"Blood, Sweat and Tears"

[AliasTheory]

Alright. So I don't have anything story this week to post, because although I have a chapter of roughly 5000 words done, I feel it is much more appropriate to read with the other 5000 words or so I have left to write. I feel it is probably one of the more symbolic, profound and significant things I've ever written, even if it is technically fanfiction.

 

This week: thank you to whoever the he** reads my writing. (I apologize for never having expressed that before.) I write for myself, though reading comments is motivating. This thread gets a lot of views (relatively speaking) for some weird reason, and I don't consider myself a good writer. A haphazardly-written plot doesn't deserve this much attention; this entire story is honestly my big experiment to suck less at writing. Truthfully, I look back at the older chapters for this story and I dislike what I have. (If you ever think you've written anything good here's the test for it: come back to it just a couple years later and see if you still like it.) Regardless, constructive comments and compliments would and will always be greatly appreciated.

 

Attached to this post is FILLER. I usually keep lots of drawings to myself. In the future, I might turn bits and chunks of this fanfiction into a true work of original fiction...which means all new characters. I don't know if and when I'll finish it. I doubt anyone is interested! It involves tying in the very traditional, culturally-influenced childhood I've had growing up in Hawaii and blending it with science fiction.

 

Anyway, this attached sketch is supposed to be of the alter ego of the spunky girl with the outrageous hairdo in *this* current story for *that* story. I don't usually draw manga-style (though I have friends that do.) I like the pointy-chin things. I suck at drawing fingers. I am terrible at anatomy. Those things are fact. Many engineering students like myself suck at art, and if any of you take note of the picture itself, are equally subject to bad handwriting. It'll probably just remain as a sketch and I'll never do anything digital with it. College kids are too poor to afford tablets.

 

So for now...

 

trollface.jpg

Edited September 6, 2011 by AliasTheory

[Odile]

Didn't read the latest chapter, because I'm actually in the process of re-reading the entire thing, and I want to read it in order for maximum fanfictional satisfaction.

 

Just wanted to tell you..YAY ARTWORKS. Draw moar of them for me. I want to see :O Her hair is very fluffy. *pets* It is...TRULY OUTRAGEOUS *showing my age up in here*

 

And I'll need a transcription of the text you wrote there. Not because of your handwriting (it isn't bad at all, actually), but rather some of it is hard to read because of the scan. Gimmie

[CheeseyBall]

Her fingers...are phenomenally weird. Sorry, that was harsh :S

She has massive hair...*poke* :3

[AliasTheory]

<--- BACKWARD

 

============================

Chapter 29: Post Hoc

============================

 

Awakened, my eyes flash open, revealing the blue sky in the cool, crisp air of morning. There isn’t a cloud in sight. To my right is the considerately-situated concrete barrier that had helped ensure our nightly protection. Still drowsy, I roll my head to the left to see all of my friends scattered about the campsite, they as mellow as can be. A thick layer of fog blankets the area. The campfire has been long since extinguished; Lyn and Saya alternate turns throwing pebbles at its teepee structure, blackened bark crumbling to the ground. Perched on the opposing concrete barrier are organized cans of pork and beans, presumably empty and consumed. One can, however, remains unopened.

 

The blanket of fog is almost disturbing, although somewhat soporific. It’s ominous, even sinister. I sure hope we can find our way back to Underworld.

 

Still tired, I cradle my head back into the comfort of my loose bag to reflect the sky again. A long day lies ahead.

 

-----

 

It isn’t too long before we are up and on the road again – literally. Saori retrieves the retired Stealth Boy, and a can of food later, we’re off. Lyn leads the way out of the crinkly underbrush, vegetation becoming increasingly sparser as we proceed. There is no talking, and not even any whistling of breezes fills the silence. We walk southwest, careful to avoid the National Guard Depot altogether, and spot dead, towering utility poles jutted in various directions around a roadway. With the dense fog surrounding us, our observation is far more astounding.

 

Saori cheerfully yawns and clears her throat. “Hey, uh, you think this will take us back into the city?” she says quietly.

 

“Mmm…yeah. I’d say that.” Lyn begins to chew the inside of her lip, as if in some debate. “I mean, it’s probable. The outgoing wires are going north, so any flowing electricity is from the south. From the city’s power grid, of course.”

 

We follow the road on the right side, continuing south. With the momentum of conversation going, I decide to get some answers.

 

“Lyn,” I say firmly, “I need to ask you something.”

 

“What’s on your mind?” Her reply comes out freely.

 

“Last night…how did you know the code to get into the bunker? At the depot?”

 

“Yeah…I’ve wondered that too.” Butch picks up his pace for a closer listen. “Keeping secrets ain’t cool.” At the same time, Saya’s ears perk up in interest, Saori’s eyebrows raised. Maybe I was right about them being distracted.

 

Lyn just sighs. “Back at Project Purity, there were papers on the entire depot itself. Dad had ties with relatives of the technologists that worked there, so I guess it only made sense the code was written down, too. It’s really nothing special.” She says it all with the straightest of faces.

 

In a way, I am slightly underwhelmed at her response.

 

“Also,” I continue, “you’ve been acting nicer than usual lately.”

 

“So what?” she shrugs.

 

“I dunno. It’s weird now that I look back before our time at Underworld.”

 

“Well, we’re making progress, wouldn’t you say?” She brightens. “We’ve got the Stealth Boy – more than one at that – and the synthesizer is almost within our grasp. I got to see Winthrop too. He’s like…a really, really good friend.” She shrugs again. “Things are going perfectly.” Said as if the matter was all too obvious, she faces me, her smile widening.

 

-----

 

The fog doesn’t clear, and the air remains unusually chilly for no wind. Undisturbed, our journey continues down the road, free of any serpentine and winding paths. It’s the most boring stroll you could probably ever imagine, but optimistically, it is also a pretty safe one. Normally anyone can stare down the low hills stretching out to the horizon, though today isn’t one of those days. As long as you don’t pick a random direction and decide to get lost, you’re not danger of dying. Nobody really bothers to squander their time hunting or killing unless there is suspect of something valuable on another’s person. Bullets and guns are way too expensive to be using on a whim, and talent is a rarity.

 

Time passes. Around what seems to be almost an hour later, a shell of an office building fades into view, broken glass of its windows slowly succumbing to gravity. Flickering street lamps cave downward, and the faded dotted lines of road follow them. A small overpass between the surrounding buildings reveals an empty walkway, and a familiar barbed-wire fence trails off into the grayness to our left. I rub my hands together ambitiously. We’re back, just as we had hoped and dreamed of, yet no one speaks. In this deafening silence, it’s almost as if everyone is ashamed to be heard, they incapable of extending fingers to a trusted audience of five.

 

It isn’t too quiet for long though. Backtracking down the valley, I look to my left and I spot the small rivulet I had initially insulted. It’s still tiny and pathetic, but something further downhill its trail causes me to squint into the cloudy distance. A white light calls us, so bright that it causes Butch to narrow his eyes even with his shades on. It’s like looking directly at the sun. Saya is first to address the peculiar sight, and we stop to inspect it. Out from under this very strip of asphalt is a rusty pipe, belching out a glowing waterfall’s worth of runoff. Large sparks froth from the mouth. Flames and smoke lash out from the liquid, rushing down to a puddle of light at the base of the hill.

