The room fell silent after Ahmed's warning.
Eleven people kneeling on concrete. Hands bound. Stripped of everything. Waiting.
The lights hummed overhead. Someone shifted. The sound of fabric against concrete echoed in the vast space.
Ahmed stood motionless at the front. Watching the doorway behind them. His hands clasped. Waiting.
Minutes passed.
The silence pressed down. Heavy. Suffocating.
Then, faintly, footsteps.
Not hurried. Not slow. Just steady. Measured. The sound of someone who had all the time in the world.
Ahmed's posture changed. Spine straightened. Shoulders back. Like a soldier snapping to attention.
Nisha, who'd been standing off to the side, turned toward the sound. Her hand moved unconsciously to smooth her hair. Adjust her shirt.
The footsteps grew louder. Closer. Each one deliberate. Echoing across the concrete.
Reyan felt his daughter press against his side. Even kneeling, even blindfolded earlier, she could sense the shift in the room. The tension.
The footsteps stopped.
For a moment, nothing. Just the hum of lights. The sound of people breathing.
Then he spoke.
"Ahmed." The voice was calm. Almost conversational. "You told them the basics?"
"Yes sir."
"Good."
More footsteps. Circling. Moving around the kneeling group slowly. Taking his time. Letting them hear him. Feel his presence.
Reyan turned his head, trying to track the sound. Caught a glimpse.
Tall. Dark hair. Maybe mid-thirties. Button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Clean. Too clean for this world. He moved with quiet confidence. Not military. Not aggressive. Just certain.
Like someone who'd never questioned whether he'd be obeyed.
The man completed his circle. Stopped in front of them. Close enough now to see clearly.
His eyes swept over the group once. Not cruel. Not kind. Just assessing. Like looking at tools. Deciding which ones were useful.
Then he smiled. Small. Polite.
"Nisha," he said, not looking away from the kneeling group.
She crossed to him immediately. He turned his head as she approached. She reached up and kissed him. Brief. Familiar. The kind of kiss that said this wasn't the first time. Or the hundredth.
When they pulled apart, his hand rested on her shoulder for a moment. "Any trouble?"
"No sir."
"Good girl." He patted her shoulder once. Turned back to the group.
The gesture was casual. Proprietary. Like petting a loyal dog.
Samir's jaw tightened. Watching his sister. Watching the stranger touch her like he owned her.
The man noticed. His smile widened slightly. But he didn't comment.
Instead, he took a few steps forward. Stopped about ten feet away. Hands clasped loosely in front of him. Relaxed. Unthreatening.
But Reyan could feel the weight of him. The presence. This was someone used to being the most important person in every room.
"My name is Advait," he said. His voice carried easily. Not loud. Not soft. Just clear. "I run this facility. Sanctuary, we call it." He paused. "Though I suppose that's optimistic given the state of things outside."
He let the words settle. Gave them time to look at him. To understand who was in charge.
"You're probably wondering what happens now," he continued. "So let me be clear. You have a choice to make."
"Which is?" Karan asked. His voice was level despite being on his knees.
Advait looked at him. Really looked. Studying. "Simple. You can stay, or you can go."
"That's it?" Meera asked. Skeptical.
"That's it." Advait's tone remained pleasant. "If you stay, you work. You contribute. You earn your place here. If you don't want that, I'll cut you loose right now. Give you back your supplies. Send you on your way. No hard feelings."
"What kind of work?" Reyan asked.
"Scavenging. Supply runs. Going out into the city and bringing back what we need. Medicine. Food. Equipment. Fuel." Advait gestured around the facility. "This place doesn't run on hope. It runs on resources. We provide safety. You provide resources. Fair trade."
"Fair?" Karan's voice had an edge now. "We risk our lives. You stay safe inside."
Advait's smile didn't waver. "Yes. That's how it works."
The bluntness of it caught everyone off guard.
"I'm not going to lie to you," Advait continued. "The runs are dangerous. People die. But you know what else is dangerous? Being out there with no walls. No power. No clean water. No medical supplies." He paused. "At least here, when you come back, you're safe. You sleep in a bed. You eat real food. You're not wondering if tonight's the night something breaks through your barricade."
"And if we refuse?" Vikram asked.
"Then you leave. Like I said." Advait spread his hands. "I'm not interested in forcing anyone to stay. You either want to be here or you don't."
"We could scavenge on our own," Karan said. "Outside these walls. Keep what we find instead of giving it to you."
"You could." Advait nodded. "Absolutely. You're welcome to try." He tilted his head slightly. "But tell me something. Do you know how to use those rifles my people are carrying? Do you know where to find fuel that hasn't been siphoned already? Do you know which buildings are safe and which ones are full of infected?" He paused. "Do you know how to sleep without worrying that every sound means you're about to die?"
"Or try to reach the military," Karan said.
