The sun rose on the east side, same as it always did. The cracking of the dry earth at first light was a clear indicator. Felt like a damn earthquake going off. A cacophony of sounds so loud it could make your ears bleed. Our night-city was the deepest, which is why we survived. Seventeen years ago a couple solar flares were the only warning we had before the sun’s intensity rose so high it began to literally bake the outer crust. The remaining population, a mere six percent. Surviving by living deep and embracing the night.