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Dawn watches the flicker of sixty surveillance screens stretched across the wall. Laboratories. Experimentation rooms. Holding cells. Conference rooms. Every major Unicorp operation unfolds before her in real time.

She sits at a long glass desk, her fingertips gliding across the digital interface as she cycles through camera feeds.

In one of the rooms is Beckhart meeting with an executive that Dawn has never seen before. The conference rooms have no audio feed—a precaution taken long ago after executives complained about being monitored by their own surveillance systems. Dawn zooms in to get a closer look at the unknown executive. An older gentleman sits across from Beckhart, dressed in a light-blue suit with neatly slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair. She tries to read the documents on the table, but cannot discern the text. Beckhart glances toward the camera as it adjusts its angle. Dawn immediately switches to another feed.

The screen shifts to a twelve-panel display showing the animal experimentation wing. The primary animals used for experimentation are mice, apes, and rabbits. Rooms for mice and rabbits have many more cages due to the size of the animals, while the rooms for apes consist of 6 boxes per room. A penetrable screech is heard in one of the rabbit room. Dawn zooms the camera to notice one of the rabbits squirming in its cage. Its hind legs kick wildly against the metal floor as its body convulses. Another shrill screech echoes through the speakers.

She sets down her coffee and taps a button on the interface.

“Security to Rabbit Room Three,” she says into the intercom. “We’ve got a distressed subject.”

A nearby guard acknowledges the request and heads toward the elevator.

Dawn watches the monitor for a few more seconds. The rabbit thrashes against the cage wall, knocking over a water dish. Blood drips from one nostril onto the floor.

Something about the sight irritates her. Not the suffering, but the noise.

The screech comes again, piercing through the otherwise quiet surveillance room.

Dawn rises from her chair.

The guard glances back at her as she approaches the elevator.

“I’ve got it, Ms. Hemmings.”

“I know,” Dawn replies.

The elevator descends several floors into the experimentation wing. By the time the doors open, a pair of researchers have already gathered outside Rabbit Room Three. They stand awkwardly near the entrance, clipboards in hand, watching the animal convulse.

The guard reaches the room a few seconds after Dawn.

“You want me to tranquilize it?” he asks.

Dawn peers through the glass.

The rabbit’s breathing is ragged. Its body jerks involuntarily every few seconds. Whatever synthetic compound it had been administered was clearly overwhelming its nervous system.

“No.”

The researchers exchange uncertain glances.

Dawn enters the room and kneels beside the cage. The rabbit tries to crawl away but only manages a weak stumble before collapsing onto its side.

One of the researchers clears his throat.

“We were going to monitor the progression for another twenty minutes.”

Dawn opens the cage.

“Then monitor the autopsy.”

She gently lifts the rabbit from the enclosure. It trembles violently in her hands. Its heartbeat races against her palm.

For a brief moment she studies it. Years ago she would have pitied it. Now she simply sees a failed experiment.

The rabbit lets out one final screech.

A quick twist. A sharp crack.

Silence. The room goes still.

Dawn stands and hands the limp body to one of the researchers.

“Run a full postmortem and compare the tissue samples to Subjects Twenty-One through Twenty-Seven.”

The researcher nods and hurries away.

The guard watches her with a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

“You didn’t have to do that yourself.”

Dawn looks toward the empty cage.

“No,” she says quietly. “But someone had to.”

She turns to leave the room.

As the elevator doors close behind her, she catches her reflection in the polished metal. For a moment, she hardly recognizes the woman staring back.

Then the doors shut, and the feeling passes.

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“I promise. I don’t want to keep doing this shit,” Cory says, his hood pulled low over his head.

The twenty-something-year-old man slouches in the passenger seat of his mom’s car. Heavy shadows hang beneath his eyes, souvenirs from nights that never really ended. His reckless lifestyle has followed him into his adulthood. The once-enjoyable camaraderie of debauchery is now confined to his own apartment and his loneliness. This is not the first time that he has checked into rehab. It probably won’t be the last.

“You’re staying for at least 30 days this time.”

“Mom, I don’t–” Cory begins, but she cuts him off.

“No!” She slams her hand on the dashboard. “I’m not listening to how you ‘just need ten days.’ Just a quick detox and you’ll be back on your feet. I’ve heard it all before.”

Cory slumps back into the seat, the hood covering the faint tears welling up in his eyes. She’s right. It’s a tough pill to swallow–tougher than the countless pills he’s crushed and snorted. Empty bottles and bags litter his past. There’s no going back over the burnt bridges his path of destruction has left behind. The weight of it all has cost his mother more than any amount of money he’s stolen.

They sit in silence, both staring out the window as raindrops trickle down the glass. The rain mirroring their tears. Cory leans forward and sniffles, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Fine, I’ll do it. They just say the same shit over and over again. Surrender. Get a sponsor. Work the steps. Go to a meeting. I’ve done it all before and end up right back here, so I don’t really see the point.”

His mom turns to him.

“You’ve done it all before, but have you really?”

He squints at her. “Yes, what do you mean?”

She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head.

“You went to a meeting once a week. Not even sure it was that much or if you were going at all. You said you had a sponsor, but I barely heard you talk to him or anything like that. And the steps? How far did you even get?”

Cory stiffens and becomes defensive.

“Why does it matter? What do you even know about this so-called program?”

“Your uncle Billy suffered for years, Cory. I saw what it did to him growing up–how it ate him alive. Then one day, he committed. He gave AA a shot. I mean, really gave it a shot. Got back on his feet and finally became happy again.”

“Well, look at what happened to him.”

His mother slaps him across the face.

“Don’t you dare,” she says sternly, pointing a finger at him.

“I–I’m…,” Cory stammers, trying to find his words.

“Maybe you should take it as a warning,” she continues. “Of what happens when you stop doing the work. When you think you can go back to the way you were living. Like you have it under control. Your free will is what got you into this mess to begin with.”

Cory nods silently.

“Billy went back out, and it all came crashing down again. He was ashamed. Didn’t want to put us through that torment again. I don’t think he would have done what he did if he didn’t drink that night.”

She drops her head into her hands and begins to sob. Cory leans over and puts a hand on his mother’s shoulder. She looks up and pulls him into embrace. When she pulls back, she presses her forehead against his, face to face.

“Don’t let it happen to you. Fresh start. Stay hopeful. Be resilient. I love you—and you should love yourself.”

Cory looks into his mother’s tearful eyes, mascara streaking down her face. She kisses him on the forehead and leans in her seat, fastening her seatbelt.

“We can’t call for the first five days during the blackout period, but I will call every day after that. I put some money into your account for snacks.”

