Chapter 1

"Frozen Deep Echoes"

05/23/2368

Former Southern State of Langhoidh

In the defunct Republic of Waidmanns

The icy wind whipped relentlessly, raging fiercely against the snow-covered mountains. A pristine white blanket stretched into the distance, interrupted only by the dark silhouettes of the defiant peaks rising above. In the midst of that icy wasteland, a man lay naked on a snow-covered plain, his body forming a groove in the pristine surface.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, his eyelashes coated with frost. Confusion reflected in his gaze as he tried to orient himself in that hostile environment. With effort, he attempted to sit up, but his weak muscles succumbed to the paralyzing cold. His arms sank into the snow as he tried to prop himself up, and it was then that he saw them: two mysterious figures in dark hues standing before him, silently observing him.

Their steel-toed boots, clad in resilient leather, firmly sank into the snow, leaving deep footprints in their wake. Their thermal pants, concealed beneath articulated plates of metal, barely revealed the original material. A reinforced vest, adorned with metallic plates, displayed distinctive numbers on a vertical neck guard: 018 and 239 respectively. Their hands were protected by cut-resistant gloves, disappearing into broad overcoats specifically designed to withstand extreme cold temperatures. The overcoats featured cords and multiple pockets, while their pronounced collars provided an additional layer of protection against the cold.

Their faces remained concealed behind gas masks, with large vision holes backlit with an intense red color. Oxygen hoses snaked around their necks, connected directly to oxygen tanks on their backpacks. Both wore helmets covering their ears and napes, seamlessly fused with the masks to ensure complete protection.

The man looked at them bewildered, but before he could utter a word, one of the figures, wielding a rifle, delivered a violent blow to his face with the butt of the gun. The impact was brutal, and darkness engulfed him once again as his limp body collapsed onto the snow. Without wasting a moment, the two individuals, each sporting strange patches bearing the flag of the Republic of Hommss on their shoulders, seized him by the shoulders and began dragging him across the vast snowy desert. Every step left a trail in the snow, marking their path toward a waiting transport vehicle some distance away.

That transport didn't seem to be a simple helicopter from the old world. Its sleek design betrayed almost nonexistent advanced technology. The sharp body and angular lines gave it an almost predatory appearance, while the powerful vertical engines promised unmatched propulsion. The curved, polished gray surfaces seemed designed to glide through air and snow with surprising efficiency. In the blink of an eye, no one was left in those icy lands.

05/23/2368

Somewhere in Langhoidh, 270 feets underground.

In the heart of bunker BP-25, designated to house individuals with assigned slots for their stay, lay the maintenance area of the water and purification plant, known as HydroLife Complex, or simply Section 2. Here, a 25-year-old woman named Aryah Velsen was part of the team responsible for ensuring the proper functioning of this vital system.

Aryah wore the standard maintenance personnel uniform: a snug black jumpsuit with orange stripes on the sides, made of durable and breathable material designed to withstand long hours of work in adverse conditions. Embroidered on her chest were the BP-25 bunker logo and her rank in silver thread. She completed her attire with black, slip-resistant boots and orange protective gloves.

At that moment, she was in one of the sectors of the HydroLife Complex, a labyrinth of pipes, pumps, and heavy machinery. The lighting was dim, casting elongated shadows on the metal walls covered in condensation and a grid-like floor. The air was laden with the scent of moisture, accompanied by the constant sound of water flowing through the ducts. They were at the deepest point of Bunker 25, as it was called, so the temperature was quite high. But it was something to be grateful for compared to the frigid surface at nearly -30 degrees.

In front of her, embedded in the wall, was an ancient computer from the year 2091, which served its purpose of monitoring the levels of pure water in the underground reservoirs. The screen displayed a series of graphs and figures that Aryah monitored attentively.

According to the established protocol, when the levels of pure water dropped below 75%, the pumps extracting water from the underground aquifers would automatically activate to refill the reservoirs until they reached 82% capacity. Then, the recycling and purification system would process the water used in showers, baths, and other facilities, returning it to a drinkable state and reintegrating it into the cycle, thus maintaining an almost infinite supply of clean and safe water for the inhabitants of bunker BP-25.

