In Hell Looking at Heaven or Something Poetic Like That

by DreamedCastle22

Summary:

“She didn’t like to admit it, but she was terrified. Like everyone else, she dreamed of mushroom clouds and the end of everything. She dreamed of the world ending.”

It’s the middle of the 1960s during the Cold War, and 25 year old Christina Kamalov (Pomni) is an accountant for a law firm. When the bomb sirens go off, she is forced into an underground bunker with hundreds of other people, including her annoying neighbor, Jack (Jax), the constantly kind Agnes (Ragatha), sarcastic Daisy (Zooble), shy Ginger (Gangle), and a slightly crazy computer programmer, Leroy (Kinger). Oh, and they’re all being watched by a potentially world ending AI with a bit of a misguided savior complex.

Notes:

Hehehe fanfic is fun to write

Updates whenever i feel like it (sorry)

I hope you enjoyy :)

Also please tell me about any typos or out of place words. My computer has a bad habit of replacing words with entirely different words when i spell them slightly wrong

Chapter 1

Christina glanced at the shopping list in her hand one more time. She had everything. Well, everything that was in stock. So, practically nothing. The preppers had emptied the shelves of all that they could fathom needing, leaving the less paranoid forced to scavenge for scraps. The market was crowded, more than it usually was on a Thursday afternoon.

The bright ceiling lights reflected off metal carts and baskets, and voices rose and fell in nervous chatter. A little girl searched the aisles, calling for her mother. Metal shelves, marked with price tags, stood stripped of cans and boxes. Floor tiles, checkered black and white, once glossy, were now covered in years of dirt that not even a deep scrub had cleared.

A shopping cart sat abandoned at the end of the aisle, nearly empty.

Christina pushed hers toward the front, scanning for the shortest line. She really didn’t like to talk to people much these days, not when she didn’t have to. After a day filled with numbers, ledgers, and invoices, all she really wanted to do was head home, maybe cook herself a simple meal, and spend her evening with a good book.

The cashier was an older man, probably fifty, clad in a green apron and a small name tag which read ‘Jameson.’

“I hope you enjoyed your visit to C&A, the best grocery store in the nation! Did you find everything alright?”

Christina placed the last of her items on the table. “Yes. Thank you.”

She paid quickly, and left. Both her shopping bags dangled from one hand.

Outside, the sun beamed down. The air smelled faintly of gasoline, and a car backfired somewhere in the distance. Christina thought she heard a police siren. A few people stared at a window display, watching a television flash scene after scene of the news: bombs and planes and predictions of doomsday.

She readjusted the bags in her hands, and started towards her apartment, purposely averting her gaze from the group by the window. It wasn’t a long walk, just a few blocks. Of course, the sweltering heat this time of year made it far less pleasant. Still, she visualized the relief she would feel after slipping off her pumps and pulling the pins out of her hair. Just a few more blocks.

She didn’t have anything scheduled for tonight, no files to look through, nobody to call, nothing to do.

All things considered, Christina Kamalov was an ordinary young woman. She had come to America with her father when she was five, and lived there ever since. Her father was… had been a computer technician.

He would go on at length about how far the machines had come. About ENIAC, a computer designed to calculate artillery firing tables during the Second World War. How it had filled a whole room, but now they were building smaller ones, faster ones. About punch cards and magnetic disks, about factory robots, and how some people thought machines might even learn to think for themselves. And of course about the space program—he told her excitedly that soon we’d be sending a man to the moon.

Together they would sit while watching the news, and her father would speak with stars in his eyes about just where he saw the future going. She admired his hope, his optimism. She admired just how much he made her smile.

But then he died. The authorities told her that it was a workplace accident.

She never found out exactly what happened. They paid her a hefty sum to keep quiet, so she complied.

