Kicked out to die in the apocalypse? This base was built by me

The year the gas swallowed the world, I helped design and build Dome City with my own hands, keeping the last survivors alive.

I thought I was protecting hope.

Then I stumbled onto the Council’s secret: the poison outside is fading—but they chose to hide it. Worse, they plan to manufacture and release more gas, locking everyone inside forever, under their rule.

Before I could expose the truth, the person I trusted most struck me from behind.

My girlfriend—Vera Walker.

She took my evidence, stripped my access, and traded me for a higher rank.

When I woke up, I was outside the Dome in toxic fog—my identity erased, my lungs burning, my vision slipping.

They dumped me like trash, certain I wouldn’t last the night.

They forgot one thing.

Dome City is my blueprint, my welds, my pipes—my work.

And I’m back.

————

I stared at the curve on the screen, coffee frozen halfway to my mouth.

The toxin levels outside were dropping.

Not the kind of day-to-day fluctuation you could explain away, but a steady decline that had lasted for days—like someone was slowly lifting a weight off my chest.

I set the cup back on the desk. The base clicked lightly against the metal surface, but my fingertips were trembling.

I didn’t dare believe it after a single glance.

I stretched the chart out, lined up the numbers from the past few weeks against today’s, then switched to readings from a different set of monitoring stations.

Same result: down, stable, continuous.

Something that had been pulled tight inside me for five years finally eased.

My name is Leon Kane. I’m the chief environmental and structural engineer for Dome City—and one of the people in charge of the monitoring room.

My job is to keep the air, pressure, temperature, and filtration cycles inside this city within controlled limits, so people can stay alive.

Five years ago, an unknown toxic gas surged up from the surface like a tide—no warning, no pattern. It spread along the coast first, then swallowed the inland.

At first the news argued over what it was: an industrial leak, the aftermath of a war, some kind of biological event. The arguments ended quickly, because people started dying.

It was colorless, but it stung the nose. Breathing it in felt like needles stabbing into your lungs—coughing, bleeding, suffocation—fast enough that you didn’t even have time to understand what was happening.

Dome City was built in that moment: a fully sealed shelter beneath a transparent dome.

I helped design it, and I led the work on the key structural and environmental systems.

Those years, I drew lines on blueprints by day and watched weld seams and sealing layers at the site by night. I slept in a temporary machine room, kept upright by coffee and short, broken naps.

We pushed people in batch after batch, closed the airlocks, started filtration, and barely managed to hold on to the word “alive.”

In the end, Dome City took shape. A transparent dome made from new materials cut us off from the outside world, while the filtration system turned every breath into something safe.

I used to think that was the future.

Until today’s curve appeared.

If the toxin really was dropping, Dome City wouldn’t be the only option anymore.

We could rebuild external outposts. We could open new living zones. We could let people walk on the surface again.

The restrictions everyone had been forced to accept would lose their reason. The desires everyone had been forced to bury would rise back up.

I all but ran out of the monitoring room.

The corridor lights were a cold white, my footsteps echoing off the walls.

I held the terminal tight against my chest like a pass that could change everything and headed straight for the Council wing.

Security was tighter there. I scanned my wristband; the indicator flashed green.

The moment the door opened, I already had my words lined up: the data, the trend, the proposed plan, the risk assessment… I would make every sentence steady enough that they couldn’t dismiss it.

But before I reached the Council office, I heard voices coming from inside.

Instinctively I slowed down and pressed close to the wall beside the door. The soundproofing was good—just not perfect.

Someone had enabled conference mode, and a sliver of audio leaked through the seam.

“Are all four seats present?” a man asked.

“All here,” another replied. “We’ve already reviewed the toxin data. The downward trend is very clear.”

My chest tightened.

So they already knew.

“But a decrease doesn’t mean it’s safe. Going outside now is still death.”

Someone gave a soft laugh, impatient. “Going out now is death. What about later? If the concentration really drops day by day, people in the dome will rush outside. The moment the outside looks livable, even a little, people won’t stay.”

