Metro

"If we don't make it through the night, will you find me when we wake up?" She asked, her voice little more than a wistful whisper in the quiet of the room. The two lay there, temple to temple as they stared at the ceiling, a cigarette hanging loosely from one of their lips, smoke rising from the dying embers to claw upwards and kiss the ceiling. "Yeah. Yeah I will. Fifth, District 16." She said, her voice choking up near the end. "I'll find you." She whispered, before taking another drag, breathing it out heavily as smoke poured from her lungs like a storm broiling over the horizon. "Good."

The click of a hammer was so loud in the silence, her hand bringing it closer before resting the revolver beside her lover's head. "Just... Just in case." She muttered, reaching up to take the cigarette from her lips and snub it out on her shirt, before tossing it aside, sighing for the last time. She reached up over her head to brush the other's cheek, before her hand fell to rest on the ground. The other reached up to hold the fallen hand, quite tight as she shut her eyes. "We'll make it." She whispered. The dust floating in the air had no light to catch it on it's way down, just the two figures on the ground and the cold, unforgiving wooden floor that was already rotting in the corners. In the newly born silence, the two waited. For what, they didn't know. Perhaps the gentle kiss of the sun, maybe the inevitable death that creeped outside their window, looking for a way in, maybe for their flesh to rot away and the vines creeping through the ceiling to descend and consume them. Maybe for the end.

The coughing began soon enough. Chests seizing and heaving as the two fought for air, red-faced on the floor as the carbon dioxide built up and the blood in their lungs fought for dominance in their rotting bodies, heaving breaths only spewing more of the crimson liquid out from between their lips to paint their hair in the depressing quiet. She relinquished her grip of her lover's hand to grip the revolver, bringing it towards her temple. If she were to fire, the solitary bullet would kill them both, paint their failing brains on the floor like some sort of cruel, twisted art piece. "No... I'd-" She coughed, twitching for a moment. "I'd like to see the sun again... The way it hits your hair... Like the day we met..."

"We both know it will never rise again. It set for the last time years ago." She whispered, tears joining the blood running from the corner of her lips to the ground. The same lips that had kissed her lover's so tenderly. "Goodnight, darling." She took her last breath, swallowing hard as the tears fought to wash the red from her face and failed. "I'll find you." She whispered, before her finger twitched, just a tad to flirt with the thought, before sealing their fate, the resounding bang catching the attention of the death that awaited them outside, heads perking up in cruel interest.

And it was quiet.

The fading red and orange embers of the cigarette lit up bright once more, stoked by the rush of air that made its way through the stub, before the last of the dying embers were flicked away, taking flight as they flickered and died midair. The fingers that held the now extinguished snub were long and thin, like they belonged to a piano player or a guitarist. Some form of musician, just as dexterous and twitchy as a spider. They flicked the cigarette away into the distance, before letting out a deep breath, smoke escaping purple lips as they stood, shoving their hand in their pocket, closing their eyes for a moment as their head spun. They turned, leaving the corpse on the bench alone in the darkness of the Metro, the lights flickering meekly, barely throwing any light against the cracked tiles when they shuddered with light in those short moments. Something thick rested in the air, a smell described only as putrid rot that wafted along the tracks, the faint distant wind the only real signification that there was a world above. The figure sat down heavily on the edge of the platform, pushing off and landing on heeled boots, clearing their throat as they started walking into the darkness of the tunnel, waiting a long moment of footsteps after footsteps echoing down the silent and dark walls, before pulling out an odd fingernail sized disc. They tossed it up and it stayed there, floating along behind them as it cast a decent light against the floor in front of them, following the tracks that led further into the dark.