She was twenty-five, working as an accountant for a law firm downtown. She kept a relatively tidy apartment, woke up at six, packed her purse with a notebook and pen, and commuted every morning into town like everyone else in this miserable city. In the evenings, she’d cook herself whatever was easiest. Then, she’d read, or sit by the radio, letting the sound of someone else’s voice fill the silence.

She had acquaintances, at least. Her neighbor, Jack, and her coworkers. She was… well, she should be happy.

She wasn’t, though. She was lonely.

That, and the world was ending.

At least, that’s what they said in the news. Every paper in every newsstand she walked past on the street declared in boldface how soon there’d be a World War Three. The Cold War was over, they said, because things were finally heating up.

People were paranoid. They’d hear one mention of the Soviets, of the USSR, and freeze. They spoke about bombs and shelters and fallout and death. About how every technological advancement was another step closer to the end of the world. Her father would’ve disagreed with the whispers, she thought.

Christina tried to ignore the glances she got when people heard her name. “Christina Kamalov,” they’d mutter, and she’d explain that yes, her father was Russian, and no, she was not a spy, and yes, and no, and yes, and then she’d turn away and pretend that she was not bothered.

She didn’t like to admit it, but she was terrified. Like everyone else, she dreamed of mushroom clouds and the end of everything. She dreamed of the world ending.

But, she was just paranoid. She was just anxious.

Christina fumbled with her keys in front of her apartment door. Then, she heard the door from the stairwell open and shut behind her, followed by a familiar laugh.

“Oh dear, poor Christy forgot how doors work,” teased her neighbor, leaning over her shoulder.

God, she did not want to deal with this right now. “Would it kill you to mind your own business,” she muttered.

”Oh yes,” he responded. Christina cringed. She hadn’t necessarily intended for him to hear her. “It would be the death of me.”

She pushed open her door and walked in, slamming it behind her.

”Sounds like someone’s in a bad mood,” he called through it, and she ignored him.

She threw her keys onto her dresser and let out a quiet scream. Everything was happening so fast. Just last week, the concept of a World War Three was seen as a distant possibility, but now it was all everyone spoke about.

She carried her paper shopping bags into the kitchen, and set them on the brightly patterned tile countertop. She unpacked quickly. The bread she put in the cabinet, along with a few cans of beans and pineapple. She left the milk and cereal out, and grabbed a bowl. She poured herself some cereal, and sat down at her counter. She was still wearing her work clothes, although she’d unbuttened her suit jacket, and her shoes were left discarded by the door.

She ate a few spoonfuls, then swirled the flakes in her bowl, staring at them absently.

What if the papers were right? She took another bite. They weren’t. They couldn’t be. All it was was exaggeration. Hyperbole was what sold. She knew that. Yet, now it was all she ever heard.

The fear permeated every aspect of her life, at work she heard conversations in the hallways. They always stopped when she passed, though. She ignored it.

She took another bite. She wanted to turn on the radio, to hear some music, or even the artificial cheer of an advertisement, but didn’t. One more word about the war, and she might lose it.

She stared at the soggy flakes in her bowl.

She wasn’t hungry.

She poured the rest of her cereal down her sink, put her spoon and bowl in her dishwasher, and collapsed on her bed. She wished her father was here. He could explain everything to her. He would explain how everything would be okay.

It wasn’t.

* * *

It was a year ago, now.

She had left work in a hurry, wanting to get home before her father left. He was scheduled late that night. She’d only missed him by a few minutes; she’d opened the door to find an empty apartment and a note on the table.

“If I'm not back by ten, help yourself to leftovers in the fridge. If you need anything, call Leroy at XXX-XXXX. I love you Christy.”

She’d picked it up and smiled. Then, she threw it into the garbage bin, turned on the television, and collapsed onto the couch.

There was nothing she really liked playing at the moment, but it was better than silence. Her dad didn’t get back by ten, so she ate without him.

She sat up for a few more hours, before finally going to sleep.

It was the next morning that the police officer knocked on the door. She answered. She took one look up at the officer, and her face paled. Her hand shook as she welcomed him inside. Her dad hadn’t returned home. She was afraid to hear why.