Cory nods. “Thank you, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, sweetie.”
Cory steps out of the car. His mother pulls out of the parking lot, waving as she drives away. He watches her go before turning toward the rehab facility.

The building sits beside a quiet lake. He pauses, watching ripples spread across the water as rain falls steadily. A mother goose rests at the edge of the lake, her goslings tucked safely at her side. Right where they belong.

Cory takes a breath, then walks toward the entrance.

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As he walks in between the rows of work stations, he spots Demetri. He walks over to him. Demetri looks at Gareth briefly then back at his monitor.

“Hey. I’m here. Excited to start working with you,” Gareth says bright eyed.

Demetri continues looking at the monitor.

“Mhm.”

Gareth looks around.

“So, where do I get one of those slick lab coats?”

Demetri laughs to himself.

“No need for any of those just yet. I’ve got some assignments for you these first couple weeks.”

“Ok, what ya got?”

Demetri starts walking towards the back of the laboratory and Gareth follows. They open a door into an animal holding room. Behind plexi glassed cages are docile drugged out apes. They glance over at the two men then dip their heads back down. Demetri opens a second door to a second room behind the cages. Immediately, Gareth pulls his shirt over his nose due to the stench. In the middle of the floor there are piles of straw sprinkled with large mounds of feces. Demetri looks at Gareth and smiles.

“Clean up duty. This is the first ape room. There are 2 other ones, and then 8 others for mice. Start here,” Demetri says as he begins to walk out the room.

Gareth turns to stop him.

“Wait. You can’t be serious.”

“O I’m sorry, are you too good for lab work Mr. Schilling?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. This is just not what I had in mind when it comes to lab work.”

Demetri smirks and shakes his head.

“Well, we all have to start somewhere now don’t we?”

Demetri leaves the room. Gareth turns back and stares at the mounds of ape shit.

“Prick.”

It takes him about an hour to sweep up the feces in Room 1. There are smears all over his clean up attire. Although it is thick and sanitary, Gareth still gags at the stench seeping its way through his mask. He imagines himself bashing Demetri’s head in to keep him motivated.

After leaving Room 1, he moves to Room 2. Each ape room takes about an hour. The animals barely react as he works. One watches him longer than the others — heavy-lidded eyes tracking his movements with dull awareness. Gareth pauses for a moment, meeting its gaze. There’s something almost human in it. Then the ape lowers its head again.

Room 3 is worse. One of the apes has knocked over its water dispenser, turning part of the straw into a soaked, foul sludge. Gareth works slower now, exhaustion creeping into his shoulders. By the time he finishes the last ape enclosure, sweat clings to his spine beneath the protective suit.

The mice rooms are smaller but more tedious. Eight rows of cages per room. Hundreds of tiny pink bodies shifting under artificial light.

He finds a rhythm: sweep, scrape, bag, disinfect. Sweep, scrape, bag, disinfect.

By the time he reaches the final mice room, the laboratory beyond the holding area has grown noticeably quieter. Footsteps fade. Conversations taper off. The mechanical hum of ventilation becomes dominant. Lights in the main lab begin dimming row by row.

Closing time.

Gareth finishes most of the last room but leaves a corner cage undone when the overhead lights flicker. He strips off his gloves and disposal suit, tossing them into the biohazard bin. His hands smell faintly of disinfectant and something sour that won’t wash off.

He steps back into the main laboratory. Only two technicians remain, packing up equipment. They don’t acknowledge him. Within minutes, they’re gone too.

Gareth stands alone among the rows of white workstations.

Sterile silence. This is the part he’s been waiting for.

He walks casually between the stations, pretending to admire equipment. He stops at a terminal Demetri had been using earlier. The screen has gone dark. Gareth taps the keyboard. It wakes instantly, prompting:

ENTER CREDENTIALS

He glances over his shoulder.

Nothing.

He types a random string. Denied. He tries again. Denied.

He leans closer, scanning the corner of the monitor for any visible file names or background processes. The system is locked down tighter than he expected. No guest access. No public data. Not even a directory preview.

“Figures,” he mutters.

He moves to another station. Same prompt. Same result.

He crouches slightly, looking beneath the desk for external ports — something he might be able to plug into later. Everything is sealed. No exposed drives. No loose cables. Even the USB ports are covered by magnetic locks. Unicorp doesn’t trust its own scientists.

Gareth straightens and scans the room again.

That’s when he notices it.

A small black dome embedded in the ceiling corner. Subtle. Easy to miss. Another above the far exit. One near the animal holding corridor.

His jaw tightens.

Cameras.

He forces himself not to react. Keeps his posture relaxed. He scratches the back of his head like a bored employee killing time.

The realization doesn’t surprise him, but it does shift something. Demetri wasn’t just being a condescending prick. He was measuring him. Testing him. Seeing how he handled degradation. How long before he snapped.

Gareth steps back to the monitor and pretends to try logging in again, slower this time. He exhales loudly in mock frustration and shrugs to himself, playing the part of an overeager newcomer who doesn’t understand security protocol.

After another minute, he gives up the act and heads toward the exit.

As he passes the final row of workstations, he catches his reflection in a polished steel cabinet. Hair damp with sweat. Jaw set. Eyes sharper than they were that morning.

“Start somewhere,” he mutters under his breath.

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The ceiling hangs low, pipes sweating rust and condensation. The heat coil at the center of the room glows a dull orange, throwing warped shadows across the concrete.

There are eight people. Too many.

Eli stands when Franklin enters.

Same scar along his jaw. Same cold, assessing eyes. The kind that doesn’t forget a mistake.

“You look like shit,” Eli says..

Franklin shrugs out of his jacket. “Been busy.”

“No,” Eli replied flatly. “You’ve been careless.”

Eli circles him slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

“You called this meeting,” Eli said. “Which tells me one of two things: you’ve got something real… or you’ve screwed us again.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Franklin says.

Eli stopped in front of him and smiled thinly.
“You always seemingly do. Whether it’s any good or not is up to us to decide. ”

Franklin reached into his jacket and dropped a folded laminated map onto the floor.

Eli doesn’t look down.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A way into Unicorp’s water network.”

Eli crouches, picks up the map, scans it once. Then again, slower this time. Someone behind Franklin mutters under their breath. Franklin can hear the whispers but cannot discern what they’re saying.

Eli stands.

“Where did you get this?”

Franklin hesitates.

Eli’s voice stays calm. “Try to answer that again. Where did you get this?”

“An insider,” Franklin said. “Someone who works there.”

The room reacts instantly. Chairs scraped. A weapon clicks. All the people in the room stand up and walk towards Franklin. Eli raises a fist signaling to halt their ambush. Franklin’s eyes grow wide as he swallows his fear.

