Vigdis stirred, the fog of unconsciousness slowly peeling away. The first thing she noticed was the quiet. Too quiet. Sir Patrick—her irritatingly talkative ghostly companion—was nowhere to be heard. Ever since he’d outed himself as a spectral nuisance, he’d made it a point to narrate every waking moment of her life, often in the most insufferable fashion.
But now? Silence. Her head felt oddly empty without his chatter.
The second thing she noticed was the blonde girl sitting on a bench across the room. Quiet and still, the girl seemed to blend into the sterile emptiness of the space. Vigdis squinted, trying to place her. It took a moment, but recognition crept in. This was the same girl who had opposed her outside the Bunker door.
The girl noticed her stirring. “I’m Jenny,” she said simply, her voice steady but cautious.
Vigdis didn’t respond right away. She groaned softly as she sat up, her muscles protesting. Every movement sent a dull ache through her bruised body, a familiar sensation she barely registered anymore. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises were constant companions in her line of work.
Jenny didn’t seem bothered by the lack of response. “We’re going to be stuck here for quite some time,” she said. “Might as well get to know each other.”
Vigdis finally turned her full attention to the girl. Something stirred in her memory. Wasn’t this the same stray she’d seen in Burgh, tagging along with Drennavar’s crew? She’d looked so out of place back then, her pristine uniform practically screaming “fresh meat.” But now… now, Jenny was different. Her once-spotless uniform was rugged and filthy, the white t-shirt turned a dull gray. Her eyes held no trace of the naïve, lost look Vigdis had seen before.
“Vigdis,” she said finally, her voice gruff as she stood. Her muscles groaned louder, protesting the movement, but she ignored them. She glanced around the room, her green eyes narrowing as she took in the empty space.
No visible bars. No walls. Nothing obvious to keep them contained. Well, that made things simple. Time to get out.
Without hesitation, Vigdis strode forward, testing the perimeter. Jenny’s eyes widened slightly, and she opened her mouth to speak.
“It’s an energy—”
Before Jenny could finish, Vigdis’s hand struck the invisible barrier. A sharp jolt of electricity surged through her body, forcing her to stumble back with a hiss of pain.
“…field,” Jenny finished dryly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
Vigdis shook off the lingering sting in her hand, glaring at the invisible wall. “Good to know,” she muttered, rolling her shoulders as if shrugging off the humiliation of the shock.
Jenny leaned back slightly on the bench, resting her hand on her lap. “I tried to warn you.”
Vigdis stood still for a moment, the sting of the shock forgotten as her surroundings sank in. Her outfit—a leather corset snugly hugging her curves, a rugged skirt that split for movement, and tall boots—stood out starkly against the sterile, high-tech interior of the Bunker cell. The soft glow of the energy field around her shimmered faintly, casting pale reflections off her bronzed skin. Every detail of the room screamed modernity and confinement, an alien contrast to her wasteland-forged image.
Jenny glanced at her and tilted her head. “Were you really going to fight us?”
Vigdis slowed her pacing, looking at Jenny with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “I guess. I should’ve.”
Jenny raised her eyebrows slightly. “So, who are you really?”
“I told you already,” Vigdis replied, her tone curt.
Jenny shook her head. “No, I mean, what do you do? I think I’ve seen you in Burgh.”
Vigdis hesitated, her green eyes flickering with a trace of thought before she answered. “I’m… I walk the wastes, kill monsters, raiders, and other vermin. Sometimes I get paid; other times it’s kill or be killed.”
Jenny’s lips curled into a small, unexpected smile. “Huh. Like a sheriff.”
Vigdis frowned, puzzled. “The what now?”
Jenny’s smile widened slightly, her tone almost wistful. “I’ve read some stories about the old world. When rulers couldn’t keep peace and justice, there were people who took the job themselves.”
Vigdis kept pacing back and forth within the cell, her movements restless and prowling, like a caged lioness. She wasn’t a stranger to cells, but nothing so annoyingly glum as invisible walls that teased her with their lack of substance. Each turn she made brought her closer to Jenny, then away again, her boots clinking faintly on the metallic floor.
Jenny stayed quiet for some time, lost in her own thoughts, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the energy field.
On yet another turn of her pacing, Vigdis’s sharp green eyes caught on the harness strapped across Jenny’s shoulder and chest—and the clear absence of her right arm.
“What happened?” Vigdis asked, her voice blunt.
Jenny’s head jerked up, startled from her thoughts. “Uh… stupidity,” she said after a moment. “Cannibals started it. Then… Reed finished the job.”
Vigdis raised an eyebrow, her lips twisting in a faint sneer. “What a nice friend.”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” Jenny said quickly, shaking her head. “It couldn’t be helped. He… saved my life.”
