Atlas: Back to the Present - Time Travel + Post Apoc + OP MC

CHAPTER 7: Prepping for Portals

As he drove through the city, Atlas felt like he was in a world he no longer belonged to. The skyscrapers were still there, bustling streets lined with familiar shops and restaurants, but something had shifted in him. He was seeing everything with different eyes, like someone who knew too much. *None of this matters anymore*, he thought. The world was on borrowed time, and the people around him had no idea. The future Atlas had glimpsed was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. In two years, the world would change in ways no one could imagine.

Pulling up to John's apartment—a sleek high-rise with an impressive view of the city—Atlas parked and grabbed the beer from the passenger seat. John had always been the type to settle into the good life. Expensive apartment, minimalist decor, and of course, that ridiculous gym membership he barely used. *He's in for one hell of a wake-up call*, Atlas thought as he made his way up.

John opened the door with a broad grin, "Atlas! Long time, man."

After a quick man-hug, Atlas stepped inside. The place was exactly how he remembered it—clean, modern, floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the sprawling skyline. It was a far cry from the battered, worn-down world Atlas had been living in.

"You look good," John said, handing him a beer. "What's going on? Feels like I haven't heard from you in forever. You've been off the grid."

Atlas hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. How the hell was he supposed to explain all this? "Man, it's been a wild ride. I've been through... a lot. It's not easy to explain, but you're about to hear the craziest thing I've ever said."

John chuckled, popping the cap off his beer. "Well, I've got time and plenty of beer. What's on your mind? Spill it."

Atlas ran a hand through his hair, stalling for just a moment. *How do I even start?* "You remember those ice fishing trips we used to take? Sitting out there, freezing, catching nothing and talking about life?"

John laughed, "Hell yeah, man. Those were the days. Sitting on the ice for hours, not a single fish to show for it. Good times."

Atlas smiled faintly, but the weight of what he had to say brought him back to the present. He looked John square in the eyes. "This isn't a casual chat. It's not one of those late-night bullshit sessions, John. This is serious. Life-and-death serious."

John's smile faded as he sensed the shift in Atlas's tone. "Okay, I'm listening. What's going on?"

Atlas exhaled slowly, leaning forward. "In two years, portals are going to open all over the world. They'll pull people in—randomly, without warning—and most of those people... they won't make it out alive."

John blinked, staring at him. "Portals? Like... what? Sci-fi stuff?"

"I *know* it sounds insane, but I've seen it happen. I've lived it. This isn't some theory or a wild guess. I'm telling you, it's real. And it's coming." Atlas's voice tightened, his eyes hardening. He could feel the tension building in his chest as he remembered the horrors he'd witnessed in the wasteland. "People aren't prepared for a wasteland apocalypse . There are things out there, John. Things that will tear you apart if you aren't ready. And no one, not the government, not the military, no one is going to save us."

John was silent for a moment, processing. His easy smile faded into something more serious. "So, what do we do? What's your plan?"

Atlas felt a wave of relief. John hadn't laughed it off or called him crazy. "I'm already working on it. I've been gathering gear, supplies—everything we'll need to survive. But I can't do it alone. I need your help, John. You've always been the level-headed one. I need you to get ready too. Physically, mentally, everything."

John raised an eyebrow, then took a long swig of beer. "Okay, so you're saying in two years, portals are gonna open, and the world goes to hell. You've got a plan. How can I help?"

Atlas leaned back, tension releasing slightly as he felt John come on board. "First things first. We need to get you ready. I've already started training myself. But we're gonna need more than gym memberships. We need to fight. I'm talking weapons. Combat training. I found this place, The Society for Creative Battle."

John snorted, "What, like LARPing? Dudes in armor, hitting each other with foam swords?"

Atlas grinned. "Not exactly. It's way more intense than that. It's real combat training—swords, shields, axes, you name it. They use SFB system steel and armor. No holding back. It's like a medieval fight club, but sanctioned. And it's not just about swinging weapons around—it's about endurance, power and skills, like thinking under pressure."

John tilted his head, intrigued. "Alright. I gotta admit, I wasn't expecting 'medieval fight club' to be part of your plan, but it sounds kind of badass. What else?"

Atlas paused for a moment, the seriousness creeping back into his voice. "It's not just the fighting, John. It's about being prepared to survive in a world where everything is trying to kill you. We're talking a complete breakdown of society in a world far from Earth with no rules. The strong survive, the weak... they're the first to go. We need to be ready for that. Ready to protect the people we care about."

John stared at him, his expression growing more solemn. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Atlas nodded, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "You have no idea how serious. I've seen things, John. I've seen good people die because they weren't ready. I don't want that to happen to you. Or anyone else."

John set his beer down and crossed his arms. "Okay. I'm in. If you're right about this, we need to start now. You got a place to crash, and I'll get myself into fighting shape. But you'd better be ready to train me like hell, 'cause I'm not getting killed by some sci-fi monster."

Atlas let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thank you, man. You don't know how much it means that you're taking this seriously. We've got two years to turn ourselves into something that can survive whatever comes at us in the wasteland.

John gave a faint smile, the old confidence creeping back in. "Two years is more than enough time. And hell, maybe we'll even have a little fun along the way."

Atlas smiled, though his mind was still racing. *We'll need every second we have.*

John leaned back, looking out over the city. "You know, this reminds me of those late nights we used to have on the ice. Talking about life, the future, how we thought we'd have it all figured out by now. It's good to have you back, man. I missed this."

Atlas nodded, his hand running through his hair again, the weight of the world pressing on him. "I missed it too. And I missed having someone I can trust."

John raised his beer. "Here's to old friends, crazy plans, and surviving whatever the hell is coming our way."

Atlas clinked his bottle against John's, feeling a strange mix of hope and dread. "Here's to that."

***

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