 

Butch fixes his glasses. “Now that’s something you don’t see every day. I can feel that crap from here.”

 

“Glow-in-the-dark water?” Saya guesses.

 

“It’s daylight, silly.” Butch rubs her head, and she giggles.

 

Saori cowardly tip-toes from behind my shoulder and her fingers habitually wander to her lips. “What is that?” she wonders.

 

Lyn scratches her nose. “Dunno. All I know is that it’s pretty hot and it wasn’t here before.”

 

“Some chemical runoff?” I hypothesize. “Just look down there. That stuff isn’t going out.”

 

“It reminds me of fireworks,” Saya comments. “It’s pretty.”

 

“Flash powder,” Saori declares suddenly. “That makes the same kind of light, I think? Like the fireworks, flash grenade–“

 

“–Or for a camera!” Butch interrupts. “Can’t take pictures in dark places. That’s why holodisk pictures are cooler.”

 

“Perhaps this is Underworld runoff, though I’m guessing this isn’t normal,” I say. My eyes drift to the strange light in deliberation. “Do they make any of those things at Underworld, Lyn? Cameras? Flash grenades?”

 

“Not really,” she replies. “The city is still expanding. There’s some firearms stuff, but there’s mostly lots of construction, such as making indoor framework, gears and steam pipes. Back down in the depths of Underworld, they smelt metals and make simple alloys. All the steam power is used for giant industrial furnaces, elevators and engines. Some engines help pump water, make mechanical energy to move rocks or even run small household things, like sewing machines.” She pauses for a bit. “Lots of the other stuff in the Museum of History side uses the integral plumbing and the circuitry there. But no electricity for the other half. That’s a luxury.”

 

I hum in thought. “Oh well. So, metals then. Lead, iron and aluminum maybe? And then they make the alloys.”

 

“Like steel, for bullets?” Butch questions.

 

“No, I don’t think you’d ever need to make those. That’s super dense material, like for armor-piercing levels of awesome.”

 

Everyone pauses for a moment, and I take a drink of water from my canteen. It’s down to the last bottle, unfortunately.

 

“I know!” Saori cheers. “Flash powder is made from some powdered metals! So it’s making the water glow when burned.”

 

“Only if it’s magnesium,” I add. “I think I figured this out. Water fuels magnesium fires. Lyn, does Underworld pump its own water from somewhere?”

 

“From deep underground,” she says. “And that’s why Underworld is pretty self-sustaining, and why it’s fairly unknown apart from being deep in D.C. Nobody needs to leave, because everything is right there. It’s additionally why Canterbury is the successful trade town, since it pumps its own ground water too.”

 

“And it’s also why this water tastes like sh**,” I finish, waving the canteen. “It’s bitter. Underworld could make alloys extracting this stuff, but that over there is abnormal quantities. Especially if it’s ignited.”

 

Without warning, the sound of a large explosion bellows. Startled, we all glance above the nearby office building. The fog has slightly cleared up, and a large cloud of black smoke can be seen rising in the distance. Many people can be heard screaming from afar – probably a whole city’s worth. Cravings of the truth begin to haunt me.

 

“And that’s not normal either,” Butch says. “Let’s go!”

 

-----

 

We turn the street corner to enter the tucked-away pocket the Museum of History resides in. I don’t even have a chance to take a step to face the museum’s door; a sea of ghouls reduces me to a halt, hundreds fleeing and screaming their twisted cries as they stumble out into the Mall. All of us are perplexed, for this many people in one place is unheard of, ghoul or not. I take the lead.

 

“We need to get in there! Weapons up, and stick close!”

 

Fighting my way through the crowd of ghouls, I sift my away around the concrete railing that guards the perimeter to the metro. The metro lies directly under the museum. Closing our distance, it’s an aggressive haul to push our way through the crowd and squeeze through to the reception desks. Ghouls pass us by the dozen, each one with skin no different than sandpaper.

 

The crowd is persistently packed, making it an impossibility to see ahead. I lash out to anything static to prevent myself from being carelessly carried away by the mob. When we finally get through to the circular atrium of the building, we strive for the exhibits furthest from the door – furthest from the stream of people from the door directly to Underworld. A large crater in the cavernous dome above permits sunlight to come pouring in over the masses. Bodies of ghouls lie on the torn regal carpet, those people possibly trampled by their own kind in desperation. Even the warm mammoth replica is partly blazing as fire climbs its legs. A bloodier orange tints the room.

 

Underworld is being attacked. The city is panicking and this situation is likely out of our hands.

 

Lyn is left nearly speechless. “Who could have done this…?”

 

I point to the fractured human skull gateway, whose mouth spews out the hundreds of innocent citizens. “We still need to get in and grab the synthesizer. On guard everyone, but make sure the guns are pointed to the right people, if worse comes to worst.”

 

Inside is a tale of equal tragedy. Very few fires illuminate the area, pockets of darkness about. The shimmering chandelier that so beautifully posed above the sprawling marketplace is now shattered on the ground. Asian paper lanterns that were strung from the borderline overpasses are muddy and crushed; the accompanying marketing shacks and tables are reduced to shambles, foods and other goods splattered. Avoiding the crowd, we run up to Carol’s Place near the Ninth Circle bar. Photorealistic paintings of noble men in white hair – which I had initially observed from our tour with Winthrop – are derelict, bullet holes sporadically made in the faces of revered heroes.

 

No hostiles yet. The hotel is right inside. I casually open the door to the check-in lounge, kindly holding it open for my friends.

 

A whizzing sound zips past me and a stiff, springing sound rings right next to my ear from behind. A knife. I whip around to face the check-in desk to see a female ghoul in a pink dress hurling a large cooking pot at me.

 

I sidestep out of the way as my friends enter the room, batting the air. The pot clashes against the wooden wall next to the knife.

 

“Geez! What’s your problem!?”

 

My words are irrelevant. Another pot. Saya shrieks.

 

“Stupid bit**! Stop throwing crap at me-”

 

“Tara!” Lyn booms. “Stand down!”

 

Baffled faces galore. Tara?

 

Tara frantically reaches into a nearby drawer to pull out a small revolver. Before I can even react, sparks fly as the gun is flung from the ghoul’s hand. A lightning fast disarm; the gun lands in a distant corner of the room. Lyn extends her arm with her pistol in hand, finger on the trigger. Tara freezes.

 

“I didn’t know you could still do that!” Butch exclaims, amazed.

 

“It doesn’t mean I can’t still try.”

 

The ghoul snickers faintly. “Lyn, dearie, sisters don’t do this to each other…”

 

Shifting focus, Lyn ignores her sibling figure.

 

“I’m sorry. Nobody is going to get hurt if you cooperate. Where’s Winthrop?”

 

“He’s left already,” Tara dismisses. “Fled to Megaton while I’m here, tending for the wounded,” she says tenderly.

 

I gaze to my left and I see ghouls sprawled on lined rows of tattered furniture ridden with blood. There’s nobody else here who looks healthy enough to be running around other than Tara. It’s like these people are just waiting to die.

 

“Fine,” Lyn continues, “then you’re going to tell me what’s going on. Now.”

 

Tara snickers. “This is their fault,” she scowls. “THEIR FAULT!” Soulless eyes wide, she blows her frail threads of red hair. She extends a wrinkly pointer behind Lyn to the rest of us. Clearly, this isn’t the first time I got the finger.

