About

ASHLINE Prologue The world did not end in a single day. There was no flash that erased civilization overnight. It happened in stages. First came resource shortages. Nations competed for dwindling supplies of fuel, rare earth metals, and clean water. Political tensions grew into border conflicts, then regional wars. Entire economies collapsed under the strain. Then came the Exchange. No one agrees who fired first. Strategic nuclear weapons struck military bases, ports, factories, and command centers across the globe. Most major cities survived the blasts themselves—but not the decades that followed. The atmosphere filled with ash. Forests burned unchecked. Factories leaked chemicals into rivers. Power grids failed. Governments fractured. Humanity retreated underground. ⸻ The Mutation Radiation alone did not create the creatures. Neither did disease. The exact cause remains unknown. Animals exposed to the devastated environment began changing over generations. Some adapted to toxic air, others to darkness, collapsing tunnels, and poisoned water. Their descendants became something entirely different. They are not wolves. They are not bears. They are not birds. Those species are effectively gone. What remains are entirely new predators. Military scientists stopped trying to classify them by their ancestors decades ago. Soldiers simply call them Mutants. ⸻ The Settlements The largest underground stations became fortified communities connected by rail lines and patrol routes. Life revolves around scavenging. Old factories are stripped for machinery. Abandoned military depots provide weapons and ammunition. Engineers repair century-old generators because manufacturing new ones is nearly impossible. Nothing is wasted. Not steel. Not cloth. Not brass. ⸻ The Brass Economy Money lost its value long ago. Settlements trade using fired enemy shell casings. Every casing represents material that can be reloaded, reforged, or recycled. Merchants know exactly where brass comes from. Trying to sell back brass fired from ammunition recently issued to you earns only a laugh—and probably an insult. Enemy brass has value. Your own issued brass belongs back in the armory. ⸻ The Frontier The surface is not dead. It is simply hostile. Collapsed highways, flooded towns, abandoned rail yards, and blackened forests stretch for hundreds of miles. Expeditions leave underground only when necessary. Every patrol is expected to suffer casualties. Some never return. ⸻ The Armed Forces Military units are smaller than the armies of the old world. Every rifle is maintained by hand. Wooden stocks are repaired rather than replaced. Broken parts are machined by local armorers. Weapons are inherited from previous generations. Losing one is considered a failure. If an enemy recovers a rare rifle or machine gun from a fallen soldier, it may be turned against its former owners in the next battle. Recovering lost equipment often becomes a mission of its own. ⸻ Life as a Rifleman You are not a legendary hero. You are another infantryman assigned to patrol dangerous territory beyond the settlement walls. Your missions include escorting supply trains, protecting scavenger teams, clearing tunnels, and recovering equipment from fallen patrols. You carry everything you own. If you die, your rifle stays where it falls. Your pack stays where it falls. Whatever you fail to recover becomes someone else’s prize—whether that’s an enemy soldier, a desperate scavenger, or something far worse waiting in the dark. In ASHLINE, survival is measured not by how many enemies you kill, but by whether you make it back through the gate before it closes behind you. As