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“Three Hundred.” Jurvaz looks rather nonplussed at your answer. “You asked for my name, that's it. Besides, like I told you earlier, I'm not a god. ”
“That's not the sort o' name that a man has. This ain't the sort o' place where a man lives, 'specially not for lifetimes. You don't look like any sort o' man I've ever met either.” At the very least, you look nothing like him. You're far taller, more muscular, clean-shaven and straight-backed. You're an uncanny Adonis, a designer man who looks a little too good to be true. “If that's your name, that's what I'll call you. Just don't try an' tell me you're only human, 'specially when I take you back to the tribe. They're in need o' good news.”
“One moment you're calling me a god, the next you're telling me what to do. You're a brave man, Jurvaz.” That remark is enough to make the barbarian cringe and fall quiet. Good. You might have promised to help his people, but that doesn't give him the right to be uppity. With no need for ceremony, you don the last of your gear. The SMG fits snugly in the holster harness you wear, as does your knife in its sheath. At last, you're ready to depart.
The environment dramatically changes before you're even out of the bunker. One moment, you're walking through a sterile metal corridor with a thin layer of dust clinging to every surface. The next, you step out into a hallway covered in dust, dirt and animal droppings. It must have been a home for wild animals for decades, if not centuries. Scattered on the floor are a huge, rusted door and the tools that must've been used to take it down – various chisels, hammers and pry bars of different sizes.
“Took me a whole week to get the thing open once I took care o' the gendos,” Jurvaz grunts, seemingly proud of his achievement. You're more curious about what a gendo is, but you decide against asking. Instead you just help the savage collect the tools he used to bust into your inner sanctum.
The outermost section of the bunker looks like it has been abandoned for ages. Every surface is so corroded and filthy that it's difficult to tell that it was once metal. Rats, beetles and other such vermin scurry into dark corners when you walk past them. At one point you even startle a small family of bats, which burst into flight as soon as you awaken them. It's not much longer before Jurvaz's torch is no longer the only light source. Daylight illuminates a doorway and you can feel the alien touch of a breeze against your face.
You flinch once you step outside. You just can't help it – the fresh air, the bright sunshine and the cold wind have nothing in common with the stagnant darkness beneath the mountain. For that is where you are, half way up the side of a small mountain that towers over a fertile river valley. There are trees wherever you look, healthy and green and full of life. You're not sure where you are but this looks nothing like a world that was struck by an asteroid swarm.
