POPULATION CONTROL EXPERIMENT

CHAPTER 1 — DIARY

Jane sits against the alley wall, knees pulled up, a small notebook balanced on her thighs. The cover is cracked. The pages are yellowed. It's the only thing she has left from before—she grabbed it on the way out the door, along with her husband's watch and a half-charged phone that died three days later.

She writes in small, cramped letters. Not for anyone else. Just for herself. A way to keep track. A way to make sense of the people she's stuck with.

*Spencer — Loud. Funny. Talks about chicken a lot. Like it's a memory he's holding onto. I heard someone call him Talem once. He didn't like it. I don't know what it means. He buried something. I can see it in the way he laughs too hard.*

*Matthew — Calm. Smart. In charge, apparently. Everyone listens to him. He doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't need to. I heard he built robots. Before. The ones out there. He doesn't talk about it. Nobody asks. He's the reason we're still alive. I don't know if that's enough.*

*Elliot — Upbeat. Medic. Humming all the time. I think he lost someone. A sister, maybe. I overheard him talking to Gary once. He stopped when he saw me. He stitches people up like it's nothing. Smiles like it's nothing. I don't know how he does it.*

*Veronica — Kid. Fourteen. Skateboard. Fast. Angry. She doesn't talk about before. I asked once. She said, "What's before?" and walked away. Gary looks out for her. She pretends not to notice.*

*Two —*

"Hey."

Jane's pen stops. She looks up.

Elliot is crouched a few feet away, a roll of bandages in one hand and a small pair of scissors in the other. He's not looking at her notebook. He's looking at her face.

"You've been staring at that page for a while," he says. "You okay?"

Jane closes the notebook. "Fine."

"You sure? You're new. New people usually aren't fine."

She almost smiles. Almost. "I'm fine."

Elliot nods. He doesn't push. He just sits down next to her, back against the wall, and starts cutting bandages into strips. Methodical. Steady. The humming starts again—soft, tuneless.

"You're good at that," Jane says.

"Practice." He holds up a strip. "Someone taught me. Before." He doesn't say who. Jane doesn't ask.

They sit in silence for a moment. Then Elliot glances at her notebook.

"You writing about us?"

Jane tenses. "Just... notes. Helps me keep track."

"Smart." He doesn't ask to see it. "I used to keep a journal. Before. Deleted it when the grid went down. Didn't see the point."

"Do you regret it?"

"Every day." He smiles. It's a real smile. Tired, but real. "You should keep writing. Helps. Even if nobody reads it."

Across the alley, Chance is trying to teach Nyx a card game. Nyx is losing. Badly.

"I don't get it," Nyx says. "Why would you bet if you don't have anything?"

"That's the point," Chance says, shuffling with practiced ease. "You bet what you don't have. Then you win what you don't deserve."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does surviving the apocalypse. Yet here we are."

Spencer wanders over, empty-handed. No food. No cans. Just hunger and a tired grin.

"Are you corrupting the kid?"

"He's not a kid," Chance says. "He's a nervous adult who happens to be short."

"I'm twenty-six," Nyx mutters.

"See? Adult."

Spencer sits down heavily. "Deal me in."

"You don't have anything to bet."

"I have hope."

Chance considers this. "Hope's not currency."

"Then I have nothing."

"Deal."

Veronica skates past them—a quick burst, hop, land—and stops just short of the fence. She's been doing this for hours. It's the only thing keeping her sane.

"You're all idiots," she says.

"Correction," Chance says. "We're survivors. Idiots is a hobby."

Gary stands near the entrance. He hasn't moved in an hour. His hand rests on his pistol. Not drawn. Just there. Ready.

Taph is drawing in the dirt again. An explosion. Orange and red and yellow. He doesn't have colors, but Jane can see them anyway. He's smiling. Just a little.

Two sits near Seven, silent. Always silent when the others are talking. His dagger is in his lap. His eyes are somewhere else.

Seven doesn't look at him.

Benjamen is still at the fence. Still staring at the water.

Matthew closes his notebook and stands.

"Supply run," he says. "Chance. Gary. Veronica. You're up."

Chance grins. "Finally."

Veronica kicks her board up. "About time."

Gary just nods. He's already moving.

Jane watches them go. She opens her notebook again.

*Two —*

She stops.

Elliot glances over. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She closes the notebook. "Yeah. I'm fine."

But she's not writing about Two. Not yet. She doesn't know enough.

---

Taph is still drawing when the supply team disappears down the alley. His stick moves through the dirt in slow, careful strokes. Another explosion. Bigger this time. He adds a little stick figure at the edge of the blast—arms up, mouth open. Happy. Or maybe scared. Hard to tell.

Matthew notices.

He walks over, crouches down next to Taph, and studies the drawing. His face is calm. Always calm. But his eyes soften.

"That's a good one," he says.

Taph looks up. Grins. Points at the stick figure. Then at himself.

Matthew laughs—a quiet, warm sound. "You're the one running toward the explosion?"

Taph nods, proud.

"Of course you are."

Taph signs something. His hands move quickly, excitedly. *Colors. Bright. Pretty.*

Matthew nods. "I know. You've told me."

*No. This one. Different. More colors.*

Matthew tilts his head. "More than the last one?"

Taph nods again. Signs: *Blue. Purple. Green.*

"Blue and purple?" Matthew raises an eyebrow. "Explosions aren't usually blue."

*This one is.*

"Okay." Matthew holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Blue and purple. I believe you."

Taph beams. He turns back to the dirt, adds another swirl of color—imaginary, but vivid in his mind.

Jane watches from across the alley. She doesn't understand sign language. But she understands the way Matthew looks at Taph. Patient. Kind. Like Taph isn't broken. Like he's just... Taph.

Seven is watching too. His hands are still. His face is unreadable. But he knows sign language. Jane can tell by the way his eyes follow the conversation. He doesn't join in. He never does.

Benjamen hasn't turned around. He's still at the fence. Still staring at the water. But his shoulders are tense. He knows sign language too. Or he used to. Jane heard someone say that once. She doesn't know if it's true.

Spencer flops down next to Nyx, who's still holding his losing hand of cards.

"You know," Spencer says, "I used to hate silence. Couldn't stand it. Had to fill every room with noise."

"What happened?" Nyx asks.

"Apocalypse." Spencer shrugs. "Now silence means nothing's trying to kill us. I've learned to appreciate it."

"That's... actually kind of profound."

"Don't get used to it. I'm about to say something stupid."

"Figured."

Veronica skates back toward the group, slowing down just enough to ruffle Taph's hair as she passes. He swats at her hand, but he's smiling.

"Your drawings are weird," she says.

Taph signs: *You're weird.*

She doesn't understand sign language either. But she knows that one. She flips him off, grinning, and keeps skating.

Matthew stands. Looks down at Taph.

"We'll find more chalk," he says. "Next run. Real colors. For the wall."

Taph's eyes go wide. He signs frantically: *Promise?*

"Promise."

Taph grabs Matthew's hand and squeezes. Just for a second. Then he lets go and goes back to his drawing, humming softly. The same tune Elliot hums. The one nobody recognizes.

Matthew watches him for a moment. Then he walks back to his spot near the wall, opens his notebook, and starts writing again.

Jane opens her notebook too.

*Taph — He doesn't talk. Lost his voice, I think. But Matthew understands him. They have their own language. I don't know what happened to him. But he draws explosions like they're beautiful. Maybe they are. To him.*

She stops. Looks at the page.

Then she writes one more line.

*I don't know enough about any of them.*