The days bled together.
For a week, Wang remained chained inside the stone cellar—though by the third day, the chains were no longer locked. He could move freely within the room now, and though the iron cuff still hung from his ankle like a reminder, it no longer bit into his skin.
Every morning, just after sunrise, Aiyana came.
Sometimes with food.
Sometimes with fresh bandages.
Sometimes just with stories.
And gradually, without either of them saying it aloud, trust had begun to form—slowly, awkwardly, like vines trying to grow through barbed wire.
Wang was seated on the edge of the cot—bare wooden frame, straw-stuffed mat—shirtless, sweat dripping from his back in the humid cellar. His stump was better now, wrapped tight and clean, though the pain never fully left. Scars formed along his ribs, shoulder, and neck—marks from the buggy crash, from running, from living.
Aiyana crouched beside him, focused on re-wrapping his wound with quiet precision. Her fingers were quick and practiced, movements confident. Her short brown hair was tied back with a scrap of leather cord, and she smelled faintly of eucalyptus and smoke.
"You're getting better," she said, securing the knot. "That means I won't have to wipe your sweaty ass much longer."
Wang grinned. "Thank fuck for that."
She playfully elbowed him, then sat cross-legged on the floor, digging into the satchel she always carried. Today, she pulled out a dried meat strip and tossed it to him.
Wang caught it with his good hand. "Kangaroo?"
"Dingo."
He paused.
"You serious?"
She gave him a look. "You don't ask questions when you're starving."
"Fair."
They ate in silence for a bit before she leaned back and looked up at the low ceiling.
"You ever wonder why they dumped you here?"
"I mean, beyond the whole 'murder' thing?" he said, chewing.
She nodded.
Wang exhaled, staring at the meat in his hand. "Honestly, I've stopped trying to make sense of it. World's fucked. I'm just trying not to die."
"Well," she said, brushing some dust off her leg, "in case no one told you... all the world's prisoners come here now. Australia's the official dumping ground."
Wang blinked. "What, like… internationally?"
"Every continent. Every government. Doesn't matter if you stole bread or blew up a police station. If they don't want to deal with you, they ship you here. Air drops. Boat dumps. Some get dumped mid-desert with a water bottle and a compass if they're really lucky."
"Jesus…"
"No trials, no transfers, no lawyers. You get caught, you get dumped."
Wang looked around the cellar. "So what, this is one big global prison?"
She shrugged. "Kind of. Except there ain't any real walls."
He frowned. "Then who the fuck's running it?"
"The peacekeepers. But it's all a lie. They say they 'manage' it, but really they just protect Melbourne and the peace keeper outpost. Most of the land's just chaos now."
"Cities?"
She nodded. "Melbourne is the only safe city. The rest of the continent? Tribal zones. Deadlands. Cannibal pits. This place—our village—it's just one speck they can't be bothered to wipe out."
Wang rubbed his temple. "And the guards?"
"Corrupt as fuck. They steal, rape, shoot whoever they want. 'Cause who's gonna stop them? The Geneva Convention? Pfft."
"Sounds familiar," Wang muttered.
She looked at him. "Wanna know what's really weird, though?"
"Sure."
"It's not the guards we trade with."
Wang raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
She smirked. "The branded ones and the demon spawn."
He blinked. "Wait—like trade trade?"
"Yup. We give them clean water, dried food, blankets, solar gear. They give us... drugs, booze, and cigarettes."
Wang laughed, surprised. "No fucking way."
"Swear on my ancestors."
"So what is it, some kind of… black market alliance?"
She thought for a second. "It's more like... mutual tolerance. We don't trust each other, but we need each other."
He leaned forward. "So what do they get out of it besides bartering?"
"We keep them alive. When their shelters collapse, they run here. When guards crack down, we hide them. When winter comes and shit gets real? They come to us."
Wang nodded slowly. "And in return, they feed your alcoholics."
"Exactly."
He smirked. "Symbiosis."
She gave a mock bow. "Biology 101."
He scratched his chin. "So how's the relation part work? Like, do you guys ever… I don't know. Trust any of them?"
Aiyana tilted her head. "Some. There've been a few over the years that got adopted in. Some even married locals."
Wang whistled. "Wild."
She grinned. "And some got drunk, started fights, and got speared through the gut for pissing on sacred stones."
"Even wilder."
Aiyana stood and stretched. "Point is—things aren't black and white here. You're not a prisoner anymore, Wang. You're just a guy with one arm, eating dingo jerky in a root cellar."
He looked up at her, chewing.
"That's either comforting or depressing as fuck."
"Good," she said with a wink. "Means you're learning."
Q: How long do you think you can survive in prison land?