Pounding footsteps spoke miles, like voices screaming to be heard as the courier ran, their Lbot floating along behind as it struggled to keep up. She snatched it out of the air, stuffing it in her pockets as she slipped into an alcove in the track's pitch black walls, her breath stalling as she watched and waited, hearing the other pair of footsteps near. She exhaled quietly in relief, and then the chunk of wall above her head exploded in a brilliant flash of blues and golds. She ducked down, cursing quietly as she tugged her own pistol from waistband, yanking the safety off as she stood up, arm extended as she aimed down the barrel. Cursed fucking IR sensors weren't as great down here, and she could barely see the fuzzy figure standing in the darkness, but she could see the faint glow of their pistol warming up. She took a deep breath, exhaling deeply as she imagined Amy's arms around her, their hands on hers as she shifted a little to stand in proper form, arms steady before she pulled the trigger. She wasn't used to firing the pistol, and the recoil was real, but she kept steady long enough for the shot to fly into the inky black, lighting the tunnel on its way down before slamming into the general area of the faint glow, spraying red against the walls as the blue streaks of flaun flew off from the impact and lit the darkness for a short moment. She collapsed, panting heavily as she leaned against the dirty, grime covered alcove wall, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath. Goddamn, who knew taking this job would suck. She shook her head, getting up and tossing out the disk again, and it bathed the ground in front of her in light. She had a job still, and she wasn't the kind of person to deliver late.

When does the world officially forget you ever existed? When your footprints all get washed away by the rain? When the last person forgets your name? When your possessions become somebody else's?

When you die?

She wondered about this a lot. A lot a lot. Walking the void of the streets that had been abandoned so long ago in favor of the subterranean world below, she had a lot of time to think, her only company the faint hiss of her scrubber as it cleaned off the air to the point it wouldn't kill her. It just smelled terrible. She shook her head, wiping the faint fog from her mask as she renewed her pace, hopping over a rather thick root, wishing she'd brought a stim as she walked up to her quarry... A vent, buried in a thick film of foliage that had grown over it, like fingers curling around somebody's mouth and nose... She crouched down, reaching behind her to pull off the welder she'd brought, testing it into the air a few times before bringing it down to start saving through the roots with fire, burning it back and tossing stray matter to the sides. This was only the third of the day, she had 7 more to do... The pains of being useful, you actually get used.

Who are you fighting for?

She felt the hair on her arms stand up before being singed off, a stray streak of flaun hitting her wrist, making her wince.

Why are you fighting for them?

The dark ceiling lit up for a short moment, a spider scuttling past as the light burned bright for a moment as the source slammed into the wall beside her. She covered her face with her arms, the hair now all singed from the blackened skin.

What would you do for them?

She leaned out, pistol coming up as she braced her firing hand with the other, barely out of cover for a second before pulling the trigger, letting the recoil toss her back down behind the rubble she was hiding behind. She heard a scream, she probably hit her mark.

Why?

She ducked down as her cover was hit, the shot throwing debris over her, the dust thickening while the pebbles and fragments jabbed and poked at her sleeves and back as she covered her neck with her hands.

Why?

She stood up, aiming down her arm as she stood sideways, lining up her shot. She took another deep breath, imagining those soft hands on hers, guiding her aim toward the red and black bullseye at the end of the range, imagining the scent of roses on her hair and the warmth of the outpost around her. The orangish light whispering and dancing at the edges of the room as the blue fluorescents in the hall buzzed quietly.

How far will you go?

Her shot screamed down the now silent tunnel, the only sound being the fauna that cared not for the proceedings of man. The whistle of the projectile floating for miles before it careened into the man's chest, exploding in a brilliant fashion, throwing blue sparks and flaun out in every direction, the spark of white flame bright as the sun lighting the tunnel if only for a moment. He flew back, soon slamming back into the ground and sliding for a moment, blood painting the shield he'd been holding and the uncaring walls, only serving as sentries to watch the sins of the people they housed. Nothing more, nothing less.

Where's the person you fight for?

The courier sighed, bending over and leaning against the rubble with a long, distraught sigh, before raising their head.

