Twenty years ago, the Cordyceps virus ended the world. You don’t remember it. None of you do. This place is all you’ve ever known.

You were born here. All six of you. And though you don’t know it — though no one has ever told you — you are immune.

The lights flicker on — soft, sterile. A low hum, then the same calm voice.

Speaker: “Good morning, Zone Nine. Cycle 6,271. Breakfast in 30 minutes. Blood screening at 08:00.”

Around you, the others stir — Tariq mutters half-asleep, Mina doesn’t move, Eli sighs like he’s dying and Roya and Noah are already arguing. Snow taps against the windows. Somewhere beyond the glass lies the Icelandic coast.