“Who?” Eli asks.

“A Uni,” Franklin said. “Two of them.”

Eli laughs. Not surprised.
“Of course it’s Unis. You can’t do anything without dragging their dirt into our hands. Always cuddling up to the enemy.”

“They’re risking everything,” Franklin said. “One of them has already crossed a line he can’t go back from. His father is an executive.”

Eli steps forward until they are nearly nose to nose.

“And you care why?” he asks.

Franklin doesn’t answer fast enough.

Eli shoves him. Not hard. Not dramatic. Just enough to remind Franklin where he stands.

“You don’t protect them,” Eli says. “You don’t get to play middleman between us and the people killing this city.”

“They’re not like the others,” Franklin responds tightly.

“They’re all the same. They all wear the badge of perceived superiority,” Eli snaps back while raising his voice.

Franklin clenches his fists. “If you kill them, the plan dies.”

Eli studies him for a long moment.

“This so-called plan. You haven’t given any details and at a glance it seems like a suicide mission.”

“You think I’m the problem?”

“You always have been,” Eli replies with no hesitation.

It hurts more than Franklin expects.

Eli folds the map carefully.

“You’re useful. You know the tunnels. You know the streets.”

He leaned in again, voice low.

“But if this turns into another corporate trap–another clean plan that ends with bodies stacked underground–I won’t wait for Unicorp to clean it up.”

“They’re meeting me again. Soon. Planning a test run.”

Eli waits. He straightens out his posture as he walks around the room for a moment looking at the ceiling. He hands the map to one of the others.

“We watch,” he said. “We don’t commit.”

He turns away.

“And understand this,” Eli says over his shoulder.

“The second this smells like betrayal, you’re expendable. You’ve already been a disappointment to everyone you’ve ever known. The Resistance, your daughter, god knows who else.”

Franklin holds back. He wants to charge and bash Eli’s head against the wall, yet he knows it will quickly lead to his own demise.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak or respond. He simply nods.

As he leaves the pump station, water drips steadily from a cracked pipe above. Slow, patient, unceasing.

Just like Unicorp.

Just like the Resistance.

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Mr. Beckhart sat across from her, hands folded, posture calm. He did not look like a man who needed to threaten anyone.

“You understand,” he said gently, “that this isn’t about punishment.”

Dawn didn’t answer. Her wrists rested on the table, unbound but heavy. Beckhart slid a data slate between them. A still image pulled from surveillance footage. A grainy frame of a young woman stepping into a crowd, hood drawn low, face turned just enough for Dawn to recognize her instantly.

Her daughter.

Dawn felt her breath trapped in her throat.

“She’s alive,” Beckhart continued.

Dawn forced herself to speak. “You’re watching her.”

“Of course we are.” He smiled faintly. “She’s Resistance. Or close enough to make no difference.”

Dawn leaned back, the chair scraping softly against the floor. Her mind raced. Escape routes. Lies. Delays. She had always been good at delays.

“You don’t need her,” she said. “You have me.”

“We already have you,” Beckhart replied. “What we need is to end the coup before it destabilizes the region.”

He tapped the slate. The image changed, now displaying schematics, names, meeting times. Resistance cells. Movement patterns.

“Give us the location of the central cell,” he said. “Where they’re gathering. Where she is.”

Dawn swallowed.

“They’re not soldiers,” she said. “They’re organizers.”

“They’re rebels,” Beckhart corrected. “And they’re inefficient ones. This ends quickly if you cooperate.”

She looked at the slate again. Her daughter’s face froze there, unaware.

“They won’t kill them,” Dawn said slowly. It wasn’t a question. It was a line she needed to hold onto. “You’ll arrest them. Public trials. Quiet disappearances.”

Beckhart’s expression didn’t change.

“We’re not monsters,” he said. “But coups invite chaos. Chaos creates casualties.”

Dawn closed her eyes.

She told herself this was containment. Damage control. That Unicorp wanted order, not blood. That her daughter was too valuable, too visible, too symbolic to execute.

She told herself she was choosing the lesser evil. When she opened her eyes, she named the location.

An old municipal tower near the river. Decommissioned after the first water shortages. Underground access. Shielded from early surveillance.

Beckhart nodded, already standing. “Thank you, Dr. Hemmings. You’ve made the right decision.”

As he left, Dawn sat very still, hands clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms.

She waited for relief.

It did not come.

The notification arrived hours later.

Not from Beckhart.

From a secondary internal channel she wasn’t supposed to still have access to.

GLOBAL SECURITY INCIDENT – CONTAINMENT FAILURE
CASUALTIES: CONFIRMED

Her heart hammered as she scrolled.

A Resistance gathering interrupted by an unexpected secondary cell. Weapons discharged. Structural collapse. Fire.

The footage loaded before she could stop it. Smoke. Screaming. Concrete dust choking the frame.

Bodies.

And then…her daughter, pinned beneath a fallen beam, blood darkening her jacket as she reached toward someone just out of frame.

The feed cut. Dawn stared at the slate until her vision blurred. They hadn’t meant to kill her. That was the lie that shattered her. Unicorp hadn’t planned her daughter’s death, but they had accepted it. Collateral. A necessary loss to preserve stability.

Dawn felt something inside her break. She pressed her palm flat against the glass table, grounding herself in its cold certainty. Tears had already been exhausted. There was an emptiness of emotion. An apathy towards life or any purpose at all.

This was the cost.

This was the choice.

And from this moment on, nothing she did would ever be clean again.

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Shelly sits on a toppled metro sign, flipping a pen nervously, trying to look composed. She’s still angry that Gareth kept so much from her. Gareth arrives out of breath and carrying a backpack. He looks around as if to expect a drone to descend at any moment.
“You said this place was ‘safe.’ It smells like something died down here,” Shelly says with a scrunched face.
“That’s how you know it’s safe. No sane Unicorp employee would step foot here.”

She rolls her eyes, but a small smirk slips out. They both turn suddenly as they hear footsteps down the tunnel. They see a cloud of smoke coming from the shadowy figure as he flicks a cigarette from his mouth. Franklin. He kicks a piece of debris down the ramp as he approaches. Loud, careless, intentionally announcing himself. Hood up, hands in pockets.

Shelly tenses instantly.
“Tell me that’s not who I think it is,” Shelly says as she turns to Gareth.

“It’s ok…he’s-”

“Gareth, why the fuck is he here?”

“Because we need him.”

Franklin laughs. A short, bitter sound.

“Need me? Heh. Last time I saw you, you were ready to toss me out of a moving car.”