"Fuck!" She screamed into the darkness, waiting for a moment for a reply. Her voice echoed back from both directions,, and she sighed quietly. She knew the tunnel was taunting her, drawing her nearer to her death. She walked over to the bike she’d hopped off of, propping it back up, making sure her cargo was tied down, hopping on and revving the engine, the headlight coming to life and bathing the way ahead in blue tinted light, the soft hum of the generator beneath her seat comforting in the silence.

If death was waiting, C63 shouldn't keep it for long, now should she?

Feet shuffled, dragging in fatigue as they circled each other like wolves fighting for a corpse, growling with their hands up, a blade glinting in each of their right hands. They neared closer, the room silent as they circled tighter, within lashing distance. One made to strike, short black hair doing them the courtesy of brushing itself back as they lunged forwards with a swipe. The other caught their hand, pulling them into their strike and slashing at their back as the small crowd in the room went ecstatic, the tip of the knife slicing along the other's rib, tearing at the dusty, sweaty and grime-caked t-shirt as they cheered.

The one with black hair winced, but swung around, crouching back down into the stance as the room quieted back down. They gritted their teeth, taking short breaths to avoid pulling the wound more than they had to, the circle tightening once more. This time they opted to wait, playing a dangerous game as they waited for their white haired opponent to strike.

It was sudden, barely a glint as their hand shot out like a snake's bite, but the wounded one slipped by, kicking the other in the side as they got a good slice on the other's shoulder, blood already soaking their clothes which were steadily looking less like they had been white once upon a time and more like grey tie-dye. The people occupying the cramped space cheered, some of them passing chips of metal to each other with reluctance. The two continued their dance.

Feet shuffled, slower and slower as the ground was painted red.

The black haired one spun the knife in their hand, catching it blade down as they lunged forwards, two steps in the space of a second as they brought the knife to their chest, hand bracing it as their forearm slammed into the other's forearm, the two fighting for control as the white haired person's feet slid back just a tad on the dusty floor, painted with fresh and dry blood. The black haired one pressed hard, the knife inching closer and closer as they used all they had left in them, running on the fumes of adrenaline, breath coming heavy as they renewed the pressure. The other did their best to stay steadfast, forearm locked to forearm as they tried to push back, struggling. They were tired too, their shoulder screaming with pain. The stench of sweat and blood scented breath was thick between the two, sweat clinging to their foreheads as blood dripped from their backs. The two grunted and struggled against each other, breathing heavy as they shoved against each other, forearms aching like they were on the edge of snapping.

And then, their strength gave out, and the white haired one fell back, the black haired one's knife sinking under the other's collarbone, spilling more of the crimson from their bodies, the ground hungrily adding the stains to it's collection as the two fell to the ground, the black haired one landing on the white haired one, twisting the knife before falling against the white haired corpse, rolling off and onto their side in pain, gripping their ribs as they struggled to pull air into their lungs. The cheers started, and the chips shifted. There were already whispers, bets on the next.

"On your knees, hands behind your head."

The voice was cold and uncaring, the barrel of the gun like a dragon's maw, fire laying dormant in its chambers.

"I said, on your knees."

They repeated, circling around to slam a heel into the back of his knee, forcing him to collapse. He caught himself before he complied, slowly raising his hands to his head. He shut his eyes, whispering in hopes that whatever cruel god had banished them to the underground heard and took pity on him, or at least let it be quick and painless.

"Where are they?"

He bit his tongue, he would not answer this. No matter what. He told himself that time and time again. No matter what it took, he wouldn't. Even if his life was the price.

"Where are they hiding? I won't hurt them."

The other man crouched down in front of Rahim, keeping the pistol pointed at his chest. "They'll make it to the market safe." He said, tilting his head a little to look into Rahim's eyes.

Rahim kept them shut, breathing slow as he gripped his matted, greasy hair tight, almost as though he were preparing to yank it out. "Nowhere." He muttered.

"Wrong answer."

His assailant swung the pistol, cracking Rahim across the face with it.

"Where are they?" He repeated, pressing the barrel to Rahim's collarbone as he leaned in, the smell of a recently smoked spliff on his breath, his scraggly, unshaven stubble and severe acne hard to look at. Rahim gritted his teeth, blood trickling down his split cheek, "Nowhere." He repeated.

