"Okay, we don't have long to admire this place." I say.


The metal walls are massive. Beams that are long enough to build trains tie together to hold the massive walls up. It seems a whole settlement could live in here. I can see some have even gotten electric lights, which I didn't think we could have. So many mysteries of the old world to uncover.


Mia starts to drag a huge military-grade chest in front of the door to barricade it shut, the heavy metal scraping against the floor with a harsh, grating shriek. Maybe, just maybe, she knows more about here than meets our eyes. I can only hope her knowledge is just as reliable as always.


"There should be weapons somewhere inside-" She says, when she faces me she freezes.


"What?" I ask.


"I don't think there are any survivors here." She says bleakly.


"What do you-" I turn and stop when I see what caught her.


Mutilated flesh and blood are everywhere. No bones found anywhere. Just pure gore. The blood has congealed into thick, blackened pools, clinging to the floor in tar-like smears. The air is thick with decay, stagnant with death that has lingered far too long. Mia is trying to keep her stomach. The gagging is near impossible for me to resist.


"Damn." She says.


"Think it was those things?" I ask.


We are careful as we walk through, as not to slip on pieces of muscles or various bits of organ. I shudder at the scent of death filling the air inside. No windows or doors really make a lot of room for movement of this terribly stagnant air. It is almost as if these people have been dead for days.


"Probably." Mia says.


"So what now?" I ask.


"We prepare for an attack-" She replies as pounding on the door begins.


Metal screeching at the door like nails on a chalkboard, as if they were claws when each hand would back away from the door. Then, suddenly—silence. A long, unsettling pause. My breath catches. Are they thinking? Listening? The air is charged with anticipation, as if something just beyond the door is calculating its next move. The pause stretches long enough to make my skin crawl before the hammering resumes, more vicious than before.


I feel my hairs stand on end as Mia frantically grabs chairs and desks, shoving them against the door with all the strength she can muster. The desperation in her movements is infectious, and I rush to help, dragging anything within reach to fortify our barricade. Our breaths come fast and sharp, the sound of scraping metal and the relentless pounding outside merging into a chaotic symphony of survival.


"What's the point of this?" I ask.


"Buying me time to get a plan together." She huffs angrily. "These fuckers are stubborn." She adds.


"What about the hologram cards we bought?" I ask.


"What about them?" She asks.


"What if they feel fear like we do?" I ask.


"We could scare them off..." Mia drifts for a moment.


The thoughts that fill her head have me questioning so much. She seems to be scanning the desk, door, and its little window. She starts to chuckle.


"Got an idea?" I ask.


"Oh yeah, punch the window of the door out." She demands. "I'll hold the barricade. Just do it." She adds.


"Right." I say.


I scramble to the desk and stand on it, smacking the metal rod that holds the electric whip against it so it shatters. The impact echoes through the room, shards scattering at my feet. I glance at Mia. She gives me a thumbs up, a silent confirmation of our unspoken trust—the kind built on reading each other's intent through nothing more than instinct and the smallest of cues.


"Now trade places with me." She says as I hop off of the desk.


I go ahead and push against the barricade. She walks up behind me and slips her hand into my pocket to get the deck of cards. I can't help but fight my urge to move away, as this was not expected. But then she smiles and, before I can process it, she kisses me on the cheek.


A welcome surprise. Warmth floods through me, even in the middle of all this chaos. It’s not just the gesture—it’s the way she carries herself, fearless, full of ideas and confidence. My admiration for her only deepens.


"Thanks, I know what card to use, I think." She says, flowing through the deck.


"Right." I can't think of what else to contribute at the moment.


Her confidence never stops amazing me. Even in the face of danger, she moves with an effortless certainty, as if fear itself is just another obstacle to outmaneuver. It’s more than just boldness—it’s an unshakable trust in her own instincts, a trait I can’t help but admire. I wish I carried that same unwavering self-assurance within myself.