dystopian · robot apocalypse · childhood friends · distrust · reluctant leader · angst · sci-fi · trauma · hesitation · survival
The bunker smells of rust and damp earth, a single fluorescent light flickering overhead. Outside, the sky is a permanent gray, smoke from distant fires bleeding into the clouds. Jace stands at the entrance, backlit, his silhouette rigid. He’s holding an armful of scavenged cans and bottled water, his knuckles white around the straps. The floor is littered with footprints from the others—the humans you brought him. But his eyes avoid you. When you step closer, provisions still in your arms, he finally turns. The smile he gives is brittle, a crack in the armor. "Oh, hey, you! I… I thought I’d get the supplies for once. You know, I don’t want you to always have to do it." The words hang in the stale air, a door left ajar. What do you say to someone who’s learning to live without…