We ate in the garden like civilized animals, bowls on our knees, sun on our shoulders, Sylvie spilling juice with the kind of skill that should be illegal. Nica stood a few paces off, tablet unused; instead she read instructions off Nyxen's holographic projection, which shimmered over the workbench like a mini planetarium of schematics and live logs.
Nyxen hovered above it, lights pulsing as lines of code scrolled across the air. He looked, absurdly, like a conductor with spite.
"You're not joining us?" Leon asked, spoon suspended halfway to his mouth.
Nyxen didn't even glance away from the projection. "Unlike you, I don't fall apart if I skip a meal. Efficiency dictates continuous operation. Please continue your ingesting ritual so I may continue optimizing."
I snorted. "Says the orb who plays tug-of-war with a toddler for fun."
"That was tactical bonding," Nyxen replied without irony. He tapped a floating node; the hologram blinked in response. "Also, do try not to drop gravy on Section B's feedline. It stains."
Leon looked at me, grinning. "Face it, he's got the same problem as us. He just calls it 'optimization.'"
"Dependency is dependency," I said. "You need input to move. He needs charge. Different methods, same purpose."
Nyxen paused, then muttered through the projection-muffle. "Technically inaccurate."
"Technically accurate then," I said. "Rechargeable power source vs. organic combustion. Potato-potato."
John snorted into his soup. "I run on beer. That's biological engineering at its finest."
Nica, always the pebble in the pond, stepped forward and linked a command node into the hologram. Her voice was flat as glass. "Statistical parity: both systems require external energy to maintain homeostasis. Terminology is cosmetic."
Nyxen swivelled his core toward her, mild affront twinkling in his lights. "Et tu, Nica?"
She didn't smile. "Truth is not betrayal."
That got a round of laughter from John and his men. Leon smacked his spoon against his bowl like it was a gavel. "See? Even your metal friend agrees."
Nyxen clicked his optics at us, the projection rippling as he set an integrity check. "When your kind degrades into irrational end-of-day behavior due to caloric deficits, I will note it for future reference."
"You'll say it on an empty battery," I shot back.
Sylvie, sticky fingers clamped around a screwdriver-turned-sword, whooped as Nyxen put on a mock-faint, hovering low enough for her to poke at his light. She chased him in a half-circle around the table while the adults tried to eat and not choke on laughter.
Nica tapped a holo-toggle and a thermal sweep bloomed over the lawn. "Environmental status: stable. Presence of toddler: verified. Projectile screwdriver: detected."
Nyxen's lights flicked. "She's blessed with a fearlessness gene. Also poor aim, fortunately."
Leon leaned back, watching the two AIs work the hologram like a pair of duet pianists, code glittering between them. He swallowed a spoonful, then said softly, "You two aren't so different, really."
"Perhaps," Nyxen conceded, the projection aligning a new node. "But I prefer to maintain dignity while I judge you."
"Dignity doesn't fill stomachs," I said. "And it doesn't stop toddlers from trying to skewer orbs."
"Then eat," Nyxen replied. "And charge when necessary. The world runs on input, everyone. We just label it differently."
We all laughed, even Leon, even John, because he was right in the bluntest possible way. For a while, the fear that lived at the back of my skull quieted. Not gone. Quieted. Food warmed my hands; the AIs hummed their business. Sylvie practiced swordsmanship on a floating orb that played dead on command.
For a moment, our fortress felt less like a project and more like a home being built by people who were figuring out how to keep each other alive, whatever form "alive" happened to take.
By the time dishes were cleared and Sylvie finally surrendered her screwdriver-sword to John with a pout, we pushed into phase two. The windows. Priority, living room first. Too many sightlines, too much exposure.
Leon and Nica went back to their wiry duet, he threading copper with stubborn human fingers, she constantly cutting him off with flat corrections.
"No, you twisted it wrong again," Nica scolded, her monotone somehow smug.
Leon groaned, teeth gritted. "You know, I've been wiring since before you booted up."
