Victor looked at me through the glass, his eyes cold and warning. "As far as this facility is concerned, your true surname is never to be spoken again. You are a nameless bastard born in the lower slums, brought in to do hard labor and heavy construction work for your keep. If anyone asks, that is your entire history."
I didn't argue. I just nodded once, letting the silence settle between us before a pair of armed guards escorted me out of the interrogation room.
They marched me deep into the bowels of the underground dome, bypassing the civilian sectors entirely. My assigned bunker was located on the fourth subterranean level, a cramped concrete box where natural sunlight was a complete impossibility. The air down here smelled heavily of machine oil, ozone, and damp stone. The only illumination came from the harsh strip lighting running along the ceiling.
A small metal tray sat on the fold-out table in the corner of the room. It held my first real cooked meal in months: a thick bowl of steaming meat stew served alongside a hunk of dense bread. My stomach churned with desperate hunger at the rich scent. I sat down and devoured the food far too hastily, shoveling heavy gulps of meat and broth into my throat without even chewing properly.
My body, accustomed to two months of dry rations and sterile air, violently rejected the rich food. A wave of sharp nausea hit me instantly. I fell to my knees beside the small metal sink, my body heaving as I threw up the entire meal. The sudden exposure to fresh microbes and heavy fat was too much for my digestive system to handle.
"Damn it," I cursed, leaning against the cold wall while wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Damn this whole place!."
I dragged myself over to the wall-mounted self-care kit assigned to every refugee soldier. I pulled out a broad-spectrum antibiotic capsule, swallowed it dry, and washed my face with cold tap water. Exhaustion pulled at my muscles like heavy lead. All I wanted was to lie down on the small cot in the corner and sleep for a day.
I collapsed onto the mattress, closing my eyes. But the universe had other plans.
Hardly ten minutes passed before the neon red display mounted over my doorframe began to flash violently. An AI voice chimed through the small speaker shoved in the wall.
"Training ground for prep. Training ground for prep. All soldier recruits are required to report to the main training ground immediately."
Before I could even groan, a mechanical hiss echoed beneath me. The cot's mattress suddenly contracted, shrinking its padding and raising stiff metal ribs underneath, making it wildly uncomfortable to lay on. The facility was designed to make sure no recruit stayed in bed once the alarm sounded.
Reluctantly, I pulled my combat boots back on, strapped my N890 mask to my belt, and joined the stream of silent, exhausted recruits shuffling down the central stairwell. We descended three more levels until we reached the 7th subterranean floor.
The door opened to reveal the training ground, and my eyes widened in sheer disbelief. The space was unfathomably massive. It was a giant underground arena carved straight into the bedrock, covered in a vast sea of coarse sand. One crash down into this sand and our skins are gonna be peeled off like a lion's lick.
Above us, high balcony walkways circled the entire perimeter on the sixth floor, allowing non-combatants and officers to look down on the field.
I adjusted my heavy stance, taking in the crowd of recruits, when a familiar face caught my eye across the sand.
A young woman stood near the weapons rack, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled on her leather grips. It was Misa, the daughter of my father's head laboratory professor. For a split second, a flash of pure radiance swept across both of our faces as we recognized each other in this nightmare. But just as quickly, a dark, bitter scowl took over her features.
She walked toward me with heavy steps, her eyes locking onto mine. Before I could speak, she stepped close and leaned her head against my chest in a tight, desperate hug.
"Your father did this..." she whispered slowly, her voice trembling as she looked down at the sand.
Panic surged through my veins. I grabbed her shoulders firmly, pulling her back just enough so I could stare into her eyes, my voice dropping to a harsh, barely audible whisper.
"Don't ever let anyone know I am his son," I begged, my grip tightening on her shoulders.
"Don't, Misa. For everyone's sake, keep that secret buried!"
She looked at me for a long moment before giving a single, subtle nod. The anger in her posture melted away, replaced by raw, unadulterated grief.
"My father turned into one of those things," she murmured, her voice breaking. "He... he ate my mom. He ate him own wife right in front of me."
A heavy weight crashed down into my stomach. "I am so deeply sorry, Misa," I whispered. I pulled her into a warm, protective hug, letting her rest her face against my chest plate while she silently wept.
"Break it up, lovebirds!" a loud, booming voice shattered the moment.
A tall, heavily muscular woman strode through the sand toward us. She wore black tactical gear that showed off scarred, powerful arms, and her short dark hair was shaved clean on the sides. She was Rhea Stone, the legendary lead combatant who commanded the dome's first line of defense. She had seen the absolute worst of the collapse and lived through every second of it.
Rhea stopped a few feet away, crossing her massive arms over her chest while giving us a sharp, snarky sneer. "Save the crying for your bunk beds. If you've got time to cuddle on my sand, you've got time to run twenty laps."
Misa quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks, gave my arm a final squeeze, and hurried up the side stairs to the sixth floor observation deck where she could watch the training from safety.
Rhea turned to the crowd of gathered recruits, her voice echoing off the high stone walls like thunder.
"Stand in formation! Now!"
I moved immediately, falling into line alongside dozens of other men and women. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder, keeping our chins up as Rhea paced back and forth in front of us like a caged predator.
A heavy-set recruit standing directly to my left leaned his head slightly toward me, eyeing Rhea's muscular frame as she walked past. He let out a low, repulsive chuckle under his breath.
"Look at her," the guy muttered quietly, his voice dripping with disgusting arrogance. "Such great tits on her, and she wouldn't even mate to increase our population. My daughter with her would be irresistible to the world."
The vile words hung in the air between us. I didn't yell. I didn't draw my blades. I simply took a slow, calm breath, letting the air fill my lungs.
Then, without turning my head, I drove my massive fist straight into his jaw.
:)