The days blurred together. Alex lost count of how many times the system buzzed in his vision, feeding him new tasks. Most of them were simple—fix this, clean that, reinforce the shelter walls. But then came one that made him stop in his tracks: [Accept survivors].
He didn't know how to feel about it. Wasn't it hard enough just to keep himself alive? But the system was relentless. So, when a timid knock rattled the shelter's door one cold morning, Alex's heart nearly stopped. He opened up to find a woman—Mia—standing there, her limp obvious, her eyes tired but steady. He hesitated, but something in her expression made him step aside and let her in.
A day later, Lin showed up, scowling, her hands stained with grease and her words clipped and guarded. She fixed the generator without a word of thanks, then spent most of her time tinkering in the corner, like she was trying to disappear into the machinery. Rhea arrived last, arms full of ragged seed packets and a hopeful grin that made Alex want to believe things could get better.
With every new person, the place seemed to shift. Sometimes Alex would wake to find a fresh room down the hall, or catch a whiff of something green and growing that hadn't been there before. The system worked in the background, adding hidden cupboards, thickening the walls so the outside world felt further away. One morning, Alex found a tiny indoor garden thriving under pink grow lights—plump tomatoes, a few herbs, green shoots pushing up with impossible speed.
They all tried to settle in, though it wasn't easy. Sometimes, when tension hung heavy, a soft melody played from speakers hidden somewhere in the walls. Other times, when their nerves frayed, the kitchen would fill with the scent of warm bread, and for a few minutes, it felt like everything might be okay.
In that strange new world, bonds grew in fits and starts. There were late-night talks and shared silences, awkward glances and hands brushed together as they worked. Alex never saw himself as a leader—or even particularly likable—but somehow, he found himself at the center of it all. Sometimes, Mia would lean her head on his shoulder as they watched the garden together. Lin started joining him for midnight snacks, her sarcasm softening into something like trust. Rhea liked to talk about the future, about the things they could grow, and Alex found himself hoping alongside her.
He couldn't say what any of it meant. Some of the connections felt like the beginning of love; others were simply the comfort of not being alone. But every day, Alex felt a little less like a ghost and a little more like he belonged.