Advait didn't answer immediately. He just looked at Karan for a second longer than necessary.
"If they were still out there," he said finally, "you wouldn't be kneeling in this room."
Silence.
"We teach you," Advait said simply. "Weapons. Tactics. Navigation. We give you maps. Training. Support. You don't go out blind and desperate. You go out prepared. And when you come back, you sleep behind walls. Behind guards. Behind safety." He let that sink in. "So yes. You could try to do it alone. But how long do you think you'd last?"
No one answered.
Advait smiled again. That same polite, patient smile. "I'm not trying to scare you. I'm giving you the truth. This world is worse than you think. It's going to keep getting worse. And the only way to survive it is together. Organized. Disciplined." He looked at each of them. "That's what I offer. Structure. Purpose. A chance."
He took a step back. "But like I said. It's your choice. I'm not asking you to decide right now. You're tired. You've been through hell getting here. So take some time. Look around. Ask questions. Then tell me what you want to do."
He looked at Ahmed. "Show them the facility. Answer their questions. Be thorough."
"Yes sir," Ahmed said quietly.
Advait nodded. Then looked back at the group. "While you're here, you follow the rules. You go where you're directed. You don't touch anything without permission." His voice remained calm. Pleasant. "Break the rules, and you leave. Immediately. Are we clear?"
"Clear," Karan said after a moment. The others echoed him.
"Good." Advait looked at Nisha. "Cut them loose."
She moved down the line with a knife. Zip ties snapped. Hands came free. People stood slowly, rubbing their wrists, stretching stiff legs.
Advait watched until everyone was on their feet. Then he met Karan's eyes one more time.
"I know what you're thinking," he said quietly. "Too good to be true. Safe walls and all we have to do is risk our lives for you." He paused. "You're right to be suspicious. But ask yourself this—where else are you going to go?"
He let that question hang in the air.
Then he turned and walked away. Nisha followed. Their footsteps echoed until they disappeared through a doorway.
The group stood there. Free but not really. Safe but not really.
Ahmed cleared his throat. "I'll show you around."
They followed him through the facility.
Past workers wearing those same dark glasses. Past guards with rifles. Past rooms stacked with supplies—canned food, bottled water, medical equipment. More than any of them had seen in one place since the outbreak.
Ahmed pointed things out as they walked. His voice flat. Mechanical. Like he'd given this tour before.
"Main floor. Storage. Medical. Sleeping quarters upstairs. Command center on the third level. You don't go there unless called."
They passed a large map on the wall. Niraya. Covered in colored marks.
"Green is cleared," Ahmed explained. "Yellow is uncertain. Red is too dangerous." He pointed to a cluster of red near the city center. "Ground zero. We don't go there."
"How many people here?" Samir asked.
"About sixty. Some are out."
They saw the generator room. The cafeteria. The showers. Everything functioning. Everything organized.
Everything too good to be true.
Finally, Ahmed stopped at a door. Plain metal. A sign: LAB.
He put his hand on the handle. Hesitated.
"Before we go in," he said, "I need you to understand something. What you're about to see—it's going to be difficult. But it's necessary. Advait wants you to know exactly what we're dealing with. What we're fighting."
"Just open it," Meera said.
Ahmed did.
The smell hit them first.
Antiseptic. Sharp. Chemical. And underneath it, something else. Something organic and wrong.
The lab was medium-sized. Tables covered with equipment. Microscopes. Computers. Test tubes. But that's not what drew their attention.
On three metal tables in the center of the room, bodies lay strapped down.
Infected. But not moving. Not groaning. Just lying there. Tubes running into their arms. Wires attached to their heads.
And standing over one of them, wearing a white coat and dark glasses, was another man. Older. Fifties maybe. He looked up as they entered.
"Ahmed," he said. Voice tired. "These the new ones?"
"Yeah." Ahmed gestured to the group. "Everyone, this is Dr. Aggarwal. He's been helping me with the research."
Dr. Aggarwal nodded once. Turned back to his work.
"What is this?" Reyan asked, staring at the bodies.
"Research," Ahmed said simply. He moved to one of the tables. Picked up a small vial. Clear liquid inside. "This is what started everything. The compound we developed. Neural regeneration serum. It was supposed to heal. Instead..." He gestured at the bodies. "Instead it did this."
"Why keep them?" Taj asked. His voice was shaky.
"To study. To understand." Ahmed set the vial down. "The infection is evolving. Changing. Getting worse. If we're going to have any chance of stopping it, we need to know how it works."
"The infection is evolving. Changing. Getting worse. If we're going to have any chance of stopping it, we need to know how it works."
He paused.
Reached up. Tapped the dark glasses on his face once.
"And now," Ahmed said quietly, "you're going to understand why everyone here wears these."
He turned to Dr. Aggarwal.
"Tell them." Dr. Aggarwal said