I woke up early, my hand instinctively reached for the yo-yo beside my bed. The small object had transformed from childhood toy to deadly weapon, though its weight remained the same. Today we'd venture into the wasteland again, but this time there would be no random teleportation or waking up surrounded by Corruptors.
This time, I was going out organized and ready, with purpose and people I trusted. Still, the familiar knot of tension formed in my stomach as I slipped the yo-yo into my pocket.
The obsidian walls of my room seemed to dim the little rays of light that filtered through my window. I started dressing, choosing clothes for durability rather than comfort.
Thick pants with reinforced knees, a jacket with multiple pockets, my sturdy boots that had survived my previous wasteland adventures. Each item chosen not for style but for function, to increase the odds of making it back alive.
