others.

Assigned to Safe Haven, Jason embraced his role as a beacon of hope. His mission extended beyond mere survival; he sought to restore humanity's faith in compassion and solidarity. Through daring rescue missions and selfless acts of aid, he aimed to provide a glimmer of possibility amidst the bleakness. For Jason, it was not just about rebuilding a shattered world, but also about granting those who fought tooth and nail for their lives outside the sanctuary a chance at redemption and a semblance of a future.


After a few moments of silence where I still felt the tension in the air I began to speak "Sir, I understand that my attitude towards my superiors, especially McCartney, is not appropriate." I took a deep breath and continued, "but you must understand that his approach does not contribute to truly helping people."

Connors gestured for me to continue, a spark of curiosity igniting in his eyes.

"We are subjected to multiple situations throughout the day that we may encounter in the field during a rescue mission. We are expected to follow different protocols for each of these situations," I regained my composure and found determination in my voice. "These protocols are impractical in reality; the rules don't apply there. It's nature playing its own game."

"We formulated the protocols based on insights and years of experience, Baker. Why would they be considered impractical?" Connors challenged.

At this point, I began to lose my calm. "Because you all sit safely indoors, and none of the higher authorities actually get their hands dirty. We are sent out risking our lives, but there's no room to operate beyond the protocols."

"I assume you've voiced this to McCartney as well?" Connor asked calmly.

"Yes, multiple times. But all I get in return is, 'We make the rules, you either obey them or get lost'," I imitated McCartney's high-pitched, hoarse voice.

"Hmm," the Sergeant Major rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and after a brief silence, he continued, "Baker, do you have any idea why I'm here?"

After my outburst, I sensed this question coming. "To banish me?" I said without much emotion.

"To promote you," the Sergeant Major corrected me.

I looked at him in astonishment.

"I'll explain."


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