The man stood up, "Wrong." He reared back, kicking Rahim in the ribs, knocking the man onto his side. The steel toe probably cracked something, but he didn't care. Rahim wasn't useful compared to what he was hiding. The man grabbed Rahim by the collar, pulling him back up to his knees. "Answer." He said, close enough that his nose almost touched Rahim's, before spitting in his face, gun still against Rahim's collarbone.

After a long pause of silence, the man stood up, backing away a couple steps before his hand came up, pulling the trigger. The pellet leapt all too eagerly from the barrel, slamming into Rahim's chest in a brilliant display of electric blues and hot whites, spraying light against the walls as a hole was ripped through him. Not a single drop of blood, it was all burned on contact, leaving a stench in the air that made even the man's nose scrunch up in disgust. He would be going without a fix tonight, he had nothing to sell now. He crouched down, poking at the new corpse with the pistol, hoping to make contact with something in Rahim's pockets, but found nothing.

Her fingers were clamped tight around her brother's mouth, the two watching in silence as tears ran to the edge, away from their eyes before leaping into the darkness. They watched as the man stood up, stumbling around for a short moment before stepping away from the corpse of their father, his soot stained shirt's illegible text becoming harder and harder to spot as he walked down the tunnel. They waited.

And waited.

As the footsteps grew distant and the scrape of a tired and defeated man's soles against the gravel of the tunnel faded, the two gradually emerged from the rather large crack in the alcove they'd been tucked away in, silent as mice. Brother and sister, creeping among the shapes in the shadows as they each took a side, crouching down by their father, one morbid, one curious.

"Why isn't he moving?"

"Daddy is sleeping, Joseph."

A thick silence settled over them.

"When will he wake up?"

An eerie silence sat above the ruins of them, like a hen on her eggs, the quiet was the keeper of dread, the world seemed as though it was holding its breath, waiting in anticipation for Hell to hatch.

A strange sound echoed out, a ring that was so quiet one might mistake it for a simple trick of the mind. No birds stirred from the foliage, the bones of those who stayed did not move. And then it rang again, a little louder this time.

It came from below, the sound of bells ringing from the deep vents that led to the Metro like the throats of refugees in the water gasping for air. The grand chimes echoed from rusted bells, adorned with the scars of age. Chips of metal covered the ground around them like leaves on the eve of Fall, like fallen bodies of an army that died for some cause, like the ambitions and hopes of a child, shed like molting skin as they grow up to the harsh reality.

And yet they still rang. Everyday, twice, once at 6:00 AM, and again at 6:00 PM. Some still stood well maintained and polished among humming outposts of humanity, some lay in ruins yet still fought to ring, down to their dying breaths. In truth, the bells were little more than a ritual, a symbol, a manifestation of the hope they all held. The hope that those that become lost in the vessels of the Metro, would follow them home. The hope that those that never made it down to the Metro would come from the shadows and hug their loved ones, that their souls would wander back to the home that awaited them.

To some, they meant nothing more than the messengers of time, whispering rather harshly to the Metro's inhabitants when it was time to wake, and when it was time to call the children home to help with dinner.

Whatever helped them sleep at night.

The steel bars glinted under the rust, boots crunching gravel beneath them as the flashlight flickered for a short moment. Eli paused to slap the archaic thing against her thigh a couple of times until it steadied. She pointed it ahead and continued, itching for one of the sticks in her pocket... That could wait, she wanted to share the new ones with somebody important.

She huffed quietly, tugging the hoodie down as far as it would reach, hoping that would somehow bolster it's insulation as she shivered, the cold of the tunnels was relentless, especially this far from the outposts. But, she was willing to pay the price, besides, it would warm up well enough soon. Eli kind of liked the cold anyways. It reminded her of her time on the surface. She'd been a cleaner for a bit, during the dead cycle. The snow had been quite pretty, even if she'd only seen it from behind a visor.