Vigdis’s expression softened, her gaze distant. “Huh. I had the pleasure of clearing out one of their caves… or camps, or whatever they call it.”
Jenny blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Then her voice came, a mix of fear, awe, and admiration. “Wait a minute… that was you?”
Vigdis shrugged lightly, her hands brushing absently against the sides of her corset. “It was a job.”
Jenny’s gaze sharpened, her voice rising in disbelief. “You call that a job?! I guess it’s a good thing we haven’t actually fought.”
Vigdis crossed her arms, her weight shifting to one side as she stood just shy of the shimmering energy field, her expression unreadable. “I thought you’d be grateful, at least, for knowing that whoever did that”—she gestured subtly toward Jenny’s missing arm—“got what they deserved.”
Jenny’s gaze hardened, a flicker of anger breaking through her unease. “Oh, I am... I guess. But we’ve seen the massacre you left behind. That was definitely more than just checking off your task. That was someone who enjoyed whatever they do.”
Vigdis tilted her head, a faint smirk curling her lips. “Is it so bad to enjoy bringing pain to those who bring pain to others?”
Her words lingered in the air, and the tension between them thickened. Jenny’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t immediately respond, her mind caught between grudging admiration and unease.
----------------------------------------
Jenny opened her mouth for a retort, but a sudden noise from the corridor caught both their attention. The faint murmur of voices grew louder, accompanied by the measured clunk of boots on metal. The two women turned toward the sound as a small group came into view.
Leading the way was a child—barely ten years old by his appearance—with blonde hair that glowed under the sterile lights and piercing blue eyes that seemed unnaturally vibrant. His angelic features made him look like a porcelain doll, a stark contrast to the two guards who flanked him. Their uniforms lacked the sleek design of the soldiers outside, instead resembling makeshift security gear, practical but unremarkable.
The boy’s gaze swept over them both, pausing on Vigdis with a glint in his eye that sent a chill down her spine. His stare lingered too long, his expression betraying a hunger far beyond his youthful appearance. The effect was jarring—his cherubic face twisted by something dark and unsettling.
When he turned his attention to Jenny, his voice came, smooth and unnervingly mature. “My father will see you now, traitor.” Then, with a slow, deliberate glance back at Vigdis, he added, “And you must be the specimen. Can’t wait to analyze you.”
His tone didn’t match his youthful frame, dripping with a cold amusement that seemed designed to unnerve. His eyes roamed over Vigdis’s powerful frame with a mix of curiosity and something more—something predatory. “Future rulers have to know what they’re going to rule over, haven’t they?”
Vigdis straightened, her hands balling into fists. The boy’s words were laced with menace, but the incongruity of his voice and demeanor sent her instincts into overdrive. This was no ordinary child, and the way he scrutinized her made her skin crawl.
Jenny, for her part, was frozen. The boy’s address had stunned her into silence, her thoughts racing as she tried to parse his words. “Traitor?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with disbelief and fear.
The boy said nothing more, only gestured sharply to the guards, who stepped forward with an air of rehearsed precision. The contrast between their dull uniforms and the boy’s chilling presence was stark, but neither woman had time to dwell on it.
The guards stepped forward, unlocking Jenny’s cell with sharp, practiced movements. Jenny shuffled out, her steps awkward and smaller than usual due to the chains around her feet. She threw a quick glance at Vigdis, but the taller woman simply raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable.
The guards’ eyes flicked toward the boy as if asking, Are you coming? He paused, glancing back at them with a smirk that practically screamed, I’m in charge here, and I’ll do what I want. One of the guards’ shoulders sagged slightly, the only visible sign of their exasperation, but they said nothing. The unspoken exchange was subtle, yet clear—a silent hierarchy at play.
As Jenny was led down the corridor, the boy lingered near Vigdis’ cell, his smug demeanor shifting slightly now that the guards were out of immediate earshot. Without their presence forcing him to maintain an air of maturity, he stepped closer to the invisible barrier, his pale blue eyes sparkling with that unnerving hunger. Standing at a height where his eyes barely reached Vigdis’ belly button, he grinned, his youthful voice dripping with a twisted glee. “Oh, the games I have planned with you. Just you wait.”
Vigdis regarded him with a mixture of disdain and curiosity, her towering frame casting a long shadow over the boy’s diminutive one. He seemed utterly unbothered by her size, leaning as close to the barrier as he dared. For a moment, she considered her options, then an idea struck.
“Hey, kid,” she called, her tone casual but calculated. “I need my axe.”
