PROJECT BUNKER

23:56:32 HOURS REMAINING

I'M SORRY.

They're the words lodged in the back of my throat, refusing to make themselves known. All I can do at the moment is cry. To let out the emotions piling up inside of me. The seething rage at the way Alexander's chosen to avenge his parents. The immense fear of the unknown concerning this experiment. The pain in my heart for every single person ripped from their given homes.

For Ezra, and the two kids the Authority guards took right before our eyes.

Sorry for it all.

Ezra takes a step back, locking eyes with me. "Please don't blame yourself." His voice is much calmer than I expected it to be. As if he didn't just receive the same news I had. As if everything in his life were going great.

"It's hard not to," is the only response I can manage. It's hard not to be mad at myself for not seeing the signs sooner. For missing the fact that Alexander had only let me in on a piece of the puzzle.

The mansion obscured from view inside our glass cells looms overhead now, its smooth marble stone exterior a direct reflection of the inner city. I steady myself, mustering the courage to take the first step toward the next 24 hours of our lives.

If we survive that long.

I shake the thought of death from my mind, determined to use everything I knew about Alexander to my advantage. If I'm so instrumental in this experiment, I'm going to show him that I won't be prey for long.

It's time to even the playing field.

Ezra offers me a feeble smile, falling into step next to me. Sprinkled around the perimeter of the mansion are two rows of the glass cells we were forced into moments ago.

People make their way to the entrance in small groups. I can't help but wince at the confusion and fear painted on people's faces. To make matters worse, there's nothing I could say to ease anxiety. To settle the hearts of the people who have lived underground all their lives.

I let out a shaky breath before taking the first of the marble steps. The columns are no shorter than ten feet tall, adding to the element of intimidation Alexander feeds off of.

Ezra grabs a hold of my arm before I get the chance to pull one of the double doors open. I hold his gaze, nearly falling into his silver irises. For the first time since I've met him, it's hard to tell how he's feeling.

"Are you okay?" His question is nearly silent, but I can hear the concern in his voice. Concern that shouldn't be directed at me, seeing as how I had a part in all of this. Even if it was just a fraction of Alexander's plan.

"I'm the one who should be asking you that question," I protest, searching his eyes for any sort of clue that could tell me the answer. He shakes his head.

"I'm okay, I just want to find Grant and Gracie. I can't imagine how scared they are right now. And I want to help as many people as we can."

Grant and Gracie.

There's no telling what Alexander would do to them if they didn't end up here. But there's no use trying to figure out what I don't know, now. All I can do is comfort Ezra as much as possible and pray we find them.

That Alexander didn't do the unthinkable.

"We'll find them," I assure him, partially convincing myself. "And as soon as I figure out how this place is rigged, we can come up with a way out. Alexander's forgotten that I know him, probably better than he knows himself. And even though we haven't been close for a while, I can still use that to our advantage."

It's true. At the core, his habits and tendencies should still be the same. He threw the snake charmer into the snake pit. I cracked the code he left in the van, even though the last sequence was the only one that held any sort of relevancy. There's a good chance he couldn't help but leave more clues for me to find.

Even if they are meant to mock me more than help me.

Ezra gives me a nod of thanks, following suit as I reach for the entrance doors. The elaborate design of the foyer doesn't surprise me knowing Alexander's affinity for the dramatics. Similar to the columns outside, the marble pattern covers the walls around us, a centerpiece in the middle of the room stealing my attention.

A golden hourglass that stands eight feet tall hovers in mid-air, a slow trickle of sand dropping into the bottom half. A holographic digital clock circles the hourglass, confirming its purpose. This is how time is kept throughout the experiment.

Survive twenty-four hours in the mansion, and you're free to go.

The clock counts down in large red numbers, the seconds in sync with the sand.

23:47:32

Before I get the chance to take a closer look at the gold detailing, a thin boy clutching a baby blanket brushes past me, headed into the main room connected to the foyer. As soon as he passes the threshold, his figure disappears, leaving a ripple in his place. I rub my eyes, convinced my mind is playing tricks on me.

Until another person passes us and the same thing happens, swallowed by some sort of invisible force field and taken completely out of view. Ezra gives me a wary glance, stepping up to the threshold with caution.

"We don't go through until we test it first."

I hold my breath as he reaches forward, his hand disappearing past the threshold leading out of the foyer. He pulls his hand back, a wave of relief washing over me once I realize that it didn't have an effect on him. It must be part of the experiment.

To quote Alexander, "Let the games begin."

Hand in hand, we step through the threshold, hardly expecting the scene that unfolds before us. Instead of marble, alabaster walls, rusted steel surrounds us. Winding halls stretch in nearly every direction, the dim lights above us completely transforming the atmosphere.

We're inside a bunker again. And the number painted on the wall tells me exactly which bunker this is. Bunker 13.

⏳

20:07:24 HOURS REMAINING

FEAR.

It hangs in the air, threatening to suffocate anyone who moves. Ezra scans the crowd frantically, his hope waning as he searches for Grant and Gracie. He drops his shoulders after we finish checking the first room. There's a tattered couch here and a checkered rug that hardly covers a square foot of the cement floor beneath us.

Crouched in the corner of the room is a woman in her early twenties, a restless toddler in her arms. She's reaching for a teddy bear a few feet away to no avail. I stop Ezra before he advances down the hall, slowly making my way over. As we pass by, I can hear murmurs of surprise as people recognize me from the broadcasts.

As the one who fed them lies all this time.

I wouldn't be surprised if they hated me, a response that is more than expected. All I can do is right as many wrongs before time runs out. Show them I'm here to help, a willing sacrifice in such a volatile situation. A martyr if I need to be.

I kneel down to the toddler's level, her sobs stopping momentarily as she makes eye contact with me. Her cheeks are wet with tears, the woman giving me a wary glance from behind her. She looks exhausted, to say the least, with streaks decorating her face from tears she cried hours before.

I reach for the teddy bear, dusting it off before handing it over. The woman cracks a smile of thanks at the toddler's squeal of glee. Although this small act of kindness does nothing to extinguish the sorrow in the room, I walk away with a glimmer of hope.

Hope that maybe, over the next twenty-four hours, we might be able to make it out of here and restore the lives that were stolen.

The hallway opens into another common room, this one slightly larger. An old wooden table takes up most of the space the room offers. A single cabinet and counter are attached to the opposite wall.

A single rusted burner occupies the counter, the sink hardly big enough to fit more than a few dishes. Ezra scans the room, being sure to take a good look at the stragglers here. I notice his shoulders drop in disappointment, exhaustion clouding his silver eyes.

"We'll find them," I say, offering a comforting pat on the arm. He responds with a nod, the brush of his fingers against mine rendering me breathless for a moment.

For a split second, I try and imagine what life would be like if this entire lie didn't exist. No wars, real or fake. No revenge-hungry scientist experimenting on innocent people.

If Ezra and I met under different circumstances. What would we bond over? I wonder if he would still be writing poetry and letters to some beacon of hope. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I had an actual hobby.

Alexander, the Surface, and this lie have consumed my life. A pit forms in my stomach as I come to a shocking realization. I don't know who Ivy Carlisle really is.

A symphony of screams cuts through my daydream followed by a blaring siren. Ezra runs toward the commotion first, leading me to a doorway just outside the makeshift kitchen. A thick glass door slides into place, trapping someone on the other side. I push past the fear coursing through my veins, rushing over to see if there's any way to reverse the trap.

Before I get the chance to inspect it completely, a cloud of red smoke billows up to the glass, completely obscuring the victim from view. And just like that, the snake takes his first victim.