As Rod rushes around searching through the tunnel's corridors, he suddenly hears Nathalie scream. It gives him instant clarity—he knows where to go. Without hesitation, he dashes in that direction.
Mourice is trying to restrain Nathalie, locking her in his arms to stop her from struggling. But Nathalie stomps down—hard—on his foot, cruelly crushing the nail beneath his boot. Mourice screams in agony, and Nathalie takes the chance to escape.
Seeing his prey get away, Mourice stands and limps after her.
"I swear, once I get my hands on her, I'll—" he growls, his face twisted with rage.
Nathalie crashes into Rod as she tries to flee. Her eyes widen in sudden relief. She adjusts her glasses and instantly recognizes him. "Rod?!"
"Nathalie, I know this is sudden, but I've held these feelings back for so long—and now I want to tell you that—"
But Nathalie isn't in a calm state of mind. All she can think about is Mourice catching up to her. She doesn't even understand Rod's words.
"Rod, please, just take me back to the Dawn Hall! I just want to go back to my unit!" she pleads, tightening her grip on his uniform.
Rod stops his confession. "—Okay."
"Not so fast!" Mourice's voice cuts through the hallway, halting them in their tracks. He adds with a bragging tone, "She's mine, loser!"
It sounds like a war declaration.
And Rod isn't backing down.
"Over my dead body!" he snarls, stepping forward with renewed fire. He swings the wooden baseball bat at Mourice.
The first swing misses. Mourice still has enough strength to parry with his forearm. The loud crack from the impact makes it clear just how much it must have hurt.
Mourice realizes he can't keep blocking Rod's hits like this. He begins evading, trying to find an opening.
"Why'd you bring her here? You're supposed to be in the Dawn Hall!" Rod shouts.
"Who are you, her mom?" Mourice mocks, and it sets Rod off.
He unleashes a full-power swing toward Mourice's head!
It misses—but smashes into the metal wall instead, denting the surface and cracking the bat. Rod doesn't stop. He has to show Mourice who the man really is!
"Guys, please stop fighting!" Nathalie pleads, fear rising in her voice. She can see this is going to get ugly—fast.
"Don't worry, babe," Mourice smirks, advancing again. "I'll show you why you'd be stupid to reject me. Watch how I fight!"
He grabs Rod's arm—the one holding the bat—and twists, trying to disarm him. Rod screams in pain, but retaliates by choking Mourice with his free hand. He slams Mourice's head toward the wall.
Mourice, a capable fighter, reacts just in time. He braces the impact with his palm, protecting his forehead.
Rod doesn't let up. He spins Mourice around and slams a sucker punch into his nose.
Blood spills from Mourice's face. Gripping the cracked bat now in his own hand, he swings it toward Rod's head.
Rod ducks, narrowly avoiding the blow, and counters with a jab to Mourice's chest, knocking the wind out of him.
Rod doesn't hold back. He tackles Mourice to the ground and punches him over and over until—
"Rod, stop! Stop! You'll kill him!" Nathalie yells, pulling him away.
Rod breathes heavily, eyes fixed on Mourice—now unconscious and sprawled on the floor. Mourice tries to move but fails.
"Take me back to the Dawn Hall. Now. Please," Nathalie begs.
Rod helps her up and escorts her out.
As they walk through the metal tunnels of the workers' hall, Rod asks, "What were you doing with him?"
"I was asking about you," Nathalie says, walking beside him, clearly not wanting to be alone. She leans slightly toward him, feeling safe. "He said he knew where you were."
Rod stops. He stares at her, surprised. "You—you asked about me?"
"What's with that look?" Nathalie raises an eyebrow. "You're like a brother to me. Of course I'd ask about you." Then, with a softer, shy voice, she adds, "I... kind of missed you. I was wondering if you were okay. I went to Saturday Fever a few weeks ago, but you weren't there."
Rod's emotions tangle. He's happy she thought about him—but her words sting. Brother.
"I thought you forgot about me," he says quietly. "Wait... you were at the last party?"
"Yes, why?" Nathalie frowns, confused by his surprise.
"I thought you hated that event. Years ago, you said you didn't like it. Why'd you go?"
Nathalie's expression turns serious. "Because… I want to find out who my father is."
"Ah yeah, you always say that," Rod nodded. Being tunnel kids, they grew up not knowing their parents. But no one was as determined as Nathalie. Since they were little, she always made notes about who might be her mother. Rod was always there, helping her piece things together.
He always liked her. She was fun, lively—she had something to do, not just follow orders like an obedient daughter. That's why she stood out from the other girls. But when Nathalie cut off his confession, he didn't know if he should feel disappointed or not. And when she said he was like a brother... that made Rod want to give up.