“Once people’s minds scatter, they’re hard to manage,” a third voice said. “This structure holds only because everyone knows leaving the dome means dying.”

The fourth voice was calmer—too calm—and it made my back go cold. “So we keep that premise intact. If necessary, we manufacture a spike, so everyone remembers the outside is still dangerous.”

My breathing stopped for a beat.

Manufacture a spike.

Meaning they already knew the toxin outside was fading—but they weren’t just hiding it. They were ready to release toxins on purpose, force the trend back up, and keep everyone locked under the dome so they could stay in control.

“The date is set. During the celebration two days from now—at midnight—we release it on schedule…”

They kept talking, but I didn’t listen to the rest.

My palms were slick, my fingers clenched hard.

I turned and left, moving as quietly as I could, as if a single footstep might drag those four people out of the room.

Back in the monitoring room, I locked the door and pulled up the backup interface.

If they wanted to bury it, I would take the proof first.

I exported the toxin trend data, preparing a backup anyone could understand—dates, numbers, curves. One look, and you’d see the decline.

I plugged in an external drive and started the copy.

The progress bar crawled forward.

Seventeen percent. Twenty. Thirty.

The room held only the low hum of the fans and my own breathing.

I watched the bar and ran through the next steps in my head: find a public screen? a union? anyone who could spread the information?

Either way, this dataset was the key. They could alter the system at any moment. I needed it saved—now.

The door lock clicked.

Someone had scanned access.

The door opened, and Vera Walker stepped in.

She wore her security jacket, a door-control terminal clipped at her waist. As she entered, her eyes went to the door, then to me, then to the external drive on my desk and the progress bar on the screen. Her gaze was quick, like she was reading a report.

“Leon,” she asked, “what are you doing?”

Vera was my girlfriend.

Vera was my girlfriend.

Five years ago, we entered the core team together. I stayed up in the design room; she climbed through the security ranks.

After Dome City was finished, as the family of a lead designer, she lived well here—an apartment in a more comfortable sector, full rations, stable work. And I did everything I could to give her the best I could: better housing clearance, steadier medical allocation, more daily resources.

I did everything I could, so she wouldn’t have to stand in line every day fighting for rations like everyone else.

I didn’t have time to circle around it.

“The toxin levels outside are dropping.”

Vera froze for a second. “What?”

I kept my eyes on the progress bar and lowered my voice. “I heard them outside the Council office. They already know the toxin is dropping, and they don’t want anyone else to know. They’re planning to release toxins to keep the end of the world going.”

Her expression stiffened—half disbelief, half like something had jabbed her under the ribs.

“You’re sure?” she asked, voice tighter.

“I’m sure,” I said. “That’s why I’m copying the data. I need evidence before I can do anything.”

Ninety percent.

Ninety-one.

Ninety-two.

Vera asked, “Could there be some misunderstanding? Maybe you should talk to them again.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. “They’re past that. Power has rotted them. They see themselves as the owners of this city. The moment Dome City stops being necessary, their rule ends. To keep it, they’ll do anything.”

Vera stood behind me without moving. I could feel her eyes on the screen, on that downward curve.

She didn’t ask again. She didn’t try to stop me. She was just quiet.

Too quiet.

Ninety-six.

Ninety-seven.

I reached for the drive, planning to pull it out before the bar hit one hundred, to make sure it was in my hand.

But the instant my fingers touched the port, a blunt shock exploded at the back of my head.

Like a hard object striking with perfect aim.

My vision went black. The fan noise stretched and thinned, far away.

I tried to turn my head and couldn’t. Tried to speak and couldn’t. My body stopped obeying, and I slid down the edge of the desk.

In the last moment before the dark fully took me, I saw Vera bend over, pull out the drive, and remove my access card from my wrist. Her movements were practiced, as if she’d rehearsed them.

She leaned close and whispered, her voice near my ear and cold as metal:

“They’re right, Leon. If the end of the world ends… what happens to us?”

I didn’t even have time to understand what she meant before the darkness closed in completely.