this story is a long one, the longest i’ve ever written before, so it’s coming in smaller doses so it’s not overwhelming!! it started for my love and desire to write out the first scene with michael in it at the outpost, and sort of built on it from there. @nihilnovesubsole is my biggest supporter and i would never have started w/o her!!! i hope you all enjoy and want to read more- i wanted to set up the foundation before i moved into the smut but it’s coming >:) lemme know what you think!! (also, though she does take the action of mallory’s character in this part i did not take the reader in that direction after this i just liked that interaction!!)
things are about to change at the outpost.
The warm, orange glow of the candles cascaded a false sense of security and sincerity over the extended dining hall, shadows and light playing around the room with one another. The smell of stew wafted through the stiflingly underground air. Though boiled snake would not always be considered an appetizing smell, hot food of any kind or quantity was a blessing compared to the small, flavorless cubes of protein we were normally subjected to. The cart’s handle rumbled underneath my hands as it passed over the tiny imperfections in the stone floor and I brought the meal in for the members of the elite, a group of whom I woefully could not consider myself.
From the opposite side of the room, I could hear the nasally, high pitched voice of Coco, replying to Ms. Mead about the gourmet luxury of the evening.
“You know, I have a strict rule about eating things with no legs, or, too many legs for that matter,” she stated in her usual disdainful manner, upturning her lips and trying to get a better look into the massive bowl in the cart that held inch long sections of the snakes that were bobbing up and down eerily in the broth.
“Eat it or don’t. No one’s gonna force it down ya.” Mead’s eyes were glued in an icy stare to Coco’s face as she answered the complaint, neglecting to hide what everyone else felt but was too tactful to manifest: complete disdain for Ms. Vanderbilt. I wasn’t the biggest fan of her either, but before the nuclear fallout I was her personal assistant. As arbitrary as it seems now, she was one of the nation’s biggest stars, with an ego to match: the apocalypse did little to change that mindset.
The other grays and I began ladling the soup into the lavish bowls, and despite the apparent protestations to eating something that slithered as such, the majority of the elites took the meal with gratitude. Coco’s nose was still risen towards the sky as I slid a full bowl in between her place settings, but she cautiously began poking around at smaller sections of the reptile as if to find the most appetizing segment before chowing down. There was little conversation as the servings were handed out, apart from a remark from Evie, who began sharing an anecdote about some kind of decadent snake soup she’d had in some place or another with someone of heightened societal position. Her desire to cling to her status of the past usually made her a point of ridicule, but the tale garnered a few chuckles nonetheless. As Dinah had pointed out, the soup was food, and we are all starving, too hungered to care about making any snide remarks directed at the ancient grandmother of Mr. Gallant.
My mouth watered as I returned the cart to its initial spot at the head of the table, looking down at what remained in the container and knowing my meal would not begin until hours after the purples had been satiated and moved on to the cocktail lounge to indulge themselves further. While it made sense, the only real reason for me even being granted into the fallout shelter being my affiliation with someone who could pay their way in, it still seemed unfair that I was the only member of our arriving quartet to be granted the short end of the stick, the position of servitude for all rather than just Coco. Instead, I was forced to watch her and everyone else live a lavish lifestyle that left me at the bottom of the food chain, picking up scraps and equating to little more in their eyes than the irradiated vermin that remained outside these walls. Every crack of Venable’s cane that reverberated throughout the Outpost was like a stab in the gut, never ceasing to remind me that every task I attended to slowly and carefully chipped away at my former dignity. My thoughts on classist injustices and the enticing smell of soup were cut short as a seldom heard voice chimed in to the minimal conversation, posing a question everyone seemed to have forgotten to be curious about.
“So, who’s in your office?” The voice belonged to Emily, one half of the pair of kids my age who had been brought to the shelter due to their “superior genetic makeup.” It was her room in which the multitude of snakes were found for this very meal, writhing around in her closet like they were caught in some kind of grotesque waltz. While no one questioned their presence, it was assumed they came from outside the fortress, though no mutations had been found, nor had there been any radiation detected in them at all. Only hours before, the alarms had been raised, and while Venable and Mead had tended to the security breach, no explanations were made. While it could’ve been snakes, just like the pigeon that set off the alarm earlier in the week, we all knew it wasn’t: the breach had been made by someone, and someone Venable clearly wasn’t ready to reveal.
