Dust blew in from the outside, to the inside of the bar. After the war, the dust rains were a regular occurrence. After the Singularity, the one moment where the nukes destroyed anyone and everything not above ground, barely anything of the old civilization stood. No monoliths of a pre-war era. He sat in a rebuilt bar, sipping on mildly irradiated whiskey, smoking a mildly irradiated cigar. He had a task. Being a courier, he always did. He had to deliver an item from one client to another, and he was not to question what it was. All he knew was the client lived on the coast, and planned to sail out, find "Sanctuary" or whatever the acolytes decided to call it. But one thing was, those who sailed out, never came back. It might have been something in the water.