These entries are written from the point of view of Logan, a character referenced by Dark World’s main protagonist Ruby R-1042 as her deceased grandfather. These entries take place 52 years before the Dark World series begins when Logan is a young teen of fourteen, only a few years after an alien invasion decimates the surface of our planet forcing the survivors to live in a large underground bunker known as The Complex.
September 27, 2026
Something weird is going on. I say that as if “weird” still has the same meaning it used to before the invasion, but weird and unpredictable has been on the menu from the moment we were herded down here into The Complex. “Weird” is the new normal.
All of us orphans have been given food daily for the last five days. It’s suspicious getting an actual meal once a day when we’re all used to only getting scraps every few days. I got real sick yesterday after I ate my food. First I felt like my stomach was so full it was going to explode, then I had other problems but I don’t really want to talk about them, you know how it is. Stomach issues and stuff and I’ll leave it at that.
I asked Penelope this morning if we could count on getting fed more regularly from now on, or if we were just having a lucky week. I don’t want to get used to eating every day if our food is going to go back to being what it was when our lucky streak is over. She said she didn’t know. I asked her if she’d heard anything about Dale and Grover and she quickly shut me down. When we were first brought down here, she used to talk to us, you know? She used to tell us things. Now she just seems scared all the time, especially when I ask questions. It’s starting to scare me, too.
I can’t stand not knowing things anymore, especially since we’re stuck down here for the rest of our lives. I get it, the surface is wrecked and we can’t live on it, but can’t we at least have some more space to run around? I want to see more of The Complex. I want to know what the government’s plans are to keep everyone alive. Is the human race just going to die out since we have no hope, or are there woman down here who are pregnant? Why would anyone WANT to have a baby here when we have to live this way, but then again, if we don’t have more babies, we really will die out. I’m tired of not being able to ask these questions. I’m tired of being so BORED all the time.
I wasn’t as bored earlier today when Marisol talked to me. That was pretty cool since she never really talks to anyone. She lost her whole family in the invasion, I guess she watched a truck literally squash her parents after it was tossed from the electromagnetism or something, so that really messed her up. Granted, she wasn’t exactly talkative, when I say she talked to me I really mean she just asked me if I’d share my pop tart because it was a strawberry one and she knows once they’re all gone she’ll never be able to taste one again. Her voice was really sad though. Don’t get me wrong, I’m completely bummed that the pop tarts won’t last either, but I’m not going to cry about it. I guess I shouldn’t pick on her for crying though. She’s a girl and girls can get really emotional, at least that’s what my dad used to say. She can cry if she wants to. She’d probably even still look pretty if she cried. She’s really pretty. The other girls stopped taking care of themselves, they don’t brush their hair much and wash it almost never. The guys aren’t much better, B-O is a smell we’ve all gotten used to. Can’t waste water for bathing. Somehow though, Marisol’s hair is bright red, and super thick. It always looks and even smells nice… not that I smell her hair a lot or anything, but she was standing really close to me today when I broke my pop tart in half and I smelled something that reminded me of how my mom’s hair used to smell. Or is that just “clean”? Who knows anymore. It’s hard to remember what clean smells like. Before the invasion, I probably would have pushed her away from me – well not actually pushed because I know how wrong that is, but I wasn’t really into girls yet. I couldn’t help but like Marisol though when she wanted my pop tart. Maybe she’ll talk to me more, if I can get her to say anything else after the strawberry pop tarts are officially gone for good. I guess we’ll see.
Orphan 018, Division Rhode Island