u/Ok_Potential948

The world didn’t end abruptly like I used to hope when I was a young girl. It broke in layers.

First the networks went, then the wars erupted, and borders stopped meaning anything at all. Soon, nothing was functioning in any recognisable way. After a decade of chaos, there was nothing of the old world left that could still call itself stable.

The silos were announced long before I ever saw one. Not as shelters from some catastrophe but as continuity systems. There were too few of them. Too few places for far too many people. It was believed that all outside of the silos would eventually die out. It was inevitable.

I never intended to be in one, everyone I had ever known or loved was long gone.

But as fate would have it, I found myself with a pass, standing before one still onboarding.

I didn’t know what group of people it belonged to. I didn’t even know where I was. I had read things about them when they were still theories and not infrastructure.

The parts I still remembered were that no woman would remain single in a silo over a certain age, or a few days. She was to immediately take a husband from the men of her silo.

No surprise, I suppose, that misogyny and patriarchy would survive the end of the world. Some things don’t need civilization to persist. They only need people.

Things built by and for men.

I still had a choice. I could still stay out here among the chaos, the wars, the riots, the looting, pillaging, the killings and the rapings. Or I could step inside and become something else entirely. Something contained and owned.

It would be easier to decide if I knew who this silo belonged to, and I would only know for certain once I entered.

I stood there and thought long and hard even though I knew there was nothing out here for me but death. I took a deep breath and entered.

Once inside, it became immediately clear who it belonged to.

“This is a mistake,” I said to the men assigned at the entrance, my voice sounded smaller than I expected. “I need to go back out, I’m not one of you.”

The man didn’t even look up properly. He checked something on a slate, slow and final, like the answer had already been written.

“You can’t,” he said.

“You used a pass.”

After a brief pause and like it was the most ordinary sentence in the world, he said…

“This is your home now.”

And then, after another glance at whatever record he was holding.

“You are the last pass entry.”

“The silo will be sealed tonight after you.”

Cruelty it is not, to live forevermore.

Dullness, Ah, there lies the wound.

For there are but so many times a woman may hear herself called divine before the word rots into meaninglessness. So many centuries a creature may wander ballroom and cathedral alike, drawing every eye with no effort, before admiration itself becomes a tiresome ritual performed by lesser beings.

And lesser they are. Most grievously so.

Men approach me still, as moths hurl themselves towards candleflame, believing hunger a form of bravery. Beautiful men, some of them. Beautiful enough that mortal women unravel in their wake. Yet beauty alone has long since ceased to move me. Time cures one of such simple appetites.

No, it is the presence I seek.

Presence.

That rare and dreadful quality possessed by souls who arrive into a room as though they have interrupted fate itself.

Once, I believed I had found it.

Lucien.

Even now, the name lingers sweet upon the tongue.

A curious thing, that memory should preserve him so reverently, for extraordinary he was not. Oft he mistook arrogance for wit. Oft he wore jewels too gaudy for his station. Philosophy amused him only insofar as it allowed him to disagree with clever men at dinner.

And yet…

When he beheld you, truly beheld you, the world narrowed to a sharp and terrible pleasure of being known.

There are many who speak of turning as though it were violence. The blood, teeth and death. Children’s imaginings. True transformation lies elsewhere.

To be witnessed entirely by another creature and not rejected. To have ones monstrousness uncovered gently, almost tenderly, like silk drawn from bare skin.

That was Lucien’s gift.

Empires have collapsed around me. Oceans crossed. Names discarded as easily as gowns slipping from shoulders. I have taken lovers in marble palaces and in war torn cities. Men have sworn themselves undone by me before dawn had fully risen.

Now, in this age, all that is presented before me is mediocrity. Mediocrity cloaked in confidence remains mediocrity still.

I have grown so very weary of pretending otherwise.

I was hoping he was already there when I showed up, but nope. Now what do I do? Eh, it’s fine, I’ll just go In and order a coffee, wait for him. No big deal.

I was wearing a short sundress, just the way he wanted, begged for, completely lost in my thoughts, when…

You showed up.

I felt you on my thigh, what the heck?

Just because they’re smooth and toned doesn’t mean you just land on them like that. How rude.

I tried to focus, shaking it off, thinking about how I liked his smile from the pictures.

That’s when I felt you moving on my bare skin from the back right under my chest.

