The map clearly marked the place as “safe,” which immediately made her suspicious. Kira tapped the cracked screen again, as if the label might change under pressure. It didn’t. A soft green glow pulsed around the coordinates, paired with a note: SAFE ZONE — ACTIVE SIGNAL. That was the part that mattered. Active signal meant survivors. Or something pretending to be. Her radio crackled. “You seeing this too?” Dalen asked. “Yeah,” she said. “And I don’t like it.” “Could be a shelter.” “Could be bait.” There was a pause. Then: “Same thing these days.” Kira adjusted her pack and started toward the coordinates anyway. You didn’t ignore signals. Not after everything. The closer she got, the stronger the signal became—clean, steady, almost too perfect. No distortion. No static. No human voice, either. Just a repeating ping. She reached the source at dusk. It wasn’t a shelter. It was a tower. Sleek, metallic, untouched by rust or ruin. At its base, a hatch stood open, light spilling out like an invitation. “Found it,” she said into the radio. No response. She frowned. “Dalen?” Only silence. Inside, the air was warm. Controlled. Safe. The walls hummed faintly, alive with unseen machinery. Screens flickered on as she stepped forward, displaying rows of data she couldn’t understand. And then— Movement. Figures in glass chambers lining the walls. People. Sleeping. Preserved. Breathing slowly, as if time itself had been dialed down. Kira stepped closer to one. A woman. Peaceful. Unaware. “Occupant detected,” the tower said. Kira froze. “Capacity available. Initiating intake.” The hatch slammed shut behind her. She spun, heart racing, and pounded on it. “No, no—open!” “Safety protocol engaged.” The pinging signal grew louder. Not a distress call. A lure. Outside, somewhere in the ruins, her radio crackled faintly—Dalen’s voice breaking through at last. “Kira? Don’t go in. It’s not—” The signal cut. Inside, a new chamber slid open. Waiting. In the end, the fire alarm worked perfectly; it just warned the wrong people.