The Underground Dwellers

The sound of their footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, carrying a heavy rhythm that seemed to shackle the lifeless place.

The guard led Rakien to a small room in the center of a row, pushed the door open, and a pungent, strong smell rushed out. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a few rudimentary beds, piled high with clutter and dust.

The guard, with a furrowed brow and an expressionless face, said to Rakien, "This is your spot, live with them." He pointed to a group of people in the corner. Rakien's gaze swept over these unfamiliar faces, trying to find some warmth from them, but all he saw was indifference and numbness. An old woman was wiping the sweat from a child's forehead; the child had a persistent high fever, cracked lips, and seemed to be on the brink of death.

A flicker of compassion crossed Rakien's eyes, but he said nothing, only standing silently by, contemplating how he should seek survival in this new environment.

In the dim corner, several night-luminous plants grew unusually lush.

In the wasteland world, due to radiation and environmental changes, these plants had evolved bioluminescent characteristics, emitting a faint glow at night and becoming a natural light source for the refugees in the shelter.

"Seems like you're here for refuge too," the old woman suddenly spoke from the side, her voice cold. Rakien did not respond, only nodding in acknowledgment.

This woman, Alice, was a survivor of the nuclear war. With just a few words, Rakien understood the bitterness in her heart. Alice told him that she had been living in another shelter, but due to scarce resources and internal strife, she had no choice but to leave, wandering with her child until she ended up here. Now, the resources in this shelter were also nearing depletion. "You shouldn't have come here," she said indifferently, "there's no hope here."

A boy lying on the bed slowly sat up. He was about the same age as Rakien, around fourteen or fifteen, dressed in tattered clothes, his face covered in dust, yet his eyes were full of cunning. "Are you new here?" the boy asked, his voice low and cautious. Rakien nodded slightly.

The boy stared at him for a moment, then pointed to a corner of the room, "There's some water over there, go drink it." His tone was steady, seemingly implying a cherishing of the hard-earned water resources.

Rakien pursed his lips and walked towards the water source, gazing at the yellowish liquid, feeling a wave of nausea. However, he had no choice—here, survival was already a luxury. After drinking the water, he returned to the boy and asked in a low voice, "What's your name?"

The boy looked at him, his voice deep, as if deliberately keeping a distance, yet occasionally glancing at Rakien from the corner of his eye. "My name is Kai," he said coldly. "Don't ask too many questions, the more you know, the faster you die."

Rakien paused, wanting to look around, turned and walked out the door, slowly making his way deeper into the shelter. The air was filled with a damp, moldy smell, mixed with a metallic taste like rust. Each of his steps echoed in the narrow corridor, the low reverberation of the metal floor seemed to remind him that this was an inescapable closed world.

As the corridor extended, Rakien's view gradually opened up to a long, narrow hall ahead. The light in the center of the hall was dim, with a few rudimentary tables and chairs scattered around, and yellowed slogans on the walls reminding people to save every drop of water. Rakien stood at the entrance, carefully observing the place. Muffled whispers came from all around, a few people gathered together, talking in hushed voices, occasionally casting wary glances.

"New guy? Never seen you before," a deep voice came from behind, and Rakien turned around sharply. A middle-aged man of about forty, dressed in dirty, tattered cotton clothes, with disheveled hair and a face full of wrinkles, was holding a bit of soup in his hand, his eyes showing a hint of fatigue and indifference.

Rakien nodded, his gaze quickly sweeping over the man, noticing the worn-out badge hanging on his chest, barely discernible with the number: "652."

"Another one... damn it, a new arrival," 652 snorted, turning and walking towards a corner of the hall.

Rakien muttered to himself, what a strange guy. His gaze swept every corner of the hall. These refugees were dressed in tattered clothes, some with obvious wounds and scars, their faces full of dirt and exhaustion. They either ate hard, stone-like dry food while lowering their heads or huddled together to barely keep warm. In the corner, several people were squeezed together, their faces almost expressionless, their eyes revealing a sense of confusion and fear about the future.

The environment inside the shelter formed a stark contrast with the outside world. Outside was the cold snowfield and extreme weather, while here, although a place of refuge, was filled with suppression and tension. The lighting equipment in the shelter was obviously aging, flickering from time to time, making it particularly eerie. The air was filled with a strange smell, but more so with the stench of decay and sweat, making one want to vomit.

Rakien stood still, feeling the intangible pressure of this place. The rules of survival here seemed even more brutal than the outside world.

At that moment, a muffled noise came from the thick door in the distance, like a roar from the depths of the earth. A group of figures stumbled into view, several newly arrived refugees.

The poor souls were dressed in rags, as if they had picked up scraps from the ruins and haphazardly sewn them together.

Hunger and exhaustion eroded their bodies like demons, deeply imprinted on everyone's face. Sunken cheeks, prominent cheekbones, rough and cracked skin. Especially the old man shakily following at the end of the line, his eyes filled with tears, turbid like a stagnant pool, seemingly bearing endless sorrow and pain.

Rakien's gaze was drawn to a boy in the crowd. The child was about ten years old, with a thin frame like a reed swaying in the wind. His bones were clearly visible, as if a thin layer of skin and flesh barely covered them. The face that should have been full of childlike innocence was now sunken, appearing particularly fragile, as if it would break with the slightest touch, clutching a stick tightly in his hand.

A guard mercilessly slapped the back of the child's head, viciously scolding, "Damn it, move it!" Struck by such a violent blow, the child's small body immediately lost balance, staggering several steps, almost falling to the ground. Rakien's heart twitched, a hard-to-describe sadness welling up inside him.

This scene reminded him of the people he had seen in his countless nightmares. They were also in a world torn by war, also facing despair and helplessness, their eyes revealing a desire to survive and that tenacious stubbornness.

He walked to the wall, sat down along the corner, closed his eyes, trying to recall something. Those scenes from his dreams, like scars, occasionally surfaced.

"Hey~ new guy!" a voice came, Rakien opened his eyes, it was 652, the man stood in front of him.