The Bunker

The address Mike had mocked wasn't just "down by the industrial district." It was the industrial district’s graveyard.

​Sarah navigated through a labyrinth of crushed cars and rusting machinery. The air here didn't smell like the lavender-scented talcum powder of the city; it smelled of oxidized iron, wet rot, and ancient oil. It was a place where things went to be forgotten.

​In the center of a clearing surrounded by walls of compacted scrap metal, she found it. A heavy, reinforced steel door set into a mound of concrete and debris. There was no doorbell, only a grime-encrusted intercom and a heavy sliding viewport.

​Sarah pounded on the metal. The sound was dull and swallowed by the density of the door.

​"Betty? Betty Louca?" Sarah called out, her voice cracking. "I... I'm a friend of Mike's. Please, I need help."

​Silence. Then, a sharp, metallic clank as the viewport slid open.

​A single eye stared out at her. It was wild, bloodshot, and framed by grease-stained wrinkles. It narrowed instantly.

​"Mike?" The voice that came through the slit was like grinding gears. "That bloat-fly? That Gel-****? He wouldn't come here. He's afraid of the rust."

​"He sent me!" Sarah pleaded, glancing over her shoulder, expecting to see Nanny’s black van around every corner. "I have nowhere else to go. The Reformatory is after me."

​"The Reformatory?" Betty let out a sharp, barking laugh. "Good! They should take you all! You walking Wi-Fi hotspots. You leaking data points!"

​The viewport started to slide shut.

​"Wait!" Sarah screamed, jamming her hand against the cold steel. "I'm not like them! I don't wear a Mantle!"

​The eye stopped. It widened slightly. "What did you say?"

​"I don't wear one," Sarah said, stepping back and lifting her shirt slightly to show the waistband of her jeans. "Look. No padding. No plastic. No chip."

​Betty’s eye scanned her waist, then darted back to her face. "A Natural? At your age? Impossible. You're a spy. A drone sent by Nanny to map my perimeter."

​"I'm not a spy!" Sarah cried, tears mixing with the grime on her face. "I'm a fugitive! I peed on my mother's floor! deliberately! Without protection!"

​The silence that followed was heavy.

​"You... went... free?" Betty whispered, the hostility in her voice replaced by a sudden, morbid curiosity. "On the floor? Like an animal? Like... a free woman?"

​"Yes! And Nanny is hunting me for it. She took Mike and Jessica because they helped me. Please, Betty. If I stay out here, they'll put me in the Belt."

​There was a long pause. Then, the sound of heavy machinery engaging.

​Clank. Clank. Hiss.

​Three massive deadbolts retracted. The wheel on the door spun with a groan of ungreased metal.

​"Get in," Betty hissed. "Before the satellites smell your pheromones."

​The door swung open, and Sarah was hit by a wall of humid, stagnant air.

​Betty stood in the doorway. She was a short, wiry woman with hair like electrified steel wool. She wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit tied around her waist, her upper body covered in a stained tank top.

​But it was what she wore below the waist that made Sarah freeze.

​It wasn't a modern diaper. It wasn't the sleek, white, quiet padding of the city. It was a monstrosity. A yellowish, thick, crinkling bulk of plastic that looked like it belonged in a museum of horrors. It was immense, forcing Betty’s legs into a wide, permanent waddle. It was held together with duct tape and what looked like industrial straps. It hung low, heavy, and swayed with a liquid slosh as she moved.

​"Well?" Betty barked, grabbing Sarah’s arm with a grip of iron. "Don't just stare at the Legacy, girl. Move!"

​Sarah was pulled into the darkness, the heavy steel door slamming shut behind her, sealing her in with the madwoman and the smell of a rebellion that had been fermenting for decades.