“I beg your pardon?” Her deep voice came out strong and unwavering, inviting no real answer to that question, but getting one anyways.
“The alarms went off before, and someone came inside.” Emily’s voice was more pressing this time, and was followed up by her other half, Timothy.
“All your questions will be answered in due course.” Venable’s gaze bored into Timothy and Emily, prompting an unspoken agreement to not urge the conversation along any further. Following the stern and pregnant pause, she finally turned her attention again to the whole of the room and gave a single command: “Eat.”
With the sound of her cane following the order, the regular chatter began to resume, though wary and calculated looks were now being passed from elite to elite, and with good reason. Who was it that came through those barricaded doors, and why was Venable so unwilling to share? With each new member that had joined us, they had wasted little time introducing the rest of us to the people we would be sharing our limited and claustrophobic space with. Why was this different?
Still standing in position by the head of the table, I had little time to formulate any more questions for myself as several loud wails suddenly arose from around the room. Several of the elites leapt from their chairs, sending the bowls of soup flying in disarray onto the floor. My first instinct was to feel contempt for their lack of gratitude, until I saw the reason behind their outburst: the snakes were once again whole, alive, and slithering through the broth, the candlelight glinting off their wet scales as they blithely passed through the trampling feet above them.
“They were chopped up and boiled, how the fuck did they come back to life?” Coco’s voice could be heard again down the long corridor leading to the sitting area, rivaling the loud crackling in the fireplace. The snakes were the rampant subject of the evening still, even though Mead and the Fist had already taken the born-again creatures and disposed of them outside. No one had even approached the fact that the only hot meal in over a year had been a sham, everyone was simply too spooked to care. The circumstances surrounding the mysterious intruder had already heightened the general air of suspense and confusion, and the evening’s phenomenon did little to quell those feelings in everyone; even Venable was on edge.
“Beats me, I’m still wondering where the hell they came from,” Gallant replied, swirling around his glass of water as though it was a much-desired glass of wine after a long day at work. His eyes were fixed on the fire, his gaze reflecting the concern he felt. Unusual, considering his regular gift for levity in most situations. Typically, by now he’d find a way to make a joke about getting railed by a Hemsworth brother to lighten the mood.
“Maybe that is where they came from.” The words cut through the heat of the room like an icy blade, sending an inadvertent chill down my spine. They came from a man to my left, where I stood next to the doorway awaiting any requests with the other grays. I could see his silhouette outlined in my peripherals, but felt compelled by something, not to turn my head in the mysterious speaker’s direction.
The silence following the remark was palpable, broken only by the click of the stranger’s boots as they brought him around the edge of the room. Venable had taken her usual speaking position in front of the fire, standing with an exaggerated air of importance, a tight smile painted onto her face and her dark brown eyes locked onto the man as he approached her. His hair was long, just a touch past his shoulders, and a warm golden color that complemented the light of the embers. There was a slight curl at the ends that swayed back and forth along his back as he sauntered forward, up into place next to Venable, who had begun smiling at him like she was in on a little secret. He lingered for a moment beside her, his profile outlined by the flames behind him. It was some kind of stalemate playing out, his lips turned up in an expectant smile, his eyes slowly and carefully looking our administrator up and down. Slowly, Venable’s smile faded to a look of muted embarrassment and she could no longer meet his gaze. She walked slowly, regaining her poise as she stood next to Ms. Mead, allowing this mysterious gentleman to take her place. He finally oriented himself at the front of the room, allowing us all to see his face fully for the first time.
His eyes were an icy, cold blue, slightly slanted down at the corners. They framed his face just right, set just slightly above his slender nose. It was hard not to focus on his lips as he began to speak, full as they were, ever curved in that sardonic smirk that made it clear he knew he was in charge, much to Venable’s obvious chagrin.
“My name is Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative.” The words spilled from his mouth like honey, a bitter honey that coated your ears but sent another chill through your spine, much like the first time he spoke.