Maybe he'd ask The Mentor about it later. But... he was worried The Mentor would just call him a girl again for even bringing it up.
"Rod, I was wondering…" Nathalie called gently, suddenly her voice sounds different than before, she sounds more serious and careful. "What's with your face?"
Rod realized his face must've looked pretty bad—glass had broken through the gas mask, part of the guard uniform, and injured the area around his eyes.
"Are your eyes okay?" Nathalie asked again, this time reaching out to touch the wounds.
But Rod caught her hand. It was reflex—like he didn't want her to touch him.
"I'm good. Let's get you back to the Dawn Hall," Rod said, continuing to lead the way back.
***
"Why did you do that?" The Mentor sounded upset, as if Rod had just told him something absurd.
They were already back in their unit. Rod stood in front of the mirror, bare-chested, cleaning his wounds.
"I don't know. It was just a reflex," he muttered.
"So let me get this straight—you saved her from Mourice, got all butthurt when she said you were like a brother, but when she offers to take care of you, you reject her?" The Mentor let out a dry scoff from the top bunk, where he was lying back, casually working his wrist strength with a hand grip. "Honestly, that sounds like you don't know what you want."
"Guh! Okay, I get it. I'm just a dumb 16-year-old who runs away from the things he really wants. I'm a joke!" Rod muttered in frustration, carefully removing the glass splinters from the wounds just above his eyebrows. He had hoped The Mentor could guide him, offer some insight into how to understand himself better as an adult figure would—but instead, he just went ahead and judged him. Maybe that comment was enough to end the conversation.
"At least you're trying to fix yourself," The Mentor scoffed.
Fix myself, huh?
Rod was treating his wounds because, soon after he rejected Nathalie's offer to tend to him, she had simply said, "Alright, if you're good. I hope you take good care of yourself. Or else, I'll come live in the worker's tunnel so someone will do it for you."
He couldn't let her come to the worker's tunnel!
What was she thinking?! Didn't she know she'd be the only girl among rugged, harsh, rude men?!
Even more important: she's beautiful!
The men were going to eat her alive. She wouldn't last a day.
***
Night had fallen, and it was their shift to take the night watch on the tower just above the bunker's main door. The place needed to be guarded day and night—no one could ever predict when the mutants might hoard the entrance.
"Have you done this with E***n**?" the new mentor asked as they climbed the tower stairs.
"Yeah, once," Rod recalled. It was that one and only shift that had happened recently, just before The Shadow took The Mentor away.
"How did it go?"
"Good," Rod remembered. On the tower, which was about four meters in diameter, they had hung out with two other guys. Those guys had tried to hit on The Mentor, who insisted on wearing makeup and an earring, looking pretty even during night watch. Rod had already told him it was stupid, but The Mentor argued that night watch was boring, and he wouldn't pass up a chance to look good—not even once, no matter the circumstances.
By the time they reached the top of the tower, two other men were already there.
As strange as dreams could be, tonight their group included a man and a pretty boy who had similar traits to The Previous Mentor. They dressed up and moved femininely. When The New Mentor arrived, Rod could see in their eyes that they were checking him out, narrowing their eyes in a flirtatious way.
"I've never seen them before," Rod whispered to The New Mentor.
"Watch and learn," the new mentor whispered back, then confidently walked toward one of the pretty boys. Without hesitation, he fixed them with a sharp, fiery look.
"Aren't you too pretty to be guarding the gate?" he asked, talking about the make ups. "Let me help you get rid of it. Which method you'd like—gentle or rough?"
The pretty boy liked the advance. He looked The New Mentor up and down while sucking on his cigarette, then flicked the ash away and casually wiped something off the Mentor's shoulder and upper chest—his fingers lingering just long enough to enjoy the muscle density underneath.
"Mmm, bold and built. I like that," he purred. "It depends, actually. Are you the type who says 'rough' and then apologizes after… or the kind who doesn't say a word and leaves bruises like souvenirs?"
The New Mentor smiled, slow and dangerous. "If you keep the cuteness, I might apologize for not leaving more bruises.... Unless you beg for it."
The Pretty boy looks happy with it, he leans to The New Mentor's cheek and whispers, "slow down, daddy...."
The New Mentor's grin widened, then he reached up, his fingers moving deliberately as he smudged the pretty boy's makeup off his face. He leaned in and landed his lips on the pretty boy's lips. But instead of a soft kiss, he purposefully messed up the lipstick, smearing red across his lips.