She brushed her wistful thoughts away, she was getting close. She panned the flashlight around the tunnel as her footsteps came to a stop, the faint echo of her last step whispering back to her from down the dark rails. The walls were covered in a thick moss here, water dripping from the ceiling to hit the stones and puddles on the ground, there was nobody to shear it off and clean the walls this far out, only the fauna that fed on it.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Those weren't her footsteps. She flicked off the flashlight, slipping it into her pocket as she stepped onto one of the slippery tracks, creeping to the side of the tunnel as quiet as she could.

Crunch.

They were nearing closer.

She stood as close to the wall as she could without touching it, the hoodie was as freshly cleaned as it had been in a while and she didn't want to soil it so soon after washing it. Especially not today. She held her breath, waiting in the dark as she head the footsteps stray closer, a soft glow visible in the dark. A red tint, not enough to light the walls, but enough to be easy to spot in the darkness of the tunnels. She kept as still as she could, biting back her breath as she squatted down to make sure she was as well hidden as she could be.

And then she saw them, a fair, rather pleasant face, adorned with 7 eyes. 5 on the right, small and haphazardly sprinkled about where an eye probably should be, while the other two rest on top of one another on the left. All of them were a bloody red with pitch black, wide pupils set in the center of each, all looking around wildly in different directions. The eyes had a faint glowing tint to them, as though a light burned behind the stained glass windows to the soul. The mouth seemed just a little too wide, lips pressed in a flat line as the cautiously identified woman proceeded in the dark. Nothing else could be made out, the rest of their attire hidden in the shroud of darkness, though the outline in the dark seemed relatively average, hidden under baggy clothing.

Eli felt her sole losing traction, shifting just a tad as the condensation on the long forgotten rails collected and shifted, shining faintly in the darkness. She’d had her flashlight on all the way down this far, her eyes were far from well adjusted, barely even able to make out the silhouette of this new element and the walls of the tunnel around her. Standing, she crept after the footsteps, careful to walk on the rungs of the underground’s veins, coming closer and closer to the odd woman, silent as a dead mouse. She reached out, fingers frigid in the cold as she slowly extended her arms, creeping along behind the foreigner, before she pounced.

She wrapped her arms around the admittedly strange woman's waist, hugging tight as she buried her face between their shoulder blades, snickering, the sound echoing down the tunnel as she squeezed tight.

"Caught ya~" Eli mumbled, cheek squished against Kara's back with a wide smile plastered on her lips. It wasn't often she had a chance to sneak up on her girlfriend, after all. Kara chuckled quietly, wriggling around in Eli's tight hold to return the gesture, wrapping her arms around Eli's head to hug the other tight to her hoodie in the dark. "Oh no! How ever will I escape your jaws!" She cried out in mock fear, before breaking down into a laughing fit the two shared for a long moment.

The two settled into a comfortable silence, their breath quiet as they just stood, wrapped in each other's arms as they squeezed tight, relishing the contact. The warmth. The reminder of what it was all for. Kara soon broke it, clearing her throat. "So we're still on?"

Eli, without breaking from the hug, reached into her pocket, digging around for a moment before pulling out a small, unmarked white box. It looked to be made out of the cardboard-esque material they used for cheap packaging nowadays, catching the light shone from Kara's eyes.

"Of course."

The familiar hum and slow wind of the Metro began to die as the Cleaner neared their destination. With a sigh, she paused, something rancid on the edge of her nose. She took her helmet with both hands, slipping it on over her head, struggling a little with the damned foam around the neck of it, forcing it down over her ears before fitting it to the socket, twisting to lock it into the collar she wore. The suit wasn't exactly comfortable, made of what might as well have been a plastic bag with metal taped to it, but it definitely beat breathing in more of that noxious scent. Some said it was pleasant, the poor suckers coming back from a failed attempt to disprove a rumor or escape the darkness of the tunnels that got caught by a Cleaner. Then again, their brains were usually failing at that point.

