#:darren

“Matthew?” Apprehension was clear in Darren’s tone as he tapped his index finger against the portable monitor in his hand, staring back at the distorted face of the teenager. The screen had frozen, acted up, and it was at the most inconvenient time. Darren was lost; there was no point in keeping his pride and pretending to know where the next exit it, because he had no clue. Back when the underground worked, a worker would have relied on the signs to guide him out of the tunnel maze, but half the routes had collapsed -- blocked off by immovable debris. Matthew was the only one who knew, with confidence, the easiest way outside. Darren regretted not studying the maps the UE sketched, instead of making up excuses about being busy on more important things.

Sudden high-pitched whining from the monitor had the Geneticist pulling out his wireless ear pierce. Now communication was really hell-bent. The monitor screen immediately turned black, and there was a faint crackle from the ear pierce; both indicated that Darren was alone. He couldn’t reach the guys any more, and already he felt his chest tighten with worry. Taking in a deep breath, the male returned the equipment to his satchel, before reaching up a hand to smooth back his frazzled hair; it was humid underground, now that there wasn’t enough air-flow through the tunnels to keep a breeze. His SPC was already clinging to his body, so he unzipped it half-way down to try and cool down.

“What did he say? Red -- red what, Matthew?” The teenager had spoke of a red something, but the monitor had froze before he caught it all. There was a red arrow on the wall, a red triangular sign on the tracks, and a red gate to a set of stairs on the other side of the tracks. “Fan-fuckin’-tastic, Dusty.” In the end, Darren opted for the sign on the tracks, because surely the trains used to lead outside? At least, he thought, my torch still works. It still didn’t make the darkened tunnel seem any less daunting as the Geneticist began the walk down the tracks, watching the slats below dance under the torch-light.

Perhaps, in retrospect, after half an hour of walking, Darren should have chosen the stairs. Perhaps, in an even more convincing argument after shining his torch on another pair of shoes, Darren should have followed the arrow instead. Both options were useless now as his torch picked up on another type of red on the stranger; one that wasn’t so reassuring or welcome. He knew about what happened to Matthew; everybody did. “I don’t have anything on me, mate,” what a stupid thing to say, he realised, a sure-fire way of getting jumped, “so let’s leave it, yeah?” 

This ham sandwich was not being eaten today, according to the white cat currently batting at the food in the geneticists’ hand with determination, “Peb-” Darren began, tutting loudly as the creature resorted to jumping off his work bench and onto his lap instead, “-Pebbles. You can’t have any! This is my lunch. Did he forget to feed you again?” Pebbles, as the cat was unfortunately called, was brought back to the bunker by the half-life for the simple reason that the creature looked like him. Impossibly white with two-toned eyes. Setting down his sandwich, the geneticist picked up Pebbles by her abdomen and held her aloft to face him, staring into her blue and green eyes with a disappointed expression, “Can we have an agreement? Let me eat, and I’ll find you something better, like chicken.” A total lie, since resources were scarce, but the mewl in return indicated that she bought it. 

“Thank you. You’re much better at negotiating than Elwood, and much more polit-” Darren stopped his sentence as he noticed he had company; bit embarrassing. “Heh. She can be lovely, but she doesn’t half get in the way.” Settling the cat back in his lap, the geneticist pushed back her ears with his hand in order to reveal her eyes, “Heterochromia iridum. Very common in white cats. They’re born with either two different coloured eyes, or one very mixed-coloured eye, because they have an excess or lack of melanin that would give me, or yourself, perfectly matching eye colours. It’s mostly inherited, like we've inherited our parents’, but can be caused by ‘hiccups’ in genotype determination. Genotypes are characteristics or traits--ah, actually, I’ll probably bore you with my rambling. Did you need anything?” Darren gave the white cat a gentle shove, before she took the hint and wandered off somewhere. The geneticist hoped Elwood adopted no more cats, because hair ended up everywhere, and it made work difficult with contamination issues. But, as usual, Elwood probably wouldn't listen.