At first glance? Trash.
Just a dusty old storeroom packed with forgotten supplies and stale air. But then we noticed a crooked piece of furniture shoved deep into the farthest corner—as if it had been deliberately hidden. Like it had roots growing into the building itself.
I reached instinctively for the light switch.
"Hey!" Zayn snapped, grabbing my wrist. "Don't touch that. Last thing we need is a light show broadcasting our location."
Fair. I always flip lights on without thinking. But this time… we stayed in the dark.
Only the faint, orange-red glow from the massive ceiling-high windows lit the room—and through them, we saw everything:The city burning.Smoke twisting into the clouds.Streets flooded in blood.People screaming, scattering, falling.Chaos swallowing everything.
Inside the room: metal shelves stacked with cracked boxes, wires, rusted tools, rolled-up banners, forgotten uniforms, and newspapers from years ago—yellowed, brittle, unread.
"Shouldn't we check this stuff?" Insha whispered, stepping toward the racks. "There might be something useful."
"No," Zayn muttered without looking up, eyes still glued to his laptop. "One wrong sound, and they'll come running."
He wasn't wrong.
At the far end of the room, beneath those windows, sat an old metal bunk bed—two levels. Staff sleeping quarters, maybe. We didn't care. We were done.We dropped onto the mattresses like corpses.
And choked.
"KAFF! Kaff! KAFFFF—!"The dust was a living thing. It attacked all at once.
"This is disgusting. Who thought this was a good idea?" Aaron groaned, waving his hand like a diva swatting a bad perfume.
We ignored him. Classic Aaron.
Still coughing, we beat the dust off, tossed the sheets back over, and collapsed. Bodies stiff, eyes bloodshot, spirits cracked.
I clutched my stomach. "I'm starving. Legit think I'm about to eat myself."
Zayn groaned. Aaron echoed him.
We cracked open the bags from earlier—whatever chips and candy we'd grabbed in a panic. It wasn't dinner. It was desperation.
Once the rumbling stomachs quieted, our survival instincts kicked in.
The room became our lab.
We scavenged boxes, yanking down wires, rods, duct tape—anything that might be fashioned into tools.Weapons, if needed.
Clatter.
Insha dropped a bundle of wires, then smirked. "Think we could choke one out with these?"
"Oh sure," Zayn deadpanned. "Let me know when they line up politely for execution."
We all laughed. Tired. Nervous. That kind of laugh that cracks right before you cry.
Aaron was lying on the top bunk, watching us quietly. He chuckled, but there was something behind it.
"It's weird," he said softly. "How we're still… kinda normal. Laughing. Bickering. But I'm glad. This—"He gestured around the room."—this is better than dying alone."
We didn't say it, but we all agreed.
That moment of quiet... it was the closest we'd felt to safe.