Part 1Distant Shores

My best friend and I were transported to a post-apocalyptic world where women were a vanishing species.

Here, the men gave us the best food and protected us with their lives. After a while, my friend didn't want to go back.

"This is paradise," she said.

But as I watched the men who guarded us day and night, a chill crept down my spine.

I knew that no kindness in this world comes without a price. And I knew that no matter the era, the male's primary instinct is to reproduce.

* * *

By the time I fully grasped our situation, the Enforcers had already slipped inside the apartment Vivian and I shared.

There were eight of them. Clad in black uniforms, they stood like shadows in the dim light—young, silent, and cold as ice.

After a long moment, two of them broke away from the group and headed toward our separate bedrooms. I feigned sleep, my heart hammering against my ribs, praying it was just a routine patrol.

But a cold dread in my gut told me otherwise. They were here to make us conceive.

I’d overheard the doctors that morning during our physical examinations.

"Their physical condition is extraordinary. The Citadel hasn't seen specimens this healthy in twenty years."

"We've already identified eight candidates with high genetic compatibility."

"If all goes well, we'll have new life by this time next year."

"God has finally shown us mercy."

There had been other women at the examination, so I hadn't realized they were talking about Vivian and me. After the check-up, we were moved to this place—the Spire, the only building in the Citadel with a view of the world outside the walls.

On the table, alongside our daily rations of beef, milk, and bread, were two perfect, gleaming apples—a luxury reserved for the Citadel’s elite. The common citizens scraped by on corn and sweet potatoes. Though Vivian and I were classified as civilians when we arrived, we were given these precious foods.

I knew the Citadel operated under a strict system of apocalyptic rationing: you get what you give. We were receiving something precious, which meant we were expected to give something precious in return.

Vivian and I had nothing.

Nothing but our bodies.

Vivian picked up her glass of milk, as she always did, and stood by the window, gazing out at the vast, desolate landscape. The sunlight bathed her, making her fair skin glow. She looked like an angel, pure and serene.

I just stared at the food, my stomach churning with anxiety.

"What's wrong?" Vivian asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

I told her what I’d overheard. "This place is a nightmare, Viv. We have to find a way back home. Fast."

She was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. "Chloe… is it really so bad here?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Bad? The apocalypse had raged for a century. The ecosystem was shattered, the climate hostile, food was scarce, and the walking dead roamed the earth. This place was hell.

But she continued, "Here, we have food and shelter. We don't have to worry about finding a job, or paying off a mortgage. No one hurts us. Everyone cares for us, looks after us. For me… this is a paradise."

I shook my head. "No kindness comes without a price, Viv. There's always a reason, always a cost. Women are rare here. Our bodies, our wombs—that's the price."

Vivian brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "But Chloe," she said quietly, "back home, didn't we have to give our bodies and our fertility, too?"