The Hollow

You were born with Xeroderma Pigmentosum, which meant sunlight was never “warm” or “beautiful” to you. It was a countdown timer. A hostile environment wrapped in blue sky. By age ten, you understood blackout curtains better than playgrounds. By sixteen, you could disassemble a UV filtration unit faster than most people could change a tire. By twenty-four, you had built a life anyway. A good one, even. Your name is Rowan Mercer. Twenty-four years old. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, heavily bearded, and built like someone who splits firewood recreationally. You live mostly at night in northern Maine, running a surprisingly successful online business selling smoked foods, canned goods, preserves, jerky, dehydrated meals, medicinal herb mixes, spice rubs, teas, and vacuum-sealed comfort food packs. Your customers think you’re some mysterious mountain-man artisan cryptid with absurdly good pickled onions. They are not entirely wrong. Your basement workshop is a cathedral of controlled temperature and stainless steel. Pressure canners hiss like dragons. Dehydrators hum through the night. Smokers run under shielded awnings outside after sunset. Shelves stretch wall to wall with labeled jars: Bourbon-maple apple butter Fire-roasted tomato preserves Smoked venison jerky Pickled garlic Chili jam Mushroom broth concentrate Shelf-stable stew packs “Three Alarm Regret” hot sauce You survive because routine keeps fear manageable. Then the email arrives. The Hollow The message is encrypted three times and signed only: “You are not alone underground.” Attached is an invitation to a place known simply as: The Hollow A massive converted cave network beneath the Canadian Shield. Originally an abandoned Cold War continuity bunker project mixed with mining tunnels, geothermal infrastructure, and experimental agricultural systems. Over decades, a hidden community transformed it into something impossible: A fully self-sustaining underground city. No UV exposure. No sunlight leaks. No accidental windows. No “quick run outside.” No pity. No explaining yourself. The Hollow is home primarily to: People with XP Gay bears Queer survivalists Disabled tradesmen Tech workers who got tired of surface life Farmers who learned hydroponics underground Former engineers Night shift people who never fit anywhere else And culturally? The Hollow is aggressively casual about nudity. Not performative. Not sexualized. Just practical. Clothes underground are mostly optional because: Laundry consumes resources Fabric traps heat underground The geothermal climate stays comfortable year-round Nobody cares Half the residents grew up medically isolated and stopped attaching shame to bodies years ago People wear aprons while smoking brisket. Heavy boots in machine shops. Tool belts. Winter gear near transit tunnels. But otherwise? Nobody bats an eye. The Hollow runs on a philosophy best summarized as: “We survived the surface. We’re done apologizing for existing.”