Sanctuary Seven

The door to the cabin creaked open with a reluctant groan and a stale air gushed right past them. Dust mote danced in the shafts of the evening bleeding through the broken slats of the shutters.

The cabin was small – barely more than a single room – but built from sturdy concrete and reinforced word.

Haruto stepped in first, sweeping his flashlight inside the cabin.

“Looks clear,” he muttered.

Asahi followed in silence, his eyes sharp and alert. Ren hesitated near the entrance before shuffling inside, his arms instinctively clutching Asahi’s clothes.

A desk was pushed against the far wall and papers were scattered across its surface like dried leaves. Metal lockers stood against one side, half open and their contents long pillaged.

A low humming buzzed from an old generator unit tucked into the corner, flickering sporadically to life. Asahi tapped its size. “Looks like someone tried to keep this place running.”

Haruto moved to the desk, flipping through the faded documents. “These… look like inventory logs. Supplies. Rations. Ammunition counts.”

Ren, meanwhile, wandered to a shelf half-stacked with tapes, half-melted plastic cases and electronic components. Instinctively, he reached behind a stack of manuals – and felt something smooth and metallic.

It was a thin, black device with a dusty antenna. A portable radio.

Ren brushed it off and cradled it gently. He turned a dial with childlike curiosity. Static. He moved it again. Then again.

A voice crackled to life.

“… If you can hear this transmission… this is Dr. Yukawa. Sanctuary Seven is still active. I repeat, Sanctuary Seven is…”

Ren jolted and nearly dropped the radio. The static gave way to a calm, measured voice.

“The Veil-sickness is reversible. You may not recognize its symptoms till its too late. However, Sanctuary Seven contains the cure. Coordinates are encoded at the end of this broadcast. Remember, you are not alone.”

Asahi had rushed to Ren’s side. Haruto stood at the corner of the room. Slowly turning his head to the sound.

The voice repeated. But... it was slightly different. This time, there was a soft, nearly imperceptible pause before “the cure”. A hitch in the breath. A delay in the static. Neither Asahi nor Haruto reacted but Ren’s head tilted with curiosity, though he said nothing.

Haruto glanced at Asahi. “Think it’s real?”

Asahi crossed his arms. “I… don’t know. But Yukawa… that name sounds familiar.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard his name. He was supposed to win a Nobel Prize years ago. But there was an investigation into his experiments and unethical practices. Got banned from scientific work after that.”

“Seems like he’s still continuing though.”

“With the world about to end, no one really gives a shit about others now. We’ve already seen what people are willing to do for scraps of hope.”

Ren clutched the radio tightly. He flipped open his sketchbook. The next page he turned wasn’t blank. It held a charcoal sketch of a tower, and a bunker. Not from reality, but his imagination. Instinct. In the drawing, the radio signal shimmered like invisible strands of thread through the sky.

His hand moved quickly, now sketching a man’s silhouette – thin, tired and with goggles – presumably Dr. Yukawa. The lines blurred and formed more shapes: doors, vents and hallways.

Haruto leaned over. “…You know him?”

Ren looked up, then nodded solemnly. There was something new in his eyes – not the raw pain of grief, but the sharpened edge of resolve. He had begun to let go of Aoi’s death.

Asahi watched the boy closely. His own hands twitched slightly – he hadn’t painted in days now. The act that once gave his solace felt… distant and unnecessary.

“We’ll go there,” Haruto said finally, still looking at Ren. “If there’s even a chance it’s real, we can’t ignore it. After all, it might just be the key to this ‘disaster’.”

Asahi hesitated at first, but eventually agreed.

They traveled on their stolen bicycles. They had started to rust but were still functional. Haruto had taken a liking to Ren and had him sit on the back seat of his cycle. The ride through the cracked roads and moss-choked paths was silent.

A day passed.

The another.

For two days, they camped on the roadside, eating whatever canned food or stale crackers they had scavenged from half-pillaged convenience stores.

It was tiring, but strangely peace.

After dinner, the three would lie back on the cracked earth, side by side, watching the stars move across the night sky.

Haruto exhaled, one hand behind his head. “Funny how quiet the world got after all this,” he muttered. “No cars. No cities. No stress. Just… this.”

Ren traced shapes between the stars with a stick.

Asahi lay still. “It used to be so loud. I didn’t notice how much until it all stopped.”

Haruto turned slightly toward him. “You miss it?”

Asahi shrugged. “Parts of it.”

There was a pause. Then Ren sat up, flipping open his sketchbook.

In the soft moonlight, he began to draw—quick, practiced strokes forming constellations that weren’t real. Or maybe they were.

Haruto smiled faintly. “Drawing again, huh?”

Ren nodded and then turned to his canvas.

“He’s grown a lot. From that…” Asahi muttered.

Haruto smiled faintly. “Yea… he has.”

Then Asahi, half-jokingly, said, “I swear, if that place doesn’t turn out to be real, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Ren smiled faintly.

Haruto reciprocated the laugh before his face turned serious. “…It better be,” he muttered under his breath.

On the third evening, nestled in a ravine beyond an overgrown bride, they found what the coordinated had promised: a wide field, overgrown but oddly flat. There were faint signs of movement – scuffed tracks and tire marks.

Hidden beneath a mess of ivy and metal was a sealed door which seemed to lead underground.

Sanctuary Seven.

They lifted the heavy metal door and slipped inside.

The interior was clean – too clean. Fluorescent lights still flickered to life overhead. The walls were lines with polished concrete, reinforced with steel beams.

Ren clung to Haruto’s side. Asahi moved ahead, flashlight scanning every angle.

In one hallway, they found a room filled with old paper files and maps. In another, a shattered window revealing a medical station with dried blood on the floor and overturned chairs.

Asahi was the first to notice a panel on the far wall. A faded blueprint.

He traced his fingers over it – and Haruto joined him.

“S7 Main Corridor… Living Quarters… Holding Cells… Lab…”

Haruto’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen layouts like this. Military-grade facilities.”

Asahi paled slightly.

“Was this some sort of a testing facility? Experiments?”

Haruto muttered right under his breath. “…Dr. Yukawa…”

Then, before more could be said, a voice echoed through the hallway.

“…Visitors…?”

It was deep. Calm.

What followed were footsteps.

The three of them instinctively backed away, but they were not fast enough.

The lights immediately sprang to life. From the other end of the corridor, four figures emerged. Armed and uniformed. Not military – but organized.

One of them grinned.

“You heard the call, didn’t you?” he said. “Looking for a cure?”

Another man chuckled while tapping the barrel of his rifle. “Sanctuary Seven… it sure sounds like hope, doesn’t it?”

Haruto instinctively grabbed Ren and hid him behind himself.

They raised their guns and pointed towards them.

“Welcome to the experiment.”