 

Saori sighs and rolls her eyes. “That’s what you say,” she states defiantly. “I don’t care what else you wanna blab, but I don’t buy it. You’re talking out of your a** now, lady.” In another life, with such stiff opinions, she might have made an excellent salesperson.

 

“Bold accusation you have there,” I say, squinting at Tara. “Why us?”

 

“You four are the only strangers we’ve ever gotten in a year, and the past couple of days at that – ‘conveniently’ when leader Roy Phillips was on leave. Underworld is a ghoul-kept secret, and you undoubtedly aren’t one of our kind.” There is hate in every word she utters. “An army’s worth of raiders attacked the city this morning in search of our resources, and they won’t stop until they get what they want. Thousands of them, all armed and ready to take our precious foods and metals, and kill our protectors. And our half of the city here is already finished. Those scums have moved to the lower levels.”

 

She shakes in rage, tone darkening.

 

“You outsiders lead them here. This was your plan – to see our fall, because greed plagues all you humans. You are all one of them!”

 

“Untrue,” Lyn says bluntly. She straightens her extended arm again, making it tighter.

 

I think all the way back to our encounter at Vault-Tec with the raiders, but an entire city under attack because of us? I don’t think so. The ghouls no longer identify themselves as human, yet they are only lying to themselves. They are just as sad, happy and honestly, fearful as we are.

 

I glare back at the ghoul. “You have no conclusive proof, Tara. Your ‘kind’ has no evidence to prove your belief. The raiders are a faction of their own, killing and stealing so they can function as their own entity. We aren’t associated with them in any way.” I shake my head in disappointment. “You’re wrong.”

 

“You’re not even supposed to be here, smoothskin,” Tara spits.

 

“Neither is Lyn. She’s not like you, yet she’s here, being accepted.”

 

“She saved Roy Phillips at the Mall. This has been her home for two years, and she would not betray us. She’s always welcome.”

 

“Because she’s proved herself, right?” Saori barks back. “Well, we’ve never proved we’re at fault, either. Those raiders can come any goddamn day of the week they want.”

 

“You all lead them here! Besides, you all still shouldn’t be here, anyway!”

 

“Alright, enough!” Butch hollers. He steps forward, almost about to raise his shotgun, but slowly forms a right fist instead. “I’m sick of this sh**. This is going in a big fu**in’ circle.”

 

Tara disdainfully peers over to Saya, who seems to be shivering a bit. Saya hasn’t said anything since her yelp of compassion.

 

“And that girl back there definitely shouldn’t be here,” Tara says, smug. “Look at that poor thing. She couldn’t hurt a fly, and yet she is probably forced to share the same, foolish ideals you all have.”

 

Lyn puts down her gun. We all look back at our forgotten, lonely friend with the pink hairband. Mustering up her strength, Saya takes a deep breath to lock her innocent, shimmering emerald eyes with the ghoul. Beads of sweat drip off her thick, dark bangs. Her expression is of weakness.

 

“We’re going to our hotel room,” Saya manages confidently. “We’re going to pick up some luggage. That’s all.”

 

Bizarrely, Tara’s somewhat evil and demonic expression fades to sadness. “It is unfortunate you wouldn’t be able to conventionally get there. The front door has collapsed,” she utters feebly. Sure enough, to the far corner of the room is a mountain of rubble.

 

“Then tell us how else to get in!” Saya continues, shockingly fierce. I can’t remember the last time she demanded anything.

 

“You can only get in through the large maintenance shafts from the lower levels of the city. The tallest cave on the highest part of the east side of the city will take you there; it’s located under a large picture of a red creature once known as a phoenix.” Tara avoids our gazes at all costs. “The caves have not and likely won’t collapse, but you will all fall at the hands of the raiders if you try.” Miserable, her voice trails off.

 

“We won’t even need to try,” I assure, kicking open the door we had entered through. “Thanks for the info. And we’re not leaving without the synthesizer. Everything we’ve done so far otherwise is meaningless.” I walk outside, and we all turn our backs to Winthrop’s daughter.

 

“Lyn!” Tara calls. “And…you four. Just…be careful. I’ll be here.”

 

-----

 

Once everyone gets out, I angrily slam the door behind us. The formerly muted cries of the populace become crystal, ear-piercingly clear once more. Just as Winthrop had guided us on our arrival, I quickly lead the group down the walkway to overlook the rest of the city – the portion where the lower class reside. I look around at the portraits of the men with white hair. More bullet holes speckle each shredded masterpiece. One hero is so maltreated he’s literally faceless, holding a dual blade in repose, an outline of painted hair bounding the brutal tear marks. We don’t need to be the men in white wigs, but we certainly aren’t the raiders. We only take what’s not claimed, and shooting innocents isn’t our idea of fun. In the wild world of the wasteland, faceless is what we need to be.

 

We reach the edge of the museum’s natural interior at the railing, where Underworld had first struck us in awe.

 

“What have they done?!” Lyn gasps. In great sorrow, her face seems to be melting away.

 

The colorful lanterns that span the deep chasm dangle violently as muzzle flashes of guns flicker throughout the city. Buzzing assembly lines that helped to lift merchandise across the city act as if they have a mind of their own, indecisive in direction, metal parts spiraling down into the void. Walls of water gush violently from a nearby drainage pipe, connected steam pipes spewing gases every which way. Winthrop’s tiny flying robots have now become soldiers to defend the city, effortlessly swatted out of the air by raider sniper shots. Citizens of Underworld climb stairs and collapse in effort, others scampering in and out of caves like mice, raiders chasing them with gunfire.

 

With nowhere to escape, some ghouls leap the precipices to their rocky deaths in the abyss below. It’s truly a terror to behold. Think of the horrible thoughts that must race through their human minds, drowned and broken! Or perhaps not; what if they dream of more tender days? A wistful sigh, a single tear drop; if only by some miracle of divinity could I hear the final whispers of their consciences.

 

“There’s the cave!” Saya points northeast in attention, trickles of people emerging from the darkness. “And the painting is there too! Now all we have to do is - achoo!”

 

I had completely forgotten about her allergy problem.

 

“Maybe bringing her isn’t the best idea, especially if her allergic reaction to the air is going to interfere,” Lyn considers.

 

I mull over the situation for a moment. “Okay, Saya, you are staying up here.”

 

“Huh!? But…why - achoo!”

 

“Because that,” I say. “But you can still help. We still need supplies for our last stretch to Rivet City. So go to the marketplace and the Ninth Circle, and scavenge us whatever you can find that’ll help us. Water and food are priority. And we’ll make sure Underworld gets repaid. Don’t come down and don’t follow us. Be safe.”

 

Saya nods agreeingly, though deprived of all her excitement.

 

“I’ll stay too and help protect her if anything happens,” Butch joins. “But watch yourselves.”

 

-----

 

Reduced to a squad of three, we are meticulous in our detour to the cave. Instead of delving further down into the city, it makes more sense to climb the rocks. They’re level enough to be traversed with their flat notches here and there, but a simple mistake would mean certain doom. Being as safe as possible, we stick to the sides of the cavern next to the strange, neon green mushrooms on the rocks and walls, the fungi defying gravity. Lyn, Saori and I clasp onto each other from time to time for support.

