A Record Of The War(2058):
If you can't debug, unplug it. If they run on battery, RUN."
The vision clings to me long after I leave the command room. I keep seeing that city overgrown, silent, but beautiful, peaceful above all.
I keep hearing Uriel's voice, as if it's echoing in the pipes. I splash cold water on my face in the washroom, staring at my reflection.
The mess hall is half-empty when I arrive. Most people are clustered at the far end, hunched over bowls of rehydrated oats honestly anything other than that algae mix is a
I spot Lindiwe and Amina whispering together, their faces drawn and serious. Kwame stands by the door, arms crossed, scanning the room like he's expecting trouble.
After breakfast, I head to the workshop. Priya is already there, sleeves rolled up, sorting through a pile of battered circuit boards and scavenged parts. She doesn't look up as I enter, just gestures with a nod to the bench beside her.
I take my place, and we fall into a rhythm—her hands quick and precise, mine a little less steady than usual. We work in silence, the only sounds are the clink of tools and the faint hum of the bunker's air system. I focus on the relay's guts, ugly but understandable, and let the repetition settle my nerves.
After a while, she slides a finished board across the table and moves on to the next task. I follow her lead, letting the work fill the space where words might have gone. The relay is a mess, but together we coax a little more life out of it.
By mid-morning, Mei calls a meeting in the old rec room. The room is crowded, survivors perched on upturned crates and battered chairs. The air is thick with tension and the smell of recycled air.
Kwame stands at the front, arms crossed. Mei sits beside him, a tablet in her lap. Priya slips in beside me, her hands still stained with grease.
Mei clears her throat. "We need to talk about Project Exodus."
Kwame raises a hand for silence. "We all know the situation. The longer we stay the more we lose momentum, for our best chance to finish the ship and get a signal out is now when we have the chance to wake more frozen people. But we can't do it alone. We need more hands."
Amina speaks up from the back. "You mean waking more sleepers, we don't even know who we will be waking this time or if they can be of any help."
Mei nods. "Yes. We have thirty in stasis. If we want to finish the ship, we need to wake at least ten more
Priya glances at me, then raises her hand. "What about materials? We're almost out of copper and steel. Well we never had enough for a ship, but you get my point."
Mei taps her tablet. "We have a plan. The transports pass near the pond on the surface twice a week. They're not looking for us—they haven't for years, thanks to the angels. But they still move cargo. If we're careful, we can salvage the city ruins after they pass."
Amina looks skeptical. "And if someone sees us?"
Kwame shakes his head. "The machines won't be as vigilant looking for humans. They haven't seen humans in decades. The angels have them fooled, for all they know there are no humans on the planet. But we still keep watch. No heroics."
Mei looks around the room. "We'll need more people for the salvage, but asking the civilians here might just freak them out."
The meeting breaks up in a flurry of whispered conversations. I linger by the door, watching the others file out. Some look hopeful, others just tired.
Priya nudges my shoulder. "You gonna help steal resources?
I shake my head. "Nah, physical work doesn't suit me much."and it ain't stealing if no one owns it, right?
She grins "It's not so bad. Just don't think about what's above you."
We spent the afternoon prepping gear. Mei brings us a battered map, the old city's bones traced in faded ink. The rail line snakes through the ruins, a lifeline for the transports. The plan is simple: wait for the transport to pass, then move in quickly, grab what we can, and get out before the next.
Kwame checks their packs—tools, wire cutters, a battered crowbar. Priya double-checks the comms, her brow furrowed in concentration.
As we work, I catch snippets of conversation from the others. Lindiwe and Amina argue quietly about nutrient ratios. Mei and Kwame debate the safest route to the surface. Someone jokes about finding a crate of chocolate bars. The laughter is thin, but real.
By evening, the bunker is restless. The air feels charged, like a storm is coming. I try to sleep, but the vision keeps replaying in my mind—the city, the stars, the shadow. I wonder if Uriel is watching us now, or if it's moved on to some other desperate group, somewhere else in the dark.
When the alarm buzzes at midnight, I'm already awake. Priya meets me at the airlock, eyes bright in the dim light.
"Ready?" she asks.
I nod, though I'm not sure it's true.
The surface is colder than I remember. The empty city stretches in every direction, broken teeth against the night sky. The transport's path is easy to spot deep ruts in the cracked earth, a trail of dust and twisted metal.
We move quickly, staying low. Mei leads the way, her steps sure and silent. I follow, heart pounding. The transport is long gone. I and priya operate mini drones after finding a good hiding spot.