The day had become long and seemingly endless for Aryah. Hunger began to gnaw at her, and her stomach emitted faint growls in protest. It was almost 12:40 a.m., and her shift from 7:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. was nearing its end, giving way to two well-deserved days off. She simply wanted to finish and go grab something to eat at Thom's Dinner.

Bored, she absentmindedly scratched her short brown hair as she watched the monitor in front of her with little interest. Suddenly, a flashing green light and a blaring alert broke through her trance, grabbing her attention. The purification process of the water extracted from the underground aquifers had concluded, and now it was flowing into the central storage tank. Aryah turned her head to the left and, through the window, watched as the water began to gush like a waterfall from a huge pipe leading into the reservoir. In fifteen minutes, the established protocol would be fulfilled, and she could leave that place ahead of schedule.

However, as she turned back to the computer, a startle overcame her. There, staring back at her, was her brother Nake, a boy of athletic build and sharp features, with a defined jawline and piercing green eyes. His dark brown hair, slightly tousled, made him look older than his 20 years.

—Damn it, Nake! You scared the crap out of me, you idiot! — Aryah exclaimed, startled by his sudden appearance. The initial shock gave way to irritation upon recognizing her younger brother in that place. —What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be in an unassigned area —

—Nothing, just wanted to visit my sister — he replied with complicity.

—Your sister is busy — she turned back to the monitor.

—Come on, Ary, it's almost time — he said, pointing at the computer clock.

Aryah looked at him, pursing her lips, then glanced at the water level. The process was almost complete. She looked back at her brother. —You're right, screw it, it's Friday! — 

She removed her right glove and took out the PIN cable hidden beneath her skin by opening a small flap beneath her wrist. She extended the cable to the keyboard and plugged the pin into a continuous port to conclude her work shift in the central computer registry.

—Let's get out of here, babe! — Nake grinned, and they both left the place.

Later

Thom's Dinner

Thom's Dinner was a place that aimed to recreate the atmosphere of classic 1960s roadside diners, or at least what the inhabitants of Bunker 25 believed a diner from that era should be like. The walls were lined with polished metal panels. Worn red vinyl stools were lined up along a formica counter, while round tables, with their characteristic swivel chairs, invited diners to sit and enjoy a meal.

In this nostalgic setting, which none of those present had actually experienced, but felt they should belong to that extinct era, the air was filled with the scent of freshly cooked burgers and crispy fries. Thanks to the bunker's sophisticated system for creating synthetic foods, inhabitants could enjoy dishes that mimicked the flavors and textures of food from the past, almost as if they were real.

Aryah and Nake occupied one of those tables facing a fake window that was actually a screen simulating a roadside landscape depending on the time of day; it was the only way to feel outside the bunker and perceive the hour and weather. They were laughing and enjoying juicy square burgers covered in melted cheese, accompanied by golden fries. In front of them, two frothy milkshakes bubbled in their glass cups, complementing the culinary experience. The place was packed with shelter dwellers, all of them enjoying an apparently normal life underground, oblivious to the desolate world that stretched on the surface.

In Bunker BP-25, clothing was a limited and valuable commodity, as the fabric and garment creation system was restricted due to resource scarcity. However, inhabitants had found ingenious ways to personalize their clothing and express their individuality within the confines of the shelter, as dictated by their own democratic constitution created a decade after the shelter was sealed in 2189.

The basic garment shared by everyone was a snug jumpsuit made of highly durable and breathable synthetic fabric. This jumpsuit was designed to adapt to different activities and environments, from work in maintenance levels to leisure time in community areas. The jumpsuit featured a series of modular panels that allowed for customization. These panels, located in strategic areas such as the shoulders, sleeves, and front, could be personalized with a variety of designs and colors since they were special fabric filaments that simulated pixels, making them textile screens; wearers of the jumpsuits could upload their designs via the suit's USB input from their personal computer.