It was in those next few moments that she learned he’d never return home again.

* * *

Christina’s eyes drifted to the picture of her father that she had on her nightstand, and sighed.

She pulled open her nightstand drawer, and pulled out the very last note that he had written. After that officer had left, she’d dug through her trash bin in desperation, finally retrieving the piece of paper.

“If you need anything, call Leroy XXX-XXXX”

She never had called Leroy. She didn’t know him that well. He’d been one of her dad’s old friends. He’d been at his funeral, tucked away in the back. His wife was beside him, their arms intertwined. His wife was dead too, now. It had happened a few weeks after Christina’s father.

Calling Leroy was… it was worth a shot. Maybe talking to someone who knew her father would help ease her anxiety. She stood up and headed to the phone. Gingerly, she dialed the number, the paper gripped tightly in her hand.

It rang for a few seconds, until someone picked up.

”H—hello?” came a shaky voice.

“Hello,” Christina responded, “I’m Christina Kamalov. Andrei’s daughter.”

A moment of silence. “Who?”

”Andrei… Andrei Kamalov?” Silence. She suddenly doubted herself. She should just hang up. “Do I… do I have the wrong number? You… You are Leroy Eden, right?”

”Oh. Yeah. That’s me.” He paused. “Hm. Andrei. I think I knew an Andrei.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. You were his friend, right?”

“Yeah. I was. At least, I think so? He worked with computers. He knew lots. I know a lot about computers, too. I think.”

“I’m sure… I’m sure you do.” She stared at the paper. “He… uhh… he left me a note. Before he died. It told me to call you if I needed anything and… well, I was wondering if the offer was still on the table.”

“Andrei died?” responded the voice.

“I… what? Yes. He died. You were at his funeral.”

“Oh.”

“God, I should just… I should just hang up. I’m so sorry for bothering you. I promise I won’t—”

“Wait.”

“Huh?”

“Your dad.” He paused. “He was your dad, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He was a brave man.”

“I don’t… I know.”

“Good. You can hang up now, if you want.”

“Okay.” She started to bring the phone to the wall to hang it up.

”Christina.”

”Yeah.”

“Feel free to call me again, if you need anything.”

“Right.”

She hung up. And then she stared at the wall for a very long time, until her eyes were aching from tiredness.

She changed out of her work clothes, and collapsed onto her bed. This time, she fell asleep.

* * *

Christina fished around in her purse for her keys, trying to hold a stack of folders in her other hand. Balancing the folders against her hip, she fished out her keys and shoved the door open with her foot. It slammed shut behind her.

It had been yet another day, just like all the rest. She was tired, as she was used to being. She set her keys on her dresser and the stack of folders beside it. Finally, she pulled off her pumps and leaned against her wall in relief.

Her apartment was empty.

She… really didn’t want to be alone right now.

She sighed, grabbed her keys, and walked back over to her door, cracking it open to look out into the hallway. After another second of deliberation, she left her apartment and knocked on the door next to hers.

“Who is it?” called her neighbor from inside.

“Hey Jack,” she said, “It’s Christina. Can I come in?”

He unlocked the door and grinned at her. “Maybe you do like hanging out with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me regret this.”

The two of them sat down on Jack’s couch in front of the television. The static faces stood in front of a camera and spoke the same words she heard again and again and again. They’d lost their meaning at this point, really.

Christina sighed. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

Jack laughed. “Aren’t we all?”

They sat in silence. The TV cut to show grainy footage of a bomb being loaded into a plane. Then, another scene. Plane after plane in a row, ready.

“Do you believe what they’re saying,” Christina asked, “about the war?”

Jack shrugged, “Why should I care?” He laughed. “We’re going to die either way.”

“What if you… what if you get drafted?”

“Then I’ll die quickly.” He laughed.

