Bill had been in enough interrogation rooms to know when somebody was bluffing.

This wasn’t one of those times.

The room smelled like bleach and stale cigarette smoke. Not the real kind either. The cheap nicotine strips the upper sectors traded like gold. Somebody had probably chewed through half a pack before sitting across from him. The evidence sat in the little trash can beside the desk.

The soldier across from him looked exhausted.

Not scared.

Not angry.

Just exhausted.

That was always worse.

It meant this place had seen enough violence for it to become paperwork.

"So you have around two options," the man said, flipping open a folder. "You and your people serve time for terrorist and paramilitary activity..."

He tapped the page with his pen.

"...or we remove you from the underground sectors entirely."

Bill leaned back in the chair slowly, chains rattling around his wrists.

"Kick us out?" he asked.

The soldier nodded once.

"We just got here."

"And yet you’ve already decided to make yourselves a problem."

Bill stared at him for a moment.

The underground sector was funny like that.

You walked through the place for ten minutes and started forgetting the world had ended.

The lights actually worked down here. The walls were clean. Nobody smelled like rotting sweat and blood. Hell, they even had polished floors.

Meanwhile topside had people stabbing each other over canned peaches.

It pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

"...how many years?" Bill finally asked.

The man glanced down at the folder.

"Five for each member of your group. You, however..."

His eyes lifted.

"...would receive ten."

Bill barked out a laugh before he could stop himself.

Ten years.

Ten fucking years.

The world barely survived ten days half the time.

"You people really think this place is surviving long enough to see ten years?" Bill asked. "That’s optimistic."

The soldier didn’t smile.

"There’s always the second option."

Silence settled between them.

Somewhere outside the room, boots moved through a hallway in quick succession.

Bill rubbed his tongue along the inside of his cheek before speaking again.

"...what about the kid?"

The soldier looked up.

"What kid?"

"The one your people dragged in earlier."

No response.

Bill smiled faintly.

"The skinny one with the attitude problem."

Still nothing.

Interesting.

The man’s jaw tightened just slightly.

That was enough.

"...how much time is he getting?"

Before the soldier could answer, the walkie clipped to his vest crackled violently.

Static burst through the room.

Then a voice.

Panicked.

"—need backup in the lower medical wing immediately!"

The soldier frowned and grabbed the radio.

"What’s happening?"

More static.

Then—

"Patient is making a break for it!"

Bill’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Patient?

The voice continued.

"And the woman’s with him!"

The soldier blinked.

"...more soldiers?" he muttered. "It’s just one kid."

The response came back louder this time.

"You don’t understand—"

Static swallowed the rest.

Then another voice cut in over the chaos.

Bill only caught pieces.

"...lattice..."

"...Jennifer authorized—"

"...he got hold of a weapon—"

The room went quiet.

The soldier slowly lowered the radio from his ear.

Bill watched him carefully.

Lattice.

The hell was that supposed to mean?

The soldier stood up abruptly.

"We’re done here."

Bill didn’t move.

"The kid upstairs?" he asked casually.

No answer.

The man was already grabbing the rifle leaning beside the desk.

Bill noticed something then.

The soldier’s hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

Adrenaline.

Like something genuinely bad had just happened.

That made Bill’s stomach tighten.

Because men like this? Men trained for underground security?

They didn’t get rattled easily.

The soldier moved toward the door before stopping.

Another voice suddenly crackled through the radio.

"...authorization to kill, ma’am?"

Bill’s eyes flicked toward it.

A pause followed.

Then a woman answered.

Cold.

Controlled.

"No."

Bill frowned slightly.

The voice continued.

"Permission to seriously injure is granted, however."

Another pause.

"But you do not, under any circumstances, damage his brain."

Bill’s expression shifted.

Slowly.

What the fuck?

The soldier beside him looked confused too.

"...understood," the voice on the radio finally answered.

The line cut dead.

Silence.

Bill stared at the wall for a second.

Not damage his brain.

Not kill him.

Not even shoot recklessly.

Protect the brain.

The realization crawled up his spine slowly.

This wasn’t about punishment.

This wasn’t even about containment.

They needed the kid alive.

Not normal alive either.

Specific alive.

Like a piece of equipment.

The soldier cursed under his breath and reached for the door.

Bill made his decision immediately.

"Hey."

The man turned.

Bill tilted his head slightly toward the hallway.

"You leave me in here," he said calmly, "and whatever’s happening down there gets worse."

The soldier stared at him like he was insane.

"You think this is the time for threats?"

"Not a threat."

Bill smiled slightly.

"Observation."

Another burst of shouting echoed faintly outside now.

Distant.

Fast.

The underground sector suddenly felt less stable than it had ten minutes ago.

The soldier hesitated.

Big mistake.

Bill saw it instantly.

Hesitation meant uncertainty.

Uncertainty meant opportunity.

"You know what I think?" Bill asked quietly.

