"Explain to me how torturing Vigdis was supposed to 'help,' and try not to choke on your excuses."
Jenny sat, her left hand tracing sharp, restless arcs in the air as she spoke, her constant movements catching Doug’s eye. He paused mid-wrap, giving her a pointed look. “Sit still, Ms.Briggs. You’re making me dizzy.”
Her words cut through the sterile air of the medical bay like a whip. Across from her, Doug Ross sat on a stool beside her, carefully re-bandaging the stump of her shoulder, his calm demeanor only fueling her frustration. As he worked, he glanced up occasionally, his voice steady as he answered Jenny’s accusations.
“What the hell was the point” Jenny snapped. “Elliot nearly killed her. For what? To satisfy some twisted curiosity?” She gestured sharply as she spoke, her frustration spilling over into her movements, her voice rising with each word. “She’s not your lab rat.”
Doug exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering to the chart he’d been updating before returning to Jenny. “I’m not defending him,” he said evenly. “What Elliot did was unnecessary. Redundant. The tests he ran on her? We already had that data. Everything he put her through was cruelty dressed as science. And I told him that.”
Jenny’s movements stilled for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “Then why didn’t you stop him?”
Doug rubbed the back of his neck, his awkwardness slipping through his usual composure. “Because Elliot isn’t just some overindulged kid. He’s the Overseer’s son. And that means he gets away with more than he should.” He hesitated, then added, “But this isn’t about Elliot.”
Jenny’s voice was sharp, biting. “Something like this would never be allowed in my Bunker. Never.”
Doug stepped forward, his voice softening. “Ms.Briggs. I’m not saying what happened to that wastelander woman was right. But if you want to understand us—really understand us—you need to see the bigger picture.”
Jenny’s hand twitched, her eyes narrowing. “Go on,” she said warily.
Doug’s voice took on a steadier tone, his words deliberate. “The Bunker 4 isn’t just about survival. It’s about control. Order. Out there,” he gestured vaguely toward the world beyond the walls, “survival is chaos. People scrape by, passing their weaknesses to the next generation, losing a little more of what makes them human every day. In here, we preserve what matters. We don’t just survive—we endure.”
Jenny’s lips curled into a sneer. “And by ‘what matters,’ you mean people like you. Clean. Controlled. Untouched by the wasteland.”
Doug’s expression didn’t change, though a flicker of discomfort crossed his features. “It’s not only about race. It’s about worth. About protecting a way of life that can rebuild the world, not just cling to its scraps.”
Jenny’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You don’t even hear yourself, do you?”
Doug hesitated, then sighed. “You can call it elitism, racism, whatever you want. But the truth is, the wasteland doesn’t have a future. Not the way it is now. Out there, survival turns people into something less than human. In here, we’re trying to keep humanity intact.”
Jenny stared at him, her breath shallow, her jaw tight. “And Vigdis? She’s not human enough for you?”
Doug’s gaze softened. “She’s... remarkable. No one’s denying that. But she’s not one of us. And she never will be. She’s a reminder of what the wasteland does to people. That’s why she matters—because she shows us what we’re fighting to avoid becoming.”
Jenny leaned back in her chair, her hand curling into a fist. “You almost make it sound reasonable,” she muttered.
Doug’s voice softened further, almost pleading. “Ms.Briggs, I’m not your enemy. And neither is the Bunker 4. But you have to decide where you stand. You’ve seen the wasteland. You know what’s out there. Do you really think we can survive by lowering ourselves to their level?”
The room fell into silence, broken only by the faint hum of medical equipment and the steady rise and fall of Vigdis’s chest. Jenny’s gaze drifted to the floor, her thoughts churning.
Doug finished securing the bandages on her shoulder, his movements precise yet gentle. He stepped back, his posture relaxing slightly as he regarded her with a quiet intensity. “Think about it,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “And let me know if you need anything.”
He turned and left the room, the door hissing shut behind him. Jenny sat still, her fist unclenching slowly, her thoughts churning in the silence of the medical bay.
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Vigdis stirred to life slowly, the world returning in fractured pieces. The steady beeping of a heart monitor cut through the haze first, followed by the sterile hum of fluorescent lights. The air smelled of disinfectant and something faintly metallic—blood, hers most likely. Her eyes cracked open to meet the white ceiling above her, smooth and featureless, a stark contrast to the chaos she’d left behind.
