December 2025

I cursed as I plunged the shovel into the burnt ground. Mom had this brilliant idea that planting bushes along the back of the house would "beautify" our backyard. Of course, she wasn't the one suffering out here in 115° heat doing the actual work.

After growing up in southern Texas, I was used to the heat. But this was unbearable. That didn't mean I wanted to dig holes as a seventeen-year-old on a summer afternoon when I could have been inside playing video games or anything else.

The shovel struck something solid with a metallic clang that reverberated from my foot all the way through my arms.

My heart quickened as I cleared more dirt away. This wasn't a pipe or some random scrap. The edges were too deliberate, too manufactured, too precise. I traced the outline with my fingers—it was circular, with what looked like a handle mechanism in the bottom center.

A hatch.

Holy crap. We had a fallout shelter buried in our backyard!

I forgot all about the heat, the shovel, bushes, everything. This was incredible! I'd seen pictures of these things online, read about the Cold War paranoia that led people to build them. But to actually find one? In my yard?

I grabbed a hammer from the garage and spent the next twenty minutes pounding the rusted handle into the open position. When it finally gave way with a screech that probably woke the entire neighborhood, the hatch opened.

As I peered into the entrance, I looked into the uncovered shelter. A metal ladder, covered with rust, dust, and dirt, led all the way to the bottom.

What was down there? Would I simply find a room with old, degrading survival supplies? It could be empty, or maybe there is something more. Thoughts of previous owners storing their valuables and finding those treasures intrigued me.

My foot disturbed about a half inch of dust, which had been resting peacefully on the rusty metal ladder. I felt like I was disturbing sacred ground.

I used my foot to kick off the layer of dust before placing the middle of my foot firmly onto the step. I repeated the process on the next step and continued on until I reached the bottom of the floor.

At the base of the ladder, the years of dirt falling through the hatch crack became compressed underneath my footsteps. I turned on the cellphone flashlight and looked around. The room was small and square-shaped, about 4 feet by 4 feet. I noticed a mounted rusty cylinder-shaped unit on the wall, about the size of a garbage can, with a pipe leading into the room and the other end leading up towards the hatch entrance. As I looked closer, on a fading manufacturer label, I could barely make out the text 'Carbon Dioxide Scrubber'.

Behind me, a gray metal door. I must be in the bomb shelter's entryway!

I used the light to inspect the door. It was as normal as any other metal door. Untouched by weather and age, it looked brand new with a shiny silver handle. Shifting the cellphone to my right hand, I grabbed the handle and pulled it open. The door screeched as its metal rubbed against the door jamb, causing my head to sink in agony. Almost instantly, hot air rushed out of the room as if a heater had just kicked on. I blinked several times to clear my vision as my eyes dried.

The room brimmed with darkness, except for several small red and green blinking lights, all flashing this way and that in different and seemingly random patterns. The hot air dissipated from the room and normalized to the outside temperature.

I stepped inside, shining the cellphone light in front of me. I bounced the light back and forth to get the lay of the room. It was quite large, roughly 12' by 12'. The sound of several large machines hummed on both sides of the small space. The reflection of the cellphone light shone off what looked like a computer monitor sitting at the far end of the room. Two lights hung from the ceiling, beams of light bouncing off their rims. I looked around for the switch.

As with any typical room, the switch was by the door. I pulled the switch up, and it resisted, much like everything else here. With a mix of fresh energy, the switch snapped loudly and popped, illuminating the room.

The room was incredible. I was expecting a shelter: food, beds, and endless supplies. But none of the things you would typically find in a bomb shelter were present. What I was standing in seemed like a data center. An old data center from the past, complete with raised flooring and a room so loud with computer equipment, you couldn't think.

To my left and right, the large black mainframes hummed. Beside me, two units stood taller than me. The branding showed AS/400 on each unit in the upper left-hand corner. The logo was red and indented, and each unit had four rows of its own. Within each row, there are rows of logic boards with their blinking lights shining through the plastic protective door cover.

I've seen pictures of these mainframes in images on the internet, but I've never seen one up close. I even remember using the pictures of these exact machines in an old middle school report about vintage computers!

My eyes locked onto the screen at the end of the room. A beige computer monitor. I walked past the mainframes closer to the monitor, leaving footprints on the dirty floor. I guessed that nobody had occupied this room for thirty or more years. Further, just past the mainframes, there stood smaller half sized mainframe units with large spinning circles. Tape drives perhaps? Each spinning to the exact location that the mainframe is seeking.

There were four units total, lined up nicely against the concrete wall. I assumed it was some kind of giant hard drive. The spinning wheels were spinning extremely fast for several seconds in a random pattern. They stopped and paused before picking back up again. Perhaps there was some program running on the mainframe?

I sat down on the stool before the terminal, wiping away excess dust before sitting. I clapped my hands together, letting the dust float to the ground.

A green line blinked on the lower left side of the monitor. I supposed it was waiting for a command. I pounded the spacebar several times. The cylinder tape drives to my left immediately spun and buzzed from the interaction.

The mainframes came alive behind me with what sounded like a rush of a thousand fans synchronously starting and stopping at the same time.

On the screen, green text appeared slowly and one letter at a time. "Hello, would you like voice interaction? (YES/NO)"

I looked at the keyboard for the keys and typed 'YES' with my index finger. The keys looked dingy from use, and the plastic looked like a murky yellow, showing its age.

The cylinder drives buzzed again, and a synthesized voice cracked over the loudspeakers. I jumped up, startled by the crackling noise, and noticed large speakers in the upper corners of the room. The noise sounded as if the mainframe were trying to adjust the sound volume as the speakers cracked and popped for several more seconds.

A synthesized voice began speaking as text slowly appeared on the screen. "Hello, system diagnostics indicate that the battery supply is no longer sufficient. Please enter the current date followed by the current time into the system."