“I won’t sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds In Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.” All eyes were glued to his visage, his undeniable air of superiority. Gallant was paying particularly close attention, and I couldn’t blame him. There was something about him that drew you in, and handsome confidence that didn’t allow you to look away.
“What happened to the people inside?” Andre broke the silence with his question, voicing what no one wanted to acknowledge in light of this new information. With a sharp turn of his head in the young man’s direction, Langdon uttered his sort reply.
“Massacred.” His voice barely above a whisper, and the slight smile never left his face. “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.” His pause before the word ‘almost’ left a space open for interpretation, one that was not lost on us. Before I even knew what I was saying, I blurted out, “Almost all?” Even from across the room, I could feel his attention shift to me immediately, drilling me with his eyes. I quickly found something interesting to examine on my shoes, hoping for nothing more than to rid myself of the heat of shame that followed that stare. He didn’t answer the question, but seamlessly flowed into the next parts of his speech. Though he was no longer looking, I could still feel the smoldering gaze that felt like it was still burning a hole in me.
“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe: The Sanctuary. The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”
The next person to join in the discussion was Ms. Mead, who politely interjected.
“Excuse me sir, what measures? I mean, why weren’t we given them?” Still with that ceaseless smile, his attention turned to the older woman. Again, his response was curt.
“That’s classified.” With a pause to ensure no more interruptions, and a slow scan around the room, he began once more. “All that matters is that The Sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will… survive.” His voice melted on the last word, hanging on to it like a vice grip.
“Who are the people who are populating it?” Kyle inquired from his seat next to Emily. It was clear from the way he clutched her hands that he hoped they might be the lucky pair to hop straight to repopulation. This was not lost on Langdon, though it was clear his patience was thinning.
“Also classified. However, I have been sent to determine whether any of you are worthy or fit to join us.” With this, the tension that had built throughout his monologue palpably eased. The erect postures around the room and the positions on the edges of seats eased back to recline in the realization that any one of us could possibly escape this cramped hell hole. A ripple of muted conversation passed alone each member, even among the grays.
“Do you think that includes us?” The one boy next to me asked. I couldn’t come up with an answer, just the wonder in the back of my mind: would it be possible? Were the things Langdon was looking for something that could be found in someone considered lesser than those dressed in purple?
Again, my thoughts were cut short as he began once more. His voice carried loudly enough to silence the sea of murmurs immediately.
“The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call "Cooperating." I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.” He waved his hands out to each side as though the explanation was obvious. Apparently to a certain few, it still wasn’t.
“What is this, The Hunger Games? This is bullshit. I paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.” The whining coming from Coco struck a particular nerve this time, clearly not just with me. Gallant rolled his eyes and Langdon was again caught short of patience.
“You don’t have to sit for questioning. You can instead just stay here, and die.” There was no smile this time. Not leaving her any time for embarrassment, Gallant finally spoke up for the first time since his remarks about the snakes.
“I volunteer to go first.” He looked around the room as if to challenge someone to suggest themselves first, though no one offered.
With an almost imperceptible sigh, he replied. “And so you shall.” Langdon bowed his head slightly in the bleach blonde’s direction, feigning courtesy. “The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won't be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these.” He extracted a small vial of white pills from the folds of his draped jacket and held them high enough for all to see.
“One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up.” Silence fell again, and he let us soak in all the options that had just been set before us.
“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.” With a slight rattle, he thrust the bottle of pills back into his pocket and gave another quick glance around the room. Though it was clear no more protestations would be accepted, he left no time for further discussion anyhow, briskly striding around the opposite side of the room from which he came in towards the exiting corridor. As he passed, I caught his eyes once more. It was reminiscent of the sensation one gets when they find themselves atop a mountain in a lightning storm: the hair on the back of your neck and arms begin to prickle with a life of their own, and it’s as though you can feel the current of the electricity replace some of the blood in your veins. Those cold baby blues sent the shock down my body from head to toe, even in just the space of an instant. The air that rushed past me as he made his way out the door smelled sweet at first, yet quickly left a sour taste in my mouth, much like the aroma of a wilting flower. Such strange sensations to follow an equally strange man, but the combination of them all made my toes curl. Who, or what, was he?
