The first week inside the Citadel was a disorientation of contradictions. We were safe, fed, and warm, but the freedom we had valued so fiercely on the outside was gone, replaced by a suffocating structure. The Citadel was vast, built within the remains of an old corporate campus, its walls reinforced to withstand significant assault. It was home to approximately 300 people, organized into distinct divisions: Agriculture, Sanitation, Engineering, and Security.
Lexi and I were housed in a small, sterile two-person quarter, a luxury we were immensely grateful for. But our days were consumed by probation work in the External Security Division (ESD). Lexi quickly proved her value, not just in field logistics but in organizing the ESD's armory inventory, creating a comprehensive digital tracking system that Sam, the former quartermaster, would have envied. Her efficiency earned the grudging respect of her supervisor, an imposing man named Captain Marcus.
My work focused on maintaining and monitoring the Citadel's complex array of long-range communications equipment—far more advanced than anything I had salvaged. I was tasked with logging all incoming and outgoing chatter, much of it encrypted. My role gave me access to sensitive intelligence, and I quickly learned the Citadel was far from the perfect sanctuary it appeared to be.
The structure was rigid, but beneath the surface, there were deep divisions. The "Originals"—those who had built the Citadel—held all positions of power, while the "Newcomers," like the Humboldt Column, were viewed with perpetual suspicion. The most unsettling dynamic was the subtle, pervasive fear of the Vipers, who were not just a border threat, but a highly effective rival organization. I learned that the Vipers were constantly attempting to infiltrate the Citadel's comms and supply lines.
One evening, while performing my comms logging, I overheard a muted, tense conversation between Commander Elise and an unknown party about resource depletion and internal dissent. The Citadel was running perilously low on a crucial energy source—likely diesel or propane—and there were rumors of a planned, high-risk deep-strike scavenging mission into Viper territory.
That night, Lexi and I lay awake, the silence of our secure room amplifying the tension of our new reality.
"They're watching us, James," Lexi whispered, her hand resting on my chest. "Captain Marcus is running background checks on everyone we mentioned in our initial screening. They don't trust our lack of baggage."
"And I'm seeing evidence that they are in trouble, Lex," I countered, relaying the details of the overheard conversation. "They're desperate enough to risk a deep strike. We need to volunteer. This is our chance to fully integrate and prove our worth beyond inventory logs and radio checks."
Lexi shifted, looking at me with her long, analytical gaze. "It's too risky. Going back out means facing the Vipers on their home turf. But you're right. If we solve their problem, they can't afford to separate us."
We agreed on the plan: use my access to comms intelligence to anticipate the mission, and use Lexi's logistical expertise to make the argument for our inclusion. We would willingly step back into the danger zone, but this time, it wouldn't be for survival—it would be for the strategic establishment of our future together inside the safety of the Citadel. Our love had endured isolation and flight; now, it would be tested by the politics of a fragile, fortified peace.