The constant hum of the water purifier—now running at full capacity thanks to the deal with the Hydros—was the perfect background music for the morning at the Heretics' HQ. For the first time in months, the usual tension had given way to a chaotic domesticity.

  09:30 AM – The Kitchen Arsenal

  In the common area, Beck Volter was hunched over the table, but he wasn’t fixing weapons. He was using a caliper to measure the thickness of stale bread slices with millimetric precision before toasting them.

  "Beck, it’s just bread, not a starter motor," commented Elena Vesper, who was passing by, spinning one of her hidden blades out of sheer boredom.

  "If the thickness isn't uniform, the heat transfer will be uneven," Beck replied without looking up. "Efficiency, Elena. Even in mastication."

  Nearby, Leo Halkirk, the young Scotsman, was trying to stealthily swipe one of the pre-cut slices. He used his climbing claws to try and "fish" the bread from a safe distance, but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. It was Tara.

  "Leo, if I have to sew your fingers back on because Beck got pissed about your hand on his caliper, I’m not using anesthesia," Tara warned with a motherly, yet dangerous, smile.

  11:00 AM – The Heretics' Spa

  In the training corner, Mika Thorne sat on the floor, dismantling her naginata for cleaning. Beside her, Kol Valet was fast asleep on a wooden bench, clutching his fire axe as if it were a metal teddy bear. He was snoring with an audible Ukrainian accent.

  Piro appeared, carrying a lit blowtorch. He looked at Kol, then at Mika. "If I heat up the tip of his axe, do you think he’ll wake up speaking Bosnian?" Piro asked, a manic glint in his eyes.

  "If you touch his axe, he’ll wake up and use you to test the new saw," Mika replied calmly, not looking up. "And I’ll let him."

  Piro shrugged and walked off, muttering about how "no one appreciates thermodynamics in this place."

  14:00 PM – Diplomacy and Tea

  In the central office, Solomon and Vane Zadeko were enjoying a moment of peace. The Bosnian was knitting a wool reinforcement for the handle of Solomon’s metal whip, while the leader read a strategically placed philosophy book.

  "You know, Solomon," Zadeko said, pulling the steel-threaded yarn, "the Hydros were impressed. But Maros radioed in complaining that Henry was 'less than diplomatic' on his way out."

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  Solomon let out a short laugh, leaning his tactical cane against the armchair. "Henry isn't a diplomat, Zadeko. He’s the tip of the spear. If Maros still has his teeth in his mouth, it was a very polite negotiation by my heir's standards."

  16:30 PM – The Rooftop Bet

  Outside on the fortified terrace, Kane Sterlow and Henry Henrikson watched the Oregon horizon. Kane was balanced on the edge of a rusted beam, looking down without a hint of vertigo.

  "Ten rations of beef jerky says I reach that corner building before you," Kane challenged, adjusting his gauntlets.

  Henry, who was cleaning dried blood off his brass knuckles, looked at the building. It was a leap of nearly four meters over a gap, followed by a vertical climb.

  "You’re on your day off, Kane. And I have stitches in my thigh," Henry reminded him.

  "Oh, is the great Henry getting old?" the Englishman teased. "Or is that Brazilian aggression taking a nap?"

  Henry gave a sideways smirk, clenched his fists, and stood up. "Give me a five-second head start."

  "Not even a millisecond!" Kane shouted, already leaping into the void.

  18:30 PM – The Prank

  The afternoon remained lazy at the HQ, the kind of silence that almost made the Heretics forget they lived in a world of scrap metal. But where there is silence, Piro sees an opportunity for chaos.

  In the maintenance sector, Beck Volter was focused, tongue between his teeth, welding a tiny part of his mechanical spear. Suddenly, a loud pop and a cloud of colored, foul-smelling smoke erupted from inside his toolbox.

  Beck jumped back, dropping his precision magnifying glass, as the smell of rotten eggs and burnt gunpowder infested the room.

  "STEVE!" Beck roared, his face turning red with rage. "It took me three hours to calibrate this lens! If soot got into the starter motor, I’m using your leg as a spare part!"

  Piro, hiding behind a pillar with his lighter in hand and a grin from ear to ear, came skipping out.

  "Come on, Beck! It was a basic chemical reaction to test your reflexes. You’re getting slow—the 'little German' is losing his rhythm!" Piro mocked.

  Elena, who was nearby, glared at Piro with a look that would have killed a lesser man. "Piro, if that smell gets into my uniform, I’m cutting the hoses on your gauntlets while you sleep. I’m not joking."

  Even Tara, usually the most patient, appeared at the door with her arms crossed. "Steve, seriously? Cleaning this chemical residue will take all afternoon. No one thinks it's funny."

  Piro looked around, seeing the unfriendly expressions of Beck, Elena, and Tara. He puffed out his chest, put on a completely fake victim face, and started walking toward the exit, gesturing dramatically with his hands.

  "Oh, I get it! It’s like that, is it? You all hate me just because I’m Black!" he shouted, with a mockery so exaggerated and out of context that his voice echoed through the hallway.

  Upstairs, Henry and Kane were drinking water and watching the scene below. When Piro’s words hit their ears, the effect was immediate.

  Henry, who rarely lost his serious leader persona, choked on his water and let out a boisterous laugh, slapping his hand against the metal railing. Kane couldn't handle it; he doubled over laughing, nearly falling off the beam where he sat.

  "The bastard is a genius of manipulation!" Kane managed to say between laughs, watching Piro sashay down the hall, still grumbling about "structural prejudice in the apocalypse."

  Henry shook his head, trying to catch his breath. "He’s completely insane, Kane. But I’ll admit... that one caught us off guard."

  Downstairs, Beck was still coughing from the smoke, but even he let out a defeated sigh. It was impossible to stay mad for long with Piro around; the guy was the fuse that kept the group alive, one way or another.

  20:00 PM – Dinner of the Eleven

  At night, all eleven members gathered around the large metal table. Potable water flowed from the jars—a luxury they had earned with blood.

  Kol, finally awake from his "12-on-36" shift, was devouring a bowl of stew while arguing with Leo about which country had the best whiskey before the Fall.

  "The important thing," Solomon interrupted, tapping his cane on the floor to call for attention, "is that we are here. Together. We got the water back, eliminated a threat, and for a brief moment, Oregon is silent."

  He looked at Henry, who was sitting to his right. Henry nodded silently to his mentor. The group toasted with dented metal cups. Kane’s laughter, Piro’s jokes, and Beck’s technical analysis filled the bunker, creating a bubble of humanity in the middle of the apocalypse.

  End of Chapter