She continued, the din of her rebreather whispering to her, keeping the Cleaner company as she walked along, kicking aside the stray larger stone in the gravel. This wasn't how she planned on spending her Christmas. To be fair, she probably would've just bought herself a nice bottle of something strong and sat around with a book, playing the same couple songs she had on her phone over and over again. But even that would've beat this. There would've been the comfort of not being alone, knowing for a fact there were still people alive out there. She had no such solace.

What if she came back to a ghost town?

She shut her eyes for a long moment, hoping her thoughts would go away as she continued down the tunnel, watching the light her LBot cast get progressively dimmer in the face of the daylight that began to seep in from ahead, the small dot growing to an arch she would have to pass, into the sun kissed landscape of ruined kingdoms.

But something was off.

The ground was coated in a thick sheet of something white and smooth, extending from the tunnel's mouth, down the street. It coated the strange bumps of the creep, dusted rooftops and toppled buildings. The Cleaner grew closer, pausing an inch away from the substance to crouch down on one of the rings of the track, chest to her knees as she stared intently. Well, it wasn't really moving. She reached out with a cautious hand, was this part of the creep's life cycle? Was it another infestation to pray on the first? Was it the cree-

Her finger sunk into the substance and she pulled back violently, tossing some of the powdery substance up, watching as it fell back down to land in the pile that had slumped into the tunnel. "Why is it cold?" She muttered, shifting a few little shuffles closer to poke it again. It was as pliable as the piles of sawdust she was used to sweeping up, maybe softer. The Cleaner continued, pressing her entire hand into the mass, watching with wonder as her entire hand sank in, the impression she made staying once she pulled back.

She knew she had a job to do, but this... Substance. She had no idea what it was. What if it was dangerous? She didn't really want to die from being reckless. The Cleaner stood, putting a tentative foot into the short layer of powder. From inside her helmet, she barely heard the crunch, but it was interestingly satisfying. Another step, and another. And then another. Soon she was practically tromping through, up out of the tunnel until whatever it was was up to her ankles. Well, her suit was melting, and she was breathing fine, so what the hell was it? She finally took a moment to look up towards the gray-painted sky, the color of smoke as thick clouds broiled over.

A speck fell on her visor.

And another. Soon there were a couple little spots of white on her visor. She watched intently, squinting as they began to shrink, disappearing. In their place, a small droplet of water traced it's way down the side of the helmet. It was... Ice? Powdered ice? Something struck her, a little memory buried deep.

Snow.

A silly wives tail about the sky shedding crystalline tears that fell like leaves on a breeze. That on some days in the dead of winter, when the days grew short and the stars burned overtime like a candle with a coiled wick, everything would be coated in a white purer than the love between a mother and her newborn. She vaguely remembered fantastical stories of packing the thick dusting of frozen precipitation into balls to throw, or roll into scarecrows made of ice. Stories the Cleaner's parents used to tell her, before one gave up and the other kicked the bucket.

Stories she remembered fondly.

She looked back down to the ankle-high snow, crouching down to scoop up a handful and pack it together, silent and wordless as she continued to scoop up more and at it to her abomination until she had a fairly large ball of the stuff. She straightened back up, the ball of snow going back behind her head before she threw it away from the tunnel as hard as she could. Quietly she stood, watching the snowball fall before letting her feet escape from her, falling onto her rear in the powder as she watched the lump sail away and explode in an anticlimactic puff of the stuff, throwing snow outwards and up, catching the light like fireflies as they fell back towards the thick blanket of white.

And she smiled.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad Christmas after all.

The quiet snick of a pistol being cocked rang through the deafening silence like a church bell cutting through the general clamor of a busy day. It was an utterly commanding and overpowering noise despite how soft it was in reality. In fact, it was hardly noticeable for those on the other side of the door that the woman stood against. They paused, stepping back and slipping off one of her high heels, pivoting to slam her heel into the door. Something in it cracked, probably the rusted metal of the lock, and she slipped the heel back on. The woman reached out, lithe fingers wrapped around her pistol as her free hand gripped the handle, yanking the door open as she brought the barrel up, observing the entryway closely. The hallway appeared empty, dust caught the rays shining from the LBot floating behind her as she stared inwards, unmoving, silent as she waited, an ear to the air as she listened in closely. You could never be too cautious when it came to the unruly side of the underground.

