Back From the Dead—My Girlfriend Sold My Base
417 Views · Ongoing · August
After the apocalypse, I built Dawnlight Base.
On an outside run, I died in an ambush—blast, fire, bullets. I watched my blood sink into the sand and thought it was over.
Then I opened my eyes five years later, living in a stranger’s body.
On a transport truck, I was locked in an iron cage with guns trained on us. The others told me who I was now: a bottom-tier gate guard, “cargo” being sold by Dawnlight to a mining camp.
They said after my death, my girlfriend took the command room, promoted her own people, broke up my old crew and stripped their weapons. Mismanagement followed. Mining rights were pawned off. Then they started selling the living.
I escaped and slipped back under the wall.
The quarantine corridor at the North Gate had collapsed and no one repaired it. A long line waited at the ration point, bowls filled with water-thin gruel.
And my girlfriend was signing papers—inviting an outside warlord into the city to “share governance.”
A week later, his convoy rolled through the gate. From the command building’s second-floor window, I flipped the signal switch.
The gate dropped behind them.
When gunfire erupted from every direction, they finally understood—
I was back.
On an outside run, I died in an ambush—blast, fire, bullets. I watched my blood sink into the sand and thought it was over.
Then I opened my eyes five years later, living in a stranger’s body.
On a transport truck, I was locked in an iron cage with guns trained on us. The others told me who I was now: a bottom-tier gate guard, “cargo” being sold by Dawnlight to a mining camp.
They said after my death, my girlfriend took the command room, promoted her own people, broke up my old crew and stripped their weapons. Mismanagement followed. Mining rights were pawned off. Then they started selling the living.
I escaped and slipped back under the wall.
The quarantine corridor at the North Gate had collapsed and no one repaired it. A long line waited at the ration point, bowls filled with water-thin gruel.
And my girlfriend was signing papers—inviting an outside warlord into the city to “share governance.”
A week later, his convoy rolled through the gate. From the command building’s second-floor window, I flipped the signal switch.
The gate dropped behind them.
When gunfire erupted from every direction, they finally understood—
I was back.


















