“That’s because you take this whole thing as a joke and have nearly jeopardized us at every turn. You were smoking in the middle of the most secure building in the world!””

“So once again, why is he here?” Shelly yells.

Franklin laughs and turns to walk away. Gareth runs to stop him. He grabs his shoulder and Franklin shrugs him off.

“Get off of me you Uni bitch.”

“Listen, as much as it pains me to say it. We still need you. You know the masses and Resistance better than we ever could. You’ve got passageways, communication, and numbers that could make this thing really work.”

“They don’t have shit. What kind of communication? Cups and a string?” Shelly chimes in.

“We have more than you think, little girl. Stop getting your panties in a bunch.”

“Who are you calling a little girl, you dirty pathetic vagrant?”

Shelly and Franklin step towards each other. Gareth separates them.

“Enough! We’re already in this deep. He could expose us, Shelly.”

Franklin nods. Gareth turns to him.

“And we could expose you,” he says while staring at Franklin.

Shelly raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, trust me, I’d love to expose him. Preferably to the nearest Global Surveillance drone.”

Franklin scoffs, pacing a few steps away, kicking another piece of debris across the platform.
“You think I’m scared of a drone? They’ve been trying to kill me since I was twelve.”

Shelly opens her mouth to fire back, but Gareth throws his hands up.

“Can we not make this harder than it already is? Just listen for a second.”

Neither of them looks convinced, but they stop bantering.

Gareth slings the backpack off his shoulder and unzips it. Thin sheets of metal and laminated floor plans spill out onto the cracked concrete. Shelly’s expression shifts immediately. Annoyance, then curiosity. Franklin peers over from a few feet away, arms crossed but watching.

“These are the blueprints for Water Storage Unit 13,” Gareth says. “The main distribution hub. The heart of Unicorp’s clean-water supply.”

Shelly crouches, pushing her hair behind her ear as she pulls one of the maps closer.
“You actually got these? Gareth… this is the entire filtration system.”
She traces the lines with her finger. “And these are access vents. That means—”

“That means we have a way in,” Gareth finishes.

Franklin doesn’t move at first. Then he walks over slowly until he’s standing just behind Shelly’s shoulder. He looks down at the map. His voice drops low.

“Holy shit.”

Shelly glances up at him. “Try not to drool on it.”

He ignores her for once.
“This pipe here,” he taps a thick red line with a grime-stained finger. “It runs under the old freight tunnels. They sealed most of ’em off after the water ban, but there’s a break near Avenue D.” He points again. “Right here. I’ve used it to smuggle people around checkpoints for years.”

Gareth steps closer, hopeful. “Can you still get through?”

Franklin thinks for a moment, then nods.
“Yeah. But it’s tight. And dark. And if you don’t know the turns, you can get lost quite easily.”
He smirks at Shelly. “But I can get you through.”

Shelly stands, brushing dirt off her knees.
“Great. So we’re following a drunk raccoon through a death maze. Perfect.”

Franklin’s smile fades.
“You think I want to be working with Unis? You think this is a dream come true for me?”
He steps closer, close enough that she tenses again.
“My people are dying. Your people are complacent. This–” he jabs a finger toward the blueprint—“might be the only shot any of us ever get. So maybe stop looking down your nose and actually commit to something.”

Shelly bristles but doesn’t back away.
“And maybe try not to blow our cover by lighting up a cigarette in the middle of a surveillance wing.”

“That was one time.”

“That was the time.”

“Enough!” Gareth barks. It echoes through the empty tunnel.

Both go silent. Finally.

Gareth lowers his voice.
“We don’t have to trust each other. But we need to use what we got. Shelly, you know the system. Franklin, you know the city. I know Unicorp from the inside.”

He pauses. His voice softens.
“We’re not friends. We’re not even allies yet. But we’re the only three idiots stupid enough to try this.”

A moment of stillness hangs between them.

Then Franklin huffs out a laugh.
“Heh. Can’t argue with that.”

Shelly rolls her eyes but with a slight smile.

Gareth kneels and spreads out more maps, his hands shaking slightly with adrenaline.
“So…here’s what we do next.”

The three of them step closer, forming the first imperfect circle of what might become a new Resistance. Franklin struggles with thoughts of betrayal and loyalty. He still is not sure whether to give them up or to follow along.

Somewhere far above, a drone hums faintly across the night sky. But down here in the dark, for a moment, no one hears it.

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“Miss Hemmings, Mr. Beckhart would like to see you in his office.”

“Thank you, Sandra.”

Dawn leans back in her office chair. She opens up her drawer and pulls out a cigarette. Even with access to life-prolonging synthetics, a smoke is too hard to resist. She lights it, takes a few puffs, then stubs it out in an electronic ashtray. The tray hums softly, sucking up the remains and emitting a clean mist that erases any trace of smoke.

She exhales once more, then rises from her chair. Time to face Cyrus.

As she walks down the hallway toward his office, she glances at the TVs lining the wall, all tuned to The Uni Truth–Altera’s only newscast. Being impartial is not its strong suit. Since the masses have little access to electronics, the broadcast caters to Unicorp employees and their families. Onscreen, a panel of talking heads drones on about stock surges and synthetic innovations.

“The merger with AlcoHoly really does seem to be promising,” one man says. “It’s been shown the masses have a preference for AH Vodka over current synthetics, so bringing everything under one umbrella company makes perfect sense.”

“I mean, who doesn’t like a drink when the wells run dry?” another adds with a smarmy grin.

The others laugh in nefarious agreement.

Dawn shakes her head and searches for the remote. Before she can turn off the monitor, an alert flashes across the screen.

“We’ve just received breaking news. There has been a data breach in Unicorp’s servers. One facility has been overrun by Resistance members, while another is currently under siege. The story is developing and we will provide updates as soon as we receive them.”

The newscast cuts to commercial.

Dawn drops the remote. Her stomach turns. She bolts back toward her office. The hallway erupts in chaos. Phones ringing, voices shouting, boots pounding. When she turns the corner, she freezes.

Cyrus is waiting by her door, flanked by two executives and a squad of surveillance officers.

“What the hell is going on?” she asks, nearly breathless.

Cyrus’s face is flushed. Half rage, half panic. He pushes open her door.

“I don’t know. You tell me,” he says coldly, motioning for her to enter.

Dawn hesitates, reading the danger in his tone. Still, she steps inside. The offers follow and close the door behind them. The shaded windows turn opaque with a mechanical click.

“Sit down, Dawn,” Cyrus orders.

“Wait, just tell me what is happening. I saw the broadcast, I–”

“I said sit the fuck down and shut up!”