The boy blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. His face contorted into the perfect expression of flabbergasted indignation, as though he’d never encountered such audacity. “Specimen!” he spat, his voice pitching higher in childish outrage. “Are you confused about where you are? Do you expect to be dined and served here?!”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Vigdis shrugged nonchalantly, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Whatever, kid. I get where I am. I’m not asking for a weapon to escape. Its presence just... helps me think. Tell your lackeys to put it over there.” She gestured lazily toward the empty cell opposite hers. “You trust your fancy fields to keep me in, right? No harm done.”
His cheeks flushed slightly at the word “lackeys,” his composure cracking just enough to reveal the spoiled brat lurking beneath the carefully constructed facade. “Fine,” he snapped, his tone petulant. “A ruler should be benevolent to his subjects.”
With a huff, he turned on his heel and strode away, barking a curt order to one of the guards as he passed. Vigdis leaned back against the wall, watching him retreat with narrowed eyes, her thoughts darkening. The surreal exchange had left her with a sour taste in her mouth, and as she replayed the encounter, her moral dilemma loomed larger.
If that’s what the children are like here... maybe sealing this place off from the rest of the world isn’t such a bad idea after all.
Jenny’s feet shuffled slightly against the floor as she followed the guards, their measured pace leading her through a series of rooms and halls. The corridors twisted and turned, opening into stairways that seemed to climb endlessly upward before descending again. The layout of Bunker 4 was both foreign and unnervingly familiar. Though she’d grown up in a similar structure, this place felt wrong, its design an echo of what she knew, warped by unfamiliar hands.
Her initial disorientation from when she’d first been brought in began to settle. During her time in the cell, before Vigdis had regained consciousness, Jenny had combed through her memories and observations, trying to piece together what she’d seen. The people here—those fleeting figures she’d passed in the corridors—had stood out immediately. Their clothes and cleansing shards marked them as wasteland survivors, yet their presence alongside the clean uniforms of Bunker residents didn’t fit.
Trade, she thought again. It had to be. The dwellers of Bunker 4 had opened some kind of trade with the topside. But why the secrecy? If it were a fully open arrangement, it wouldn’t be a hidden operation. Traders would know; whispers of such an exchange would have spread far and wide. Yet, the existence of Bunker 4, its name and location, had been completely unknown outside its walls.
Her mind turned over the implications, the questions she’d been suppressing rising again. What’s the catch? Why are there wasteland survivors here, blending in but never fully fitting? And then the answer began to take shape as she paid closer attention. Even with the mix of scavenged clothes and cleansing shards exchanged among the residents, the structure of the population remained the same.
White faces. All of them.
She thought back to her Bunker, her childhood lessons, and the subtle ways power and control had been wielded. No “Lauras” or “Chans” here. No faces that didn’t fit into the mold. It clicked into place, a suspicion dark and bitter: They’re selecting who they let in.
The train of thought consumed her, sharpening and unraveling her understanding of the Bunker’s twisted ecosystem. Before she could dig deeper, the guards stopped abruptly, jolting her back to the present. Jenny glanced around, her breath catching as she recognized the room before her.
The Overseer’s office.
Its layout was achingly similar to the one in her own Bunker, but the small differences made it feel alien. The polished steel desk, the sterile lighting, and the massive display screen dominating the far wall were all the same, yet the air carried a different weight. The guard at her side gestured for her to enter, his hand resting lightly on the doorframe as if to remind her there was no turning back now.
The man behind the desk doesn’t look up immediately. His fingers glide over a sleek touchpad, the faint hum of scrolling data filling the air. His brow furrows with the intensity of someone immersed in a critical task—or pretending to be. The performance lingers just long enough for Jenny to catch on. He isn’t that busy.
It’s the same man she saw during the entrance confrontation, the one who loomed with quiet authority as others carried out his commands. Up close, his air of superiority is even more palpable, radiating from the meticulous cut of his suit to the calculated indifference in his posture.
When he finally acknowledges her, it’s with the kind of detached scrutiny one might afford an unusual insect. He gestures toward the chair opposite his desk—a smooth, manufactured motion that speaks of a man accustomed to obedience.
Jenny doesn’t move. Her arm hangs at her side, the harness across her torso pulling taut as she shifts her weight. Her posture remains unyielding. "I’ll stand," she says, her voice cool but steady.
Abernathy shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "Suit yourself," he replies, his tone as smooth as the polished steel surrounding them. He steeples his fingers, studying her with a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. "I’m Silas Abernathy," he begins, his words tinged with a familiarity Jenny doesn’t return. "But of course, you might remember me from your younger days."
His emphasis on "remember" feels deliberate, almost like a taunt, but Jenny remains silent, her expression impassive.
