Swipe Right
Copyright© 2026 by Sci-FiTy1972
Chapter 7: What We Secure First
The work began where it always should have.
At home.
Darius stood in the yard of his parents’ property just after dawn, coffee cooling in his hand as the mist lifted off the grass. From the outside, nothing looked different. The old farmhouse still leaned into its years with stubborn pride. The barn sat a half mile back, weathered and unremarkable, exactly as it had been for as long as he could remember.
That was the point.
Security that announced itself wasn’t security.
It was theater.
The improvements had come quietly.
Permits filed. Contractors vetted. Materials sourced through channels so ordinary they dissolved into paperwork. What looked like routine reinforcement, foundation stabilization, upgraded storm shelter access, electrical modernization—was anything but.
Beneath the house, the shelter had been expanded and hardened, its footprint carefully shaped to avoid detection from ground-penetrating scans or casual inspection. No exotic alloys. No obvious seams. Everything designed to look like the work of an overly cautious homeowner preparing for Midwest weather and old age.
His parents would never question it.
They trusted authority figures.
Lawyers. Inspectors. Engineers.
So the call had come from their lawyer.
A calm conversation. Estate planning. Long-overdue updates. A suggestion to future-proof the property “just in case.”
His parents agreed without hesitation.
They always had.
They never asked why.
And Darius never volunteered more than they needed.
The duplex had required more finesse.
His side, the left unit. It had been modified under the cover of plumbing work. The downstairs bathroom, small and forgettable, now housed something no one would ever find by accident.
The exit only existed under very specific conditions.
An authorized person.
The bathroom door locked.
A deliberate, learned sequence.
No accidental discovery. No child wandering into secrets. No guest asking questions.
If those conditions weren’t met, the bathroom remained exactly what it had always been.
A bathroom.
When activated, the floor panel opened soundlessly, revealing a narrow descent into the shelter network that linked back toward his parents’ land. The route was clean, unobtrusive, and built for speed, not comfort.
It could be used by his sister and her family in an emergency.
Only if needed.
Only if guided.
They would never stumble into danger they weren’t meant to understand.
His sister’s side of the duplex hadn’t been altered in any visible way.
That was intentional.
People behaved differently when they knew they were protected.
Sometimes worse.
Instead, Darius had given her a gift.
A digital picture frame.