61. Clay
Clay
Wu’s laughter echoes through the bunker.
Cold.
Calm.
Inhuman.
Then the speakers cut out.
Silence slams into the checkpoint hard enough I can hear the shell casings still rolling across concrete.
One of Gabriel’s men kicks a dead operative’s rifle away.
Russ reloads fast beside the biometric scanner while Gabriel works furiously at the terminal.
“Tell me you can open it,” Lucas says.
“I can open it,” Gabriel mutters.
A beat.
“Keeping it open might be the problem.”
Not what I wanted to hear.
The massive blast doors ahead of us hum with reinforced locking mechanisms buried inside the walls. Thick steel. Military-grade hydraulics.
Built to contain people.
Or keep something inside.
Hannah still stands beside me holding the knife she buried in the operative’s throat.
She hasn’t moved.
Blood drips slowly from the blade onto the concrete.
Her breathing looks wrong now.
Too shallow.
Too controlled.
Like she’s trying not to fall apart in front of everyone.
I carefully take the knife from her hand.
Her fingers resist for half a second before letting go.
“Hannah.”
She looks up at me.
And Jesus Christ—
there’s fear in her eyes now.
Not fear of Wu.
Fear of herself.
“I knew how to do it,” she whispers.
I step closer immediately.
“You defended yourself.”
“No.” Her voice shakes harder. “That wasn’t defense. That was training.”
Nobody speaks.
Because we all know she’s right.
Gabriel finally breaks the silence quietly.
“They trained children to survive. I trained you how to fight.”
Hannah laughs once.
Broken.
“That’s not survival training.”
Her eyes drift toward the dead operative.
“That was assassination conditioning.”
The words hit the bunker like another explosion.
Mason swears under his breath.
Lucas looks sick.
Russ just gets colder.
And me?
I want Wu’s head mounted on the damn wall.
“No, that was saving your ass,” Gabriel says.
Gabriel finally gets the scanner online. “Door opening.”
Warning alarms pulse again as the blast doors slowly begin separating down the middle.
Metal screams.
Hydraulics groan.
Cold air rushes through from the corridor beyond.
Then everyone freezes.
Because children are standing on the other side.
About ten of them.
Different ages.
Some barely six or seven.
Gray uniforms.
Bare feet.
Thin.
Silent.
Every single one staring at us without expression.
My chest physically tightens.
Oh God.
Hannah stops breathing beside me.
The smallest little girl steps forward slowly.
Dark hair.
Huge terrified eyes.
She can’t be older than five.
And around her wrist—
a black barcode tattoo.
Just like Hannah’s.
No.
No no no.
Wu’s voice suddenly returns through hidden speakers overhead.
“You wished to save them.”
Calm.
Proud.
“Here they are.”
Rage burns so hot inside me I nearly move without thinking.
But something stops me.
The children.
None of them are running toward us.
None of them are crying.
None of them are speaking.
They’re just…
watching.
Waiting.
Like they’ve been trained to stand there.
Hannah slowly kneels in front of the little girl.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like approaching a wounded animal.
“It’s okay,” Hannah whispers softly.
The little girl flinches instantly.
Not from fear.
From hearing kindness.
Jesus Christ.
Hannah’s face breaks right in front of me.
Because she recognizes it.
That reaction.
That conditioning.
She lived it.
“You’re safe now,” Hannah says quietly.
The girl’s lips part slightly.
Confusion flickers across her tiny face.
As if the words don’t make sense to her.
Wu speaks again.
“You see the difficulty, Hannah.”
The lights flicker red overhead.
“These children were designed for Ascension.”
Designed.
I swear Lucas almost throws up.
Wu continues calmly:
“The world creates weak children every day.”
A pause.
“We create useful ones.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightens so hard I hear his teeth grind.
Russ raises his rifle toward the nearest speaker.
“Keep talking.”
And Wu does.
Because monsters always love hearing themselves speak.
“Governments fail. Families fail. Morality fails.”
His voice lowers almost thoughtfully.
“But conditioning? Conditioning creates order.”
The little girl suddenly reaches for Hannah’s sleeve.
Tiny fingers.
Barely touching her.
Hannah looks down instantly.
The child whispers something so softly I almost miss it.
“What happens if we fail?”
Everything inside me stops.
Because Hannah closes her eyes like the words physically hurt.
She knows that question.
Knows exactly why the child asked it.
When Hannah opens her eyes again—
they’re different.
Not broken.
Not afraid.
Furious.
She rises slowly to her feet and turns toward the speakers.
“You made them afraid to be children.”
Her voice shakes with rage now.
Wu answers immediately:
“No.”
A pause.
“I removed weakness before the world could exploit it.”
That does it.
Hannah steps directly into the center of the checkpoint.
Red emergency lights flashing across her face.
Blood on her hands.
Storm inside her eyes.
“You know what your problem is, Wu?”
Silence.
Then calmly:
“Tell me.”
Hannah’s voice turns deadly quiet.
“You think surviving makes you God.”
Even Russ looks at her differently after that.
Wu goes silent for the first time since we entered the bunker.
And somehow—
that silence feels dangerous.