Time stopped meaning anything inside the bunker.
Days passed, or maybe weeks. It was hard to tell. There was no sunlight, no real night, only the constant hum of emergency lights and the slow decay of hope. People changed. Some broke quietly. Some loudly.
I watched people argue over space, over food, over nothing. I watched strangers cling to each other like family, and families fall apart under pressure. I watched people get sick. I watched people die.
The bunker didn't feel safe anymore. It felt like a waiting room. Something else started happening after the first few days.
People began to shine.
It didn't happen all at once. One person would suddenly collapse, their body trembling, light spilling out of them like something trying to escape. The glow was different for everyone: white, blue, red, gold, and more. Some screamed. Some cried. Some smiled like they finally understood something the rest of us didn't.
When it ended, they were different. Stronger. Faster. Changed. The soldiers noticed. They started separating people. Marking names. Watching closely.
Some who awakened could heal. Some could control fire, metal, sound, and things that shouldn't have been possible. Hope spread through the bunker, fragile but alive.
And fear followed right behind it.
I waited. Nothing happened to me. I told myself I didn't care. But I did.
Every time someone shined, I wondered if this was the moment I'd finally stop being useless.
Then, days later, it happened.
I was sitting against the wall, eyes half-closed, exhausted, when the air around me changed. It felt colder. Heavier. Like the bunker itself was holding its breath.
Someone shouted.
I looked down at my hands. They weren't glowing. They were disappearing.
A black light, as if that even makes sense, spread across my skin. It didn't shine outward like the others. It pulled light in. Shadows bent toward me, clinging to my body, like they belonged there.
People stepped back. I couldn't move. There was no warmth. No power rushing through me. Just a deep, quiet pressure, like something ancient had opened its eyes and decided to wait.
Then it stopped.
No explosion. No transformation. Nothing.
I was still me.
The soldiers stared.
"So… what does he do?" someone whispered.
I didn't know. Neither did they. I was the only Black. I was the last one to awaken. If that's what it even was.
That night, or whatever counted as night, the bunker alarms blared.
A heavy metallic sound echoed from the entrance.
Gas began seeping in from under the bunker doors.
White at first. Then gray.
People screamed.
Soldiers shouted orders, pulled on masks, and forced people to the ground. My head started spinning before I could react. The world blurred at the edges.
Then the hallucinations started.
The bunker walls stretched and cracked. The lights flickered into unfamiliar shapes. I heard voices, some familiar, some not, calling my name from impossible directions.
My legs gave out. My body stopped listening to me.
I hit the floor hard, unable to move, unable to scream.
Hands grabbed me. I was lifted.
Through half-open eyes, I saw rows of buses outside the bunker, engines running, soldiers