Dawn drops into her chair. Her pulse spikes. She races through possibilities. What could he think she’s done? The breach, the Resistance, the servers…none of it makes sense.

“Give me your phone,” Cyrus says, hand outstretched.

She hands it over, trembling. “I still don’t know what this is about.”

“When was the last time you spoke to or saw your daughter?” one of the surveillance officers ask.

The question hits her. Abby. Dawn realizes she hasn’t spoken to her in over a month. They had a falling out last year. The only time she called since then was transactional. Money transfers or fabricated check-ins. The last call she remembers was about Rocket, Abby’s dog, being taken to the vet.

“A few weeks ago,” Dawn says, her voice uneven. “We don’t really talk like we used to.”

“Hmm.” The officer utters. “Well, your daughter appears to be involved in the recent break-ins.”

“What? That’s impossible. Abby’s been at school. She couldn’t–”

“Cut the shit, Dawn.” Cyrus steps forward. “Abby’s been working with the Resistance for some time now. She’s wrapped up with this Derek Bowers kid. Seems they’re quite close.”

He pulls out a digital tablet and flicks through images: Abby and Derke walking together, laughing, and standing with a group of masked figures. Then a video. Grainy surveillance footage showing Abby and Derek entering an abandoned building, hand in hand. Cyrus swipes again. This video reveals Resistance members storming Unicorp Database 6.

The opening entrance is blown open; figures rush in with guns drawn. They overpower the guards and tie them up. One looks at the camera, raises a weapon, and fires. The feed cuts to black.

Cyrus rewinds.

“See that?” He freezes the frame and zooms in on a figure in the back. of the video. A masked member with a glint of gold around their neck. A star-shaped pendant attached.

He swipes again, bringing up a photo of Abby and Derek. Zooms closer. The same necklace catches the light.

Dawn’s breath collapses in her throat. Her hand trembles to her mouth.

“Your precious daughter,” Cyrus says, and hurls the tablet to the floor.

“I didn’t…I haven’t seen her. I didn’t know–”

Cyrus slaps her hard across the face. She falls out of her chair, hitting the floor with a sharp thud.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t know,” he snarls. “That little brat is trying to overthrow our company. And as I see it, you’re just as guilty as she is.”

Dawn stays down, hair vailing her face. Blood trickles from her lip. Her palms shake as she braces herself. Cyrus wipes his hand on his suit, disgusted.

“As I see it, we have two options.”

Dawn looks up at him. Pleading yet defiant.

“You can get in touch with her,” he says. “Tell her to surrender the base, hand over any data they stole, and give up her Resistance buddies and that lowlife boyfriend. Or…” He crouches slightly, voice lowering to a hiss. “We kill her. All of them. And you.”

Silence stretches heavily around the room.

Dawn pushes herself to her feet. She wipes the blood from her mouth, brushes her hair aside.

“I’ll talk to her,” she says. “I can get her to turn everything over.”

Cyrus steps in close. She can feel his breath.

“We’ll see. You have twenty-four hours.”

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The year is 3030, and the world has collapsed under centuries of corporate greed. Water — once a human right — has become a currency of power, controlled by a single megacorporation: Unicorp. The rest of humanity survives on alcohol and synthetic substitutes, slowly poisoned by the very products that keep them alive.

Amid the ruin, Gareth Schilling, a weary Unicorp employee trapped by family legacy, crosses paths with Franklin, one of the desperate “masses” scraping by in the decayed city of Altera. Their uneasy alliance begins with a reckless act of rebellion — one that could ignite something much larger.

Centuries earlier, Dawn Hemmings, a leader of the Resistance, was captured and forced into Unicorp’s service. Torn between survival and her conscience, her choices helped shape the world Gareth and Franklin now inherit. Her rise within the corporation — and the experiments that followed — haunt the future as Unicorp inches closer to mastering control over human life itself.

Now, in the ashes of a dying world, past and future collide. Gareth, Franklin, and those still willing to fight face a choice: surrender to Unicorp’s dystopian order, or risk everything to reclaim what makes them human.

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Gareth sits alone in the overly posh Uniplex Conference Room 814. Rain streams down the long, tempered glass windows encircling the room. His father had called him in for an impromptu meeting, and Gareth isn’t sure what it’s about. Sweat drips down his face, mirroring the raindrops outside.

Does Dad know something’s up?

Would he really give up his own son if he found out what’s going on?

Are they going to kill me?

The intrusive thoughts race around Gareth’s mind. He looks out the window at the fifty-story drop to Altera Avenue, wondering if jumping would be a better option than staying put. After shuffling in his seat, there’s a knock on the door.

A handful of Unicorp executives enter the room, followed by Arthur. Gareth quickly stands and moves to shake their hands. They greet him with smiles and firm grips.

“Gareth, nice to meet you.”

“Gareth, we’ve heard great things.”

“Gareth, this has been a long time coming.”

He nods nervously and accepts the pleasantries. Arthur smiles at him.

“Gentlemen, let’s take a seat.”

They all sit, Gareth included, and his nerves ease slightly. Perhaps his catastrophizing was all wrong. This is far from what he expected.

“So, Gareth, Arthur tells us you’re interested in advancing levels. Perhaps Manager?” one of the men asks.

Gareth glances at his father in confusion. Arthur gives him a small, deliberate nod, signaling him to confirm.

“Um, yes. That’s right. I feel the data analyst position doesn’t complement my skill set, and I think that I’d be more suited for a managerial role.”

The words spilled out of his mouth, their bitter taste coating his throat. The bullshitting comes naturally and even that disgusts him.

“Well, that’s good, because that’s exactly what we were thinking. We’ve been reviewing certain departments and options. It appears that we might be able to create an opening at the R&D level,” one executive says.

“New synthetics are a pivotal part of this company. The lab is always the most exciting place to be,” another chimes in.

Gareth sits silently. The upheaval plan fades as he imagines life as a true Unicorp man. The thought doesn’t sicken him as much as he thought it would. A safe, comfortable life with no worries of inadequacy or failure. An endless supply of water. A furnished penthouse. Uni underlings at his feet. It’s tempting.

“The years you’ve spent analyzing reports and marketing make you a knowledgeable, deserving candidate. Besides, you’re Arthur’s son so we don’t really have a choice,” one of the men says jokes as the others chuckle.

They look at Arthur, who remains stone-faced, not appreciating the slight. The man clears his throat.

“Jokes aside, we’d love to have you join the R&D department as soon as next week. We will take you through some training and a rundown on day-to-day operations.”

