Apocalypse Online

First Day

Albion jerked awake, his heart hammering against his ribs. The haptic suit was gone, replaced by thin cotton sheets that stuck to his sweat-damp skin. He stared at the unfamiliar ceiling—flat, white, institutional—trying to gather the fragments of his memory. The tree, the leaves with their tiny worlds, the rushing sensation of being pulled forward, forced to choose...

His hand groped for the lamp, fingers fumbling against the smooth surface of the nightstand. Light flooded the room, harsh and unforgiving against his eyes. A folded piece of paper sat next to the lamp, creased with precise edges that spoke of his father's methodical nature.

"You'll do great. Don't forget your haptic bracelet."

That was it. No explanation for his absence, no mention of when he'd return. Just an instruction that felt more like a command than encouragement. Beneath the note sat a slim metal band; his haptic bracelet.

He slipped it over his wrist, and it adjusted automatically, tightening just enough to stay in place without pinching his skin. The metal was cold against his pulse point, like a sliver of ice that refused to warm to his body temperature. He rotated it, watching the light glint off its unmarked surface, wondering what it contained, what it measured, what it reported.

His movements were stiff as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor beneath his feet was smooth concrete, polished to a shine that reflected the overhead lights. No carpet, no warmth, nothing to soften the hard edges of this place they were supposed to call home now.

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The bathroom light flickered on automatically as he entered, the motion sensors as eager and efficient as everything else in Theta Bunker. He turned on the tap, and water rushed out—exactly the right temperature, neither too hot nor too cold. Even the water pressure seemed calculated, strong enough to be effective but not wasteful. Everything had been engineered for optimum efficiency, with no room for the messy imperfections of human preference.

He splashed water on his face, the shock of it clearing away the last cobwebs of sleep. His eyes fell on his toothbrush, sitting in a sterile holder beside the sink. Had he put it there last night? He couldn't remember. Just like he couldn't remember climbing into bed or taking off the haptic suit.

The mirror offered little comfort. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, making the hazel irises seem sunken and too bright. His black hair stood up in tufts, the short afro disheveled from sleep. Freckles dotted his dark skin, a constellation of marks that had always been there but now seemed unfamiliar, as if they'd shifted overnight.

Was this what his mother had meant when she'd told him stories about changelings? Children who went to sleep as themselves and woke up different, replaced by something that looked the same but wasn't quite right? He leaned closer to his reflection, searching for signs that he was still himself, still Albion Williams, and not some hollow version crafted for this underground world.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ💙ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 𖣂 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🩷ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The kitchen was as stark as the rest of the apartment, all clean lines and empty surfaces. No dishes in the sink, no magnets on the refrigerator, no half-empty coffee mugs left on the counter. It was as if they'd moved into a showroom rather than a home. He opened the refrigerator, finding it stocked with labeled containers of nutritionally balanced meals. Each one had his name printed on a sticker, along with calorie counts and nutrient information.

Breakfast was pre-measured and waiting. Albion ate mechanically, barely tasting the food. Just another task to complete before school.

As he ate, he became aware of the persistent hum that filled the apartment. Not a single sound, but a layered symphony of mechanical noises—the ventilation system pushing recycled air through hidden ducts, the soft whir of security cameras adjusting their focus, the electrical pulse of the terminal in the next room. The sounds of a place that was always working, always watching.

He dressed quickly, pulling on the uniform Tori had given him. The fabric was stiff and smelled faintly of chemicals, as if it had been freshly manufactured rather than washed. It fit perfectly, which was unsettling in its own way. Who had measured him? When?

The haptic bracelet caught his eye again as he buttoned his cuffs. It sat against his skin like a shackle, a constant reminder of whatever unknown program he'd been enrolled in. His fingers moved to the clasp, hovering there. He could take it off. Leave it on the counter. Claim he'd forgotten it.

But then what? His father's note had been clear. "Don't forget your haptic bracelet." As if it were the most important thing. More important than saying goodbye in person, more important than explaining where he'd gone or when he'd be back.

Albion's hand fell away from the clasp. He couldn't risk it, not on his first day. Not when everything already felt so precarious. He grabbed his backpack—the same one he'd had in Central, now looking worn and out of place against the sleek lines of Theta—and moved toward the door.

The exit panel glowed with a soft blue light, waiting for his command. He stood before it, suddenly reluctant to step out into the corridor, into this new life that had been chosen for him without his input. Behind this door was a school full of strangers, a system he didn't understand, and expectations he wasn't sure he could meet.

He drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the too-clean air of Theta Bunker. His mother used to tell him that courage wasn't the absence of fear, but the decision to move forward despite it. He pressed his palm against the panel, and the door slid open with a soft hydraulic sigh.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ💙ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 𖣂 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🩷ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The entrance to Theta High loomed before Albion, a wide archway carved directly into the bunker wall. Unlike the practical metal doors of the residential sectors, this entrance was designed to impress, with the school's emblem—a stylized Greek letter against a background of concentric circles—etched into the stone above. Students streamed past him, their movements confident and purposeful, while he walked slowly toward the threshold to his new reality.