The door stood ajar, the boy from before stepping through with deliberate confidence. Jenny recognized him instantly, her jaw tightening ever so slightly as his piercing blue eyes swept the room before landing on her.
Abernathy’s smile widened slightly as he gestured toward the boy. "And I believe you’ve already met my son, Elliot."
Jenny’s eyes flicked to the child, her expression unchanging. "Briefly," she said, her voice clipped.
Elliot’s smile mirrored his father’s, a calculated mimicry of charm that didn’t quite mask the glint of malice in his pale blue eyes. "I made sure of that," he said lightly, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction. "I like to know who we’re dealing with."
Silas’s gaze lingered on his son for a moment longer before he straightened in his chair. "Elliot, I believe your presence is no longer required," he said, his tone still calm but leaving no room for argument.
Elliot’s expression flickered, annoyance crossing his face briefly before he masked it with his practiced smile. "As you wish, Father," he replied, bowing his head slightly. His piercing gaze turned back to Jenny. "Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other better later."
Jenny said nothing, her unreadable expression fixed on him until he turned and strode out, his movements deliberate and unnervingly poised for someone so young.
Silas glanced toward the guards at the door. "That goes for you as well. Leave us." His tone was clipped, the authority behind it absolute.
The guards hesitated only briefly before stepping out, the heavy door closing behind them with a faint thud. The office was silent now, the oppressive quiet broken only by the faint hum of the machinery lining the walls.
Silas leaned back in his chair again, steepling his fingers as he studied Jenny. "There. Now we can speak freely," he said, his voice almost warm, though his eyes betrayed a colder calculation.
Jenny stood still, her gaze locked onto him. "You’ve got a lot to say, it seems," she said, her tone steady despite the fatigue in her voice.
Silas smiled faintly, nodding. "I imagine you have questions. But first, let’s establish some context. You see, for centuries, the goal of this Bunker network was simple: to preserve a specific way of life. A type of people. Whatever chaos unfolded topside wasn’t our concern. Our focus was survival—controlled, isolated survival."
He paused, watching her carefully, but Jenny gave no reaction, her expression blank. Encouraged, he continued.
"The network was meant to avoid... complications. Inbreeding, resource scarcity, the usual issues that come with prolonged isolation. Communication and controlled exchanges between Bunkers ensured we remained self-sufficient while maintaining our purpose."
Jenny’s brow furrowed slightly. "And what was that purpose exactly?" she asked, her voice quiet but pointed.
Silas’s smile thinned. "To preserve what was worth preserving," he said cryptically. "A society built on order, purity, and resilience. The world outside was always destined to burn itself out, but we would endure."
Jenny’s eyes narrowed. "A society built for who?"
He ignored the question, continuing. "At some point, the Bunkers began falling silent. One by one, connections were lost. The reasons were unclear at first. Natural disasters, uprisings, sabotage—every possibility was considered. Bunker 4 sent a reconnaissance expedition. What they discovered was... grim." He leaned forward slightly, his tone darkening. "The other Bunkers were gone. Destroyed, ransacked, abandoned. Whatever had happened, it was clear we were next."
Jenny crossed her arms, her harness creaking slightly as she shifted her weight. "So you cut yourselves off," she said. It wasn’t a question.
Silas nodded. "Precisely. It was my decision to sever communication. If whoever or whatever was responsible for the others believed we had already fallen, we would be spared."
Jenny’s eyes flicked down briefly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That much tracks. But my Bunker... they knew about this? About what you did?"
Silas chuckled softly, leaning back again. "Oh, of course they knew. It was all part of the plan. But here’s the truth your Bunker likely doesn’t admit, even to themselves: they chose the coward’s path. They decided isolation was preferable to evolution. They clung to the old rules, even as the world around them reawakened."
He paused, his gaze drifting briefly to the polished surface of the desk before returning to her. "When we sent out our expeditions, we discovered more than just the wreckage of other Bunkers. We found survivors—topsiders who had scraped and clawed their way through the ashes. People who had no idea what we represented… yet were willing to embrace it. All it took was the promise of safety, of comfort. You’d be amazed how quickly ideology spreads when paired with survival."
Jenny’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her eyes fixed on him.
Silas’s tone shifted slightly, the faintest edge of bitterness creeping in. "Your father, Arthur Briggs, was many things, but visionary wasn’t one of them. A stubborn quartermaster clinging to an obsolete mandate, that we remain separate. Isolated. That we let the rest of the world rot while we sat comfortably in our little cages."
He leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto hers. "But tell me, Genevieve—what good is survival if it leads to nothing? If we can endure, shouldn’t we also teach? Spread our ideals? Reshape what’s left of the world into something better?"
