#rapedsense

Jean-Pierre was a successful businessman. He created his fortune through cunning investments and his family's influence in the Union of Countries. Everyone that was somebody knew him and everyone that wanted to be somebody knew him as well. To be under his leadership was not only an honor but a challenge. He was the kind of man that wanted perfection and expected the very best of his employees. He was also a charming and elegant fifty-two years old man. He noticed Marie running towards them with his deep blue eyes and gestured his hand gently, waving to her.

"Ah, you must be Marie Madeleine!" - He stated with a friendly and gallant tone. There was a subtle accent to his English, one Marie would relate to - "Almost everybody is here. I already anticipated two of our members would be delayed, so why don't we wait for them inside? I'm sure none of you have visited the Government Halls yet!" - The middle-aged man rubbed his forehead and laughed softly and with embarrassment - "But where are my manners? My name is Jean-Pierre Lyons. I'm sorry, I've spoken my name out so much today that I completely forgot I hadn't introduced myself to you, Marie Madeleine. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jean-Pierre stepped to the side of the great door and invited everyone inside with a smooth swing of his arm towards the interior. His formal attire gave him a chivalrous look. He was a knight of Present days. His words struck Marie like thunder. "Such a charmer." - She thought, smiling. Marie was an admirer of Jean-Pierre's work and, without any doubt, his looks as well. His body was slim and his face was long with an imposing chin. His appearance already revealed his character and personality, but it was already beyond Marie's expectations. The group entered the Government Halls. They were fascinated. For the first time, they were all witnessing a perfect replica of the Renaissance with their own eyes. Different paintings from various artists were copied onto the surface of the Halls' interior walls, creating an artistical and cultural shock beyond anything seen before by the team. Marie was truly mesmerized.

"Don't go letting your jaw fall off." - Marie turned to where the voice came from. Her gaze set on a woman in her early thirties, a brunette with an accent Marie couldn't quite place. - "The name's Helena. I'll be the team's guide. Nice to meet you."

Helena hailed from the Iberian peninsula. She had dark skin and short, spikey hair. A tomboy at heart, the Iberian was a former soldier and her fit body was one half of what revealed it. She was wearing a black tank top, camos and black boots. She had a scar on the left side of her chin that tracked down to the bottom edge of her throat, closing in on the collarbone. Her eyes were black, or perhaps dark brown.

"Oh... H-Hello! My name is Marie Madeleine! It's nice to meet you too! Oh... I'm the doctor!"

Marie's eagerness was reflected by Helena's stoic expression. The latter ended up letting a small laugh, but it was more of a befriending gesture than an honest feeling.

"I know you're a first timer." - Said Helena - "Don't worry, just stick to us."

"Thank you!"

Past the entrance hall with all its splendor were the corridors of steel. The Government Halls were built to portray a sense of security inside of a structure that was timeless and beautiful. Of course, the main reason was to create a place where the Government officials could work in, but I believe you catch my drift (ending of Fourth Wall Breaking).

Jean-Pierre used a keycard on a device by a door and it slid open. Once again, the gentleman stepped to the side and invited everyone inside. The meeting room was crude and simple, with a long table and some chairs. Whatever electronics were usually there, noticing by the objects where one could place a projection device, had been removed. Jean-Pierre alread had everything he needed: several copies of a map and documents on top of the chairs.

"Take a seat please." - Requested Jean-Pierre as he walked to the end of the table - "You will find a map and some papers on your chairs. Do take the time to read them. We are still waiting for two members, so might as well do something productive while we wait, don't you agree?" - The charming man took a step to his right, being secretive with a towering man - "I must leave for a short time. However, Luc will stay here in case you need anything. He is my most loyal assistant, be sure he will be yours in this journey."

Luc was nicknamed "The Tower" during his highschool years. He was nearly two meters tall and as thick as a lion. He wore a protective leather jumpsuit with shoulder pads and a breastplate and he and Helena wore similar boots. Luc was black, bald and had a very mean look in his eyes, as if they were constantly ablaze. He was donned with special military training and had learned much in terms of culture from Jean-Pierre. His sense of duty towards his employer was beyond anything the group would eventually witness.

In the documents was a review of the journey, means of transportation and supplies readied, as well as a blank sheet to add anything if a member thought the expedition needed something important that was missing. The map had annotations by Jean-Pierre himself, addressing access points and alternate routes. Something Helena would care about. Marie didn't understand much beyond the medical supplies, but she tried to read everything anyway.

Part One: Arrival

"I barely knew every hallway in Normandy and I was on the train to Paris! I was so anxious, so motivated! I started wondering who our leader was and what the other members looked like. I knew only one name, an hour and a meeting place: Jean-Pierre Lyon, 2PM, the Government Halls. I wish I could go back in time... But then I would have never met them." - Marie Madeleine

After the Nuclear War, those who retreated into the Metro survived with what little food and water they brought from the surface. Radiation leaked to several tunnels, leading to more deaths and subsequent sealing of those areas. However, a few years later, governments came out of hiding, pursuing to rebuild humanity in the only place they could: the Metro. Engineers began working with the inhabitants of the tunnels to repair systems and clear debris from tunnels and halls. While most of the technological development was lost, the crucial pieces had been perserved by those who lived in the shelters and even some who lived in the Metro. The result was the restart of many Metro lines, allowing people to move around with more ease and safety. Paris was the center of it all. It still is.

