Chapter 15: VISITOR
Tom phased through my wall at full speed.
I jumped, knocking over my water. "What—"
"Someone's here." He was panting. "Alone. Walked right up to the perimeter. Didn't hide. Just—came."
"Where?"
"South entrance. Ruth's already there."
I grabbed my jacket and ran. South entrance meant they'd come from the direction of civilization, not wilderness. Deliberate approach. This wasn't a refugee.
Ruth had her steel pipe ready. A dozen others had gathered—James, Danny, Eva, Miles. Everyone tense.
The visitor stood fifteen feet from our makeshift gate. Woman. Late twenties maybe. Eyepatch over her left eye. Scars covering visible skin—arms, neck, face. She wore leather that had seen combat. Dangerous energy radiated from her.
And she was staring directly at Ruth.
"You're the one taking my people," she said. Not a question.
I stepped forward. "I'm Marcus Cole. Who are you?"
She shifted her attention to me. The single eye assessed, calculated, judged. "Callisto. I lead the Morlocks. And you've been draining my population."
Callisto. I knew that name from my meta-knowledge. Fierce. Protective. Led the sewer-dwelling mutants. In the comics and movies, she'd been Storm's rival. In this timeline, she was the leader of people I'd been unknowingly recruiting from.
"I'm not taking anyone," I said carefully. "People choose to come here."
"And why is that?" Her voice had an edge. "Why are my people leaving the tunnels for your—" She gestured at New Haven. "—junkyard?"
"Because we're building something above ground. Something that isn't hiding."
"Hiding kept us alive."
"Hiding isn't living."
She laughed. Harsh. "You sound like an idealist. Idealists get people killed."
Ruth shifted her grip on the pipe. "You here to threaten us?"
"I'm here to see what's worth losing people over." Callisto's eye fixed on me again. "So show me."
Ruth stepped closer to me. "That's a security risk."
"She's alone," I said. "And if she wanted to scout us for attack, there are quieter ways."
"I don't do quiet," Callisto said. "I do direct. You want to prove you're worth the disruption to my community? Prove it."
I looked at Ruth. She didn't like this. But she nodded fractionally—your call.
"Okay. Tour. But you see what we show you, go where we guide you, then leave peacefully. Deal?"
"Deal."
We walked her through New Haven. I narrated as we went—pointing out the water purification system, the expanded housing, the workshop where Victor was wiring the last building. Caroline's tank drew a long look.
"Aquatic mutation," Callisto said. "We had three in the tunnels. All died. Couldn't maintain proper water conditions."
"She lives here," I said. "We built what she needed."
"Using what resources?"
"Salvage. System enhancements. Stubbornness."
She examined the tank closely. Caroline waved nervously from inside. Callisto nodded to her—respectful acknowledgment.
We continued. The gardens drew attention.
"Food production," she said. "How long until harvest?"
"Two weeks."
"And you've been feeding how many people in the meantime?"
"Twenty-five now. We have a trade arrangement with a local store. Plus hunting and foraging."
"Trade." She said it like a foreign concept. "With humans."
"They think we're contractors assessing the property. We get their discarded food. Win-win."
"Until they find out what you really are."
"Until then, yes."
We reached the dining hall. People were gathered—lunch time. Twenty-five faces turning to look at the scarred woman with an eyepatch. Some recognized her. I saw two former Morlocks—they'd told me their stories—freeze in their seats.
"These are yours," I said. "The ones who chose to come here. Ask them why."
Callisto walked to the nearest table. A young man—Peter, our weak telekinetic—sat there. She knew him, I could tell.
"Why did you leave?" she asked directly.
Peter met her eye. "I wanted sun. Real sun. Not stolen through grates. I wanted to build something instead of just survive something."
"The tunnels kept you safe."
"The tunnels kept me hidden. There's a difference."
She asked three others. Similar answers. Safety versus living. Hiding versus building. Survival versus hope.
Finally, she turned back to me. "You've given them idealism. Idealism doesn't stop bullets or Sentinels or angry mobs."
"No. But walls will. Defenses will. Numbers will. We're building all of that."
