The Castle School of Self-Defense

Chapter 7 - Charlotte's Visit

0100 hrs
26th November
Safety Bunker Number 1

The stillness of the Safety Bunker was oppressive. William lay on the hard and uncomfortable cot, his blanket drawn up to his chin, staring at the faintly buzzing ceiling light. Sleep was a distant dream, out of reach no matter how hard he tried. His mind constantly replayed the events of the day, refusing to let him rest no matter how hard he tried.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the attacker's sneer, the glint of the knife, and felt the searing pain of the blade slicing his forearm. He would jolt awake, his pulse racing, the phantom pain still fresh in his mind. He clutched his bandaged arm and sighed, rolling over. The cot creaked under his weight, echoing in the empty room.

The bunker wasn't comforting. Its walls, painted a dull gray, felt like they were closing in on him. The whole bunker itself felt extremely depressing for some unknown reason. The sterile smell of metal and disinfectant lingered in the air, a stark reminder of how far removed he was from the warmth of the world above. The only sounds were the faint hum of the ventilation system and the soft beeping of the security camera above the door, its blinking red light a constant reminder that he wasn't truly alone. It didn't help that every now and then, the light on top of his room buzzed, making him jump awake just to realize that it was the light waking him up.

The clock on the wall glowed softly: 1:07 AM. William let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair. Why me? he thought for the thousandth time. The principal had said so little, only that his life was in danger and that he needed to stay hidden. Charlotte had promised to explain more when she could, but even her words felt shrouded in mystery. William felt extremely depressed. He didn't know anything. William was angry. There was someone trying to attack him! Why wasn't he allowed to know anything? It was infuriating, to say the least.

What about Charlotte?

His heart fluttered at the thought of her. She had been so brave earlier, taking charge and saving him when he had been helpless. He couldn't stop thinking about the way her blonde hair framed her face, her sparkling blue eyes filled with determination. He wanted to talk to her, to thank her, but also to understand what was going on.

What's her story? Why does she know so much about what's happening to me? The more he thought about her, the more his heart raced. He wasn't just grateful—he was smitten, and the realization made his cheeks burn. He sat up, running a hand over his face to shake the feeling, but it lingered. It was just then that he realized that there might be something behind Charlotte's brave and mighty exterior. When Charlotte first realized there was something wrong when William was being attacked, he swore he saw a hint of fear and concern before the usual strong and mighty mask of Charlotte came back to save William.

Just then, a soft noise broke the silence.

William froze, his senses sharpening. It was faint, like someone shifting their weight outside the door. His pulse quickened, his mind flashing back to the ambush in the hallway. He swung his legs off the cot, his bare feet touching the cold floor as he reached into his back pocket and grabbed the utility knife that Charlotte had given him.

Then came a knock.

It wasn't loud—just a gentle tap-tap, like whoever was outside didn't want to wake anyone.

"William? It's me, Charlotte. Open up."

"Identify yourself." William said sternly with a hint of nervousness.

"Charlotte Daisy Snow, Primary, Level 3 student, ID code 145309575, SID code 97393622431."

Relief flooded him, knowing that it actually was Charlotte, as only she would know the 10 digit secret ID code that they used to identify each other. Every time the Secret ID code was used, it would have to be changed to ensure that attackers couldn't impersonate Charlotte or William. This feeling was quickly followed by a different kind of nervous energy. He scrambled to his feet, tripping over the blanket in his haste. Fumbling with the lock, he opened the door to find her standing there, her face illuminated by the dim hallway light.