The soldier said nothing.

"I think whatever’s happening down there...your people aren’t prepared for it."

The man’s jaw tightened.

Bill leaned forward in his chair.

"And if one kid has your whole lower sector scrambling like cockroaches, then maybe you should stop pretending you have control over this place."

The soldier moved before Bill even finished.

He slammed a fist against the table.

"You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."

There it was.

Emotion.

Bill smiled.

"Then enlighten me."

The soldier immediately realized he’d slipped.

His face hardened again.

But it was too late.

Bill had already seen enough.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

And underneath it all—

Confusion.

Like they genuinely did not understand the thing they were dealing with.

That was dangerous.

Because confused people made desperate decisions.

The walkie crackled again.

Gunshots this time.

Actual gunshots.

The soldier flinched instinctively toward the sound.

Bill didn’t.

He just watched him.

"...fuck."

The man rushed toward the door and shoved it open.

Two more soldiers ran past outside.

Bill caught pieces of conversation.

"...medical wing breached—"

"...how the fuck did he get an AK—"

"...Jennifer’s still inside—"

The door slammed shut again.

Bill sat there quietly for a second.

Then he looked down at his cuffs.

The soldier had rushed.

Which meant he’d made another mistake.

One wrist hadn’t fully locked.

Bill twisted experimentally.

The metal shifted slightly.

A slow grin pulled at his face.

"Well," he muttered.

Outside, alarms suddenly erupted across the underground sector.

Red emergency lights flashed faintly beneath the crack of the door.

Bill tilted his head upward.

The place almost sounded alive now.

Not sophisticated.

Not polished.

Panicked.

Better.

He worked his wrist harder against the cuff.

Metal scraped skin.

Didn’t matter.

Again.

Again.

Then—

Click.

One hand slipped free.

Bill flexed his fingers slowly.

There it is.

He stood up carefully and crossed toward the door.

Voices echoed outside.

Farther now.

Most of security had probably been redirected toward the lower levels.

Toward Adrian.

Bill still didn’t know who the hell the kid actually was.

But he knew this much.

Nobody locked down an entire underground sector over a random teenager.

Nobody protected somebody’s brain that carefully unless there was value attached to it.

And nobody sounded that terrified over one escape attempt unless the person escaping had already proven what they were capable of.

Bill crouched beside the door slightly and listened.

Nothing immediate.

Good.

He glanced at the little observation window.

Empty hallway.

Even better.

Bill slipped the second cuff loose using the pin from the chair hinge.

Took him less than thirty seconds.

Old habit.

The apocalypse taught people useful skills.

He rubbed his wrists once before grabbing the metal chair.

Then he smashed it directly into the door window.

Glass exploded outward.

Alarms immediately intensified.

Bill climbed through fast before anybody could respond.

The underground hallway stretched long and white around him.

Clean.

Too clean.

He hated it instantly.

The place felt artificial.

Like the apocalypse had never touched it.

Like rich people had buried themselves underground while the rest of the world tore itself apart above them.

That thought alone almost made him laugh.

Too rich.

That was always humanity’s final form.

Not violence.

Not cruelty.

Boredom.

People with too much comfort eventually started inventing reasons to ruin lives.

Projects.

Experiments.

God complexes.

Bill walked quickly down the corridor, following the sounds of distant gunfire.

More shouting echoed now.

Somebody screamed.

Then another burst of automatic rifle fire rattled the ceiling.

Definitely not normal.

A pair of armed soldiers suddenly turned the corner ahead.

They froze when they saw him.

Bill moved first.

Always move first.

He hurled the broken chair leg directly into the nearest man’s throat.

The soldier gagged violently.

The second raised his rifle—

Too slow.

Bill slammed into him hard enough to send both of them crashing into the wall.

The rifle discharged upward.

Bullets tore into the ceiling.

Bill grabbed the man’s wrist and smashed it repeatedly against the floor until bone cracked.

Then he ripped the gun free.

The wounded soldier tried reaching for a sidearm.

Bill shot him once in the chest.

Silence crashed back into the hallway immediately after.

He stood there breathing heavily for half a second.

Then looked down at the rifle.

Underground sector hospitality.

Nice.

Another explosion echoed somewhere below.

Bill’s eyes flicked downward instinctively.

Lower levels.

That’s where the kid was.

Adrian.

The name finally clicked into place from earlier conversations upstairs.

Bill checked the rifle magazine quickly before moving again.

As he jogged through the corridor, more voices echoed through nearby radios.

"...repeat, patient is armed—"

"...Jennifer still alive—"

"...do NOT shoot the head—"

Bill frowned harder.

What the fuck did they do to this kid?

He rounded another corner fast—

—and nearly collided with three soldiers rushing the opposite direction.

Everybody froze.

One of them recognized immediately that Bill was not supposed to be free.

"...shit."

Bill opened fire first.

The underground sector exploded into chaos around him.