For all the fear nuclear weapons instil - we know little of their actual effect.
Testing can reveal explosive yield, and the dispersion of radioactive isotopes: but the
impact of nuclear war on society remains largely unknown.
'Duck and Cover' was the best advice on offer to civilians during the 1950s - there's not
much else to be done in the face of a surprise attack.
Safe to say the aftermath wouldn't be pretty: scorched flesh and demolished homes; but what
about those who survive?
Could society rebuild?
And if so, what would life be like after the apocalypse?
The first step towards survival is a well-stocked fallout shelter: an insurance policy for the
American Dream.
A sturdy refuge underground will bear the brunt of an explosion, and also provide a
place to live until it's safe to emerge.
Fallout is perhaps the best-loved series of games set in the post-apocalypse, and their
underground vaults underpin the story.
The smiling face of Vault Boy sells Vault-Tec's altruistic goal: to save humanity in the case
of nuclear war.
However, their true purpose is altogether more sinister: the vaults serve as an experiment
on their human subjects, unbound by ethics and with scant regard for safety.
Nevertheless, life in the vault is as comfortable as it gets for many - but the warm confinement
of the womb is no place to stay.
A rebirth is inevitable: an emergence; a dream, shattered - a world, transformed.
The death toll, if it were able to be measured, would rank in the millions: beyond the realm
of tragedy, instead a grim statistic.
In nuclear strategy, a million deaths are rolled into a rather sinister concept - 'Megadeath'.
A post-war vision of tactics not designed to avert destruction, only to mitigate it.
Earth left scorched by scores of artificial suns, robbed of its warmth by a gyre of radioactive
ash.
The onset of a nuclear winter: a world left cold - dead.
This resultant wasteland is the stage for the post-apocalypse.
Few could survive: between searing light, toxic pollution and the resultant chaos - life
on earth would be all but annihilated.
Mass extinction, the destruction of agriculture - the collapse of ecosystems and the entire
planet left barren.
Upon emerging in such a world, the living might envy the dead.
It's no surprise that nuclear weapons are so feared - the destruction they could wreak
is the stuff of nightmares.
However, the secondary radioactive consequences are more insidious: capable of invisibly destroying
life from the inside-out.
Nuclear material is dispersed by atomic detonation into the upper atmosphere, where the fine
particles can be carried for thousands of miles by atmospheric currents before falling
to earth.
Nuclear fallout can contaminate entire continents with poisonous isotopes, and exposure can
lead to radiation sickness, cancer - and death .
The power of the atom has some lingering side-effects - not to mention terrible PR.
Nuclear power was once the herald of a new Atomic age - but between bombs and fallout,
it was never going to have it easy in the public eye.
Accidents such as the Chernobyl disaster in 1986 were the final control rod in the sarcophagus,
with a catastrophic meltdown irradiating millions, resulting in countless cancer cases and directly
costing the lives of at least 31 during the clean-up operation.
It is the single most severe accident in the history of atomic power, soured the public
perception of the entire nuclear industry for generations to come - and rendered a parcel
of land with a radius of 30 kilometres unusable for the next 20,000 years.
Notably, the S.T.A.L.K.E.R.
series is set in the zone surrounding the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant: a territory
torn by radioactive emission and strange anomalies.
This setting builds the game's atmosphere: unrelentingly hostile, bleak, fractured: devoid
of comfort, save for a few trading boltholes, and nomadic bands of stalkers drinking vodka
round a camp-fire.
Its story drives you closer to the heart of the zone, where the threat level multiplies
exponentially - bands of soldiers, grotesque mutants, and some truly terrifying hazards
that can't be seen with the naked eye.
The depiction of an invisible radioactive threat can be quite difficult: its effects
are not immediate, and its appearance not distinctive.
Dangerous material is sometimes marked with bright colour and an ominous shine - green
like a radium glow, the bright hues of yellowcake, or an otherworldly blue seen in Cherenkov
radiation.
Other times it's a more subtle, unsettling effect - static-like noise, a clinging fog,
or blurred vision.
Audio cues are less variable, and somewhat more realistic: the soft clicking of a geiger
counter marking discrete ionisation, with the pace picking up the closer you get to
a radioactive source.
