Zerofour stepped out of her cell. The white corridor was not blurred this time; it was clear. The pain was dissipating at an exponential rate; it could have been Nardil, but she wished it wasn’t. Her skin felt clean, untainted by the odor of her creator. The floor under her feet felt solid, not muddy. She stamped the floor softly just to make sure.

  The twins’ eyes were on her; they made faces in response. Their actions lacked malice, threat, or contempt. She inhaled deeply. The composition of the air had not changed, but it felt different somehow.

  “Sick!” Eric whistled a high-pitched sound.

  “I am in perfect health, Eric.” She forced a smile.

  Ivana playfully pushed her brother away and held Zerofour’s sleeve. Eric shook his head. “Eric means the dress, Boss. Do you like it?”

  Zerofour paced around; it was a long-sleeved maxi dress made of thick synthetic fabric. It did not hinder her movement; it felt like a part of her. A part of her that had been denied for too long.

  “This is the most efficient attire I have ever equipped. Thank you.” She bowed her head with a blank expression.

  “Actually cute,” Eric whispered, his sight scanning Zerofour.

  “It looks amazing on you!” Ivana smiled.

  “So where to, Boss?” Eric took a step closer.

  “Ground floor, General Officers' Club.”

  The identical twins frowned.

  “I am unaccustomed to…” Zerofour paused.

  The twins each took a hand—Eric the right one, Ivana the left. Eric’s grip was firm, Ivana’s soft. The pain finally evaporated completely.

  “We know a place. No brass, no cameras, no lab coats, no uniforms.” Eric tugged her forth; their physical pull was negligible, yet the strongest she’d ever felt.

  They led the way toward the main elevator.

  “What is our destination?”

  “The reactor, of course! What else?” they said at the same time.

  “Swanns, do not get us in trouble. I mean it.”

  “Chill, Boss! You’ll love it. If you don’t... we’ll prep reagents for a week.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Get me in trouble, and your PhDs will be on the line.”

  She let them lead her forth. Their steps were slow and casual; their grip did not differ.

  They caught everyone’s eyes. The usual background of whispers, the usual accusations: “Zharova’s toy.”

  Eric whispered to Zerofour, “Fuck ‘em.” His grip tightened. “You never ratted us to Koval when we messed up.”

  Her grip softened further; their pace quickened.

  Beneath the whispers, the screams of her kind kept bleeding through the doors as they always had. Her students could not hear them; she could. Every so often, a shackled Gene Warrior was led to the labs. Nearby, another exited, strapped to a stretcher, convulsing. They did not stop, but their eyes lingered on the doomed soldier.

  A janitor was mopping the floor—old, unshaven, tired. He shook his head and whispered a prayer. “Poor soul, may you find peace.”

  Zerofour locked eyes with the old man. He answered with a polite wave and a smile.

  “Peace to you and your progeny, kind sir,” she replied out loud.

  The checkpoint stood dead ahead.

  They were about to reach the entrance to the main elevator; 20mm autocannons aimed at her from cutouts. They raised their hands and slowed their pace. An exosuit-clad guard approached; mechanical laughter came through the speakers.

  “You feeling okay, GW-04-G7X?” A barrel traced her attire.

  “Affirmative, sir! This is my ID. I would like to access the—” She extended her hand towards the guard, clasping the red-framed ID card.

  “B16,” Eric interrupted.

  “B16! No doubt!”

  “Are we cleared for access, sir?”

  “Thank the General.” The blast door groaned open.

  The elevators were only paces ahead. No one else was inside; Eric pushed the B16 button, and the elevator started descending.

  The doors groaned open.

  In front, the steel floor extended for only five more meters and then stopped. After that, naked bedrock. Slabs of steel were piled on the side of the cave. Instead of the reactor, three dwellings stood on the dirt floor, all made of crudely welded steel panels and pipes.

  One was labeled ‘Meltdown’, another ‘Bloodsport’, and the last one, at least four times larger, ‘AWOL’.

  The sound of nuclear claxons blasting music overwhelmed all other sounds. The smell of ethanol, methanol, and sweat dominated.

  There were no guards or soldiers in uniform here. Gene Warriors and humans existed in the same environment.

  The humans wore a diverse assortment of attire, from repurposed NBC gear to Chanel pre-war dresses and Armani suits. The twins wore matte black leather; Eric wore a flyer’s jacket and biker trousers, Ivana a short black dress. Their Scandinavian phenotype contrasted starkly with their clothes.

  Gene Warriors wore hand-crafted clothes stitched from rags. Color and prior gender specificity did not matter. All of them were unique.

  Their necks were shackled with explosives even here.

  A Gene Warrior squad passed next to them; two males, two females. A female Gene Warrior locked eyes with Eric.

  “Sarin vs Cable in an hour! Forty dollars! Don’t miss it!”

  “Who’s Sarin?” Eric yelled back.

  “Toughest bitch there is! 40 bucks, also bring your mom!” She glanced toward Zerofour and disappeared into the crowd.

  Eric’s eyes shot at Zerofour and then rested on his sister.

  “No.” She slashed the air with her palm.

  “Puss,” Eric spat.

  He led them to the first structure. Outside stood a bullet-hole-ridden bronze statue of Vladimir Lenin. Two control rods had been welded onto his head. He held an empty bottle of vodka instead of a hammer, and a whiskey bottle instead of a sickle.

  The twins led Zerofour inside.

  At the far end, a nuclear reactor control station served as a bar. Steel tables and chairs were scattered about. In the center, a warped control rod glowed green. Chained to it, a figure in a pink NBC suit and full-face gas mask danced.

  “Time to meltdown, Boss!”