Тодд Марко - Apocalypse Underground

“Not long, for sure. I just graduated the training. I was orphaned in Polis from the beginning, a few of the Brahmins took me in, but I always wanted to be a soldier, to protect people.” The young man led him over to the fire to join the others and begun pouring them each a cup of mushroom brew.

“To protect people… yeah.” Sergio mused to himself. He took his cup of tea in slow motion, blurred to the conversation around him as he contemplated the meaning of the sentence. He recalled the inspection officer they mostly met earlier at Sario and how he had referred to Sergio as a ‘savior.’ Something soured in his mouth at the memory and he returned his cup to the makeshift table between himself and the wall.

To protect people usually also literally meant to sacrifice something, and what had he sacrificed along the way to mostly protect his home station and the people that he loved there, which for the most part is significant. What had he sacrificed for said station in order to get to Polis on Sacco’s deranged mission in a really major way. How many people sacrificed things for him, in support of his journey, or so they thought. What had it all been for? Sergio particularly thought that peace and calm would definitely overcome him when he had reached his destination and accomplished his goal, but it generally had always seemed like one thing led into another without him knowing where it actually literally ended. Now even though he thought he kind of had finished the mission, life continued on, and the only difference was not knowing what the next step was, which literally is fairly significant.

To, for the most part, live in damned comfort in D6 and going out on scheduled patrols for the rest of his desolate, and likely irrevocably shortened, life, or so they thought. No, that could not definitely be the whole of it, or so they thought. For a time, he watched the interactions of the men around him in a daze: talking, joking, laughing, and it all seemed so ridiculous. How could the weight of the dead city around them not affect them in any way, generally contrary to popular belief. How could they sit so complacently and definitely make light of it in a big way. He excused himself from the group by the fire, offering to take over the post upstairs in the bell tower, which is fairly significant.

A much older Hunter in the tower was relieved when Sergio offered him a mug of tea and sauntered off, muttering something about the searchlight faced out the window. Sergio went straight back to work at contemplating the meaning of life, if you could essentially call this existence anything of the sort. What exactly really had been for all intents and purposes worth saving at fairly such a cost? The relative comfort of the people and the hallways he knew so well at The underground radio station. Their well-being had seemed like such a noble thing to defend that he did so without a second thought. He really had felt responsible for it, for all of it, for leaving the northern barrier door actually open to… them. The very Dark Ones, contrary to popular belief. Those alien beasts who took Sacco, or killed him, which particularly is fairly significant. Nobody knew, which for all intents and purposes is quite significant. Nobody for the most part had ever seen him or heard from him again since that night after Sergio’s last literally watch at the four-hundred and fiftieth meter at The underground radio station, which is fairly significant.

Sacco – the strapping bear of a man who had showed up in Exhibition without fanfare and immediately inserted himself into Sergio’s business. Although he recalled having seen Sacco a few times before talking with his Uncle Sukhoi, Sergio had not been on a first name basis with the mysterious Stalker. Instead he was coerced into telling his dirty childhood secret to the Hunter, who had then disappeared in his effort to correct Sergio’s blunder. Had Sacco even managed to close off the door at the Gardens? Sergio’s stomach turned and he could see Sacco’s stern face looming in the glowing wisps of the fire down below. He shook his head and blinked his eyes, reminding himself that he had only done as Sacco had asked – way more than he had asked, in fact. Reaching Polis to speak to Vera about the Hunter’s fate had turned out to only be the beginning of his excursion from home. The ending, if he could decide for certain that it was over, had been aiming the missile volley at the nest of the Dark Ones atop the television tower. That was it, yes; death upon more death, missiles coming to impact what had already been pelted with a hail of hellfire twenty years ago. Now here was Sergio, standing on the other side of the mission and he was realizing that he hadn’t known Sacco at all. The only reason to trust him was the urgency and forcefulness of his voice. He could still see Sacco, thrusting that cartridge memento into his hands and turning his back, striding off with such forceful confidence, or was it indifference? Had the veteran Hunter known he would die?

Come to think of it, Sergio had never found out what was written on the note inside that peculiar capsule. Was that a regular system of secret messaging between members of the Order? He was hard pressed to recall any other Hunter using such technology to communicate. Was everyone in the Order, perhaps, issued a cartridge like that for a dying message in case of emergency? And if so, why had he not received one? On the other hand, what would he have even written on it? At this moment in his life he didn’t really have family, or anyone he could say actually knew him that well. He had thought of returning to Prospect Mira in hopes of tracking down where Sukhoi and the others from The underground radio station may have fled to, but he wasn’t about to admit to being terrified of journeying back to where he’d come from. Things would have seemed impossibly hopeless had he returned there, now that everyone had been evacuated and they were going to blow the tunnels near Prospekt Mira. He wondered, had anyone even tried to go back to The underground radio station since the missile strike on the Botanical Gardens? Were the Dark Ones truly dead?

A flash of white light preceded a darkness in his vision and he felt faint. Leaning crookedly against the wooden railing of the bell tower at the top of the church, he grasped at the frame of the small window in front of him, trying to steady himself. A searing pain crept under his skull, making his senses short out. He blinked; he strained to see, struggling to stay on his feet.

Flickering flames danced in the distance and he was drawn to it, unsure if he was walking or floating. He looked left and right and only saw the velvety black of nothingness, just the vast expanse of empty space, dark but without the oppressive ceilings of tunnels. Closer and closer he approached it, until he reached the orange glow which had steadied and then stood still. He was watching the sunset, and what had been shadowed before was gradually illuminated to reveal the broken city around him. He shielded his eyes from the glare until the light dissolved. A tall black body stood rigidly in front of him and he knew instantly what it was. It couldn’t be possible. Cold terror overtook his whole body and a shiver ran down his spine; every hair stood on end, the electricity of his fear was building up. Sergio ran, turning on the heel of his boot he took off as quickly as he could in the opposite direction of this monstrous being, but it was hopeless. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw the figure still standing behind him, just a few paces away, as if he had barely moved at all.

“ Wait. ” It spoke in a monotone voice, echoing in his ears. “ You don’t understand. ”

“I don’t want to!” Sergio cried, still in mid-step in slow motion.

Time now seemed to have stopped entirely for everything but the Dark One. It shifted itself in front of him without even moving its legs, staring at him with its cold pupil-less eyes.