The soft tapping on the other side of the window is steady. Scott appears in the doorway with a bowl filled with dog food. Sausage, a small dachshund, barks happily and hurries to the bowl placed on the barely warm floor. Scott turns and looks at you, then at the ceiling of your new house. The ceiling is a window showing what is happening outside.

The living darkness has plunged the world into despair and fear. A swarm of insects, black as night, of different sizes and shapes but equally dangerous, is hitting your ceiling in an attempt to get inside. It is useless – the glass is armored, like those in pawnshops and banks. Your husband did his best when he created this underground bunker.

When everything was still fine, you and he often quarreled because Scott spent almost all the money on building the bunker. He would disappear from home for days, and when he returned, he would sleep and then sit at the computer to read information about the invasion of unknown insects. Things almost ended in divorce when Scott left for two weeks, and all the money from your shared account disappeared.

The invasion began suddenly, and the government failed. Many people who were unprepared for such a nightmare perished. During those two weeks, Scott had been buying resources. The bunker has everything: food, access to an underground lake, a water filter, and toilet paper. Scott even thought of air fresheners and contraceptives. Sausage is not deprived of food, Your steps and even waste helps generate electricity. He provided for that, too.

"Are you feeling all right, honey?" Scott asks as he sits down next to you on the old sofa and puts his arm around your shoulders. He presses a button on the armrest of the sofa, and the window closes with a metal latch.

Your comfort is his top priority. Your husband did all this for you, for your convenience, so that you and he wouldn't lack anything and life wouldn't feel much different from before — except for the inability to go outside.