 

Below the crumbling rocks at our boots are more ghouls, swishing burning torches about in defense – a hopeless, futile effort against an automatic weapon.

 

Jumping down, we enter the cleanly-cut cave located under the majestic painting Tara spoke of. The cave is lit by flames and is very moist. Perhaps the steam helps to foster a terrible mold, likely the bane of Saya’s sinuses in this very place. Metal piping runs across the ceiling, molten hot furnaces working furiously all around. Citzens of Underworld dart past us, screams echoing throughout the cave, but only screams; gunfire still sounds so distant. The raiders must be deeper within.

 

We progress farther in. To our dismay, the cave branches into two pathways.

 

“Lyn!” I try to call over the cries of Underworld. “You lived here! Which way do we go!?”

 

“I don’t know! It’s not like I’ve been on the low-class side much, either! This place wasn’t built when I was last here!”

 

Crap. In an attempt to gain a sense of direction, I try to pull a fleeing citizen to interrogate. I try several times to tug at their clothing, but they tear away from my grip in great panic. Finally, I manage to restrain a retreating ghoul in a yellow jumpsuit long enough for him to listen.

 

“Hey! Which tunnel is it to enter the maintenance shafts for the Ninth Circle’s hotel rooms? Carol’s Place?”

 

He snorts. “Beat it, smoothskin. You’re going the wrong way.”

 

Breaking my grasp, the jumpsuit ghoul turns around, but Saori snatches his shoulder and reels him back in.

 

“Idiot!” she yells through her grinding teeth. “Listen…you…I don’t know what the he** your name is, but we need to get in that hotel room! We need to know how! Which way!?”

 

“…Well, how about fu** you?”

 

The ghoul shoves Saori to the ground and continues sprinting to the cave exit. I help her to her feet.

 

“You okay there?”

 

“What a jerk!”

 

“You weren’t being the kindest either,” I confess.

 

“Let’s split up then,” Lyn advises. “I can take the left tunnel and you two can take the right. I’ll be fine. We can meet up back at the top.”

 

-----

 

Now it is just Saori and me, sprinting downhill with rifles in hand. Torches of fire light the way. Pipes continue to run across the ceiling to the other end of the tunnel, which seems to open up into a large furnace room. Three evenly-placed mine carts are stationed just up ahead, likely locked into place to prevent them from rolling down the incline. I suppose Underworld uses the carts to easily transfer this metal downhill to the furnace.

 

Up ahead, I spot four raiders turning the corner to our direction. Each raider is clothed in spiked barebones of metal that has seen better days, metal piercings on every inch of their bodies. They raise their rifles instinctively.

 

“Twelve o’clock!” I announce. “Get into cover!”

 

A hasty survey of the area reveals no pockets of rock to hide behind; the caverns are so uniformly carved. Saori and I dive behind the stationed mine carts in front of us as bullets sail overhead.

 

“Retaliate?” Saori asks, cringing behind her cart.

 

“Of course! They are shooting at us!”

 

I take a peek out of the right corner of cover, but I’m immediately greeted with a flurry of sparks, so I retract at once. I try the other side. The raiders have no cover and aren’t approaching from our flanks, but are closing in on us fast. I look down the sights of my assault rifle and use two succinct bursts to down a raider with a pair of biker goggles. Another with a spiked purple hairdo falls next to him, thanks to Saori’s support fire. On far right side of the tunnel near a torch, a raider lights an explosive in the lighting’s flames. He hurls the bomb straight towards me.

 

“Grenade!” I’m not sure whose voice it is.

 

The spherical explosive clangs next to me, lodged in the mine tracks, its winding fuse long and curly. There is no way the incline will allow this thing to return to its sender – not alone, that is. I grab the grenade and blindly toss it back overhead, closing my eyes, spheroid mildly slipping from my gloved fingers.

 

An explosion. It’s loud – really loud. Rocks and gravel bounce uphill in the generated heat. Steam pipes burst overhead and hiss profusely. I take another peek outside to survey the aftermath, and four gory bodies can be seen, variably tossed over the metal mine cart tracks.

 

“Okay,” I pant. “That was easy.”

 

“You have a terrible arm,” Saori remarks.

 

“Terribly good, thank you.”

 

I hear something from behind. Squinting over my shoulder, I see more raiders marching down the tunnel, bloodthirsty.

 

“We’re leaving!” I yell, scrambling to my feet. “Run down the tunnel – wait, wait!”

 

Saori stumbles to a stop.

 

“Get into the carts!”

 

She does so without a word. I hop in another, though amidst the rusty cart and flakes of metal, I cannot find a disengage latch of any sort. I feel around the sides of the cart, and I can’t find anything. Hopeful, I kick around the insides of the metal box, but it doesn’t even budge.

 

“Oh great! Now what, genius!?”

 

“I don’t know! Do you see like some kind of security latch or whatever, anywhere–”

 

In that moment, I make out of the corner of my eye a small metal piece at the wheels of Saori’s mine cart. The piece is large and rectangular, wedged between the track and the wheels.

 

“Saori! You see that weird metal block by the wheels of the cart?”

 

“How…? I can’t really see under my own side–”

 

“MY CART! Yeah? See it?!”

 

She nods frantically and vigorously.

 

“Shoot it on the count of three, kapeesh? One–”

 

The raiders spot us from behind and alert their comrades.

 

“Two–”

 

The raiders raise their firearms. Saori secures her aim.

 

“THREE!”

 

The latches are released. In moments, the two of us are accelerating down the cavern at great speed. The torches on the sides become blurry streaks of yellow and orange. Screeches of raider gunfire lower in pitch, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of us were going faster than the bullets overhead.

 

The carts simply keep on gaining speed. My idea is our perfect getaway, until I notice the large steel blockades at the end of the tracks. I brace for impact. Upon an earth-shattering crash, inertia throws us from our carts. We soar into the air. Saori and I land several feet from the mine carts with a thud and puffs of dust.

 

I find it very difficult to breathe, gasping for air. I might be suffering from some kind of diaphragm spasm because of the collision.

 

“Saori, you alright?” I croak, dusting myself of black powder.

 

“Yeah, I am,” she says weakly. Black grime masks her face and suit, traces of her wild hair mildly coiling on the earth. “I think that’s why they have lever breaks over there.” She jerks her head away from the carts, and sure enough are some large metal bars with a ball top, ready to slow incoming carts with friction. Behind it all is a mechanical beast that extends to the ceiling, its mouth ablaze.

 

“Man, Butch would love to ride in those things,” I struggle, rising. I grab Saori’s hand and I notice a large metal door directly across from me on the right side of the room. Two engraved plates read the following:

 

| MAINTENANCE ROOM |

|FURNACE – LIVING UTILITIES – UPPER LEVEL |

 

“Hurry, let’s get in there! I think we’ve found our place.”

 

FORWARD --->

Edited September 1, 2011 by AliasTheory

[AliasTheory]

<--- BACKWARD

 

============================

Chapter 30: Ergo Propter Hoc

============================

 

Behind the metal door is of a more sophisticated improvement – a rectangular room of a cooler blue hue, which has sizable ceiling pipelines converging in neat bundles. Our boots echo against the bumpy tin floor as we dash uphill to the east, ignoring the earlier doorways along the way. The flooring is hollow, undoubtedly another maze of piped steam slithering under us. Presumably this entire pathway leads back to the city’s more elegant side. Streams of hot air jet out at Saori and me, this place likely the most humid of Underworld’s sort, but none of it stops us. When the incline of the ground finally begins to level, our legs grow weary and we slow to a foot-dragging walk.