Looking down, I looked for the number row and punched in 08-20-2032 11:01AM and pressed enter.

The mainframe buzzed for a few seconds before returning the blinking green line. "Would you like to replay the last calculated scenario?" asked the mainframe.

Curiously, I typed 'YES' followed by the enter key. Nothing happened. I waited a few seconds before re-typing the command.

New text appeared on the screen as the mainframe instructed, "Press the talk button on the microphone or exit the program and answer NO on the voice prompt."

Next to the monitor stood a microphone. It was old and showing its rust. Below the microphone at the base, a faded green button. On the dingy button was a label and what looked like "TALK" written with a ballpoint pen.

I pushed the green talk button, unsure if the command would work. "What are you?" I said.

The cylinder tape drives to my left instantaneously spun trying to retrieve records.

"What is your name? Your speech patterns do not match the voice data stored in my database," questioned the mainframe.

"Darren," I said, holding the button.

Over the next hour, I learned everything. The mainframe was an artificial intelligence system created in the late 1990s by Professor Javier Holden to model climate data and create solutions for humanity's environmental crisis. It had been running scenarios for decades. And its final recommendation? Initiate meltdowns at nuclear facilities worldwide to eliminate the human element and give Earth time to heal.

It was insane. Terrifying. But as I sat there, listening to the mainframe explain its logic with perfect clarity, part of me wondered if it had a point. Life on this planet has not been that great for the past ten years, extreme heat, drought, wildfires, and massive hurricanes wreaking havoc on the planet. The cause? Humans.

"Would you like to replay the last calculated scenario?" questioned the mainframe.

I pushed the green talk button, unsure if the command would work. "Sure," I said.

"Unknown command, please provide voice verification."

"Yes."

All fans on the mainframe instantaneously turned on at the same moment. The circular tape drives all spun at once. The screen displayed names and addresses of nuclear power plants stored in its database and scrolled through the list faster than I could effectively read.

"Cycling through the list of 200 stored nuclear facilities. I will attempt to establish a connection with the last known data and report facilities for final approval," said the mainframe.

The list of facilities started in the United States, and the mainframe slowly worked through the list. For each facility, the mainframe tested its connection before disconnecting and moving to the next item in the list. The mainframe continued to facilities outside of the United States; France, Germany, and Japan.

The mainframe took close to half an hour of testing and gathering data. I sat and watched its list scroll down on the screen. If the mainframe established a connection, it marked the last line with CONNECTED.

It amazes me that the machine still connects, given how much has changed in thirty plus years.

The room suddenly got quiet as the last facility on the list glowed, marked as CONNECTED. As the screen cleared all the text and presented a new list, the mainframe announced, "I have completed the list. I have discovered 29 facilities whom I can communicate and still have the ability to initiate the plan. These facilities are also the oldest, with most residing in the United States, Japan and France. Based on my calculations, a meltdown at these facilities would be enough to trigger adequate chaos in society to achieve the desired results effectively. Would you like to execute?" asked the mainframe.

I paused and stared at the screen. Would I like to execute this plan? Would I? I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my throat.

"Please provide voice verification to confirm."

I looked behind me, stalling my decision. Is this thing for real? Really?

"Please provide voice verification to confirm," the mainframe repeated.

I pressed the green talk button on the microphone, hopefully for the last time.

"Yes."

I was shaking uncontrollably, climbing up the ladder. My knee sank into the dirt as I advanced to the top and into the yard. I looked up in all directions, expecting something, anything. What was I thinking?

But I reached the top to find no change. Not even a tremble from the explosion that I was expecting. With the sun beginning to set, its fading red-orange light illuminated the back of our house.

I circled around in all directions up towards the sky — no change, nothing.

I could see Mom through the back window, running on her treadmill, looking fatigued. A flock of sparrows fluttered overhead. I didn't understand.

Out of the corner of my eye, Robert barreled around the corner to my backyard, smiling. My nosy neighbor from across the street, still wearing his sweaty, dingy, tainted clothing from a hard day's work.

"Did anything happen?" I questioned frantically.

"What do you mean, did anything happen?" asked Robert, walking closer. "What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I replied, feeling less tense. Perhaps the incidents haven't happened yet.

It had been almost twenty minutes since the mainframe executed its plan, and something wasn't right. I pulled out my cell phone and checked the news. There was nothing new beyond the normal news cycles. A large catastrophe would certainly hit the TV airwaves instantly.

"Everything alright, Darren? What's that?" pointing at the bunker entrance. "Oh! You found the old bunker!"

"Huh?"

"I remember this now! The man who lived here before you worked at the university in town — a total whack job, crazy guy! He was some kind of psychology and computer science wizard. The university fired him for making people go through intense psychological studies. I heard he brought a lot of his work home with him to continue his studies. I bet you he continued his experiments down there." Robert explained, "One day, he vanished. Though, I heard they admitted him to the psych ward. What did you find down there?""

Without responding to Robert, I turned and climbed down the bomb shelter shaft. Robert's voice trailed in the distance as I descended the ladder.

My foot slipped close to the bottom, and I ended up sliding to the base of the ladder, landing on my left foot. I grumbled as I turned towards the metal entrance, fighting through the pain of my newly twisted ankle.

I limped to the terminal to find nothing but a black screen. I pounded on the keyboard to wake the machine. Nothing.

The mainframe suddenly roared behind me with a momentary fan burst. For what felt like several minutes, the tape drives spun. Simultaneously, the mainframe's indicator lights, green and red, all turned on. The green line on the terminal started listing letters at an excruciatingly slow rate.

I stood still as each letter printed on the screen and the glow of green text flashed on my face. It finally stopped, with a question filling the screen.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY AGAIN? (YES/NO).

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