Advait begins orientation for the new arrivals, establishing the strict rules and protocols that govern life in Sanctuary. While the group learns weapon handling and scavenging procedures, they start to understand that survival here comes with a price—absolute obedience to a system designed by one man and old bonds are tested and new lines are drawn.
The knock on the door broke the silence of Reyan's house.
Reyan had been awake for twenty minutes already. Sitting on the edge of the bed in their small private room. His daughter still asleep under thin blankets. Clutching her rabbit even in sleep.
He stood. Moved to the door. Opened it.
Advait stood there. Pressed shirt. Clean jeans. Coffee cup in hand. Smiling like this was a normal morning.
"Morning," Advait said. Voice low. "Sorry to wake you early."
"You didn't. I was up."
"Good." Advait glanced past him at the sleeping girl. "Let her rest. But I need you and your group in my office. Ten minutes. Third floor, end of the hall."
"Now?"
"Now." Advait's smile didn't change. "Orientation. Rules. Assignment protocols. The boring but necessary stuff." He paused. "Bring everyone. Karan's people too. Everyone who's staying."
"Alright."
"See you in ten." Advait walked away. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world.
Reyan closed the door. Looked at his daughter. Still asleep.
He let her sleep. Headed to the men's dorm to wake the others.
Nine minutes later, they gathered outside Advait's office.
Reyan. Samir. Taj. Vikram. Arjun. Karan. Meera. Dev. Ravi.
Everyone except Reyan's daughter, who was still asleep in their room.
Advait's door was open. He sat at his desk. Looked up as they entered.
"Come in. Close the door."
They filed in. The office wasn't large. Barely fit everyone. They stood against walls. Some sat on the floor.
Advait stood. Moved to the front of the desk. Leaned against it casually.
"Welcome to Sanctuary," he said. "Officially this time. Without the dramatic entrance." A slight smile. "You've decided to stay. Good. Smart choice. But staying means following rules. My rules. So let's get those clear right now."
He didn't pull out notes. Didn't refer to anything written. Just spoke from memory.
"Rule one: You go where you're assigned. When you're assigned. No exceptions. If you're on a supply run, you follow the route we give you. You don't deviate. You don't explore. You don't decide you know better." He paused. "People die when they think they're smarter than the plan."
Nobody argued.
"Rule two: Weapons stay with Sanctuary unless you're on assignment. When you come back from a run, you return your weapon. Ammo gets counted. Logged. If you're missing rounds, you explain why." His voice was calm. Factual. "We don't have infinite ammunition. Every bullet counts. You don't waste them."
Karan frowned slightly. "What if we need to defend ourselves? Here?"
"Well it is counted as an exception then." He looked at Karan.
The room went quiet.
"Rule three: You wear the glasses. Always. Outside, inside, doesn't matter. The Gazers don't care where you are. You make eye contact, you're compromised. And compromised people get people killed." He gestured to his own dark glasses, folded on his desk. "It's not optional. It's survival."
Taj adjusted his new glasses nervously.
"Rule four: You don't share information about Sanctuary with anyone you find on runs. Not the location. Not the numbers. Not the supplies. Not the layout." Advait's voice got harder. "We've survived this long because we're careful. Because we don't advertise. You bring someone back, that's fine. But you don't tell them details until they're here. Until we've cleared them."
"And when they start asking questions?" Dev said. "Because they always do."
"You lie. You say you heard rumors. You say you're just passing through. You say whatever you need to say that isn't the truth." Advait straightened up. "Because if the wrong people find out about this place, we'll have a hundred desperate survivors at our gates. Or worse—organized groups who want to take what we've built."
The implications of that settled over them.
"Rule five: You follow team leader instructions on runs. No arguing. No debating. No second-guessing in the moment." Advait looked directly at Karan. "I know you're military. I know you're used to command. But out there, the team leader's word is final. You have problems with their decisions, you bring them to me after. Not during."
Karan's jaw tightened. But he nodded.
"Rule six: Supply priority. Medicine first. Food second. Ammunition third. Everything else is tertiary." Advait ticked them off on his fingers. "You find a pharmacy, you clear it completely. You find a grocery store, you take what won't spoil. You find a sporting goods store, you grab ammo and move on. No looting. No personal items unless there's extra space."
"What about clothes?" Meera asked. "Blankets? Practical stuff?"
"Tertiary. If you have room after the priorities, fine. But priorities come first." Advait paused. "And if you have to choose between carrying extra food or someone's request for a specific item, you choose food. Every time."
Taj hesitated. "Some meds can't wait. Insulin. Anti-seizure drugs. You miss one run, someone dies."
