Do was slumped against the metal bunker’s wall. The stench of raw flesh and vomit was lodged in his throat, twisting his stomach and letting stomach acid partially rise up his gullet. Nothing gave him any indication how long they’d been stuck there, pressed up against each other like they were in Antarctica. All he could see with the spluttering bulbs was raw flesh, scars reforming the human body into some child’s drawing. He was sick of it.

They knew nothing, he didn’t know if his own goddamn family were alive or dead. How many of his classmates were trapped dead under the school’s rubble? Anyone he’d known was either buried under a building or caged in like him. He only about knew a now disfigured Luhan half-conscious with his cheek pressed against D.O’s shoulder.

He didn’t know how long they had till the oxygen ran out, and when it did, was that it? Was there any point in living an extra week just so he could die half crazed from starvation breathing in the stench of hundreds of other beings bundled in the small space? For a week he’d watched as others feet away from him died, from blood loss to murder, and he had to continue watching the corpses stand held up by the crowd unable to move. His best friend had spent the week waiting for his eyes to stop bleeding only to be welcomed with an absence of sight.

They’d handed away their money only to postpone the sick fate whoever running this place had in store for them and his frustration could only be whispered into Luhan’s bloodied ear as they guessed the seconds they had left.