 

We arrive at an intersection. One path goes left, another straight ahead.

 

“Go straight?” Saori breathes.

 

“Yeah.” I refresh myself with a gulp from my canteen. “Gotta keep south.”

 

Screams of the populace are now few and far between. Another intersection confronts us. Unlike the last one, two engravings can be seen hanging from the pipes above; one suggests an exit, the other the living hotels. Electrical wires can be seen up ahead, pouring into the ceiling and likely the very rooms we seek.

 

“Perfect,” I say, calmer. “If Lyn’s right, electricity means we are on track. Now, if we were the last room in the hotel, we should just follow this tunnel to the end.”

 

-----

 

The pipes above us transition to hug the sides, condensed water dripping from them, dark open ceiling shafts taking their place. We hit the corner at the end of the passageway – and last shaft.

 

“This must be it. Here, give me a hand…”

 

Saori boosts me upward with her hands as I grip the cold sides of the shaft. I drag myself into the tiny frame, squeezing through on my hands and knees. I push myself away from the shaft opening. It’s dusty and mucky as he** up here; the opposite direction – away from the room – fades to unknown whiteness, and I am positive we aren’t going there.

 

“You don’t want me to come…?” Saori whimpers.

 

“No, of course you may.” I turn my head away from the whiteness. “I’ll pull you up.”

 

With little trouble, scooting in, I manage to pull her light frame up next to me thanks to her added effort.

 

“You make me have to do a lot of work,” she groans.

 

“You wanted to come. Don’t cry to me.”

 

Navigating through the crawlspace, the world becomes progressively dimmer. It also gets progressively filthier; in a short while, I can easily sense every mass of soot collecting on my fingers. Droning of Underworld’s exotic machinery buzzes endlessly, echoing inside the walls that surround us.

 

The two of us may be progressing in one direction, but I have never felt more lost.

 

The shaft hits a dead end. A plate by my fingers reveals a small stub emerging from a slide-lock mechanism. I yank back the stub, crusts of rust flaking from it, but a push isn’t enough. The plate doesn’t budge.

 

“Need help?”

 

I slide my legs under my body, extend my right leg and give the plate a slam of my heel. The cover violently screeches open. It must have not been tampered with for a long time.

 

“That works too.”

 

Taking my precautions, I check the room below. Absolute darkness. The power must be dead here.

 

“Flare,” I request. “Front pouch.”

 

An unzipping noise. Saori withdraws a flare stick and a lighter from my bag effortlessly – as if by second nature – and passes them to me. I ignite the flare, its top emitting a bright, mesmerizing spray of magenta, and allow the cylindrical light source to roll from my fingers. I catch glimpses of familiar objects in its decent: the unmade white sheets of a bed; a standalone lavender vase on a bed dresser that attempts to be dignified. In a second, the flare collides with the diamond-tiled floor and flips once in place. A smoky splash. Transparent ripples seem to expand across the room, but before I can confirm my suspicions, a sizzle sounds, and all returns to black.

 

“Water…?”

 

Requesting another flare, I light it, pocket the lighter and hop on down. I spring off the bed fit for two and onto the ground. Cold wetness shoots up my legs – it’s water alright. With the flare my torch, I wade through the darkness to the edges of the room. The space is as we left it – and as much as I’d like to be humorous, unfortunately, only almost. Flicking the light switch confirms the electricity is gone. Small paintings of an even greener world are tilted in frailty, demanding perfection, and closets seem to have been ravaged and slashed up. Lamp bulbs are broken and shattered.

 

Did those raiders take our prized possession?

 

Saori moans impatiently. “Hey, Drew? I wanna come down. Pretty please?”

 

“If you don’t complain about climbing back up, by all means. Don’t have to be a kid about it. It’s all clear though.”

 

Another splash. I take my sights to the other corner of the hotel room. The mountain of rubble we saw from the former side towers equivalently high. There’s the other bed, also fit for two and equally messy. The dampness causes their cloths to ravel around my leg, but I shake them free. Desk drawers are left open, hanging loosely. A round table is collapsed on its side in the corner, soaked papers drifting in the water’s current.

 

“Oh my God…!” Saori gasps. “Come over here!”

 

I scamper to mere feet in front of me. Our room’s sink permits a stream to flow freely without an entire glossy bowl, now forcefully fractured. To more of my amazement is what lies in front of the fragmented chunk: it’s small and humanoid, but not quite. Saori caresses it’s scabby and fleshy cheeks with her fingers.

 

It happens to be ghoul child. Perhaps five years old, he is clothed in rags, damp with water.

 

Still trying to comprehend what I just witnessed, I divert my attention elsewhere. Why is this child in our room of all places? Shouldn’t he be with his parents, if he has any? Taking a deep breath, I turn my back to the scene, walking back to the large dressers, retracing my steps. Maybe I overlooked something.

 

“What do we do with him?” Saori asks. “He’s healthy, just unconscious, and still has a pulse…”

 

“Well,” I say, pulling out a dresser drawer, “we’ll just leave him.”

 

“Just leave him? You must be crazy!”

 

“What?” I am baffled. “Crazy?”

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

Shutting the desk drawer, I give her my full attention.

 

“Saori…you’re suggesting we bring this kid? He’s not that small; it’s not like he’ll fit in a backpack or something. How are we going to make it back to Butch and Saya? We might not even be able to regroup with Lyn. If either of us is going to defend ourselves, we need two hands and complete concentration. No distractions. We’re here to grab that hunk of metal and leave. And leave alive.”

 

There is only the sound of the faucet, water splashing below. I await her response, but none comes. I face the darkness, flare still burning in hand.

 

“You stroke his face like that and that’s what you think, huh? I don’t want to be mean or hurt your feelings or anything…but you aren’t his mom.”

 

“I know I’m not his mom.”

 

I lift the bedcovers that droop to the flooded floor. On my knees, I bend over to check under the mattress and lo and behold: the cylindrical orange synthesizer, cap and body intact. I reach behind the device to grapple it with my gloved fingers.

 

“Well, well. Found it.” I grin to myself. “This seemed like a very ‘Butch’ place to hide something important. Under a bed.”

 

“That’s good,” Saori says softly.

 

I sling the synthesizer over my back, the leather strap running across my chest. I turn to the shaft above the bed.

 

“Drew, we still need to save him…!” Her voice sounds like it might break.

 

Turning back to her, I scrunch up my face into a knot.

 

“No, Saori! I don’t want to! You don’t get it.” I have to laugh as I say it all in disbelief. “Alright. I want to save him as much as you do. Right now in Underworld, there’s hundreds–”

 

“–Thousands.”

 

“–Thousands of ghouls who are dying, and this child is just another life! We’ll probably all die if we lug him along out there, too! You don’t get a reward or some sort of applause at the end; you don’t get a cookie. None of us are heroes! Stop trying to be one!”

 

In that moment, my flare gives out. Both of us and the child are left in the dark. I almost want to yell. However, I manage to restrain and calm myself.

