The Richmond Survival Camp Museum was dead.
Landon Edenbaum sat behind his battered wooden desk, staring at the dim glow of a flickering desk lamp. His office—once a place of inspiration, filled with maps, old survival gear, and pictures of campers he had mentored—now felt like a tomb. A place where memories gathered dust, just like the outdated exhibits in the museum outside his door.
He ran a hand through his graying beard, sighing. His reflection in the window showed a man far removed from the enthusiastic camp director he once was. The adventurer, the teacher, the mentor—Mr. Geo.
Now? He was just Landon. A middle-aged nobody sitting in a dying museum.
And tomorrow, even that would be gone.
The news had come earlier that morning.
President Ronald Krump, somehow reelected despite nearly ending civilization five years earlier, had wasted no time in making another terrible decision.
His first executive order? Defund everything fun.
Landon had sat frozen in front of the museum’s tiny breakroom TV as Krump, a man who had once unleashed a full-blown zombie virus on the planet, grinned into the cameras like he had just solved world hunger.
"Folks, let’s be honest. Museums? Parks? Libraries? Waste of taxpayer money! We don’t need ‘em! You wanna learn? Go outside and read the side of a cereal box! It’s got words on it!"
Landon gripped his coffee mug as two malfunctioning security droids from Krump’s failed robot army initiative flanked him. One of them spontaneously combusted mid-speech. Krump didn’t even react.
"And listen, some people—bad people—keep saying, ‘Mr. President, maybe don’t defund all the schools and fun things.’ But I say, WRONG! We need to focus on the real threats, like space aliens, robot ghosts, and... uh... whatever China’s up to!"
Landon turned off the TV before he lost more brain cells.
Within hours, his job was gone. By next week, the museum doors would be permanently closed.
Landon exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing the old survival knife resting on his desk. He had carried it for years—through rain, snow, and countless nights under the stars. But what did it mean now?
Nothing. No camp. No job. No purpose.
For the first time, Landon truly felt lost.
The office smelled of old wood and dust as he packed his things.
Folders of archived camper reports, survival handbooks, old maps—all tossed into a worn leather bag.
His hands hesitated over a framed photo—a picture of him with Elliot, Claire, Jay, Rowan and Mia, all laughing around a campfire. Their young faces, full of excitement, looked up at him like he had all the answers.
"Tell us a story, Mr. Geo!" Jay had once begged.
"Yeah, tell us about the time you wrestled a chicken!" Mia had added.
"I didn’t wrestle a chicken," he had chuckled. "I startled one, tripped over a log, and rolled downhill until it lost interest. Huge difference."
He had been their guide, their teacher, their hero. But after the camp shut down, they had all moved on.
And he had let them.
"It’s been five years. They’ve forgotten about you."
Sighing, he placed the photo gently in his bag, then turned to the last cabinet in the room.
When he pulled the drawer open, he expected old files.
What he found instead was something else entirely.
Landon’s brows furrowed as he lifted the dust-covered parchment from the drawer. The edges were frayed and slightly burned, the paper aged beyond its years.
Slowly, carefully, he unrolled it. And his breath caught. The hand-drawn terrain, ancient symbols, and cryptic markings were unlike anything he had seen before.
At the bottom, written in deliberate, almost ceremonial script, were the words:
"Only the worthy shall find the Key."
A shiver ran down his spine. He recognized the handwriting. The notes scrawled along the edges—the sketches, the markings—they were written by one of the earliest explorers of the Richmond area.
And somehow, the map had ended up buried in his old desk.
Landon sat still for a long time, staring at the map.
For a moment, he hesitated.
He was too old. Too broken. What was he chasing? Some foolish idea of being important again?
But then he thought about what awaited him outside this museum—a life of irrelevance.
A world that no longer needed Mr. Geo.
"You always told those kids to find adventure," he muttered to himself. "Maybe it’s time you did too."
Landon tightened his grip on the map. He wasn’t ready to be forgotten.
With one last glance at his office, he extinguished the desk lamp, slung his bag over his shoulder, and stepped out into the unknown.