However it's indicated, the gameplay mechanics behind radiation mirror that of real life:
bad things will happen if you suffer too much exposure, so it's generally wise to move on
as quickly as possible.
Such is the nature of a nuclear wasteland: a hazardous place pock-marked with poisonous
scars.
And yet - the environment represents only a fraction of the danger.
For the denizens of the wasteland, survival means scavenging: picking clean civilisation's
corpse.
A new frontier: a desperate world with scant relief, fertile only for humanity's worst
traits.
From this crucible emerges a polarised morality: those seeking to rebuild versus chaotic agents
of destruction.
This dichotomy is the plot basis of Steven King's 'The Stand', but an exploration of
righteousness and virtue is a common theme in post-apocalyptic fiction.
A mirror for the biblical idea of the end times: the last judgement - the world on the
brink between salvation and damnation - culminating in a final battle of good versus evil.
Life in the wasteland is tough; homesteads there are normally ramshackle, rough-hewn
abodes cast together from salvaged materials.
Clustered settlements form around natural resources, or easily defensible positions
- built in a fashion aping former civilisation: with shops, clinics, bars.
A cruel pastiche of the old world, built on its bones.
Still, there remains a will to rebuild society - and the desire to restore some aspect of
civilisation is often the driving force behind a story.
Water, electricity, food, weapons - all such commodities command a high price: but come
with commensurate risk.
As a new society emerges, so too does the need to defend it - assemble a shining city,
and jealous eyes will look on from the wilderness.
Man's tribal nature is not so easily tamed.
As new settlements are built and groups coalesce, factions unite under banners and ideals.
Some seek the glory of the old world; others wish to forge a new empire; some simply revel
in chaos.
With the veneer of civilisation stripped away, there is a regression to a more primal state:
but this new dawn is destined for an all-too familiar sunset.
So it goes.
Wandering a world in ruin is a deadly pursuit: A lonesome road, a journey.
Mad Max is what happens when a road movie meets the end of the world: A ribbon of asphalt
torn through a desolate land.
Its traversal mirrors the hardships faced in the story, the distance travelled a reflection
of a changed protagonist.
The perfect avenue for a post-apocalytic tale - the wasteland is an anvil for heroes to
be forged.
For a subject so dark, apocalyptic fiction seems surprisingly popular.
What's the appeal in the end times?
Is there a dark desire in us to see our own destruction?
An end to all our problems - or perhaps just a wish for a new beginning.
Any game that explores Armageddon has to take a few liberties with reality, but gently bending
world events to fit fiction can paint a more believable back-story.
Like slipping into another dimension, an alternate history can help explain a terrifying outcomes.
'What if the Nazis developed nuclear weapons first?'
'What if North Korea invaded America?'
Exploring these questions results in a radically different world - but one familiar, real:
but for the grace of fate.
Not every apocalypse is brought about by nuclear weapons: but when faced with a destroyed world,
the details rarely matter.
Sometimes it's a bacteria, a virus or voodoo curse - zombies are a common theme which lead
to similar circumstances: the collapse of society, and a resultant struggle for survival.
Invariably set amidst urban decay: ruined buildings ransacked for supplies, tribal bands
of survivors wary of outsiders - and the sustained gnawing of a shambling threat.
The walking dead are the destruction of humanity made manifest, a reminder of a selfish hunger
in the hearts of all men.
Similar themes of world destruction turn up in science fiction, normally where a thinly-veiled
super weapon serves as an analogue to the atom bomb.
In Gears of War, we see the ruins of a human colony, torn asunder by orbital weapons: cities
of ash that while familiar, belong to another solar system.
The massive scale of space can magnify consequence: nukes threaten destruction on a planetary
scale, but the reapers from Mass Effect have galactic consequences.
Old mistakes in a new world: a look to the future can cast a new light on the past.
The end of the world makes for a great story.
True, there are few happy endings - but when you start in the midst of hell, what hope
could there be?
Even when faced with the greatest testament to our sins:
Man's nature will never yield.
Destroy the world -
and we'll rebuild just to do it again.
It's kind of funny when you think about it:
Gallows humour -
with all our necks on the line.
Coming up in part five: a resolution, of sorts; the fall of a wall, and a curtain close.
Until then, farewell.