A group of students pushed past him, their laughter sharp in the recycled air, finally causing him to stumble forward through the archway, and the corridor beyond opened into a space that seemed to defy the logic of being underground.

The ceiling stretched high above, painted a perfect, unnatural blue. Light panels designed to mimic sunlight cast an artificial glow across the white walls, creating the illusion of a bright day. For a disorienting moment, Albion felt as if he'd stepped through a portal to the surface—a surface that had never existed in his lifetime.

The hallway narrowed ahead, funneling students into a claustrophobic passage that branched off in multiple directions. Despite the attempt at creating an open atmosphere, the reality of being carved into solid rock remained inescapable. The walls pressed in, and the crowd thickened, bodies filling every available space.

A shoulder collided with his, hard enough to spin him half around. "Watch it, new kid," someone muttered, already moving past without waiting for a response. Albion steadied himself, clutching his backpack tighter against his chest like a shield. Another student brushed against him, and another, the contact casual and thoughtless. They moved with the fluid grace of people who knew exactly where they were going, their bodies instinctively navigating the space they'd claimed as their own.

Albion pressed himself against the wall, trying to become smaller, to disappear into the institutional beige paint. His eyes darted from face to face, searching for... he didn't know whom. There was no one familiar in this sea of strangers, their expressions ranging from bored to animated, none of them paying attention to the intruder in their midst.

Except they did notice. He caught their sidelong glances, the way their eyes flickered over his old backpack from Central—worn at the edges where the others carried sleek, Theta-issued packs. His uniform, though technically correct, hung on him differently than on the others. It was the difference between clothes that had been worn and broken in over time versus something fresh from its packaging. Everything about him screamed outsider.

A stream of students poured out from a side corridor, forcing Albion further against the wall. He clutched his schedule, pulling the paper up to where he could read it. Room 307. The numbers meant nothing to him in this labyrinth of identical doors and intersecting hallways. He took a step forward. Then another.

The school's structure was disorienting, corridors twisting at odd angles, following the natural contours of the excavated rock rather than any logical design. The false-sky highlighted the contrast between the attempted illusion of openness and the reality of confinement. Theta High was trying too hard to disguise its nature as a glorified cave.

"You look like you're about as nervous as a cryptid at a conspiracy convention."

The voice was low and steady, cutting through the ambient chaos with surprising clarity. Albion turned to find a boy about his age watching him with gentle amusement. The boy had copper skin and long black hair pulled back in a neat braid. His uniform was standard issue, but small details set him apart—a thin leather cord around his wrist, handmade beads woven into the end of his braid.

"C'mon. I'll show you around," the boy offered, his smile genuine but slightly awkward, as if smiling wasn't something he did often. He didn't wait for Albion to respond, but simply began walking, his pace slow enough for Albion to follow.

Albion hesitated only a moment before falling into step beside him, relief washing over him so intensely it made his knees weak. "I'm looking for Room 307," he managed, his voice sounding strange in his own ears after the long silence.

"Class C Homeroom," the boy nodded. "Same as me. I'm Teó, by the way. Teófilo Ahiga, technically, but everyone calls me Teó." He pronounced his full name with a subtle shift in accent, honoring sounds that the standard underground dialect had long ago flattened.

"Albion Williams," he replied, surprised by how natural it felt to exchange this small piece of information.

Teó's confident movements created a small pocket of calm in the chaotic rush of bodies. He navigated the crowd with ease, but none of the aggressive entitlement Albion had observed in others. There was something grounding about his presence and he felt his breathing becoming less shallow as he followed along.

"First day's always the worst," Teó said, glancing sideways at Albion. "Everything's too loud, too cramped, too much. Like someone cranked all your senses to maximum." He tapped his temple. "Sensory overload. Happens to everyone."

But Albion noticed the way other students greeted Teó as they passed—a nod here, a quiet "hey" there—and realized that while Teó might understand isolation, he wasn't an outsider. He belonged here, yet had chosen to reach out to someone who didn't.

Teó led Albion through a series of interconnected hallways, each one nearly identical to the last. The walls curved subtly, following the natural contours of the excavated rock rather than the rigid right angles Albion was used to in Central Bunker. There was something organic about the design despite its institutional purpose, as if the school had grown rather than been built. Teó moved with the easy confidence of someone who had mapped every corner of this underground maze, occasionally pausing to let Albion catch up or pointing out landmarks that clearly made no sense to anyone but him.

"That chip in the wall? Looks like a triangle? That means we're in the east wing," Teó explained, gesturing to a barely perceptible imperfection in the otherwise smooth surface. "They say it's from the original excavation, but I think it's deliberate. The whole place is laid out like a sacred geometry pattern if you look at the blueprints. Not that they'll let you. I had to map it all out myself on graph paper."

Albion nodded, unsure whether to take Teó seriously or not. The earnestness in his voice made it difficult to tell where observation ended and conspiracy began. They rounded another corner, and the hallway widened into a large, open space.

"Cafeteria," Teó announced with a sweep of his arm. "Where dreams go to die."

The room was massive. Long tables stretched in neat rows across the floor, and along one wall stood a line of gleaming metal dispensers, their digital displays cycling through meal options and nutritional information.