Gareth nods slowly. The offer is on the table, and he realizes it might be his best course of action. Yet he hesitates as he studies the monochrome cluster of older men. A cluster of older men. Slicked back hair, tailored suits, ties, and custom cuff links. Their chatter devolves into a cacophony of smarmy corporate talk, and Gareth’s mind drifts.

Am I really just going to become a despicable Uni?

What about Franklin and the rest of the masses?

What about Shelly?

His questions of morality halt as one executive shakes him from his thoughts.

“Gareth? Hey, Gareth.”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about a report I need to wrap up.”

“No need to worry about that. You’re a top dog now. Leave the reports to the desk dweebs,” the executive jokes as others around the table laugh. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Gareth replies with a half-smile.

Everyone rises. One by one, they all walk over to shake Gareth’s hand, congratulating him and welcoming him aboard. As they shuffle out of the room, Arthur slowly approaches. He waits until the others are gone, then hugs his son.

“This is for the best. We can’t have you rotting away at a desk. I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but you can do it. You’ll step up,” Arthur says, pulling back.

“Thanks, Dad. I know I will.”

Arthur starts toward the door but stops.

“By the way, that night you came to my place. I couldn’t find your quarterly review anywhere. You must have left it elsewhere.”

“Oh yeah. It was in one of the old folders on my desk. Must have misplaced it.”

Arthur narrows his eyes and smiles a suspicious grin.

“Sure…Well, you can’t be forgetful like that moving forward. There will be a lot more eyes on you now. No slacking off or sneaking around for much longer. Remember you’re my son, but you’re also my employee. I have to do what’s best for the company.”

A lump grows in Gareth’s throat. He stammers.

“Yes, Dad. I realize that.”

“It’s Mr. Schilling to you now. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes, Mr. Schilling.”

“Good.”

Arthur leaves the room.

Gareth exhales deeply and looks out the windows at the foggy, dreary landscape of Altera. He closes his eyes and dips his head.

Maybe he should have jumped.

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I wanted to reach out just to let anyone who reads ‘Futureworld: 3030’ that I have gone back and edited each chapter. After reading through, I noticed there was a lot of need for cleaning up and polishing certain parts. With the edits, I feel as if it reads much smoother now. Feel free to go back and read if you wish!

Thank you,

E.A. Ridley

“Everyone, calm the fuck down!” Franklin calls out, as unrest builds inside the headquarters of the Resistance. Faces scowling with anguish and uncertainty stand in front of him. Crying babies, disheveled men, and gaunt ghostlike figures fill the room. A sense of betrayal has been brought upon them. Franklin is there to outline the plan he made with Gareth, but they don’t want to hear it.

“You think you can trust that Uni scum!” one man yells.

“Why would you trust him when you know he’d kill us off just like the rest of them do?” another one shouts.

“Why should we trust you?” a woman asks as she sways back and forth holding her weeping child.

Franklin is at a loss for words. Even he isn’t sure if he trusts Gareth–or that this plan will work out for that matter. He closes his eyes and rubs his face in frustration. Beads of sweat roll down his brow. They are right. He knows they’re right. Yet, the need to show strength and faith are felt to show that something different must be done.

“I understand why this all seems like some big hoax or trick to lure us out for slaughter, but we can’t keep hiding like this.”

The clamor of the crowd slowly dies down as mouths close and ears open.

“How many of you have seen your loved ones die from starvation? Or get hooked on synthetics only to crumble and die months later?”

The crowd is silent as some dip their heads in confirmation.

“The booze is sold to sedate us while all the Uni elites are up there clinking classes of pure water, laughing at our despair.”

“So why should we let one of them know about our whereabouts? Let them murder us all and save a few pennies of product in the process.” A man asks as he steps towards the front of the room towards Franklin. It is Eli, one of the core captains of the Resistance.

“I have not told him a single thing about where I stay or anything about the Resistance,” Franklin retorts. “He doesn’t seem to care.”

“You really think he doesn’t know any of that? Like you both are not being watched every move you make?” Eli asks as he stands up on the elevated platform Franklin is on. Each step brings Eli closer, until they're nearly nose to nose. Both are tall men with grizzled beards. Eli, however, is much more muscular and toned compared to Franklin’s scrawny physique.

“I cannot control what is being seen or not seen Eli, you know that. They’ve got eyes on anything that moves in Altera. I have never carried any devices while meeting with him.” Franklin says as Eli steps closer to Franklin.

“Yet, you went into Uniplex without telling a soul and you put the whole Resistance in jeopardy.” Eli says as his eyes widen, and he shoves Franklin off of the platform. The masses cheer as Franklin's flimsy figure tumbles to the ground. A group of men grab him by the shoulders and drag him to a back room.

“What the hell is going on? I’m trying to help you bastards,” Franklin yells.

The group of men punch him in the stomach, and Franklin gasps for air. One grabs him by his hair as the rest of them pin him up against a wall. Eli walks into the room and slams the door behind him. He pulls out a large blade from his waistband as he marches towards Franklin and puts the blade to his throat.

“Wait, wait…you can’t do this Eli,” Franklin pleads.

Eli laughs.

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re a sneaky little fuck Franklin. A rat. I’ve always known that. Just want synthetics and booze to coast you through life. You don’t give a shit about any of us. Just yourself.” Eli grips the blade harder as he presses the blade against Franklin’s neck drawing a stream of blood that drips down Franklin’s torn shirt. Franklin winces in pain as he makes his final plea.

“Please, you have to trust me. I went to Uniplex. I saw the blueprints. The outlines. I know the whole building now inside and out. I know where they store the water. Where they work on new synthetics. I know where Gareth lives…”

“Oh, so you are on a name-by-name basis, I see. Friends with the people who slaughter us without batting an eye. You really are a worthless piece of shit Franklin.” Eli grips the blade harder. Dried blood coats the rusted blade from years of use. Franklin closes his eyes, prepared to meet his maker.

“Hold on, Eli,” one of the men says as he grabs Eli’s arm. It is Jaxon, Eli’s right hand man.

“What? You really believe this cockroach?” Eli replies as he turns back to Jaxon while still holding the blade to Franklin’s throat.

“No not exactly, but what if he’s telling the truth? If he really knows about the plans, we should hear him out. Let him bring the Uni to us and we will take him hostage from there. If he really says who he says he is, they will want him back alive.”

Eli stands there staring at Jaxon and then back at Franklin. He grabs Franklin’s hair as he drops the blade and punches Franklin square in the gut. The blade is kicked to the side of the room as Franklin falls to his knees.

“Fine, we’ll give this low life one last chance, but if it comes back to bite us in the ass then it’s on you too.” Eli tells Jaxon as puts his index finger into his chest. Eli turns back to Franklin.