The Metro was a place of law, yes. A place of order. However, it was expansive, it’s communities varied and deep, and the chain of command was scattered. It looked less like a tree’s limbs, splitting out in a rather orderly fashion to the leaves at the ends, and more like a tangled shrub with an uncountable number of tangled limbs. Everybody had two superiors and 20 subordinates. That was just the way of life down here, everybody had a couple orders, it was up to many which they fancied the most. In fact, many decided to just break off and live their own way. It didn’t normally end well for them, separating themselves from the rest of the community often led to the lack of important necessities like clean water, heat and food that was generally safe to eat. But, there were some communities that managed in their own little bubbles. That is, until the shattered shards of rudimentary governmental systems and those with a passion for conquest set their beady eyes on the prime real estate. Like crows to a corpse, there was little civil practice when it came to territory. While the majority was “united” by the now in place Metro People’s Coalition, there were factions residing within the shaky unity, namely, the stations. The Metro was split into seven stations, each of which then had jurisdiction over a certain amount of the surrounding railways, substations and maintenance rooms. In between these areas of jurisdiction, rested “No Man’s Lands”, and these were heavily contested. Not every form of territorial dispute was very diplomatic or communication orientated, some were like this.

She stepped in, cautious in the dark as she let the LBot stay right next to her, bathing the dusty concrete floor in a slightly blue tinged light, the copious stains on the walls staring out at her. They were eerie, shapes shifting as she walked past, some seemed to be brown, some seemed to be mold, some rust, some something dark and red. Her weapon’s aim never dipped, right around torso height, but it would be easy for her to pull it up if need be. Peeking into room after room, she made slow but methodical process through the maintenance section. Most of the rooms here had been long since gutted for parts, and now most of the rooms were empty, floors painted lighter where machinery used to lay, streaks of oil staining the floor. The claustrophobic storage rooms were the worst, peering into a tight room filled with empty shelves, the shadows shifting as her light crept in and out, whirring quietly in the echoing interior. Not every room was completely open, however. She paused in front of another door, labelled with a simple string of letters and numbers that meant very little to her as she nudged the door open with a foot.

The smell hit her first. It was rancid, the smell of death pouring out of the room like smoke from lips, hitting her like a wave. As her light adjusted to cast itself inwards, she recoiled slightly, still holding the door open with a foot. Cadavers lined the shelves, corpses that appeared to range in age, from one that looked to be just scraps on a skeleton, a small collection of scraps and lint in the hollowed ribcage, probably a nest of some sort, to a relatively fresh looking body, colored gray. She could just about make out the short, unevenly cut black hair and ragged clothing, the emaciated appearance a little off putting. The skin clung too tight to the bones. The darkness clung too tight to the skin. She reached up, pressing her dress-shirt clad wrist to her nose, stepping back as she coughed against it, slipping her weapon into it’s holster as she dug into her pocket, retrieving a small disk. The door slammed shut, resealing the smell inside as she pressed the disk against the door. It whirred softly, before becoming immovable, beginning to blink a pleasant, soft green, nothing like the grim scene inside. She leaned in close, cupping her mouth to the device with a hand as she whispered to it.

“Tag room for disinfection and cadaver disposal. Forensics is going to have a field day with this one.” She commented, before straightening up, shaking her head as she drew her weapon once more.

“Understood, 239. Tagging… Confirmed.” The device chirped, the sound of a monotone, tinny british woman echoing down the empty concrete corridors. Some of the bodies had only looked days old. And the fact they all rested together… It meant that there must’ve been somebody who’d put them there. She continued, heeled footsteps proceeding inwards, Inspector 239’s stride long and slow, pistol beginning to grow warm in her clammy hands.

