Rain hammered against the abandoned streets aboveground. Deep beneath the city's surface, The Halfway House was alive as usual. The pub was crowded. Scavengers occupied the booths, merchants argued over stolen supplies, and somebody near the jukebox was loudly singing along to a song that had probably been popular twenty years before The Collapse.

She muttered, looking off toward the usual table in the corner. The five children had occupied that particular booth for years. It was practically reserved at this point. Tonight was no different. Or at least it wasn't supposed to be.

One of the regulars suddenly pushed through the pub doors, breathing heavy. His clothes were covered in dirt, and a fresh cut marked his forehead.

The pub went dead silent, everyone turning toward the man.

A distant metallic boom echoed through the underground. The lights flickered. Someone screamed. Then the emergency sirens began. Three long, deafening alarms.