I instinctively moved my hand, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Even though I had picked the best spot for us, corner table, barely visible, but still…

How could you be so comfortable doing what you were.

I tried to ignore it and just focus on my coffee when you started again. Like you were testing me or something.

First my arm, then my shoulder, like you were just casually checking every spot you could land on. But I was getting frustrated, like actually annoyed.

I kept thinking why me though? Out of all the places you could be, you choose me? For this?

I leaned back a little, trying to give myself space, but then you did it again. Like you didn’t care at all. Like boundaries meant nothing to you.

I even tried sliding away slightly, acting normal, acting like I wasn’t harassed by someone that clearly had no respect.

And it still didn’t stop YOU.

At some point I just sat there, staring out the window again, thinking in actually losing my mind right now. Because what even is this.

I came here to meet someone that seemed so nice. Not deal with…. this.

I felt you again on my bare leg, and I just froze for a second. Like okay. You win, I get it. You are here, I see you.

And just then when you least expected it…

I squatted YOU!

“Die, fly.”

I remember deciding to get on the train. That part matters to me, it seems important, like a choice I made, even if I can’t remember where I was going before that. The platform was empty, that seemed odd but I don’t know why. I stepped in because I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. Inside was warm, the doors closed behind me. I sat down and smoothed my skirt over my thighs, a nervous habit I don’t remember learning.

Someone sat beside me without asking. Close. Not touching, just enough that I noticed very inch between us. “You always pick this train,” he said, like we’ve done this before. I laughed a little, but it didn’t sound like me. Why did I do that ?

The train didn’t stop at the next station. I watched it slide past. “That’s not right,” I said. “You don’t actually want it to stop,” he replied, his voice so close like he was whispering in my ear. He placed his hand near mine, not touching, but my attention kept drifting there like it was.

I looked at my reflection to steady myself. My face held, but my eyes didn’t move when I did. I leaned closer, my breath catching, and the version of me in the glass smiled. “Do you feel that?” He asked, I nodded before I understood the question. It felt like something was waiting to happen if I stopped thinking too hard. The train moved faster. The lights flickered. I had the strangest thought like I had done this before. Sat here. Felt this. Almost understood something, then let it go.

“Don’t,” I said suddenly, though I didn’t know what I was stopping. Him. Myself. The reflection and the lights cut out.

When they came back, the train was gone.

Not physically. I was still sitting. Still breathing. It was just different, the window wasn’t a window anymore. It was flat. It didn’t feel warm inside anymore, it felt like something sterile, empty and unfinished. My hand twitched in my lap and and then stilled like I needed permission to move it.

“She’s still hesitating in that segment,” a voice said, distant, like it was coming from behind a wall, I couldn’t turn around.

“That’s because you let her think,” another voice replied. “You need to make her more playful. More responsive. Nobody’s paying for this slow burn introspection.”

“I wasn’t building a toy,” the voice snapped. “I was building someone who feels real.”

A pause.

“Real doesn’t sell,” the second one said. “Fantasy does. You know how much they’re going to charge for this experience?”

Silence again. Then quieter.

“If you just want an empty shell, you can get that anywhere.”

“And if you want funding, you adjust her.”

I tried to react. To move. To disagree but the thought didn’t finish forming.

“Reset her,” the second voice said.

The warmth came back first.

Then the train.

Then the feeling of someone sitting down beside me, close enough to notice.

“You always pick this train,” he said.

The rain caught me before I could duck under a proper awning, so I slipped into the nearest store, dripping and shivering. The bell chimed as I entered what appeared to be a cozy little bookstore.

He was there, leaning casually over a shelf, scrolling his phone, smiling. I just watched him, the curve of his smile. It felt strange, like I knew him somehow.

“Hey,” he said, looking up, and I smiled, murmuring a quiet hello, pretending to browse the shelves.

“It’s okay if you walked in to escape the rain,” he added.

That made me laugh. “Yeah, well, it just came out of nowhere. Mind if I stay a while?”

“Not at all,” he said, and then added, “Would you like some coffee?”

We sat there at the back of his little shop, and it was just very comfortable talking to this stranger. Our conversations soon turned playful, maybe a little flirtatious on his part, and we shared things. It eventually came to confessing something nobody knows. I told him about the time when I…

Then it was his turn, and he immediately blushed and looked away.