She sat up sharply, her muscles tensing in protest, the thin hospital gown she wore rustling awkwardly against her skin. The fabric clung uncomfortably, light enough to feel exposed but heavy enough to remind her she wasn’t wearing her own clothes. The movement sent a pang through her ribs and shoulders, but it was distant, muted, as if her body hadn’t quite decided if it was pain or just the ghost of it.
Before she could take stock of herself further, the door slid open with a faint hiss. Dr. Doug Ross entered, his tall frame and sharp features outlined by the stark lighting of the room. He carried a clipboard, though he didn’t seem to glance at it much as he approached.
“You’re awake,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone neither warm nor cold, but something in the middle. Clinical. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of surprise—though whether at her awakening or something else, she couldn’t tell.
Vigdis met his gaze with a sharp glare, leaning back slightly on the gurney as though daring him to speak first. Her voice came rough and low, her words like gravel grinding between her teeth. “Who the hell are you?”
Dr. Ross raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the challenge. “Your doctor,” he replied simply, stepping closer to the monitor by her bedside. His tone was clipped, professional, though the faintest flicker of irritation crossed his features. “You’re healing faster than anyone I’ve treated—faster than you should. Frankly, I don’t like mysteries like this.”
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She shifted, her muscles coiling with instinctive tension, eyes scanning the sterile room for hidden dangers. “Is this a trick?” she demanded, her voice edged with suspicion. “Another one of your goddamn tests?”
Ross made a noncommittal noise and stepped closer, scanning the monitors hooked to her. His movements were brisk but precise, his attention flicking between the screens and her face, as though searching for clues. “We had to do some improvisation to patch you up. It wasn’t pretty, but you’re stable. No infection, minimal scarring expected. And yet…” His voice trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly.
She stared at him, her green eyes narrowing in the heavy silence, waiting for him to continue.
“And yet it’s like your body’s on overdrive,” he said, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Cells regenerating faster, tissue knitting itself together like it’s been in training for this. It’s remarkable, but it doesn’t make sense.”
Vigdis shrugged lightly, though the motion pulled at her shoulder. “I’m just built tough.”
Ross didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched as if he might. “Built tough. Sure. Let’s go with that for now.”
Before she could respond, he turned and headed for the door. “We’ll monitor you for a bit longer, but you’ll probably be up and ready for the expedition sooner than later. Try not to punch anyone in the meantime. Rest.” He paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “And maybe think about what exactly makes you so tough.”
The door closed with a soft hiss behind him, leaving Vigdis alone in the sterile silence. She let herself sink back against the gurney, exhaling sharply. The beeping of the heart monitor resumed its rhythm, steady and unyielding.
“Built tough,” she muttered to herself, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. Something like that.”
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Jenny had been walking for a while, letting her feet take her wherever the maze of corridors led. It wasn’t an escape—she’d made that decision already—but it was a way to think without being dragged into another meeting, another promise wrapped in chains. Silas liked his deals clean, his smile warm, but Jenny knew when a leash was being tightened.
She turned a corner, the faint hum of machinery fading into something softer: voices. Laughter, even. It caught her off guard. For days, all she’d seen of this place were guards, scientists, and rooms that felt as sterile as they smelled. But now the corridor opened into a wide, low-ceilinged space lined with long tables and cushioned booths. A diner.
The air was warmer here, carrying the faint aroma of roasted vegetables and something spiced—not quite meat, but close enough. The lighting was softer too, less clinical, with glowing panels casting a warm yellow hue over the room. It felt... normal.
Jenny stepped inside cautiously, scanning the room. No one looked up. Families sat together at the tables, their conversations low but relaxed. A woman in a white uniform bustled behind a counter, pouring steaming liquid into ceramic mugs. Children darted between the booths, their giggles blending with the clatter of utensils.
For a moment, Jenny froze. This wasn’t what she’d expected.
Jenny wandered deeper into the room, letting her eyes drift over the people. They were pale, all of them. Blond hair, fair skin, a few redheads here and there, but not a single face that didn’t fit the same mold. It was subtle, but once she noticed, she couldn’t stop noticing.
The families were picture-perfect, too. Parents sat with their children, leaning close to share bites of food or whisper some inside joke. A group of older kids huddled in a corner booth, their heads bent over what looked like an old board game. Their laughter came in bursts, bright and unrestrained.