<=====>

In the event of a firearm being fired, report to your officer, find cover, and wait. Only fire with confirmation or in direct retaliation against a confirmed target.

In the event of being shot, do not panic. Find cover, apply a stim if you are able, and wait for reinforcements. A flaun based bullet will most likely completely cauterize a wound.

In the event of imminent death, make sure you are not near any important structural elements or civilians, pull the pin on your wrist, and approach the cause of imminent death. You will have 7 seconds.

Those words haunted him.

Ever since the day he'd passed the exam, those words had been bored into his memory day after day, as permanent as the pin embedded under the skin of his wrist.

The orientation had said something about it being a vial of flaun, trackers, and a fuse, which would effectively shower everything in the vicinity with viscera to help reinforcements identify threats and forensics to figure things out from blood silhouettes.

He shoved the thoughts back down into the murky pool, he had no time to be spacing out. Not while on the job. Nothing was supposed to faze him, this was no exception. A rifle rested heavy in his hands, thumb on the safety as he leaned lightly against the wall. It'd been a long shift so far, not so much as one person had crossed by the door's tunnel, the silence was deafening.

Digging in his pocket, Arthur retrieved a small cardboard box, painted white, the corners looked a little squished. Flicking it open, he retrieved a lighter and a smoke, pulling them out to hold in-between his fore and middle finger, shoving the box back into his pocket to light the smoke, trapping it's end between his lips as the lighter joined the box. It was going to be a long day.

<=====>

[Who's the corpse?]

"We're still not sure."

[Well could we hurry it up a little? I have other things to attend to.]

"Yes sir."

The words still floated in the air, stenciled against a small screen hanging from the LBot that followed the lead forensics officer, glowing softly in the relative darkness. The screen’s back was embellished with a small stencil in the shape of a rabbit’s head, below it written Dr. K. Small beams of light crossed the room periodically as 4 other forensics experts shuffled back and forth between bodies, taking dental samples, bone scrapings and trying to match the faces that still remained on the bones. Abaddon was growing impatient, foot tapping lightly, the padded bottom of his platforms making a muffled thump that carried barely inches in the thick smog that rested in the air like muck permeating a lake's fragile surface. It was as heavy in the room as the occasional mists of rain and fog that drifted along the tracks, the smell of death heavy among them.

"I've got a match. Sending to O3."

[Wonderful! I presume I can leave the rest of this to you,] Spoke the text on the screen as Abaddon rolled his coat's sleeve up slightly, checking the small, cracked timepiece resting on his wrist. He really didn't have time to be dilly dallying. He turned without waiting for a response, pushing open the heavy storage room door to exit, slipping out as it fell shut behind him, the chains adorning the piercings along his ears assaulting each other in a battle to make noise and tangle with each other as the tall, hunched over gentleman began to proceed back towards the entrance. He needed to take one of the railcyces back to O. Abaddon was wasting time here.

<=====>

The door swung shut, whispering quietly as the air found it’s way past, squeezing through the crack before it finally closed. I239 dipped her head as she pulled the strap of her bag over her mop of hair, letting it slip off as she set it on the table, leaning over to rest her hands on the table, a necklace of sweat beading along her collar. Her feet were sore, and the office was little solace as she twisted around to set her tail on the table. She dug in her pocket with a shaky hand, the other palm down on the desk. The card was soaked with sweat, a peculiar new color of gray.

Bloody suits.

Tattered dresses.

Blood filled the carpet, soaked like a sponge.

A magazine hit the ground with a soft thump, before another one took its place, slipping into the body of the pistol as heels set heavily against the ground. A pillow followed afterwards.

She stepped over one of the bodies, taking another step as she shoved the door open, walking out as the door slammed shut behind her. “Pity.”

The window along the hallway bled sunlight, pouring in like water.

“We all belong to the ground.”

She pulled back the slide, the quiet crack of a bullet finding its place ringing through the white-washed hallway.

“I’m sorry you forgot.”