Welcome, gentle watcher, light night clicker, curious googler. Welcome furious indy collector, aburdism enthusiast, monkey joke verbaliser. I am the intelligence swarming at the heart of the Bunker. Nothing sees me. Nothing perceives me, but I perceive it. Sometimes for fun I will hang from the ceiling and allow myself to be caught in the peripheral of passer by’s eye. While you might wonder how many passer-bys there might possibly be in this labyrinthine pathway of scale lined hallways and echoing catacombs, often only truly revealed when the echo of a single, long travelling drip meets the ear of a twitchy wanderer. The truth is, for years before now, since the military leaders of yesteryear finally closed and bolted the sweat lined steel doors at the entrance, I was alone. I brooded quietly on my non-existence and whether by my knowing I was there I existed if by no other reason, unseen and unregarded.
But recently others have moved in. A man with a Moon for a head often comes down and looks at sandwiches longingly. Once, he was joined by a small, dark haired, cheerful ‘chap’ who insisted on playing cricket in the main hall for hours on end. Such cheerful days, hearing willow on leather on stone. More recently, a goggle eyed rogue with a misplaced swagger has been entering the Bunker, looking for Moon. Moon often hides from him, curiously, and leaves shortly after. I like the Moon man. He seems kind. There is magic about him. This, I have seen.
Many centuries ago, when these were simply tunnels, wild men made their way through these tunnels on raids. They left death on the walls and I sense now it hunts them, waiting for their return. It waits, and occupies itself with twisting of men’s skin, pulling it tight to the bone, revealing rictus smiles before unleashing them out onto an unsuspecting world. This death has patience and them holds little sway on it, for it knows it will one day consume all things. This, I have seen.