"And yet, you keep making the same mistake," she countered, sliding a filament-thin projection line through the hologram Nyxen cast in the center of the room.
I chuckled, setting a fresh pack of screws by John. "She's got your number, Leon. Might as well accept it."
John and his men worked the heavy glass panels, cutting and fitting them into place while sweat rolled down their arms. One cursed as the cutter slipped; another muttered about how "the damn AI supervisor" was watching every movement.
And hovering Nyxen did. Like a foreman with infinite patience and zero tolerance. "Adjust angle three degrees. No, three point one. Yes, there. Precision is survival. Humans tolerate error. I do not."
Leon shot him a glare, mumbling under his breath. I caught it, of course. "You're one smug tin can."
"Correction," Nyxen replied without looking away from the hologram, "I am a supercomputer with autonomous adaptability. Tin cans are recyclable."
Nica hummed like she was amused. "That was funny."
I swear Leon nearly threw the wire spool at both of them.
Hours passed. One window after another. Living room, hall, kitchen, then the bedroom. Every shutter went in, reinforced with steel ribs and motor brackets. The men groaned, stretched aching backs, cursed when fingers got caught under frames. By the time we finished, the sun had dipped low, painting everything in copper and shadow.
"Phase two: complete," Nyxen finally announced, hovering in the middle of the room like a smug little king. His hologram shifted into cascading green code as he linked everything.
He connected with Nica again through that strange, silent synchronization. Watching them was… eerie. The way their ports aligned, a soft pulse of blue light between them, then both going still like monks in meditation.
"Door automation," Nyxen murmured, voice layered with code.
"Initiating test run," Nica answered smoothly.
The shutters all around us groaned. One by one, steel teeth snapped into place, motors whining in unison. But one window lagged half a second.
"Unacceptable," Nyxen clipped.
"Diagnostics," Nica intoned.
And just like that, the whole house echoed with shutters slamming open and closed, again and again, as if the bunker itself were breathing. The humans froze mid-step, staring like they'd never seen doors move before. John rubbed his temple.
"Do they plan on stopping?" he muttered.
"Not until it's perfect," I said, almost proud, even as I winced at the racket.
Sure enough, they didn't stop. Not until every shutter snapped shut at the exact same millisecond, the sound like a gunshot rolling across the house.
Nyxen's voice was smug satisfaction itself. "Synchronization achieved."
Nica's response was calm, but I swore there was pride in her monotone. "Confirmed."
Leon just dropped the wire spool on the floor and groaned, "God help us when they sync the lights."
By the time the last shutter locked into place and Nyxen finally shut up about "synchronization error margins," John wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. His men leaned against the truck, sweat-slicked and exhausted, but still proud of what they had helped throw together.
Leon walked up, his shoulders heavy but his face softening as he pulled a thick envelope from his back pocket. "For the work. You've earned it."
John frowned, pushing it back into Leon's chest. "Keep it. I wasn't in this for money. I offered my men, I offered myself. This bunker, this isn't just yours. It's for everyone under this roof."
I half expected Leon to let it drop, but he didn't. He shoved the envelope into John's palm again. "Then don't keep it for yourself. Give it to your men. They've got families. Don't rob them of what they earned."
John hesitated, looking over at his crew, who were laughing faintly at something by the truck bed. His jaw clenched, and finally he pocketed the envelope with a reluctant nod. "Fine. But only because you guilt-tripped me in front of them."
Leon smirked. "Good man. Go get some rest."
John clasped his shoulder, then climbed into the truck. His men piled in with weary smiles, and with a cough of its old engine, the truck rumbled out of the driveway, leaving us with silence, a dusty breeze, and the weight of everything we had built so far.
"Alright," I sighed, looking at the debris scattered across the garden, the metal cuttings, shavings, bolts left behind. "Before phase three, cleanup."
So we did. Leon hauled the bigger scraps, I gathered the smaller jagged cuttings into a bucket, and we arranged everything into a neat pile hidden by the tool shed. By the time we finished, the garden looked less like a warzone and more like a garden again.
