The year was 3050. The world was a dystopian wasteland, ravaged by climate change, war, and poor life choices.
The Neo-Bunker, our beloved home, was a beacon of hope in this bleak future. A fortress of functionality, where the inhabitants could live in relative safety, if not comfort.
But even in our underground sanctuary, the memories of the past lingered. The remnants of a civilization that once thrived on the surface, before the great Collapse.
We spoke of the Surface, a mythic land of green skies and blue waters, where the air was clean and the food was free.
Some said it was a utopia, others a dystopia. But one thing was certain, the Surface was lost, and with it, our connection to the past.
And so, we built the Neo-Bunker, a monument to our resilience, a testament to our determination.
But, as we know, even the sturdiest of fortresses can crumble. The Neo-Bunker, once a symbol of hope, now stands as a reminder of our folly.
We, the Neo-Brutalists, are the inheritors of this legacy. A legacy of failure, of hubris, of neglect.
And yet, we hold on to it, because in the depths of our despair, there is a glimmer of hope.
Hope for a new beginning, a new Surface, a new chance at redemption.
Or maybe that's just the propaganda they feed us in the Neo-Bunker's mess hall.