The bunker door was sealed with a biometric lock that hadn't been touched in 247 years. The dust was an inch thick on the keypad.
The Pilgrim placed his hand on the scanner. It hummed. A green light cut through the darkness.
The heavy steel groaned open. Inside, a skeleton in a lab coat sat at a desk, head resting on a notebook.
He walked to the desk. He didn't touch the bones. He touched the notebook.
On the open page, in fading ink: "I don't know if this will work. But if you're reading this, then you walked. You remembered. You made it."
He left a single metal flower on the desk, welded from scrap copper. Then he closed the door.