flashback
Day 198. Charlotte and Egon had left for the announcement; Alfred was alone with the trucks, loading the supplies, and the part of the plan that would make the mission irreversible. What's left was the weapons, ammo, grenades, and defence equipment.
He moved like a man who'd practiced these motions until they were muscle. Six trips with the cart—load, wheel, lift, return.
Then he pushed the cart north to the storage cluster outside the shelter's border. He hauled four heavy containers of timed explosive into the cart and pushed on.
The water station was first. Four charges went to the main feed pipes—each one set to breathe its death the minute the mission sets off. Four more were tucked into the filtration units, small enough to look like fire-suppressor boxes. If anything survived the blast, the filters and pumps would be ruined; no quick fix, no patchwork salvage.
Next: the rations. The storage units by the eastern canteen were easy—locked, but empty of curious eyes. He placed devices in four of the eight units, one on each inner wall, hidden behind boxes. As he worked, the announcement played on the screens. Egon's voice flowed across the corridor: "Mission commences day 200...". The residents watched the speech and missed the hands that turned the valves toward ruin.
Last came the medical unit. Alfred paused at the gate and listened: no one there. He stepped inside with the box of charges. The pharmacy and the equipment storeroom took only moments; he wedged a device behind dispensers and another beneath shelving, all set for the time of the departure.
He worked without spectacle. He felt nothing like triumph—only a numbness that made his hands precise. The damage would be deep enough to delay any meaningful recovery: water poisoned by collapsed pipes, medicine stores charred, supply chains severed.
On his way out, the Moans he heard were still going, but they sounded different as if they were coming out of a different woman(they were).