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on the master lever, Michelle winced as cold, clinical, bright light flooded the chamber. Bats flew from their perches and retreated deeper into the dungeon, perhaps to a former keg store. Dust sparkled like Christmas in the halogen glow as she gradually opened her tightly-shut lids to take in the room.
    The high, dome-shaped ceiling, carved from solid rock, was covered with massive halogen floodlights whose harsh light bathed the room in unnatural brightness. Michelle took in her surroundings. Most of the processers and servers were covered loosely with light, thin dustsheets that did little to block the blinking lights she’d noted upon entering The Hub, but succeeded in keeping the worst of the centuries of dust from clogging vents and fans. She couldn’t help but conjure an image of Chris Nolan’s batcave.
    To the rear of the chamber was an office area. Box files, stacked tidily atop each other, lined a wall, and several desks with laptops, their charging lights blinking, filled the rest of the area. Walking unsteadily and with her throw still guarding against the coldness of the former dungeon, Michelle explored the remainder of the chamber, finding a sleeping area with comfortable-looking bunks, a shelf holding around a hundred fiction books of various genres and a functioning halogen heater.
    Michelle flipped several switches on the heater. Pulling a comfortable, reclining chair towards it, she sat upright, bathing her hands in the orange glow. It took almost thirty minutes for the warmth to reach her bones and longer still for the chill in her spine to melt.
    Standing once more, Michelle made her way through to the final area she’d yet to explore and found herself whispering a prayer. Please let the stores have been restocked.
    Reaching the storeroom door, she found a heavy steel doorway with a spinning wheel mechanism in the centre. She closed her eyes, offering up one final bargain to God. Let the stores have been restocked . Let there be food, and I swear I’ll thank you every day. The wheel turned smoothly on its spindle. Michelle shoved it inwards and groped around the wall inside the door for a switch. Clicking the lights on, she gasped.
    Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with supplies made her think of Christmas for the second time. Dried cereals, long-life UHT milk, massive containers of water, dried fruit and dozens upon dozens of tinned goods. Peaches, meat, vegetables, beans, spaghetti – more than enough to last a single person for months. A long, slow sigh escaped her lips and some of the tension she’d been feeling since waking in the white room melted away with the frost in her bones. She could survive. She could feed her unborn child.
    Scanning around the rest of the store, Michelle found good stocks of various supplies. Matches, camping stoves, duct tape and boxes of clothes which seemed to have come from the Salvation Army HQ in the next building.
    She broke open a box of Mars bars and groaned like one of the hungry Ringed as she chewed the first mouthful. The creamy, sugary chocolate lifted her spirits, making anything seem possible.
    Michelle closed the storeroom door behind her and went looking for bathroom facilities. Finding a small washroom and toilet in the next ante-chamber, she was unsurprised to discover that running water filled the toilet and gushed through the taps. The company hadn’t bothered to turn the running water off into the city. Why would they? They needed their survivors alive to entertain. Hot water wasn’t an option, though, not even here in The Hub .
    Michelle reached into the shower cubicle and turned the flow onto maximum. Noting that a large, only slightly grubby towel hung on the towel rack, she set about removing the crusted clothing she’d woken up in and had so efficiently glued to her own body with the decayed fluids of The Ringed from the meadow.
    Velcro-like tearing noises rasped as she peeled the shirt and trousers from her. Catching sight of herself in