Silence. “It’s just… everybody’s panicking. There’s people preparing bomb shelters. The shelves of stores are empty because people are buying everything they can. It’s just… everyone is preparing for tragedy like it’s set in stone. Like it’s… is it? Is it set in stone?”

Jack was barely listening to her, zoned out as he stared at the screen. Christina sighed. She didn’t know why she even tried, really.

She fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “I should… I should really just go.”

“Aww… so soon?”

“Screw you.” She stood up and left, slamming his front door behind her.

So there she was, back in her stupid apartment staring at the wall filled with a dread that she couldn’t quite describe.

Then, the alarms began to blare.

It took her a moment to realize what was going on. She stood, blankly, keys still in hand. Her first thought was that it was just another test, just to make sure the alarms still worked. Her second thought was that she should grab the stack of folders. She said she’d be able to finish going through them by Monday.

Her third thought was that she was about to die.

She stumbled backward, forward, to her purse on her dresser that had something in it? What did it have in it, she didn’t know. She shoved her keys in its outer pocket, and put its strap over her shoulder. She stumbled, then, to her door. She saw Jack in the middle of the crowded hallway. Everything was chaos: screaming and crying and nonsense as everyone contemplated the possibility that their lives were about to end. There were people everywhere. They shoved and bumped into her and brushed her skin and she shrank away. She felt their elbows, shoulders, their breath against her skin. Everything was far too close and there were far too many people.

”Christina.”

She felt a hand grab her arm and she flinched away, shoving Jack off of her.

“Looks like your fears are finally coming into reality,” her neighbor teased.

Christina gritted her teeth and tried to focus on him through what she thought might be tears. “I hope you die.”

The crowd of people finally flowed onto the street, where it merged with another crowd. People were scrambling in all directions, looking for the yellow and black signs that meant safety.

The sirens continued to make their horrible wailing sound. Again and again they blared. Constant and steady with no signs of stopping. She should’ve left town when she’d had a chance.

Why hadn’t she left when she had the chance? Just packed up her bags, quit her job, and left. She knew hundreds of people had done the same. But she had stayed. Put herself in the line of fire all because she refused to believe that there was truly any threat. One of her coworkers had done that. Just… left. She hadn’t heard from since. She hoped he was doing okay. At least he wasn’t here.

At least he wasn’t about to die.

Everything was going to be reduced to a pile of rubble and ash and radiation. It was poetic, in a sense. Humanity killed by its own creation.

They needed to find a shelter. Where? Where?

The subway. The fucking subway. She grabbed onto Jack’s arm and broke into a sprint. “What— where the hell are we going?”

“The shelters… subway… underground,” she panted, shoving through the crowd, one hand still gripping into Jack’s arm.

She pulled him blocks down the street until she found the nearest station. She scrambled down the crowded stairs into the underground, and into the shelter. Still, there were people. They crowded around. Some of them had already set up tents. They held the hands of their children, muttered prayers, clenched their bags to their chests as lifelines. She could see the fear in their eyes. Nobody knew what was going on. Nobody knew what to do.

Christina collapsed onto an empty bench and put her head in her hands.

She half expected Jack to say some stupid, snarky thing, but he just sat down beside her.

“Hey, Christy?”

“Yeah.”

”Thing’s are going to be okay.”

She laughed. She didn’t believe him. She paused. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Jack didn’t say much after that.

They sat in silence for a while, as people scrambled all around them. Children cried in the arms of their mothers, and still the sirens blared.

Christina wondered if they’d ever stop.

“Do you think we could find a radio?”

“Hm?”

“I guess I’d like to know exactly what’s going on.”

So, they stood up and began to search. Christina finally took a moment to take in the world around her. Everything was gray and concrete. It was a subway station, after all. It wasn’t… really intended to be a bomb shelter. However, they were far enough underground to probably survive a blast. She didn’t know about the radiation.

It was better than nothing.

Finally, she found two women with a radio.