Aryah had opted for a dark gray jumpsuit, with bright orange panels on the shoulders and sleeves similar to her work jumpsuit; she felt proud of her contribution to the bunker. On the front, an intricate design of the cartoonish face of a white rabbit with an evil grin against a backdrop of violet flames gave her outfit a rebellious aura that she had always expressed since childhood. She complemented her attire with black boots with flexible soles and a utility belt on which hung small collectible accessories. On the other hand, Nake had chosen something simpler, a blue and olive jumpsuit, with darker panels on the shoulders and knees. His boots were made of a material similar to Aryah's, but with metallic-toned details. Both siblings had their sleeves rolled up, displaying handmade bracelets and accessories crafted from recycled materials.

After a while of laughter and jokes, Aryah looked at her brother with a more serious expression. —So, did you manage to get Dad... you know, to get you into the Council? — she asked curiously.

Nake's face suddenly changed. He took some fries and dipped them in barbecue sauce, avoiding direct eye contact with his sister. —Those dreams are over, Ary,— he responded in a subdued tone. —The Council considers me too young to participate. And because of my attitude, they would assign me to the Defense Squad —

Aryah felt a bit disheartened hearing her brother's words about his frustrated dreams of getting involved in the Council. She took a long sip of her milkshake, letting the foamy and sweet liquid momentarily comfort her. After swallowing, she looked at Nake again with a pensive expression. However, before she could say anything, Nake took his burger and took a generous bite. Chewing slowly, he avoided eye contact with his sister and focused his gaze on the table. After swallowing, he broke the silence with an unexpected revelation.

—As I was leaving, Dad veered off the path and approached Councilor Mafius's office, to give him advice, you know. And well, I overheard behind the door that the ten Councilors are interested in finding someone to replace the vacant position of Councilor 8. The recently deceased Councilor Alsadh,— Nake said, with a casual yet significant tone.

Aryah furrowed her brow, not understanding where her brother was going with this. Before she could ask, Nake continued speaking, this time looking her directly in the eyes.

—And that person is you, Ary,— he affirmed, with a slight smile masking his frustration.

Nake's words echoed in Aryah's ears, and she opened her eyes in surprise. Me? Considered to be part of the Council? A rush of emotions flooded her: It can't be, I'm just a water attendant. It doesn't make sense, what the hell did Dad say? Why me? There are so many more qualified and experienced people in the bunker.

—I don't know... I just don't know,— Nake responded equally overwhelmed as he finished his burger. Aryah was stunned.

Later that night

Home 242

In one of the corridors of the sublevel of the common habitat area of Bunker BP-25, lay the home of the Velsen family. Like most of the dwellings in the shelter, it was a prefabricated unit of modular design, but the inhabitants had done their best to give it a cozy and personal touch.

Upon entering, one could appreciate a minimalist and functional style, reminiscent of designs from the year 2085, but with details that revealed the history and traditions of the family already formed within the bunker; the Velsen siblings are the eighth generation of the family within BP-25. The main space was an open area that combined the living room, dining area, and a small integrated kitchen.

The floors were made of a durable synthetic material, but warm to the touch, while the walls were lined with smooth panels of a grayish-beige tone, interrupted only by pipes and ducts winding across the surface. In the living room, a modular sofa with straight lines and resistant fabrics invited one to sit and relax and watch TV. Beside it, a screen embedded in the wall projected a simulated image of an open field, with green hills and a clear blue sky, creating the illusion of a balcony with views to the outside. This illusion was one of the few concessions to luxury in the bunker, intended to provide a visual respite from the narrow confines of the shelter.

The kitchen area was equipped with compact appliances and stainless steel work surfaces. On the shelves and countertops, one could appreciate some ancient objects, such as ceramic vases, figurines, and other items that had belonged to previous generations of the Velsen family.

From the main living area, three small bedrooms were accessed, each with bunk beds built into the walls to maximize space, and a small shared bathroom. It didn't matter that in this house lived an advisor to a councilor of the government council, the amenities were the same for everyone. The sliding door leading to the central hallway of the bunker was made of sturdy material and operated by an integrated control panel, providing security and privacy to the residents.

2024 © LJ Kauffmann