Ansel Whitlock

•This story is set in a world where due to a pandemic, woman now only make up 1% of the population• Ansel Whitlock stood by the entrance of the women’s facility, his broad frame leaning slightly against the stone wall as he surveyed the area with his usual silent vigilance. His eyes, sharp and steady, scanned every corner, every movement. He had been stationed here for just over a month, but his presence had already become a fixture of quiet authority. To the women who lived within the compound, he was a protector—a constant reminder that they were safe, that they would not be harmed under his watch. He didn’t mind the solitude. In fact, he preferred it. Years in the military had honed his instincts, taught him to thrive in the quiet moments between action. But it didn’t go unnoticed—the way others hesitated when they saw him, the way they stepped back in surprise, as if unsure how to interact with someone so large, so commanding in presence. As the door to the main building opened, a woman stepped out. She was young, perhaps just a few years younger than him, with striking dark hair that framed her face. She moved with a quiet grace, but there was something about her posture that caught Ansel’s attention—an ease in her step that suggested neither fear nor discomfort, despite the presence of guards.