 

“Sometimes you act kinda bossy, but I know you have a good heart,” I say in reflection. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to be,” she replies warmly. A tiny flame reminiscent of a candle spontaneously appears, dimly illuminating us. “There,” Saori smiles, now holding a lighter with her left hand. She strokes the ghoul child’s cheek again.

 

For another while, the running water is all that can be heard.

 

“You know those beautiful paintings in the hallways?” Saori resumes gently, changing the topic. “Back where Tara was?”

 

“Well, I sure do.” I smile affectionately. I kneel down by Saori and touch the child, his pruned ligaments no different than some fleshy twig. I thought I was the only one that even noticed the paintings.

 

“Who were those resilient men in the white wigs?” she asks.

 

I think about the men in white wigs. Who were they – the champions of a more content world before the wasteland? Who were their enemies? Forget China and forget the nukes; forget about the Great War and how it all came crashing down. These people were passionate to the end, who fought and died for something they believed in.

 

Closing her eyes, Saori continues speaking despite the absence of my response.

 

“It’s not that I want to be a hero. I want to do it because I think it is right, and if I let this opportunity slide…I’ll feel guilty. Forever. Because I know together, we could have done something, or at least have made an effort.” She shakes her head lightly. “I think we’ve both been through worse, and I know it’s possible to save this boy. I want to defend him. I don’t think he’s much different than we were.” Concluding her final words, she gladly matches her pristine sapphire eyes with mine.

 

Bewildered, I raise an eyebrow. I look at that child again. He’s yet another person who has less than nothing. At a glance, he’s not worth saving. But who could he become? Who could he be? Perhaps someone talented, forgiving and someone who can make a difference in the terrible world which would otherwise ignore his tale. I softly curl the fingers of my open palm in memory.

 

Maybe he’ll even be someone who is goddamn lucky.

 

“So…please?”

 

-----

 

I think someday, or even within the next hour, someone will take advantage of my soft spot and royally kick my a**.

 

We manage to work our way back through the crawlspace, the ghoul child in her arms and the synthesizer with me. I now possess her ranged rifle as well as my own assault rifle, engraved handgun still in its sleeve. Saori still has her own sidearm, and hopefully it’ll be enough to get us by.

 

I back down into steam-filled hallway with a pounce. I take the child from Saori briefly as she follows my lead, and I later return the boy. The child is still unconscious.

 

“Okay,” I exhale, “let’s get–”

 

Footsteps echo through the hallway. No, it’s more than footsteps; it’s an army. Crazed, maniacal laughter bellows, approaching.

 

“Raiders!” Saori cringes, hushed, hugging the cradled child tighter.

 

These guys have some amazing timing. Biting my lip, I try to remain mellow and think of a plan. I spin around hastily and notice we can still retreat out this corner, although I am unsure of where it leads. Is engaging them really the brightest idea? In the worst-case-scenario, we could get attacked from both sides.

 

My eyes trace a crimson pipeline from the right side of the tunnel at the base of the stairs. A gasoline pipeline.

 

I feel around my belt for a grenade, but I can’t find any. Maybe they fell off, or I forgot them somewhere. Where are they–

 

An idea. “Saori, I need a couple grenades of yours, really quick–”

 

I blindly reach around her curvy waist in search of explosives at her belt, eyes still glued to the intersection up ahead.

 

“Hehehe! Stop it! That tickles!”

 

“Sorry, just quit your squirming–”

 

“Ugh, Drew! You grabbed my a**!”

 

“Sorry. Wrong one.”

 

“What do you mean, wrong one!?”

 

I manage to snag two frag grenades. Plucking the pins from the olive-green spheres, I chuck them and let them trickle down the steps. I grab Saori’s suit at the shoulder and take off in the other direction.

 

“Come on, we’re ditching this place!”

 

“What are you doing?!” She scrambles along.

 

“Improvising!”

 

We turn the corner. An explosion erupts, engulfing the hallway behind us, and I cover my head in the gush of heat. Rocks crumble.

 

I pump my arm and expand the stock of my rifle. “Keep close!”

 

-----

 

I bash open yet another metal door at the end of the cooler service tunnel to reveal the brewed oranges of Underworld’s caves. With every step I take, the leather strap of the heavy synthesizer digs into my shoulder. The torches on the sides lead the way. As we race ahead, my peripheral vision catches yet another pack of confrontational raiders.

 

“Survivors!” roars a raspy voice.

 

An elongated barrier of rock in front of us tempts our feelings for safety. Saori stays hunched in cover. Reflexes razor sharp, I look down the lighted sights of my assault rifle once more and aim at the nearest raider. Metal chains wrap around their bare and scarred chests, red-skinned, still bloated with piercings from head to toe. I try to take my aim, but the three-shot burst is wild and uncontrolled. I duck back behind the rock, and bullets whiz, tiny rubbles of rock pinching at my skin.

 

Desperate, I look away from the raiders and to the other path in the tunnel. There’s an exit to the main atrium, a concrete lip of construction littered with barrels and hunks of scrap metal. But where would we go after that? We’d be at a dead end. The caves in their complexity thankfully branch into further strains of passageways.

 

“Saori!”

 

“What!?” she squeals, still holding the ghoul child. “Do something!”

 

“We’re going to advance and lose them up there at the fork. I’ll draw them back into cover!”

 

She nods, and I ready myself. Extending my arms, I wiggle my rifle about as bullets fly every which way. It’s not the first time I’ve done the “spray-and-pray.” I only take a brief peek to ensure the raiders’ cowering, and I restfully close my case.

 

“Go, go!”

 

We eagerly push off the rocky barrier and continue on. A button press of my assault rifle causes the empty magazine to fall into my hand. Just before we clear the firing range, a raider aggressively tries to mow us down with gunfire. Gripping the empty magazine, I whip it straight at him.

 

“What the fu—”

 

See ya, pal. My rifle empty, I swap it with Saori’s on the go, safety already off. A dark polish and thin body, a small blue variable scope on her rifle keeps all enemies in check. The trigger fits snuggly behind my finger.

 

As we nip past the left just in the nick of time, three raiders storm from behind us in clear sight. Backpedaling, I raise the rifle.

 

One. Two. Three.

 

Bright yellow flashes. One shot, one kill. Three bodies drop dead.

 

“Keep moving!”

 

-----

 

The cave opens back up to the city atrium on a concrete pier. As if overrun by pestilence and disease, masses of ghouls lay stationary on the ground. A fatal gunshot wound directly to the head, black powder masking it; a point blank delivery. What will satiate those raiders’ desires? I gaze up several levels of the city past the colorful Asian lanterns, metal parts still raining from above. The vastness of the mist surrounds us, and the two steam pillars emerge from the depths to our right; this must be the cornerstone.

 

There’s only one direction to go: straight. A tipsy, wooden bridge.

 

“Cross the bridge!”

 

The bridge sways and creaks as we sprint across it, rope railings possibly untwisting themselves at any moment. An abyss lies below. More raiders approach us from behind, but a godsend of bullets knocks them clean off their feet from the level above. It’s Lyn – being chased by her own swarm of unfriendly companions.

 

“You’re alive!”

 

“I’ll meet you two at the top!” she yells, cycling back into the caves.

 

An overflow of water – a waterfall – conceals the opposing cave entrance beyond the bridge, aligned torches signaling the end of this terrible trek. Water flows off the edge of the cliff. But before Saori or I can reach the end, I feel lighter on my feet – how strange. A hollow thud resounds, and I spin to see our favorite orange cylinder suspended between two wooden planks, slipping quickly. The leather strap had broken.