Silas smiled faintly, tilting his head as though studying her reaction. "And while your Bunker clung to isolation, afraid of what contact might bring, we realized something important: the world doesn’t need another hidden haven. It needs leaders. Teachers. Those who can rebuild it in the image of what was lost—and make it better."
Jenny shook her head slightly, a faint, tired smirk tugging at her lips. "So that’s what this is about. You wanted to be king of the ashes."
Silas’s smile returned, cold and deliberate. "King, teacher, savior—call it what you will. But your father disagreed. And that, my dear Genevieve, is where we are now."
Silas leaned back in his chair, his voice smooth and deliberate, each word carefully chosen to land with weight. "You see, Genevieve, this isn’t just about survival. It’s about purpose. Meaning. What is survival worth without it? Your Bunker, your father… they’ve lost sight of that. Their world is shrinking, their ideals rotting away in isolation."
Jenny stood stiff, her arm hanging at her side, the weight of her harness a dull pressure against her chest. She didn’t interrupt. She couldn’t. The words grated on her, but part of her couldn’t deny their pull. There was truth in what he said, twisted though it felt.
Silas rose from his chair, stepping around the desk with a measured grace. He gestured toward the massive screen behind him, where images flickered—maps, diagrams, faces of people she didn’t recognize but who looked cleaner, healthier, and somehow more alive than anyone she’d seen topside.
"We’ve built something here," he continued, his tone deepening with conviction. "Something the world desperately needs. Not just survival, but direction. Order. Unity." He turned to her, his sharp gaze pinning her in place. "You’ve already seen what lies outside. Chaos, cruelty, desperation. Wouldn’t you agree they need a guiding hand? Someone to lift them out of the ashes?"
Jenny hesitated, her jaw tightening. "And you think you’re that someone?"
Silas’s smile was faint but confident. "We are. But there’s only so much we can do from behind these walls. That’s where you come in."
Her breath hitched. "What are you saying?"
"You’ve already bridged the divide, whether you intended to or not," he said, his voice dropping to something almost like reverence. "You’ve walked among them. You’ve made connections. Proved your worth. Now, I’m offering you a chance to do more."
Jenny’s chest tightened. She’d grown up with rules, schedules, and walls—the rigid confines of a life that was meant to preserve but never inspire. And now here he was, laying this out like some grand destiny, a purpose greater than herself. His words were crafted like the bars of a new cage, but they gleamed brighter than the ones she’d left behind.
But hadn’t her father twisted the truth too?
"And if I say no?" she asked, her voice low but steady.
Silas’s expression didn’t waver. "You’re free to leave. Go back to your father, your Bunker. Tell them what you’ve learned here—if they’ll even let you speak. But you know as well as I do what awaits you there. Judgment. Suspicion. You’ve made mistakes, Genevieve. Costly ones. They don’t forgive failure, and they certainly don’t trust those who bring trouble to their door. Do you really think they’ll let you live after this?"
Her stomach churned, but she didn’t falter. "And if I say yes?"
"Then you’ll be something greater than you ever imagined," Silas said, stepping closer. "A representative. A bridge between our world and theirs. You’ve already started down that path. This is simply the next step."
Jenny’s silence stretched between them, the weight of his words settling into her bones. She thought of Vigdis, of Reed, of the people she’d met topside—the ones who’d fought and bled and died just to make it one more day. They deserved better. But was this better?
Silas watched her carefully, his eyes gleaming with something almost paternal. "Two paths lie before you, Genevieve. One leads to stagnation, the other to progress. I trust you’ll make the right choice."
Jenny’s lips tightened, her voice sharp. "And Vigdis? What happens to her?"
Silas’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked amused by the question. "Your towering companion? Oh, she’ll be fine. Elliot has taken a keen interest in her."
Jenny stiffened, her grey eyes narrowing. "What does that mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like," Silas replied smoothly, as if discussing the weather. "Elliot enjoys… challenges. I suspect he’ll want to test her resilience, her skills. Perhaps even her spirit. A fascinating specimen, don’t you think?"
Jenny’s stomach churned, but she kept her voice steady. "And when he’s done?"
Silas spread his hands in mock benevolence. "Of course, she’ll be free to go. We’re not monsters, Genevieve."
Jenny’s didn’t believe him for a second, but she also knew she wasn’t in a position to argue. For now, she’d have to focus on her own escape.
Jenny closed her eyes briefly, her thoughts a storm of doubt and guilt. When she opened them again, her voice was quiet but firm. "Fine. I’ll do it."
Silas smiled, victorious but not smug. "You won’t regret this."
Jenny wasn’t so sure.