"Those aren't just regular food dispensers," Teó said, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "They analyze your biometric data when you scan your ID. The food is customized to your specific nutritional needs—or so they claim. I think they're testing different chemical compounds on us." He tapped the side of his nose. "My sense of smell has been sharper ever since I started getting the turkey special."

Albion's eyes widened. "They d**g the food?"

Teó shrugged, his expression suddenly impossible to read. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just terrible food. Hard to tell in this place."

They moved on, passing through another set of corridors until they reached a space that made Albion stop in his tracks. Behind a wall of thick glass panels stood row upon row of actual physical books—their spines a rainbow of colors against the sterile white shelves.

"The library," Teó said, watching Albion's reaction with a small smile. "Pretty impressive, right? One of the largest collections of paper books left in the world. Most of them are replicas, though—printed from digital archives after the Cataclysm. The real old ones are kept in a climate-controlled vault at the center."

Albion moved closer to the glass, drawn by the sight of so many books in one place. His mother had owned a few precious volumes—treasures she'd read to him when he was young—but nothing on this scale.

"How do you get in?" he asked, noticing the absence of visible doors.

"Biometric scan," Teó replied, pointing to a small panel beside the glass. "Student access is limited to specific hours and research needs. They monitor everything you read." His tone darkened slightly. "Can't have us getting ideas that aren't pre-approved."

They continued their tour, passing classrooms and laboratories, each one more technologically advanced than anything Albion had seen in Central. Teó pointed out observation windows set high in the walls, almost unnoticeable unless you knew to look for them.

"Those go to the monitoring corridors," he explained. "The official story is they're for teacher supervision, but I've seen security personnel up there too. And sometimes people in white coats who definitely aren't teachers."

As they descended a ramp to a lower level, Teó gestured to a heavy metal door set into the wall, its surface unmarked except for a small keypad. "That leads to the sublevels. Officially, they're just storage and maintenance, but there's at least three floors down there that aren't on any public map."

"How do you know?" Albion asked, curiosity overcoming his initial skepticism.

Teó tapped his temple. "I pay attention. Count the seconds in the service elevators, track which staff badges open which doors. Little things add up." He paused, glancing around before continuing. "Plus, I followed the janitor down there once. That guy—" He pointed discreetly to an older man pushing a cleaning cart at the far end of the hall. "He moves weird, right?"

Albion observed the janitor, noticing a strange stiffness in his movements. Each action seemed precise but somehow unnatural, as if performed by someone learning how to inhabit a human body.

"Some people think he's an android," Teó continued. "But I think he's just been exposed to whatever they're doing down in the sublevels. Changed him somehow."

Despite himself, Albion felt a chill run down his spine. The janitor turned suddenly, as if sensing their attention, and Albion quickly looked away.

They passed a vending machine nestled in an alcove, its screen displaying a rotating selection of snacks and drinks. Teó leaned close, lowering his voice again. "That vending machine? Totally a camera. I swear it winked at me once."

For the first time since arriving at Theta, Albion felt a genuine smile tug at his lips. "It winked at you?"

"Okay, maybe not a literal wink," Teó conceded, his own mouth quirking up at the corners. "But the screen flickered in a very suspicious, wink-like manner." He tapped the side of the machine as they passed. "I'm onto you, snack spy."

The absurdity of the moment broke through some of the tension Albion had been carrying. He laughed, the sound surprising him with its authenticity. Teó grinned in response, seeming pleased to have elicited the reaction.

As they turned back toward the main hallway, a bright yellow poster caught Albion's eye. The bold text announced: "Wellness & Integration: Mental Optimization for Future Leaders." Below the text was an image of a student wearing what looked like a more advanced version of the haptic bracelet on Albion's wrist, their expression one of serene concentration.

Teó followed his gaze and made a low noise in his throat, somewhere between a scoff and a groan. "Translation: government brain zap. But the gear is cool, so I'll allow it."

"Brain zap?" Albion echoed, his hand instinctively moving to cover his bracelet.

"That's what they call it—'mental optimization,'" Teó said, making air quotes with his fingers. "Like we're just computers that need a software update. But hey," he added, his tone lightening, "the simulation tech is legitimately amazing. They say there's never been anything like it, even before the Cataclysm." He tapped Albion's bracelet lightly. "That thing is just the beginning."

Albion studied Teó's face, searching for signs of the same unease he felt. But Teó's expression had shifted again, his initial cynicism replaced by something that looked almost like excitement. "I can't wait to try a haptic suit. Imagine being one of the beta testers!"

The contradiction fascinated Albion—this boy who spoke of government conspiracies with one breath and technological wonder with the next.

"We should head to homeroom," Teó said, checking the time. "Dr. Mercer doesn't like tardiness." He started down the hall, then glanced back when Albion didn't immediately follow. "Coming, cryptid?"

Dr. Mercer... Where had he heard that last name before?

Albion nodded, falling into step beside him. The strangeness of Theta High still pressed in from all sides, but Teó's presence made it feel less threatening, more like a puzzle to be solved than a trap to be feared.