A petite woman, clearly in her early thirties, hopped off the carriage onto the platform below. She was wearing hiking pants and a white winter jacket with a long sleeved black shirt under it. With her long, bright brown hair tied in a ponytail, one could observe the delicate lines of her skin and eyebrows. Her gaze burned blue, admiring the repaired architecture and design. Classic pillars of an era unrecognizable to the woman divided the platforms in two, one for each line of the Metro. The station itself was full of life. Traders and other sorts of travellers rushed to the trains in hot pursuit of life, of adventure. The woman had a wide grin on her face. All the anxiety was still there, manifesting itself with awe.

Not wanting to delay herself further, the woman grabbed her rucksack and carried it on her back. She had only brought the essential: some food for the journey to Paris, currency from Normandy and clothing, lots of clothing. She walked towards the information booth and asked for directions. The Government Halls were just outside the station. She could breathe easy as she wouldn't be late at all. Maybe she would have time for some sight-seeing before the scheduled meeting. The woman walked outside the station and was even more surprised than before. Bright lights levelled the darkness, keeping it away from Paris. The city itself was an ongoing project, a relic of the past manifested in smaller size in the future. Even the Eiffel Tower was present, albeit much smaller. Its purpose was to remember those who lived and visisted Paris that art, in all sizes, should never be forgotten. A strong message. Simple and straight. The most amazing part was the architecture. Paris' construction began after the French Government returned. One could say it began almost immediately after its return. Engineers from the shelters were escorted to perform wonders, combining efforts with locals to expand their new home, an underground lair. The houses have several levels and stretch out to the ceiling of the artificial cave, which is already vast itself. The underground version of appartment buildings. The streets were brimming with people. Vendors welcomed weary travellers and business was flying back and forth, hitting the woman from every direction with discounts, cheap places to stay, the best food in town... She excused herself politely and let the rabid dogs and hyenas hunt for the next prey.

"One year ago, I submitted my Curriculum to what I believed to be one of the greatest experiences in my whole life. I had lived in the shelter since I can remember myself, always looking for an opportunity to wander, to explore..." - Marie Madeleine

Three hundred years ago, Humanity faced one of the worst possible outcomes of war: a complete cultural exchange. You might think that I'm yanking their chain or pulling their leg, but that is not the case. Truth is, even in conflict, you exchange your culture. How a country fights is just another part of their culture, of what they learned throughout the ages. But when I refer to a "complete cultural exchange", one must note that there is no difference in that exchange. No country wins. Everybody loses. Especially when we're talking about nuclear warheads. The ultimate eliminators.

Fearful of what the future would bring, our Ancestors built shelters deep underground. These shelters had space for hundreds of people, supplies for hundreds of years and technology to conserve the lifestyle - and protection - of upstanding citizens. Where did that leave the rest of us? Hundreds is not thousands, it's not millions. Humanity, in its whole, was a being of six billion cells. I can't say all made it out alive, nor did they manage to scrap by without a scratch.

When the bombs hit, those who had reserved a place in the shelters had been there for weeks, probably months. Outside visits were regular, but they were all monitored. For safety, you see? Control. It wasn't really about the life of the citizen, but what the citizen could bring to the government. Engineers, doctors, scientists, successful entrepreneurs. People with money to invest on the future. People with skills. And so, everything that remained was us, the lower classes. What happened to us?

When danger was imminent, the lower classes rebelled. We fought for our rights against a government that forgot about us. But wasn't it too late? We knew about the shelters for so long and we knew how expensive they were, for who they were built. But we let it happen, oblivious of the consequences. Who is at fault? Those who promised to protect us or... ourselves, for not being self-sufficient...? Is that a word? I wasn't there when the bombs fell, so I only know what is recorded in whatever book talks about it or what my mom and stepdad tell me. It was Hell. Everybody sought to save themselves, kids were forgotten in the middle of the streets, the elderly ignored. Everyone was just trying to make it through into the metro, into what they thought would save them. Underground.

Six billion people were alive In 2077. Three hundred years later, I know this much: the last census by the Union provided us with a rough number on the combined population of all known settlements in its control. We barely get to the ten million mark. I don't feel the difference. How could I know? All I know is what my stepfather shares, what he teaches about the Old World. I have to say, I prefer this one. Even if I can't see the Sun. Even if I'm stuck in a dirty, old metro tunnel. It's home. -- Unknown Writer, First Journal Entry

Dense static travels through wires. A spark of hope erupts, piercing its target and cleaning the transmission.

"I think-... Yeah, I think it-it's working! It-it has to be!"

"What?! You did it!"

The two voices on the radio, distinguishably male and female, celebrated for moments. One could hear the echoes of joy in their cries. But would it last?

...

One week later.

"Anybody,... please..." - muttered the female voice, desperate - "I'm-... I am transmitting this message on all freq-..." - she started crying, unable to contain her tears. After moments to compose herself, she restarted her attempts - "I am transmitting this message on all frequencies. Please, if you can hear us-,... Please, save us! Please..."

...

Five days later.