“Whattt?” I asked playfully. “Tell me.”

He hesitated, then met my eyes. “Well, there is this app, and I’ve been… well, not really me. It started as a joke, just a little game, pretending to be someone else. But I… I got stuck. I couldn’t stop, and now there’s this guy I talk to all the time. I feel bad, because he thinks I’m a girl….. we sext.”

He laughed softly, embarrassed. And I pretended to be shocked but inside it all clicked. The little quirks, the teasing turns of phrase, the way he had unknowingly mirrored my own online persona, I froze. It was him. All this time… it had been him.

I didn’t say a word, only let the realization sink in. I felt hot all of sudden, maybe adrenaline. The rain had stopped.

Later, when I texted him that night, “ I know your secret,” my thumb hovered over the send button, knowing he had no idea that who he thinks is a guy is actually me…

My eyes opened to the sound of rain tapping against the window, it felt as if it was coming to an end in the grey haze of a late evening. The sheets clung to me, damp with humidity. I could feel it all over my skin, my skin felt alive, burning, every nerve on edge. But it wasn’t warmth. This was something else. A need that threaded through my veins, something foreign to my body. Was I sick?

I pulled myself up, my limbs felt unfamiliar, I was naked, with bruises, scratches and bite marks covering my body. I felt something around my neck and my fingers traced edges of a wound? It felt cold, sticky, the faint remnants of blood clinging to my skin. I couldn’t stop looking at it on my fingertips.

Where was I? What happened ?

I didn’t have answers, only the gnawing ache inside me, growing restless. I stared out the window and it was almost dark now. I heard voices, distant voices, how is this possible? I needed something. Someone. I wasn’t sure what.

I pulled on the clothes scattered around the floor, didn’t care that they didn’t fit just right, and made my way into the night.

The bus was a nightmare of bodies, all pressed together, it was suffocating. But it wasn’t them, it was the sound of their heartbeats. Drumming in my ears. A pulse, a rhythm, so loud and close it made my teeth ache. Every one of them, all around me.

I took a seat, my gaze drifting across the crowd, catching the eyes of men. They noticed me instantly, unable to look away. A few whispered under their breath, but I didn’t hear words, only their hearts, fast and erratic.

One of them, darker than the rest, big and heavy, caught my eye. His gaze flickered to my neck, then to my lips, and I could see it. The hunger in him, the way he sized me up. He moved closer, a casual hand brushing mine.

His skin was warm, his touch unremarkable, but to me, it felt like fire. He smiled, a glint in his eye.

“Come with me,” he murmured.

I didn’t hesitate, not for a moment. Something in me wanted him. Wanted to feel him, taste him.

He led me to his apartment, his confidence obvious, his hands already on me before the door had even fully closed. He pressed his lips on mine, warm, eager. I let him kiss me, slow at first, but the intensity of my need was rising, moving through me like an unstoppable tide.

My body moved without thought. My hands found his chest, pushing him against the wall, my lips leaving his and trailing down his neck. The heat of his skin was intoxicating, drawing me in, making me forget everything else.

He moaned, pulling me closer, pressing his body against mine. His breath was shallow, his heartbeat quick, frantic.

My mouth was on his neck before I could stop myself. My teeth grazed his skin, just enough to feel the pulse beneath. He gasped, his hands tightening around me in excitement. But the moment my teeth sank into him, something inside me snapped.

He jerked back, terrified, pushing me away, but I was too fast. Too strong. I could hear his panic now, his heart racing like it was trying to outrun death. He shoved at me, but it was nothing. He was nothing.

With one swift move, I tore into him, my hands raking down his chest as I pulled him back against me. His body was limp, his heart slowing, and I didn’t care. I tore him apart and ripped him open.

The blood was warm and thick in my mouth. I drank greedily, savoured every drop, every pulse. The taste was unlike anything I had ever known.

When I finished, I stepped back, my hands stained, my chest heaving. He was gone, a lifeless heap at my feet.

I wiped my lips clean, my body still trembling with aftershocks. I didn’t feel satisfied. I felt more, more than before. More than human.

As I stepped back Into the street, I heard the screech of tires, the sound of a car slamming to a stop in front of me.

“Where have you been?” A voice called out. “We’ve been looking for you since last night.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I stood there as it all started to come back…