#:dvr

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“Don’t be stupid,” Elwood muttered, reaching up to wipe away excess blood from his lip using the sleeve of his SPC. “What does violence solve in a world already full of death?” If only the group of Vandals who attacked Elwood took that to heart. Bunch of arseholes. His face was an explosion of red streaks, as though it was some sort of fancy firework display on his pale expanse of skin. On the right-hand side of his forehead, a huge gash explained where all the blood was coming from; it was a gruesome sight, but the Half-Life looked unfazed. A regular occurrence, it seemed, at least for him. “Just go back to the bunker, Aisling. Leave me alone.” There was more fire to his words than was meant, a bitterness biting out. How ironic, considering what he was. It was what he was that landed him into this mess, sitting on the kerb with his head resting between his spread knees, staring at the ever-growing puddle of red around his boots.

The Vandals wanted to provoke him. To make him angry, make him bite. But Elwood resisted, despite the growing anger inside of him, and let them throw rocks. It was small rocks at first, and not enough to do any damage, but it was the brick that hit him square on the head which left him sprawled on the pavement. They didn’t kill him, nor kidnap him for a Death Cage Event, but being left alone - out cold - on the streets was far more dangerous. There was no risk of being infected, but Chris had once shown him CCTV footage of a Biter eating the corpse of a Spitter; it kept him awake that night. Nobody was safe.

“Can I have my backpack, please?”

Matthew had the intention of continuing mapping out the underground system this morning, adding to the ever-expanding maps of his, but his mind was elsewhere. And his carelessness had let him down, presenting him with the problem of potentially getting his equipment stolen. Two hours before, the teenager was happily chatting away to Elwood through his portable monitor whilst he set about marking train routes; it was a nice distraction from having to entertain himself by singing 80s power ballads that Elwood often played in the bunker. No matter how many times Matthew tried to replace it with something else, Heart’s ‘Alone’ still managed to creep up. For somebody determined to be bitter, Elwood sure chose songs that didn’t match his personality at all -- but nobody commented. It was rare to see Elwood cheerful, and if songs about heartbreak and boys did just that, then who were they to argue against it. Matthew wasn’t ashamed to admit that he often joined in; some of them were just too catchy.

After a while, the urban explorer had to let Elwood go whilst he made his way to the narrower parts of the underground. The connection wasn’t so great there, and he would have only lost signal and worried the other male, so he gave him fair warning. That, and the fact that he wanted to get back to the bunker as soon as possible, because it wasn’t exactly welcoming down in the underground. He had returned his equipment to his backpack, sidled through a gap in the tunnel, and made his way down a passageway that would lead him towards the next, open platform. These passageways were often used for workmen to easily pass from one area of the underground to the next without having to navigate the public routes. Matthew had removed his gas-mask and clipped it to his backpack, because there was no chance of encountering the infected down here.

Matthew had been foolish enough to leave his backpack on the sleepers whilst he took his map, a pencil, and walked down the new tunnel to continue where he had last left off. It was ten minutes later, and the sound of the keyring on his backpack jangle, that the teenager came running back to see some stranger picking it up. At first, the urban explorer was understanding - everyone was trying to survive, and there was an unattended backpack for the taking - but a flash of red on the person quickly turned his sympathy into fear. Vandal. The question came tumbling out, even with a please, but Matthew felt his confidence dwindling.

“That’s...that’s mine. I need it! Give it back!”

“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?”