It was... nice. Too nice. Her stomach twisted as she tried to find the flaw in it, the crack in this carefully painted scene.
And then she saw the posters.
The first was subtle, almost hidden by the menu board above the counter. It showed a smiling woman, her arms outstretched as she stood in a field of green. The words beneath her read, “Clean Genes, Clean Future.”
Another hung near the far wall, a group of children standing shoulder to shoulder, all of them blond and freckled, their hands raised in a triumphant salute. “The Future Lives Here.”
Jenny’s breath caught as her eyes moved to the largest poster, stretched across an entire panel of the wall. It was a stark black-and-white image: the silhouette of a wastelander—deformed, hunched, monstrous—staring up at the gates of the Bunker. Above the figure, bold letters declared, “The Wasteland Consumes. The Bunker Endures.”
Jenny moved to the counter, more to steady herself than anything else. The woman behind it glanced up and smiled, her face lined with the kind of tired warmth that spoke of years spent serving others.
“What can I get you, hon?” she asked, her tone casual.
Jenny hesitated. She hadn’t planned to stop here, hadn’t thought to bring anything to trade. “Just looking,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she meant.
The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, if you change your mind, we’ve got stew today. And coffee. Real coffee, none of that powdered junk.”
Jenny nodded, her eyes drifting back to the room. A young boy darted past her, laughing as he chased a girl about his age. Their parents watched from a nearby table, their expressions soft, content.
It was so normal. So painfully, perfectly normal.
As she watched the families, her thoughts churned. Was this what Silas meant to protect? A world where people could laugh, eat, and live without fear of raiders or monsters clawing at the gates? Could she blame them for wanting to keep this safe?
But the posters loomed large in her mind, their words coiling around her thoughts. “The Wasteland Consumes.” What about the people out there? People like Vigdis. Did they deserve to be written off as monsters just because they’d survived differently?
Her gaze fell on a man at a nearby table, his arm draped protectively over a woman’s shoulder. They were whispering to each other, their heads close, their smiles small but genuine. The woman’s hand rested on her stomach, cradling what Jenny now realized was the faint swell of pregnancy.
She turned back to the counter, swallowing hard. Before she could think too much about it, the woman behind the counter stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sit down, hon. Let me get you something. You look like you could use it.”
Jenny blinked, startled by the kindness. She started to refuse, but the woman gestured firmly toward a booth. “Go on. Sit down, sweetheart. Everyone’s taken care of here.”
Jenny hesitated, then gave a small nod. She slid into the booth, her remaining hand resting awkwardly on the table. Moments later, the woman returned with a steaming bowl of stew and a mug of coffee. “You take care now,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whatever’s got you looking so lost... well, we all have our days.”
Jenny glanced up, the woman’s words settling somewhere deep inside her. She offered a faint smile. “Thanks.”
The woman patted her shoulder before moving back to the counter. Jenny sat there for a long time, the warmth of the stew rising to meet her, the quiet hum of the diner filling the spaces she couldn’t quite reach. Across from her, a family with two small children laughed at something only they seemed to understand. One of the kids waved shyly at her, and Jenny—hesitant, unsure—raised her hand in return.
For the first time in weeks, she let herself sit still.
Jenny stayed in the booth even after her bowl was empty, watching the ebb and flow of the diner. Families came and went, their smiles genuine, their ease infectious. When one of the parents noticed her empty sleeve, they offered to help without hesitation, their kindness simple but unyielding.
It wasn’t perfect. She could see the cracks now—the posters, the uniformity, the unspoken rules that held everything together. But for a moment, she let herself imagine it could be. That maybe, just maybe, there was a way to bridge the gap between this and everything she’d seen beyond the gates.
As the room began to thin out, Jenny leaned back in her seat, her gaze distant. The warmth of the stew lingered in her chest, but so did the weight of the posters. The voices softened, the air settled, and the world outside seemed a little further away.
The woman from the counter returned, collecting her empty dishes with a smile. “You come back anytime, hon,” she said. “There’s always a seat here.”
Jenny nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I might take you up on that.”
Jenny remained quietly in the booth, sitting among the families as the gentle hum of conversation filled the air. Her thoughts were heavy, but for the first time in weeks, her heart felt a fraction lighter.