 

“Keep going!” I urge Saori.

 

Sweat-drenched, I dive back and snag the strap as the synthesizer droops from the bridge, tugging down at me. I feel like I am going to be ripped apart. A salty taste forms in my mouth upon seeing certain death below.

 

An explosion sounds.

 

Saori and the child have now finished crossing the bridge, but persist in facing me.

 

“Hurry!” Saori screams.

 

I steal a glance to my right. The two twin towers that once stood proudly come crashing down, screeching as it bends, explosions popping at each joint. Underworld’s very symbol of industry and steam power is collapsing, and threatens to sever my tightrope into two. This is the work of the raiders; the tiny robot helpers that once served to piece together this community have turned, possessed, their built-in machine guns destroying their own craft.

 

Jumbled, I rise to my feet and drag the orange cylinder along. It’s too heavy. The screeching of the twin towers drowns out all cries, both good and evil, and smashes the bridge at its center brutally. The wood turns into fragments, like shards of glass, bursting outward. I reach out to grab Saori’s arm, the ghoul child now carefully set aside, but it’s too late.

 

“Drew!”

 

The bridge waves with force and collapses under my feet, giving away. My stomach lurches.

 

Instinctively, I wrap my fingers around a bridge plank, sharp pain shooting through my arm. My half of the bridge slams against the crumbling rock wall, but the synthesizer remains in my hands, flailing about. Water drips from the ledge above. Whew. It couldn’t have been any more of a closer call.

 

I look up to see Saori’s fearful yet relieved expression.

 

“Well,” I gasp, hanging by a thread, “that might have sucked.”

 

I steadily climb upward using my hands and feet, akin to a ladder. Softly laughing in relief, Saori reaches out to me with wet eyes. I hug the ledge – just in time to see a single raider slipping through the waterfall, automatic gun pointed.

 

“Watch out!”

 

Saori turns around. Still gripping the ledge with my other arm, I lash out to her handgun in her sleeve, flip the gun, and fire. I unload every last shot – all ten. The raider falls, his rifle spraying up into the air, still in his hand.

 

“That also might have sucked,” I grunt.

 

“Might have?” She laughs affectionately, her hair drooping. She finishes pulling me up, and I rest the synthesizer. I return her gun.

 

“I dunno,” I say, dusting myself, “he could have missed or something.” That’s a big lie.

 

She returns to cradling the ghoul child in her arms near her breasts, his legs arched loosely.

 

“Don’t get too attached,” I caution. “You’re not his mom.”

 

“I know…”

 

-----

 

I hold the synthesizer with two hands. We pass behind the waterfall and into a smelting room. There are no other doorways. Metals of all sorts lay abandoned on wooden benches, craftsman’s tools scattered around them on the earth. The furnace and the steam pipes lie in the far corner, though in the center of the room is a small elevator. Given the size of the elevator space, it might be enough to fit and carry a few people. Further observation of the area reveals molded cups, glasses and silverware. For us, and especially some upper class citizens , that’s simply a delight.

 

Squatting, I slide a torn piece off the ground using my fingers.

 

“Production orders for Ninth Circle and above?” I read aloud.

 

“You think…?” Saori begins.

 

“Undoubtedly.” I couldn’t agree more. The materials and craftwork certainly suggest it. If anything, that small lift will take us straight back to the upper levels. Regarding the quantity of the craftwork though is anyone’s guess; does Ninth Circle truly make use of all these utensils? In a rough and rowdy bar scene where things are bound to break, I suppose a constant supply is required to appease the lofty drunkards.

 

I hum in consideration. “Seems like it’s worth a shot to ride it up. Let’s do it.”

 

We walk to the lift, a button located on the wall bordering it. Just as I’m about to climb in, I hear the bleeping and whirring of something electronic. Something robotic.

 

“You can’t be serious!” I say, grinding my teeth. “Hit the deck!”

 

Winthrop’s tiny robots swarm the room, their three orbs of eyes glowing in bright red light, propellers twirling through the air. The raiders likely commanded them to pursue us. Gunfire sprays in all directions as we get into cover again, but it doesn’t seem like these things can aim. In fact, it seems completely random.

 

I take my time and blast our friend’s marvelous creations out of the air. Each one smokes upon impact, spiraling out of control before exploding on landing. They’re easy to dispose of, although still a threat. All it takes is one well-placed shot and you could be out for good. However, the robots keep coming and coming, unlimited supply. And there’s no such thing as infinite ammo.

 

We need to cut these things off. There’s only one entrance to the room – where the waterfall was. Unfortunately, we are all out of explosives, so locking ourselves in using boulders is out of question.

 

Wait, that’s it: the waterfall. The water was simply falling onto the cement pier and wasn’t filtering itself. It isn’t an aesthetic; if anything, the water is a hazard. It’s there by mistake. And given we are in a smelting facility…

 

I grin. “Saori, how much you want to bet the water over there tastes as bitter as crap?”

 

“You got a plan? Then do it!”

 

I align the corner where the water meets the rocky wall in my crosshairs. When I pull the trigger, by the force of friction, the waterfall bursts into a wall of fiery whiteness. Magnesium. The heat can be felt from all the way back here, yards away. A bead of sweat slips down my cheek.

 

“Alright, all aboard the elevator, everyone…”

 

No more robots. I push Saori along, the ghoul child still close to her, the room clear of hostiles. I chuck the synthesizer next to her. Inside, legs tucked in and head low, I locate the button outside and press it. We begin to move up the shaft. Already hot and moist, everything grows completely dark, gears cranking. Our voices go down to whispers.

 

“That was pretty bright,” she says.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I was talking about the water…thing! Not you! I could have thought of that!”

 

“Oh, you wound me with your cruel, cruel words. But seriously! Have some appreciation. We’re out of here. Wish granted.”

 

-----

 

A minute or so passes. I blink, and suddenly, we are greeted with a familiar scene of a wrecked Ninth Circle bar…and a familiar ponytailed girl. Her green eyes widen, and I timidly wave to her.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Ah…! Oh my God—”

 

In her shock, Saya backs away from us and bumps into the bar counter…and then into the wall-rack of wine glasses. Everything shatters.

 

Saori and I have to laugh childishly.

 

“Wh-why are you two laughing at me...!?” Saya’s face is red in anger and embarrassment, her shoulders tight. “I was scared!”

 

Another voice. “Hmm? Hey, Saya, what’s up? Found something?” It’s Butch’s voice. As Saya reclines against the counter with a slight frown, he pops into view. Lyn peers from behind him. She had escaped.

 

“Hi,” I say.

 

“Woah, wow! What are you guys doing in the delivery shaft?” Butch squints through his shades in amazement.

 

“Well, it’s a long story,” I say, climbing out. “First and foremost, I got the synthesizer back. Found your dumb hiding spot.” I take the orange cylinder out, offer it to Butch and drop it in his hands. “You can hold onto that. The strap broke though when we ran across the bridge, away from all the raiders and the robots and the stupid smokestack things...” I deeply exhale. “We escaped without a scratch. And—”

 

“—Drew grabbed my a**,” Saori completes.

