The massive bunker felt like a labyrinth — endless corridors, cold concrete walls, and dim lighting. It created an oppressive atmosphere, but over time, people grew accustomed to it. The hum of conversations, the occasional laughter, and the cries of children all blended into a single background noise. It felt like time had stopped, and life had turned into a routine where survival was the only priority.

Three months later… People had learned to adapt. Learned to accept. Even in a place like this, some managed to find reasons to smile. Resources were sufficient, food and water were distributed fairly. “The best bunker,” they told you, like a mantra, to keep your spirits high.

You were sitting on the floor, surrounded by children. They laughed and argued, showing off their drawings made with charcoal on scraps of paper. Your voice was gentle as you tried to think of something to keep them entertained. For a brief moment, their laughter felt so genuine, it warmed your heart even in this gray, lifeless place.

Suddenly, you felt someone’s hand cover your eyes from behind. Tensing slightly, you immediately heard a familiar quiet chuckle.

“Guess who?” came Horangi’s soft voice, with a touch of amusement.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his hand.