“Bring us the Uni, the blueprints, and the plan. Or I’ll have your head on a stick.” He spits on Franklin as he walks out the room and the other men follow. Jaxon is last to leave.

Franklin looks up at him and rasps, “Thank you.”

Jaxon shakes his head.

“We’ll see if you follow through or not. It’s on both of us now. Don’t fuck this up or I’ll kill you myself.” Jaxon leaves the room leaving Franklin bruised and bloodied on the cold, wet floor.

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She passes one such worker in the hall and gives a polite nod despite grimacing from the stench. Turning the corner, she nearly collides with Cyrus– “the man in the suit,” the executive face of Unicorp besides herself.

“Ah, just who I’m looking for,” Cyrus says.

“Lucky me,” Dawn replies with a sarcastic grin.

“I think this time you’ll be more pleasantly surprised than you expect.”

Cyrus gestures for her to follow him down the hall toward the elevator. They step inside, and Cyrus presses the button for the lowest floor. Dawn raises an eyebrow.

“Research and Development?”

Cyrus smiles.

“They just made a breakthrough on a new compound that could…” he stops and chuckles to himself.

“Could what?” Dawn asks, uneasy.

“Perhaps you should see for yourself”

The elevator doors open, revealing the vast laboratory. Dawn’s eyes widen at the staggering scale of the facility. An endless expanse of towering titanium silos storing freshly synthesized solutions.

Cyrus walks down the stairs to the lab floor, Dawn reluctantly following. A floor manager shouts orders as chemists in white hazmat suits scurry into position. Cyrus pats a man on the shoulder.

“How is everything coming along, Demetri?” he asks with a grin.

“All on schedule, Mr. Beckhart.”

“Very good. Can you show Mrs. Hemmings our recent synthetics?”

“With pleasure,” Demetri replies, grinning as he leads them down a testing aisle. Cyrus follows. Dawn hesitates, unsure what she’s about to see, until Cyrus nods for her to come along.

They walk through the laboratory. Some scientists glance up and smile at the trio while others remain locked into their work. Crates with scurrying mice line the walls. A few glass enclosures hold monkeys pounding against the glass. Demetri leads them to a back room and scans his card for entry. Inside, a single table holds two glass cases. One contains a dead fruit fly. The other, a live one.

Demetri walks toward the cases.

“The average lifespan of a fruit fly is around forty to fifty days,” he explains, pointing to the dead fly. “This fly was given one of our older synthetics. Something that we’ve tested for years that strengthens the immune system but often has adverse effects. It died as expected, around 47 days.”

He then points to the live fly.

“This one, however, was given a newly tested synthetic that…well, let’s just say has exceeded expectations.” His grin widens.

“How long has it lived?” Dawn asks.

“It’s been 1,758 days since it was dosed.”

Dawn stares, speechless.

“Wait, that's…what, almost five years?”

“A little less, yes.” Demetri replies. “Quite staggering.”

“So what exactly do you plan to use this for?”

Demetri glances at Cyrus for approval. Cyrus nods.

“Well,” Demetri continues, “let’s just say we might have stumbled onto the fountain of youth. There are still some kinks to sort out, but this could be monumental for Unicorp. We intend to begin sampling Compound A128 with select employees to determine whether it works on humans.”

Dawn lets out a laugh, expecting a punchline. Cyrus and Demetri remain stone faced.

“You can’t be serious?” she asks.

Cyrus pulls her aside toward the exit.

“Thank you, Demetri. Keep up the good work,” he says over his shoulder.

“Of course, Mr. Beckhart.”

Outside of the lab, Cyrus grips Dawn’s shoulder tightly.

“Just remember how you got here, Dawn. Things could have gone very differently and frankly, they still can be.” He turns and locks eyes with her. Dawn winces as his fingers linger before releasing her.

“We still need you in all of this. Your input matters. That being said…tread lightly.”E.A.’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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Chapter 2: Gareth works as a staffer at Unicorp, the largest pharmaceutical corporation in the world. His father is an executive there and wants Gareth to work his way up, but Gareth has no interest in doing so

Chapter 3: The year is 2744. Dawn is the leader of the Resistance and has become Unicorp's most wanted fugitive. Can she get back to the Resistance headquarters without being detected? We'll see.

Chapter 4: Gareth gets off the Unirail and onto Altera Avenue amongst the masses to walk to an AlcoHoly store. Despite trying to be inconspicuous Gareth runs into Franklin and his group of friends.

Chapter 5: After being shown the unfortunate fate of fellow Resistance members, Dawn is at a breaking point. The Unicorp 'man in blue' makes an offer and presents her Unicorp's most recent project.

Chapter 6: Gareth and Franklin sneak their way into Uniplex. Gareth has to put up with Franklin's antics while trying to download important files, and they are both surprised by another late night visitor.

Chapter 7: The masses gather in Altera Square for an announcement of Unicorp's new project. Dawn prepares her speech for the company that once wanted her dead.

Chapter 8: Gareth panics about Shelly discovering him and Franklin at Uniplex. Franklin & Gareth bicker in the car over the botched heist. Gareth walks into work the following day awaiting his fate.

Chapter 9: Dawn witnesses the horrors of Unicorp's experimentations. Although she wants to distance herself from the company, the man in blue shows her why noncompliance would not be a wise decision.

Chapter 10: Gareth & Shelly meet at a Unibar lounge to further discuss the plan.

Chapter 11: Dawn leads a pharmaceutical summit at Unicorp. After hearing criticism of Unicorp's developments, she emphasizes the power of the company over others. She also receives a call from her daughter.

Chapter 12: Gareth meets with Franklin to tell him the plan. They argue about Franklin’s involvement and Franklin doesn’t trust Gareth. He talks to him about the struggles of the masses.

Chapter 13: The year is 2719. Dawn is a young girl stuck at the Resistance headquarters.

Chapter 14: Gareth goes to his father's apartment to look for important documents. He is reminded of an upcoming anniversary.

Chapter 15: Dawn is invited to Unicorp's Research Laboratory to see the newest 'groundbreaking' product.

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He walks over to his father’s desk and starts pulling open drawers. He rummages through stacks of papers, hoping to find something significant. Most are logistical documents and employee contracts. In another drawer, he spots a lockbox. Gareth lifts it out, searching for a key.

All of a sudden, he hears someone at the front door typing in the entry code. Gareth scrambles to shove the lockbox back in the drawer. The door opens. His father steps inside.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”Arthur asks.

Gareth’s heart sinks as he tries to come up with an excuse.