"Then you tell me before the run. I'll add it to the priority list." Advait's tone softened slightly. "I'm not unreasonable. Medical needs get addressed. But you don't improvise out there. You stick to the list."
He moved back behind his desk. Sat down.
"Those are the core rules. There are others—meal times, shower schedules, guard rotations—but you'll learn those as you go." He looked at each of them. "Questions?"
"What if we break a rule?" Samir asked quietly.
"Depends on the rule. Depends on the situation." Advait leaned back in his chair. "Small infractions get warnings. Repeated infractions get reduced rations. Major infractions—stealing, endangering others, insubordination during critical moments—those get you expelled."
"Expelled?" Vikram repeated.
"You leave. We give you three days of supplies and point you toward the city limits." Advait's voice was matter-of-fact. "We don't execute people. We don't lock them up. We just remove them from the group. What happens after that is on them."
The cold practicality of it was almost worse than violence.
"But," Advait continued, "if you follow the rules, pull your weight, contribute—you'll be fine. You'll eat. You'll sleep safe. You'll have a community." He smiled. "That's the deal. Fair trade."
"Seems like you get the better end," Karan said.
"I keep sixty-three people alive." Advait's smile didn't waver. "I coordinate supply runs. I manage resources. I make the hard decisions so you don't have to. In exchange, you follow my system. My rules." He paused. "You're welcome to leave if you think you can do better on your own."
Nobody moved.
"Good. Now—assignments." Advait pulled out a folder. Opened it. "Karan, Meera, Dev, Ravi—you're experienced. You've survived together. I'm keeping you as a team. You'll train with our senior runners. Learn the routes. The procedures. Then you'll lead your own runs."
Karan nodded slowly.
"Reyan, Vikram, Arjun—you'll be second team. You'll train under Karan's team initially. Learn from them. Then operate semi-independently."
"What about me?" Samir asked.
"You and Taj are split assignment. Samir, you'll train with weapons and tactics. Taj, you're going to work with Ahmed in the lab."
Taj blinked. "The lab? Why?"
"Ahmed said you dropped out of medical school. That means you have basic knowledge. Biology. Chemistry. Anatomy." Advait looked at him. "We need another person who understands the science. Even if it's basic. You'll assist him. Document findings. Help with research."
"I'm not qualified—"
"You're more qualified than anyone else here except Ahmed and Dr. Aggarwal." Advait's tone was final. "You'll learn. Ahmed's a good teacher when he wants to be."
Taj looked like he wanted to argue. Didn't.
"Training starts today. After breakfast."
Advait closed the folder. "Report to the armory. Second floor, west wing. Nisha will handle weapons orientation."
"Nisha?" Samir's voice came out strained.
"She's head of security. Knows weapons better than anyone here." Advait looked at him. "Problem?"
"No." Samir swallowed. "No problem."
"Good." Advait stood. "That's everything for now. Go eat breakfast. You'll need it. Training's not easy." He moved to the door. Opened it. "And remember—glasses. Always. I see anyone without them, there will be consequences."
They filed out. Quiet. Processing.
As Reyan passed, Advait put a hand on his shoulder. "Your daughter. She'll stay in supervised areas during the day. We have a few other children here. They help with light tasks. Sorting supplies. Folding clothes. Nothing dangerous."
"She's seven—"
"I know. And she'll be treated appropriately." Advait's voice was firm. "But everyone contributes. Even children. It builds routine. Structure. Keeps them from dwelling on what they've lost."
Reyan wanted to argue. Looked at Advait's face. Saw no room for negotiation.
"Fine."
"Good." Advait smiled. Released his shoulder. "Go eat. Don't be late."
The cafeteria was functional. Long tables. Metal trays. Food served from a counter by volunteers.
The group sat together. Eating in silence. Oatmeal. Canned fruit. Weak coffee.
"He's very organized," Arjun said quietly.
"He's controlling," Karan muttered.
"Same thing," Meera said. "In this world."
"You really okay with this?" Vikram asked Karan. "Following his orders? His rules?"
Karan chewed slowly. Swallowed. "No. But I'm okay with being alive. And right now, those things are the same."
Samir pushed his food around. Barely eating.
"You alright?" Taj asked.
"I have to train with Nisha. My sister." Samir's voice was hollow. "She's going to teach me how to shoot. Like I'm a stranger."
"Maybe it'll help," Taj offered. "Give you time together. To talk."
"Yeah. While she's explaining trigger discipline and sight alignment." Samir laughed bitterly. "Real bonding opportunity."
They finished eating in silence. Returned their trays. Headed to the armory.
The armory was clean. Organized. Weapons mounted on racks. Ammunition sorted by caliber in labeled boxes. Everything cataloged.
