The sound of metal echoed across the yard.

Riku stood at the bunker entrance, one hand resting against the cold steel. The red light above the keypad blinked steady, its rhythm almost hypnotic. It was the only thing in this dead world that looked like it still belonged to the living.

Suzune knelt beside the control panel, examining the wiring. "Power's still running through the system," she said. "Whoever built this had backup generators somewhere underground."

"Can you open it?" Sato asked, standing a few steps back. His tone carried equal parts hope and caution.

Suzune exhaled, brushing grime off a faded label beside the console. "Maybe. Depends on how old the encryption is."

Riku studied the small display. The panel was scuffed, half-burnt, but still operational. It asked for a Level 3 Access Code. No keypad wear, no fingerprints, no signs of frequent use.

"Try manual override," Riku said.

Suzune pried off the side panel with a flathead screwdriver. Sparks popped as she crossed two wires, then twisted another pair together. The red light flickered… and then shifted to amber.

"That's something," Ichika muttered, squinting.

Suzune kept working, sweat glinting on her temple despite the morning chill. "Whoever designed this didn't want anyone walking in without permission."

"Lucky for us," Riku said quietly, "we don't need permission."

After several tense seconds, the amber light blinked twice—then turned green.

A low mechanical hum rumbled beneath their feet.

Everyone froze.

The bunker door groaned, hydraulics straining. Dust spilled from the seams as the thick slab of metal slowly parted, revealing a dark passageway beyond. A gust of air rolled out—cold, sterile, metallic. It smelled nothing like the surface.

Miko swallowed hard. "That's… fresh air."

Riku stepped closer, peering into the black corridor. Faint emergency lights lined the walls, flickering weakly. A metal staircase led downward, vanishing into shadow.

He turned to the group. "Gear up."

Within minutes, the team was ready.

Suzune slung her rifle and clipped a flashlight to her barrel. Ichika double-checked her shotgun and grumbled, "If something jumps out, I'm blasting it."

"No ricochets," Riku warned.

Miko checked her medpack, hands trembling slightly. Kenji handed her an extra flashlight without a word.

Sato stayed behind at the entrance with half his men. "We'll guard the perimeter," he said. "If it gets bad down there, radio up."

Riku nodded once. "Keep the engines ready. If we don't come back in an hour, you move."

Sato gave a grim nod. "Understood."

Hana tugged at Riku's sleeve. "You'll come back, right?"

He crouched to meet her eyes. "I always do."

She didn't look convinced, but she nodded anyway.

Then he turned and descended the stairs, Suzune and Ichika close behind.

The air grew colder the deeper they went. The steps echoed, each footfall swallowed by the narrow corridor walls. The faint hum of electricity vibrated through the metal.

After two flights, the stairway opened into a small security chamber. A shattered glass window looked into a control booth filled with old monitors, all dead except one—a single screen glowing dim blue.

Suzune swept her flashlight across the room. "Power grid's partial. Some systems might still be alive."

Riku entered the booth, brushing dust from the monitor. It displayed an old logo: HavenCorp Industries—a name none of them had seen before. Beneath it, lines of text scrolled automatically:

SYSTEM CHECK: ONLINESTATUS: CONTAINMENT LOCK ACTIVELIFE SUPPORT: STABLEPERSONNEL: 0 REGISTERED

Ichika frowned. "Containment lock? That doesn't sound friendly."

"Could mean anything," Suzune replied, though her tone wasn't convincing.

Riku tapped the console keys. The system didn't respond. Whatever they were seeing was automated—a looping status message.

He turned to the others. "We keep moving."

The next corridor stretched long and sterile, walls painted white but streaked with age and soot. Their boots echoed off the floor. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered in a steady rhythm—on, off, on, off.

Miko's flashlight caught a sign on the wall:

LEVEL B1 — MAINTENANCE & HOUSING

Beneath it, arrows pointed left to "Barracks" and right to "Main Storage."

Riku led them left.

The barracks door was unlocked. Inside were rows of bunks—sheets still folded, lockers sealed. It looked untouched, like whoever lived here had simply vanished.

Ichika muttered, "This place is too clean."

Suzune ran a gloved hand along one of the lockers. "No blood. No signs of struggle."

"Which means they left on their own," Riku said.

"Or they never got the chance to come back," Suzune added.

They continued deeper, past the sleeping quarters. In the corner, Miko found a small break area—tables, chairs, and a vending unit similar to the one aboveground.

Inside one of the machines, sealed protein bars floated behind the glass. Ichika grinned. "Well, at least someone had taste."

Riku smashed the glass with the butt of his rifle. The noise echoed through the corridors, sharp and hollow.

Suzune frowned. "Next time, maybe less noise?"

"If something's down here, it already knows we're here," Riku replied flatly.

They each pocketed a few rations, then pressed onward.

Further in, the bunker opened into a wider hallway lined with reinforced doors. Each was labeled: LAB A, LAB B, STORAGE, and COMMAND.

The command room door was half-ajar, one hinge bent. Riku entered first.