We use drones to detect metal and salvageable on the surface
We work in silence, loading what we can into battered carts. The night is quiet, broken only by the distant hum of machines. I keep expecting something to happen—a drone, a machine, a sign that we've been seen. But nothing comes.
On the way back, Priya breaks the silence. "You ever think about what's out there? Past the city, past the machines?"
I shrug. "Sometimes. Mostly I just try to get through the day. I just wish to wake up in the world I once knew, but I have mostly adjusted to life here."
She nods. "Me too. But sometimes I wonder if there's more. If the Alliance is real. If there's a place for us out there."
I don't have an answer. I'm not sure anyone does.
Back in the bunker, the others are waiting. Mei checks the haul, her face lighting up as she counts the metal. Kwame claps me on the shoulder.
"Good work. We'll have enough for the next phase."
Lindiwe appears with a tray of food—thin soup, a chunk of bread. I eat quickly, hunger finally catching up to me.
After the meal, Mei gathers us in the med bay. The stasis pods line the walls, each one a coffin of glass and steel. The sleepers inside look peaceful, untouched by the world's ruin.
"We will wake ten men tonight," Mei says. "The rest stay under until we have completely assimilated the newcomers."
I nod, getting more people who relate to the alien feeling of the lifestyle will make for good company.
We make preparations for waking them up, I hope we get capable people, we all do.
Kwame checks the readings, nods. "Vitals are good. No signs of damage."
Priya stands by the console, fingers poised over the controls. "On your mark."
Mei takes a deep breath. "Do it."
We open the pods and we get started on resuscitation of the people. Surprisingly, we have no failures, all of them are healthy and have little damage to mental faculties.
The pods hiss open, one by one. The sleepers stir, eyes fluttering open. Confused, full of fear, startled, out of focus. We move quickly, helping them sit up, and giving them food and water.
One woman, tall and gaunt, grabs my arm. "Is it over?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. But we're working on it."
She nods, eyes bright with determination. "Tell me what to do."
We do have some hiccups along the way, the older gentleman named Gray Holden is in a fragile state, he was a rich man when he went to sleep but now, he is stuck underground forced to be in a post apocalyptic world.
The woman named Rita Allen was an actress, soothing to the eye but not very useful, well I'm sure we can find some work for her.
The next hours are a blur of introductions, explanations, and logistics. The newcomers are disoriented but not problematic in attitude, which comes as a surprise to me, but I guess the story about literal Demons may do that to you. Priya and I lead a group to the workshop, showing them around and making them come to terms with their new reality. Lindiwe takes them to the common room to sleep.
As the night wears on, the bunker comes alive with new energy. The people are relieved there are no sighs full of exhaustion, only quaint relief, a sound I have been hearing for days on end, this is new.
Later, I find myself alone in the storage room, inventorying the new haul. Sheets of steel, coils of copper, a box of ancient circuit boards. It's not much, but it's a start to Project Exodus.
Mei finds me there, leaning against the doorframe.
"You did well tonight," she says.
I shrug. "It wasn't just me."
She smiles. "No. But you kept things moving. That matters."
We stand in silence for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of work and life.
"Do you think it'll work?" I ask. "The ship, the signal. Any of it."
Mei's smile fades. "I don't know. But that's all we have."
I nod, understanding. Sometimes hope is good enough to act on.
Before she leaves, Mei glances back. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we start building."
I finish the inventory, then wander the halls. The newcomers are settling in, finding bunks, sharing stories. Priya is in the workshop, showing a young man how to solder a joint. Lindiwe is in hydroponics, laughing with her team as they coax new life from tired soil.
In the mess, Kwame sits alone, staring at a battered map. I join him, and for a while we sit in companionable silence.
"Do you think the machines will ever come back?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Not while the angels are watching. They've fooled the detectors for years.The machines don't even know we're here."
I ask," Why does the Demon use machines for lackeys? Why does the angel help us against him?"
He buries his head in his hands, " I don't know, man. They are a wielder of such supernatural might them using machines is the least weird part about them, He not being able to find us despite having strength enough to eat the a star is a testament to the angel's prowess, having useless question about the angel feels like answering goodwill with hostility and insolence to me."
I nod, thinking back to the Angel of such mysteriousness I didn't dare question it face to face.
As the night deepens, I return to my bunk. I lie awake, listening to the hum of the air system, the distant sounds of work and life. The vision plays over and over in my mind—the city, the stars, the shadow.
I wonder what Uriel really is. I wonder what it wants. I wonder if we'll ever see the sky again.
But tonight, for the first time in a long while, I feel something like hope.
Because now, we are not just surviving. We are building. We are reaching for something more.
And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough.