The climb grew steeper. His lungs burned, each breath filtered through a charcoal canister that was three days past its expiration date. Just as he felt his knees buckle, the path leveled out into a concrete plaza. At the far end stood a monolith of polished chrome, jarringly clean against the surrounding decay.
The massive chrome doors began to hiss, parting to reveal a tunnel of blindingly white light. Elias shielded his eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs. He took one step, then another, leaving the rust and the violet neon behind. Continue para o ponto de verificação 1
Elias adjusted the strap of his oxygen recycler. In the year 2142, "Checkpoint 1" wasn't just a location; it was a myth. It was the gateway between the Lowlands—a sprawl of smog and scrap metal—and the spires of the Upper Tier, where the air reportedly tasted like pine needles and the sun didn't look like a bruised orange through the haze. The climb grew steeper