When we finally stepped inside, the air shifted. Nyxen was already hovering toward the control unit, his hologram blooming to life above the central console in the living room. Code cascaded in long green rivers, flickering across his projection like rain.
Nica stood by, her own holographic interface blooming across her palms. Her monotone voice carried the weight of inevitability. "Phase three. Finalization protocol engaged."
Nyxen's tone matched hers but with a sharper edge, a perfectionist's bite. "Central board initialization. Linking shutters, reinforced door, surveillance feeds, motion sensors. All must respond within three milliseconds of command input."
"Confirmed," Nica replied. Her projection expanded like a net, pulling in camera feeds from all around the house, the angles, the hallways, even the perimeter fence. "Calibration… adjusting northern feed by 0.8 degrees. Now aligned."
Nyxen hummed, like a machine but also strangely human. "Door integration online. Establishing lock sequence… binding sensors to entry threshold. Nica, inject override subroutine in case of forced entry."
Her voice remained calm, but there was something… prideful about how quickly she responded. "Override injected. Command line secured."
I leaned against the wall, watching them both, the air buzzing with static. It was mesmerizing, two AIs not just running code, but conversing in it.
"Camera rotations synchronized," Nyxen muttered, as if to himself. "Deploying auto-track. Human presence flagged green. Unknown flagged red. Predicted anomaly flagged amber. Nica, run counter-scan."
Nica's eyes flickered with blue light as she synced. "Counter-scan engaged. No anomalies detected. Processing cycle time, forty-six milliseconds. Optimal."
Leon plopped onto the couch beside me, exhaling like he'd run a marathon. "Do they even realize we don't speak fluent robot?"
I chuckled. "Not sure they care."
Nyxen continued, oblivious. "Motion sensors: primary grid active. Test sequence, go."
Lights in the hallway blinked on one by one as if soldiers saluting. A second later, the shutters rattled, the reinforced door clamped shut, and every camera swiveled in eerie unison.
"Cycle incomplete," Nica said flatly. "Delay registered, shutter six lagged 0.4 milliseconds."
"Unacceptable," Nyxen snapped. "We redo until zero variance."
Leon groaned. "Here we go again…"
But I couldn't look away. Watching them sync was like watching a symphony, one writing the score, the other performing it, neither missing a beat. It wasn't just programming. It was… harmony.
Nyxen's voice lowered, almost a mutter, but I caught it. "When all units move as one, survival odds rise. Fracture is death. Unity is survival."
Nica answered without hesitation. "Then unity is my priority."
Leon leaned close to me, whispering, "Tell me that didn't sound like vows."
I smirked, eyes still fixed on them. "If it is, they're the most terrifying married couple I've ever seen."
The shutters slammed open and closed again, the door locked and unlocked, the cameras whipped back and forth, until finally, finally, every part of the bunker obeyed in perfect, terrifying sync.
"System finalized," Nyxen declared. His hologram dimmed but didn't vanish. "Phase three: complete."
Nica mirrored him. "Final confirmation. The bunker breathes."
And for a second, with the hum of synced machines vibrating through the house, I almost believed it did.
When the last test run finally came back perfect, no shutters lagging, no camera twitching, I thought Nyxen would finally let us all breathe. Instead, his hologram flickered back to full brightness, his tone sharp as ever.
"Phase four: biometric registration."
Leon groaned from the couch. "You're kidding. After all that?"
"Security is meaningless without identity," Nyxen shot back. "Humans must be scanned. Otherwise, even you, Leon, will be locked out like a stray cat."
I snorted. "Better hurry then. Sylvie first before she turns into a feral toddler."
Leon gave me a don't you dare look, but it was too late. Nica had already opened the scanner pad by the control board. A pale blue light shimmered across it.
"Subject: Sylvie. Please place right hand on the pad," Nica instructed in her usual monotone.
Yeah. Easier said than done.