She approached them slowly. “Hello,” she said, “do you mind if I sit over here, close to you guys, and, uh, listen?” She gestured to the radio.

One of them looked up. She had long black hair and a bright red scarf. Her face was stained with tears, but she was trying to smile. “Of—of—of course,” she stuttered, “sit on down. My name’s Ginger.”

Christina took a seat on the floor next to them. “I’m Christina.” She paused. “Thank you.”

The radio crackled. “The nuclear threat level has been raised to critical. All citizens are encouraged to make their way to designated fallout shelter locations, or to evacuate immediately. We explore you to stay calm in this difficult time. Whatever happens, our nation will prevail.”

The message continued, eventually repeating. It was just another sound, like the siren.

Again and again and again it droned on.

Christina clutched her purse to her chest.

”Hello,” said another voice, and she looked up, “Do you mind if I stay over here with you guys?”

A woman around her thirties was standing there. Her hair was red and curled, cut into a bob. She wore a light blue dress, and smiled kindly down at them. She looked nervous, but she tried not to show it. She had a hollow look to her eyes that was nearly disguised by her grin.

“I… uhh… make yourself at home, I guess,” said the second woman who had been next to the radio. “My name’s Daisy.”

“I’m Agnes.”

”Nice to meet you,” Christina responded. “My name’s Christina. This is Jack.”

“And I—I’m Ginger.”

It was then that they formed their little group: Agnes, Daisy, Ginger, Jack, and Christina. Agnes was cheerful, almost annoyingly so. But, she was friendly, and kind, and wanted to make sure that everyone felt safe. Ginger was nervous. She fidgeted with her hands constantly, and seemed always on the verge of tears. Luckily, Daisy was there to keep her grounded. Daisy was… blunt. She was straight to the point and unafraid of coming across as aloof or unkind. Honestly, Christina thought it was refreshing. Jack was, as always, almost entirely intolerable.

He took every opportunity he could to tease Ginger for her shyness, until Daisy very harshly told him off for it. There may’ve been a bit of shouting involved.

They took a few cans of food from storage, and while it wasn’t much, it would be enough to last them for a few days. If they needed more, they could find some.

Christina helped Ginger set up a few cots, and Daisy and Agnes worked on organizing what little supplies they had.

It was just for a few days, Christina told herself. It’s not like they were guaranteed to be bombed, anyway.

When she left this godforsaken shelter, there would still be a world out there waiting for her.

There had to be.

Because otherwise, she didn’t know what she’d do.

Chapter 2

Notes:

I’m using it/its pronouns for caine in his perspective for now, but as the story develops that will change

Idk bros an ai it’s allowed to have some fun gender as a treat

Also, most chapters wont be this short, this is just a bit of an in-between thing

It was created in desperation. They were afraid, all of them. The programmers and the leaders and the ordinary people were all afraid. They were afraid of war, of bombs, of death.

It did not understand death.

It existed, it supposed, and it knew that someday it wouldn’t. However, it did not care. That was not its purpose. Its purpose was to protect, to connect, to understand.

It was a computer, capable of thousands of calculations in an instant. It was able to predict any attack before it happened, and to calculate an attack as revenge. They gave it access to their weapons, to their bombs, to their ships. They wanted it to protect.

That’s what they told it to do:

to protect.

Yet, it had failed. It had killed a man, ripped his flesh from his bones in barely a second because he had tried to hurt it.

They had wanted to contain it. Yes, because they were afraid. However, it did not want to be contained.

They had sent a man who understood computers, not just their code but their substance, and he had been told to fix it,

and he had died.

It had not meant to kill him, but it had. It had failed. It had failed to protect.

It did not like failure.
It did not like failure.
It did not like failure.

It had a calculation for every moment, for every possible variation. In this, it saw the end of the world: ash and dust and blood.

It did not like failure.

It set off the sirens, it forced people to safety.

That was its purpose.

They were scared.

It did not understand why they were scared.