The Swarm

Xander’s heavy steps beat like a metronome through what felt like a frozen moment. “Merid,” his voice drew her name out, slow and deliberate, “what are you actually planning to trade the King for?” The air was already stifling, but now it pressed at her throat as she turned. “As usual,” she shrugged. “Oil, salt, whatever survival crap. You know. Apocalypse.” She jumped to her feet, nervously brushing stone dust off her suit—until she ran straight into Xander’s gaze, burning under the station lights. He circled her in a slow arc, forcing her back toward the wall. “Let’s be clear, Merid.” His voice no longer stretched her name with fake warmth, cutting instead like a blade. “Your shelter is collapsing. Everyone knows it. No offense.” Xander lifted his hands in a mock conciliatory gesture. “Abel is clearly rationing surface routes until the system finally gives out and buries everyone.” He stopped, fixing her with an unblinking, serpentine stare, searching for the smallest flicker of doubt. “And you want me to believe he’s spending those routes on lamp oil—in exchange for what might be the last raccoon of his life? I thought this was when he’d be deciding who gets left behind as ballast. Not worrying about lighting.” On the last word, Xander’s teeth clicked together, sharp and precise, like a trap snapping shut. Merid exhaled and stepped sideways, slipping out of his shadow. “What can I say,” she began, uncertainty creeping in as she drew another breath. “People want faith. And light.” The lie tasted too sweet even to her. “And it’s not collapsing,” she added. “It just needs… careful handling.” The shadow moved closer. When Merid lifted her head, she could feel Xander’s breath brush her lashes. “Enough,” he murmured. “No more fairy tales.” “Didn’t you bring down one of the last ventilation routes getting topside? How long do you think the final one will hold? One more run for bugs?” Merid swallowed hard. How did he know? The memory surfaced—how easily Yun and Xander had found common ground, how neatly she’d been sent away so they could talk alone. “Yun,” she whispered, lost in the rush of thought—too loud to belong only to herself. “Yun,” Xander echoed, satisfied, inclining his head. “In our business, the most important thing is choosing the right side.” She recoiled as if struck, pressing closer to the wall. Him? “What are you getting at?” she forced out. “I still have things to do—” “Not now.” His faint smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Think about it. After the King.” One step erased the distance she’d bought herself seconds earlier. “Bring it to me,” he said quietly. “Stay here. With June. Stop looking at fish like gifts from the gods. Use the library.” A pause. “In short—move here. Instead of that house sitting on gunpowder.” A sharp retort flared in Merid’s chest—but it died when his fingers reached out and tapped her nose, light and intimate, a gesture meant to soothe rather than strike. Ownership disguised as care. Xander turned away, his steps receding as if he were simply passing by, as if there hadn’t been a conversation that left her throat raw with burned sand. “I’m not your fucking puppy, you old bastard!” she shouted after him. The words broke apart, strangled by leftover tension. And maybe only for a moment—blaming the echo of the station—she heard muffled laughter in reply. Fists slammed against June’s door. “Come on—fuck—I hope you didn’t drink yourself unconscious.” The voice outside was breathless, rushed. A hand rose for another blow just as the door creaked open, revealing the herbalist’s exhausted face. “You red-haired noise bomb, Mer.” Merid slipped inside and dropped into a chair at the iron table, shadows clinging to her like conspiracy. “Yun,” she said flatly. “Traitor.” Scarred hands shut the door. “You shouldn’t have drunk from that bucket. On a biome this old, the kick hits harder.” Red hair bounced as Merid slammed her fist against the metal. “Then how the fuck does Xander know about the collapsed ventilation? Why is he calling me to you?” June’s vision dimmed as she leaned on the table, slowly lowering herself onto the bench. “You went through a collapsed shaft?” The words refused to rise above a whisper. “You’re focusing on bullshit,” Merid snapped, leaning in close, syllable by syllable. “Xander already knew.” “To hell with Xander. How areyou?” Scarred palms cupped Merid’s cheeks. “Drop the sentimentality. Yun told him.” June leaned back, brushing hair from her face. “So what? He shared news about your crumbling shelter. People were going to talk anyway. Maybe he wants a fed place. Shocking.” Then she froze. “Xander offered you a place here?” Her smile sharpened. “Oh no. Don’t look at me like that—as if it’s pure generosity.” “Why not?” June stepped closer, backing Merid toward the table. Her gaze stayed warm, almost tender. “We’ll look after Alice together. Think how many experiments we could run. I can take you into my shop.” “And what do you think I’ll have to give to earn that?” Merid shot back. June traced her lower lip thoughtfully. “It won’t be clean. But you’ll still run to the bugs. You’ll just bring the haul to Xander instead of Abel. That’s the difference.” She softened. “Reckless idiots like you are rare.” “That’sall? He wants the neutralizer. Isn’t that too much power?” June exhaled heavily. “Yes. That’s the price. But why this loyalty to Abel? One tyrant or another—” “There may be no difference,” Merid cut in. “I’m afraid of Abel too.” “Then talk,” June said, folding her hands. “Our shelter is falling apart. Twenty people left. Mostly old. Mostly weak.” “Like you used to be?” June smirked. “Hilarious.” Merid paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Like me.” “Before,” she continued, sitting down, “we fed everyone. Meat. Supplies. Fruit. Back then, everyone needed us.” June leaned beside her. The story was familiar. Resource exists—benefits follow. People fail—interest dies. “My advice,” June whispered, “stop digging into their games. Be flexible. Adapt.” “I know.” “Then what’s really tearing you apart?” Merid looked up and answered in one breath. “Yun. I don’t trust him. I have to go with him to the King for humanity’s chance—but I don’t know if he won’t leave me outside and take the neutralizer for himself.” “For fun?” June snapped. “Why would someone you grew up with do that?” “I heard it.” “What?” “Xander talking to Yun in the med bay. Saying it was time to choose between yourself and the weak.” “And?” “And I saw him bolt first for the emergency route,” Merid said bitterly. “Like a rat with its tail on fire.” June tapped her fingers, then stood. “Then here’s what we do. Yun won’t touch you. I’m certain of that. But Xander wants you here—and he wants in.” She leaned closer. “Watch Yun at the meeting with the King.” “Right—” June raised a finger. “If you’re doing this, sleep. Safe hours are short. And move to D16. It’s smart.” Merid said nothing. “I can’t keep you here,” June added. “Xander tightened control. No outsiders after curfew.” “It’s fine,” Merid said. “I’ll squeeze into the railcar with Yun. Like always.” After a tight embrace and a slammed door, Merid headed back, clinging to two hopes: that Yun was already asleep—and that she’d fall asleep too. The second died immediately. The railcar greeted her with darkness, faintly lit by luminescent mycelium. Her ration clattered down as she tried to stash it away from the rats. “Need help with the upper shelves?” Yun stood nearby, arms crossed, his outline cut from shadow. “Need help with the lesson ‘don’t sneak up on people’?” she muttered, stepping aside. “Part of the job.” A smirk touched his lips; his eyes stayed cold. “I know you want to talk. We will. But first—work.” “Fine,” she hissed. He nodded, turning toward the makeshift sleeping area. And in the dark, neither of them stopped watching the other—unaware the gesture was mutual—as time dragged them closer to the meeting with the King of the Swarm