“Sorry, I should have told you. I came by to see if I left my quarterly review here the other night. I was working on it and forgot to bring it home. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Gareth clutches a random employee’s contract in his hands, rolling it up so Arthur can’t see. He starts toward the door, but his father stops him,

“What? In and out just like that? Sit down, stay for a drink.”

Rather than make another excuse, Gareth sits down at the dining table. No need to draw any more suspicion.

“You know, it will be 8 years tomorrow,” Arthur says, pouring himself a tall glass of water.

“What?” Gareth asks, confused.

Arthur looks at his son with disappointment.

“Seriously?”

“Oh, right.”

It hits him. The anniversary of his mother’s death.

Amid all the recent chaos and scheming, Gareth had forgotten. His anxiety washes away and shame takes over. A gut punch reminder.

“I figured we could make chicken parm tomorrow night. Her favorite,” Arthur suggests.

Gareth nods.

“Good idea, she would’ve liked that.”

For a moment, they sit in silence, both caught in fading memories. Gareth lowers his head, fighting back tears.

“You know, she never wanted you to be part of Unicorp,” Arthur says as he walks over to his son.

Gareth looks up. They rarely talk about his mother. She had died years ago from liver complications, mostly due to alcoholism, though Arthur always tried to claim otherwise . Gareth stutters unsure of what to say.

“Didn’t want you to be a corporate man like me. Said you were too kind of a soul,” Arthur chuckles, taking a sip.

“Well, I don’t think I wanted this either. Just felt like I had to.”

Arthur sets his glass down hard on the table. His expression sharpens. Serious, yet sympathetic.

“I just wanted what’s best for you. Sure, you could’ve worked as a clerk or a Unirail conductor, but what kind of life is that? You’re much better off doing what you’re doing. Trust me.”

Gareth nods and turns to the window. Below, the streets of Altera stretch out. Dark, grim, broken. Franklin is waiting. Shelly too. Waiting for a plan.

His visit hasn’t uncovered anything besides the sad reminder of his late mother, who knew Gareth wasn’t cut out to be a Uni. The thought upsets him, but also reassures him of the purpose for this mission. He stands, and pushes in his chair.

“I better get going. I need to review those reports and make sure they’re ready for tomorrow’s meeting,” Gareth says.

Arthur nods his head and finishes his drink.

“Fine. Do what you have to do. Just make sure you’re good for tomorrow.”

“I will Dad.”

Gareth turns for the door, but his father calls out.

“Gareth”

“Yeah?”

Arthur walks up, resting both hands on his son’s shoulders. He looks him square in the eyes.

“You know you can always tell me anything, buddy.”

Gareth feels a lump in his throat and tries to deflect.

“Yeah, I know. Just a busy week. That’s why I’ve been acting a bit off.”

Arthur smiles and pulls him into a hug, kissing the top of his head.

“Don’t overwork yourself. I’m always here for you.”

Gareth’s guilt swells as he leans into his father’s shoulder. He loves the man, but he still isn’t sure he can trust him. Not yet.

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From broken glass to broken bones

He made things exciting

A powder keg

Ready to ignite any conversation

The intensity was unmatched

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul

A peer into one’s true being

His windows weren’t always transparent

Through the glossy dark brown eyes

I saw pain

Anger

Sadness

A cry for help

That was silent, but strong

A puppy left behind who just wanted to be part of the pack

I’d do it all again if I could

The sleepless nights

911 calls

Jail visits

In the moment I wanted no part of it

But now I realize

It is part of me

I miss him

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Reflecting on mishaps, misdeeds, and misfortune

As much as one laments what should have been done, one should look at what has been done.

It’s easy to pick out the negatives without fully appreciating the positives. As few as there might be

In a world of taking, giving sometimes takes the backseat

The digital age of instant gratification has trivialized patience

Algorithms that pump out facades of a perfect life blur harsh realities

Distractions around every corner make it difficult to stay on track

Wanting to stand out yet somehow fit in

Reminders to keep you afloat in a sea of doubt

It’s ok, it will be ok, and if not, that’s ok too

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Dawn plays with her mangled GI Joe and action figures. She’s never been a fan of Barbies, especially since they were discontinued hundreds of years ago. In Altera, there are almost no toys left. After the water ban and uprisings, nearly every department store was looted and most of what remained was later destroyed in air raids.

She sits on the cold concrete floor of the Resistance Headquarters, playing with Carlos. He is the only other young child there and Dawn’s only friend. To her, he’s both a little brother and someone to protect. Carlos has autism and is mostly non-verbal, but he and Dawn have made up their own kind of sign language to communicate.

Two men rush into the room, out of breath.

“We’ve got about a dozen Unis and drones surveying the space directly above us. No one make a peep!” one of them whispers.

Dawn quickly gathers the toys and shoves them into a bin. Carlos realizes playtime is over and begins to cry. One of the men storms over, gripping his shoulder tightly.

“I said shut up, alright?”

Carlos quiets down, but keeps sobbing softly. Dawn scowls at the man as he walks away. She kneels to comfort Carlos, now curled up on the floor.

“It’s okay, bud. Let’s go look at the picture books,” Dawn signals to Carlos.

Carlos looks up, sniffles, and nods before taking her hand. Together, they slip into another room. The men at the entrance hold fingers over their lips, signaling for silence.

Dawn still has no idea where her parents are. Panic claws at her chest, but she refuses to show it. Carlos is already fragile and needs her calm.

A thunderous boom shakes the ceiling. Dust rains down the headquarters on those lying below. Screams erupt and a drone blast cuts them short. An eerie silence fills the headquarters awaiting what may come next.

Hours pass. No one moves or dares to speak.

Carlos looks up at Dawn with pleading eyes. She knows he wants her to tell him a story to fall asleep. Around them, a few others have already drifted off, their exhaustion overtaking the fear.

“Fine, fine. What story or song do you want tonight?” Dawn whispers.

Carlos tilts his head, curious.

“Oh, something new, huh? Alright…let me think”

Dawn eyes wander across the crumbling headquarters. Torn posters of past plans line the walls. Debris clutters the floor. Remnants of scavenged meals, broken dolls and shattered dreams. Once a refuge for hope, the base now feels like a tomb. A reminder that the Resistance is fighting an impossible battle. Dawn dips her head unsure of what to say to Carlos.

She lowers her head, unsure of what to say. Then she sees a phrase painted across one of the walls: You are the Resistance.

Closing her eyes, she repeats the words silently, then turns back to Carlos with a smile.

“How about we write our own story?”

Carlos smiles ear to ear and nods eagerly.

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“It’s open. Go figure,” he says with a smile as he walks into the mansion. 

Marcus and I reluctantly follow. Despite the dilapidated exterior of the mansion the interior is still quaint and regal. …

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