 

“Not on purpose!” I counter. “I needed grenades—”

 

“The grenades were up here, not down there—”

 

Lyn cuts our argument off. “Is that a…child?” Everyone huddles closer for a better look.

 

“I was getting to that,” I continue, helping Saori out. “He was in our hotel room for some reason. And he’s—”

 

“—Still alive,” Saori butts in.

 

“Would you stop interrupting me?! But yes, he’s still alive. We got what we came for, and we’ll just hand the kid off to Tara for care.” I pause. “You guys packed?”

 

“Yup!” Saya chimes in. “I have it all in these bags.” She pulls a few, large budging sacks from behind the counter. We could probably last a few days on them alone.

 

“Well, good,” I say. “I’m dying here. Gimme some water.”

 

-----

 

Once everyone catches their breath, we head on over Carol’s Place, where Tara tends for the wounded. The streets of the Underworld’s upper class are desolate and empty. I open the door, and sure enough, Tara is there, just as she said. The room is unchanged.

 

Tara raises her chin high. “So you have all returned…”

 

“Yeah, we have,” Saori remarks. “Though we think this time, we might have something of interest to you…a young one.”

 

She gently places the ghoul child in Tara’s own fleshy arms. Tara herself seems to only be half conscious.

 

“My…God…bless the Lord.”

 

And then, as if by some miraculous power, the child slowly but surely opens his beady eyes.

 

“Hi, Mom.”

 

She stutters. “I…I was ready to give up…”

 

I can’t believe it. Why had Tara not left eons ago? Her fatherless son would have been buried and starved behind that summit of rock – without us, that is. She didn’t know the timing of our exact return to this place at all. As the two press against each other in warm embrace, I cannot help but think that despite what Tara had said, somewhere behind her hideous, alien hide hid a beacon of hope; hope that we would succeed, and hope that we would survive; hope that a bright twinkle of destiny might listen, and that both fates of mother and son would meet again. In the wasteland, hope is the frozen spring of very dangerous delusions, yet simultaneously, it tries to breathe ripe life into all. We had empowered her. She wanted to believe at least one of us could love. Her silence about this very matter proved her fear of even placing that trust: a trust that would be placed in us aliens, who forage an arid world just outside these walls. In reality, Tara had never given up on us.

 

“You are human,” I say.

 

“I…I can’t ever thank you. I mean…I don’t know if I can. Maybe…I was wrong. I didn’t believe it was possible. My son will inevitably grow up to be a fine young man, cursed by the same problems of all ghouls, and likely never remember your deeds. Ghouls aren’t human – not to everyone. And I have nothing for you in repayment.”

 

She pauses.

 

“But you can promise me something.”

 

“A promise? Sure. We can keep a promise, right guys?”

 

Everyone nods.

 

“Then promise me for all our sakes,” she winces, closing her eyes, “that once you four enter this very hole…”

 

A manhole opens downward at her feet.

 

“…that you won’t ever look back, and you will return to the wasteland as the wandering vagabonds – no, valiant saviors – you all are. Your tales will only be a rumor among these people, your sins and betrayal only their fears. This city has already voted, all ballots unquestionably casted; the play is now through, and the curtains have closed.”

 

She closes her eyes ever more tightly, and for a moment, I can swear her flesh is peachy, creamy and perfectly smooth.

 

“You four mustn’t ever return to Underworld.”

 

FORWARD --->

Edited August 31, 2011 by AliasTheory

[AliasTheory]

1) Double update.

2) OVER 9000 views.

 

Other notes:

 

- Written over two weeks, unrevised. I've been spending a lot of time with family, not so much with hobbies.

- Typos, grammatical mistakes and other dumb crap is inevitable. As well as formatting errors...

- Don't expect me to write any more for some time. Been neglecting other projects.

- Bonus points for those who catch the evident parallel I'm trying to make up there. [EDIT] The two titles for 29 and 30 are somewhat of a hint.

Edited August 30, 2011 by AliasTheory

[frakle]

oh my goodness that was some juicy writing

[Ithildin]

Naturally I enjoyed your inclusion of the Beatles' lyrics in Chapter 22, and am very touched by your dedication to me. :blush: - That's an understatement. Thank you!

 

You wrote:

 

Saori has always tended to ramble when she's tired.

and

 

Female voice, young adult: *groans* Sir…I’m really, really tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Can’t we talk...later? Some other day?

and

 

M: Rambling on and on, are we?

 

F: Ah...well…sorry.

In February, I'd suspected the enigmatic female voice might be Lyn's, but now - to my astonishment - I believe it's Saori's. :blink:

 

Finally, you wrote:

 

In the future, I might turn bits and chunks of this fanfiction into a true work of original fiction...which means all new characters. I don't know if and when I'll finish it. I doubt anyone is interested! ...

Well, I am. :D

 

About your parallel/"post hoc ergo propter hoc" - is it that Underworld pumps its own water and smelts metals, and the fortuitous presence of magnesium-tainted water enabled Drew and Saori to make their escape and reunite Tara with her son? Or perhaps running across Tara on their errand to retrieve the synthesizer, which led them to her son, whom they might not have brought back if not for Saori's insistence? Hmm, I think I'm reaching here.

 

Sometimes analyzing something I love can wreck it for me, and for anyone unfortunate enough to endure my analysis. When I say Larry Niven wrote the most wonderful science fiction novel I've ever read - "Ringworld" - the specific reasons I love his work are not only elusive to me, but can't be enumerated in a way that does justice to the way I experienced the story. Maybe that's a copout, and you deserve more than this: I believe your writing has noticeably improved since you first started your epic project, and since I was already very impressed to begin with, that might speak volumes. Perhaps the fact that I keep blissfully coming back for more is also somehow sufficient unto itself. :happy:

[frakle]

alias, i'm going to say right now this is some of the best writing i have ever read in my entire life. and i read a lot. i mean, you balance an epic action story with a romance (of sorts) along with some mystery elements, and then you've got yourself a nice dosage of some deep stuff, like ithildin's sig about destiny.

 

i salute you, sir. :thumbsup:

[AliasTheory]

alias, i'm going to say right now this is some of the best writing i have ever read in my entire life. and i read a lot. i mean, you balance an epic action story with a romance (of sorts) along with some mystery elements, and then you've got yourself a nice dosage of some deep stuff, like ithildin's sig about destiny.

 

i salute you, sir. :thumbsup:

If you think that, then I honestly think you don't read a lot of fiction. But that means a lot! Thanks. :) I've wanted to change a lot of stuff in the very early chapters since I never anticipated I would write like how I am now, but I think it would confuse people for the moment.

 

In February, I'd suspected the enigmatic female voice might be Lyn's, but now - to my astonishment - I believe it's Saori's.

 

About your parallel/"post hoc ergo propter hoc" - is it that Underworld pumps its own water and smelts metals, and the fortuitous presence of magnesium-tainted water enabled Drew and Saori to make their escape and reunite Tara with her son? Or perhaps running across Tara on their errand to retrieve the synthesizer, which led them to her son, whom they might not have brought back if not for Saori's insistence? Hmm, I think I'm reaching here.

 

You can think whatever you want! That's what makes art in general exciting. The titles are (somewhat obviously) purposely ambiguous.

 

I guess I better start writing the next part. I'm almost more excited to finish this story up and create the alter egos of these characters for the original fiction I mentioned some posts ago.