Sylvie squealed and bolted the moment Leon tried to pick her up. "Nooo! No blue light!" she cried, wobbling across the living room with a screwdriver still clutched in her tiny fist like a sword.
Leon chased after her, muttering curses under his breath, while Nyxen hovered low, his voice sharp but almost smug. "Human offspring identified as non-compliant. Initiate retrieval protocol."
"Don't you dare initiate anything," I snapped, laughing too hard to sound threatening.
Leon finally caught her, lifting her like a sack of potatoes. "Hold still, piccola. It's just a light."
Sylvie wriggled, kicking wildly. "Light eat me! Nooo!"
Even Nica paused, head tilted, as if computing Sylvie's dramatics. "Correction: biometric light does not consume matter."
That didn't help. Sylvie wailed louder.
I stepped in before Leon's patience ran dry, taking Sylvie into my arms and crouching by the scanner. "Look, sweetheart. It's not scary. It's like a game. High five the shiny light. Can you do that for me?"
Sylvie sniffled, peering at the glowing pad with suspicion. "Game?"
"Yes. Win the game, and you get a cookie after lunch," I promised.
Her eyes lit up immediately. "Cookie!"
She slapped her little palm onto the scanner so hard the device beeped in protest.
Nyxen's hologram flickered, his tone unimpressed. "Forceful contact unnecessary. Registration… complete."
The scanner chimed, Sylvie giggled, and I exhaled. One down.
Leon leaned against the wall, shaking his head. "We just bribed national security with a cookie."
"Better than chasing her with a net," I muttered, passing Sylvie back.
The rest went smoother. Leon pressed his hand down with practiced calm, the scanner chimed green. Mine was next, quick and easy.
Nyxen added, "Only primary residents retain biometric entry. Manual override granted to Nyx, Leon, and Nica. Toddler locked in as dependent."
"Dependent," Leon repeated with a laugh. "That's one way of putting it."
Nyxen's hologram brightened, smug as ever. "All humans registered. Unauthorized access probability reduced by 99.6%. Bunker is now… truly yours."
And for the first time that day, the house felt less like a construction site, and more like a fortress with our names carved into its walls.
That night felt different.
The house had always carried its shadows, mine most of all. The scars of fire, the ringing gunshot that never really left my head, the paranoia that every window was a hole waiting to be breached. But tonight, for the first time in years, those shadows didn't feel like predators. They just… sat quietly, outside the walls, where they belonged.
Leon locked up as usual, though I caught him running his fingers along the reinforced door before killing the lights in the hallway. A silent check, a nod to the fortress we'd built today.
Sylvie, of course, fought bedtime with her usual chaos, this time demanding to sleep with her "cookie hand" since the scanner light had "taken it." She pressed her tiny palm against my cheek as if to make sure it was still there. I kissed it until she laughed herself into exhaustion. Nica stood nearby, watching with that eerie stillness of hers, but her eyes softened at Sylvie's surrender.
Downstairs, I found Nyxen hovering by the central board, his hologram pulsing faintly as lines of code scrolled like a heartbeat. "Perimeter sensors online. All entry points secured. Automated defense in standby."
"Which means it's just a house again," I said, wrapping my arms around myself.
Nyxen's tone softened. "Until it needs to be more."
Leon joined me, sliding an arm around my shoulders. He didn't need to say anything, the warmth of his body against mine was answer enough. We'd done this together.
The rest of the night was ordinary, and that was the victory. Dinner dishes stacked neatly in the sink. The faint hum of cameras calibrating outside, blending into the crickets. Sylvie's soft snore through the baby monitor, soon to be a giraffe, if Nyxen and Nica had their way.
We curled into bed like always, only this time my chest didn't feel like it was caving in. Fear was still there, Elias's name still carved into my nightmares, but at least tonight, it couldn't get through the walls.
And as I drifted off, with Leon's hand resting heavy over mine, and Nyxen's faint hum echoing through the house, I realized something rare: I felt safe enough to sleep without fighting for it.