Nisha stood in the center. Rifle slung over her shoulder. Dark glasses on. Professional. Detached.
When Samir walked in with the others, she barely reacted. Just looked at him for a second. Then away.
"Weapons training," she said. Voice clear. No emotion. "Form a line. Space yourselves out."
They did. Samir ended up in the middle. Between Vikram and Dev.
Nisha walked the line. Studying them.
"Who here has fired a gun before?"
Karan raised his hand. Meera. Ravi.
"Who's fired at a living target?"
Same hands stayed up.
"Good. You three will help demonstrate." She moved to the weapons rack. Pulled down three rifles. "The rest of you are about to learn."
She handed rifles to Karan, Meera, and Ravi. "Check them. Make sure they're clear."
They did. Professionally. Without hesitation.
"Good." Nisha pulled another rifle for herself. "This is a standard semi-automatic rifle. Magazine-fed. Thirty rounds when full." She demonstrated. Smooth. Practiced. "Charging handle here. Safety here. Trigger here."
She went through the mechanics. How to load. How to aim. How to clear jams.
Everyone watched. Listened.
Then she had them practice. Dry firing. No ammunition. Just getting comfortable with the weight. The feel. The motions.
Samir struggled with the safety. Fumbled it twice.
Nisha noticed. Walked over.
"Here." She reached out. Adjusted his grip. Her fingers were cold. Impersonal. "Thumb goes here. Not there. You'll jam yourself up otherwise."
"Thanks." His voice was quiet.
She didn't respond. Just moved to the next person.
Like he was anyone. Like they hadn't grown up together. Like she hadn't taught him to ride a bike when he was six.
He wanted to say something. Didn't know what.
So he just kept practicing.
After an hour of dry firing, Nisha called a break.
"Bathroom. Water. Five minutes."
Everyone dispersed. Samir stayed. Standing there with the rifle.
Nisha noticed. "You need something?"
"Yeah." He looked at her. "I need to know what happened to you."
She was quiet for a moment. "You know what happened. The outbreak. I survived. Found this place."
"That's not what I mean." He set the rifle down carefully. "I mean what happened to you. Who you were. My sister. She's gone. And I don't know who you are now."
Nisha's jaw tightened. "I'm the same person."
"No. You're not."
She stepped closer. Voice low. "You want to know what happened? Fine. I watched people die. I killed people to survive. I made choices you can't imagine." She paused. "And then I found a place that worked. That kept me alive. And I did what I had to do to stay here."
"By becoming his soldier?"
"By becoming useful." She met his eyes through the dark glasses. "You think I like this? You think I want to be the person who trains strangers to kill? Who enforces rules? Who—" She stopped. "I do what I have to. Just like you."
"I came looking for you."
"I know." Her voice softened. Just slightly. "And I'm glad you're alive. I am. But you need to understand—this is who I am now. This is what I do. And if you're staying here, you need to accept that."
"What about him?" Samir couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. "Advait. You're with him."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he keeps us safe. Because he's smart. Because—" She stopped again. "Because he's what I need right now. And I'm what he needs."
"That's not love."
"No." She almost smiled. Sad. Bitter. "It's survival. Which is better."
The others started coming back. Break ending.
Nisha stepped away. Professional distance restored.
"Get back in line. We're doing live fire next."
Samir watched her walk away. Grab ammunition. Start distributing magazines.
And wondered when exactly his sister had died.
And who this person was wearing her face.
They trained for three hours. Live fire on targets set up in a converted warehouse space. The sound was deafening even with ear protection.
By the end, Samir's shoulder ached from recoil. His ears rang despite the protection. His hands shook from adrenaline and exertion.
But he could hit a target at twenty meters. Consistently.
So could the others.
Nisha walked the line one final time. Inspecting targets. Nodding at some. Frowning at others.
"Not bad," she said finally. "For first-timers. We'll do this again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Until it's muscle memory." She collected the rifles. "Return to the cafeteria for lunch. Don't be late."
They filed out. Exhausted.
Samir was the last to leave. Turned back at the door.
Nisha was cleaning rifles. Methodical. Efficient. Alone.
He wanted to say something. Thank you. I miss you. I'm sorry.
But the words wouldn't come.
So he just left.
That night, Reyan lay in his small room. His daughter beside him.
He thought about the rules. About Advait. About the way everyone followed orders without question.
About how quickly normal people became something else.
Outside, guards patrolled. Generators hummed. Sixty-three people slept or worked or stood watch.
Inside Sanctuary, they were safe.
But Reyan couldn't shake the feeling that they'd traded one prison for another.
Just with better lighting.
And the warden wore a smile.