The train slowed and came to a stop with a soft jolt. The hum of the engine died. The door hissed open. A rush of cooler air hit my face, carrying the sharp tang of disinfectant and metal.

We stepped out into another cavern, larger than the one we had left. Fluorescent strips lined the ceiling. Concrete platforms stretched in both directions. Men in uniforms and orange vests moved briskly among crates and equipment. Some carried rifles, others clipboards. A red cross painted on a wall marked a triage area where medics worked over wounded people laid out on stretchers.

A woman in fatigues approached us. Her hair was cropped short, her expression tight. She looked at our dirt‑streaked faces and the mismatched clothes. “Kids?” she said, almost to herself, then raised her voice. “Over here! We’ve got children from Sector E!”

A few soldiers guided us to a corner where folding chairs were set up. We sat. Someone handed out bottles of water and protein bars. My brother clung to my sleeve. His hands trembled when he tried to open the bottle, so I twisted the cap for him.

“Drink slowly,” I said. My own throat was dry, but I forced myself to take small sips. Around us, survivors huddled together, whispering. A man in a lab coat argued with a woman in a business suit. I caught words like “containment breach” and “multiple incursions.”

Screens mounted on the wall displayed live feeds from the surface. One showed a highway packed with abandoned cars. Another showed a downtown skyline at night, the dark outline of a skyscraper lit by orange flames at its base. The caption read: “Tokyo – LIVE.” A third showed a montage of news anchors speaking in different languages. The ticker at the bottom scrolled too fast to read. Words flashed: “Monsters,” “Mass casualties,” “Global state of emergency.”

An older man with a grey beard and a clipboard approached us. “Names?” he asked.

We gave them. He wrote them down and checked a list. “You’re lucky,” he said without looking up. “Sector E got hit hard. First wave concentrated there. We lost contact with nine out of twelve schools.”

My stomach tightened. I thought of the teacher who had shut the bunker door. “What happened up there?” I asked.

He met my eyes, then glanced away. “First wave,” he said. “Thousands of creatures. They tore through our perimeter before we could respond. Whatever they are, they’re not natural.”