Dust covered everything—monitors, desks, the faint outlines of papers long yellowed with age. A large display wall at the far end still flickered weakly, showing static and fragmented data streams.

Suzune approached it carefully, wiping the screen. "Looks like this was a monitoring center. Maybe for external communication."

Riku scanned the desks. Most were empty—except for one.

An old journal lay open, pages brittle but legible. The handwriting was cramped and hurried.

He read aloud quietly:

"Containment breach confirmed. Lower levels sealed. No contact from topside command. Only a few of us left. We rerouted power to maintain air filtration and sealed B3. If anyone finds this—don't go down there."

Ichika swallowed. "Yeah, no thanks."

Suzune's eyes met Riku's. "We're not going to listen to that warning, are we?"

"Of course not," he said without hesitation.

Ichika groaned. "Figures."

They reached the next stairwell. The door marked B2 — Operations hung half open. Cold air drifted up from below, sharper now, almost metallic.

Riku took point again, flashlight steady. The descent felt slower this time. He could hear the distant hum of something mechanical still running below.

At the base of the stairs, they found a large steel blast door labeled Containment Access — B3.

A biometric panel glowed faintly beside it, waiting for a scan.

Suzune examined it. "This system's newer than the others. Maybe ten, fifteen years old. Someone maintained it long after the world went to hell."

Miko shivered. "Then… maybe someone's still down there."

Riku looked at the door for a long moment. The hum behind it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

"Maybe," he said. "But we'll find out tomorrow."

Suzune blinked. "Tomorrow?"

"We seal this floor for the night. Get everyone down here after lunch. No point charging in half-dead."

For once, no one argued.

They turned back, heading toward the maintenance bay to regroup.

That night, the refinery aboveground was silent.

The survivors had moved some of their supplies inside the upper level of the bunker—safe from wind and rain. Small battery lamps lined the corridor, casting soft light across the walls.

Hana sat on a bunk near the entrance, reading an old comic she'd found, her stuffed bear sitting beside her. Yui brushed her hair quietly. The two looked almost normal, framed by the pale glow of the lamps.

Miko checked their vitals with an old thermometer she'd sterilized. "Temperature's fine," she said softly. "You're both doing good."

Hana smiled faintly. "See? Told you, Yui. We're getting stronger."

Yui nodded, voice small. "As long as Riku doesn't make us eat more soup."

Across the room, Ichika laughed quietly. "Good luck convincing him."

Suzune sat at the edge of a table, adjusting her rifle again. She wasn't smiling, but her eyes were softer tonight.

Riku leaned against the wall near the stairwell, watching them. The low hum of the generators was steady now—reassuring. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to breathe without expecting gunfire.

Sato approached from the corridor. "Your team saw more than I expected down there."

"It's stable," Riku said. "Air's clean, power's consistent. Could be useful."

"Could also be dangerous."

"It's always both."

Sato folded his arms, thinking. "If this place can keep the lights on, maybe we can fortify it. Set up something permanent."

"Maybe," Riku said. "But first, we see what's on B3."

Sato frowned. "You think the warning meant something?"

Riku looked down the dark stairwell. "Everything means something."

Later, when the camp went quiet, Riku sat alone by the open doorway that led outside. The air from the refinery carried faint traces of oil and smoke, but also something else—something like calm.

Suzune joined him, sitting cross-legged beside his boot. Neither spoke for a while.

Finally, she said, "You did the right thing, waiting till morning."

He glanced at her. "You sound surprised."

"I'm not. Just… used to seeing you push until something breaks."

He gave a faint shrug. "I've learned to listen when the dead tell me to wait."

She smirked. "You mean the journal?"

"No," he said quietly. "Instinct."

Her smile faded slightly. "You think something's down there."

"I know something is."

They both looked toward the stairwell again. The hum below had changed—barely audible, but different now. A deeper pulse, irregular.

Suzune's hand drifted toward her rifle. "You hear that?"

"Yeah."

He stood slowly, eyes narrowing. The sound wasn't just mechanical—it was wet. Breathing, maybe. Faint, like something alive buried beneath tons of metal.

He switched off his flashlight and stood in the dark, listening.

Suzune whispered, "Riku?"

He didn't answer.

The hum faded again, swallowed by silence.

After a moment, he said, "Whatever's down there, it's waiting."

Morning came gray again, filtered through the refinery's haze.

The survivors ate quickly—ration bars and weak coffee. Conversation was quiet but steady. Fear hadn't taken root yet, but curiosity had.

Riku gathered Suzune, Ichika, Miko, and two of Sato's best men. "We're opening B3 today. Same formation. No one moves ahead without call."

Ichika loaded her shotgun. "So, what do we expect down there?"

Riku gave a simple answer. "Truth."

Suzune smirked faintly. "You're getting dramatic in your old age."

"Just realistic."

They stood before the massive blast door once more. The biometric scanner waited, green light pulsing faintly.

Riku raised his hand to the panel.

"Here we go," he said.

The scanner beeped.

Then the door began to open.

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