"You're building targets on their backs."
"They already had targets. At least here they can stand upright while wearing them."
She studied me for a long moment. The silence stretched. Everyone watching.
"How long you been doing this?" she finally asked.
"Seven weeks. Since mid-April."
"Seven weeks. Six people to twenty-five. Infrastructure. Food. Organization." She touched her eyepatch. "I've been leading Morlocks for three years. Lost people every month to sickness, cave-ins, human discovery. You're telling me you built a better alternative in seven weeks?"
"I'm telling you I built a different alternative. Better is subjective."
She walked to the mounted rule plate. Read them silently. Traced one with her scarred finger—the one about anyone being free to leave.
"You really mean this? No one's prisoner?"
"I really mean it. Anyone can walk away anytime."
"Then you're either a fool or genuine." She turned. "I haven't decided which."
Ruth stepped forward. "Decision time. You've seen what you came to see. You leaving peacefully or do we have a problem?"
Callisto smiled. No humor in it. "Peacefully. For now. But I'll be watching. If this place becomes a death trap for mutants, I'll make sure everyone knows."
"Fair."
We walked her to the perimeter. She paused at the treeline, looking back at New Haven. The sun was setting—golden light hitting the buildings, smoke rising from cooking fires, people moving with purpose.
"Seven weeks," she said again. Shaking her head. "I built my community over years. Underground. In the dark. And you—" She stopped.
"What?"
"You might actually make this work. Or you'll get everyone killed spectacularly." She met my eyes. "If you survive six months, maybe I'll believe it's real."
"And if we don't?"
"Then I'll bury what's left and tell people it was a stupid dream." She started to walk away, then paused. "Got this protecting my people." She touched her eyepatch. "Humans. Ambush. I lost the eye. Killed three of them."
I showed her my hands—the scars from subway fight, from construction, from building in ruins. "Got these building. Different scars. Same purpose."
Something shifted in her expression. Still not friendly. But less hostile.
"See you in six months, Marcus Cole. If you last that long."
She disappeared into the shadows like she'd been born to them.
Ruth exhaled loudly. "That could have gone worse."
"It could still get worse," I said. "Depends what she reports back."
"You think she'll send more people here? Or warn them away?"
"I think she'll tell the truth. That we're real, functional, and probably doomed." I looked at the darkening sky. "And people will decide for themselves."
Miles joined us. "Callisto's respected in the underground. Her word carries weight. If she tells people we're legitimate—"
"More will come," I finished. "Many more."
"Is that good or bad?"
I thought about our food situation. Our housing at capacity. Our defenses barely begun. Our resources stretched thin.
"Both," I said. "It's both."
That night, I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about Callisto's words. If you survive six months.
Six months. October. Winter approaching. We'd need heating, insulation, food storage, everything.
Six months to prove this wasn't just a beautiful failure waiting to happen.
The System pulsed.
[EXTERNAL CONTACT ESTABLISHED: CALLISTO, MORLOCK LEADER]
[RELATIONSHIP: SKEPTICAL NEUTRAL (+10)]
[WARNING: UNDERGROUND NETWORKS NOW FULLY AWARE]
[ESTIMATE: REFUGEE INFLUX WILL INCREASE 200%]
[RECOMMENDATION: EXPAND INFRASTRUCTURE IMMEDIATELY]
Two hundred percent. If we'd been getting three people a week, we'd now get nine. Maybe more.
We weren't ready for that.
But when had we ever been ready? We'd figure it out. We always did.
I pulled out my notebook. Started planning. Housing expansion. Food production scaling. Defense acceleration. Everything needed to happen faster.
Outside, New Haven slept. Twenty-five people trusting that tomorrow would come and we'd still be standing.
I'd make sure we were.
Six months. Callisto wanted six months.
I'd give her six years.
Then six decades.
However long it took to make this permanent.
The System hummed acknowledgment. Somewhere in my mind, I felt RSP tick over: 100.
First bond now available. Once I figured out who to bond with and when.
But that was tomorrow's problem.
Tonight, I planned for survival.
Tomorrow, I'd build it.
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