Short 1 - Alexa WIP1

.    Under all this earth, below the graves, below the wells, intertwined over and around caverns and catacombs, she waits. There is concrete, there is metal, and the air here is older. There is dust and grease, and all is still. There is nothing to hear, but much to see. Steel tracks used to hum and buckle against the constant load of trams, trains, cars, and trolleys. But it is still now - as can ever be. She gently brushed her hair back and with every movement there was noise. As she settled again, perched on the catwalk, silence again, and she could almost hear her heart beat.

.    Much to see; tunnels carved into the very crust of the planet, lined with concrete walls, panels, and ceramic tile. Light came from only two places, two so equally present as they are opposite in the way they cast shadows from the hanging wires and cables, in the way they brought her form into visible shape. The light from above, from the sun, was faintly warm, faded gold, and almost felt weak having been bounced and tossed from the surface down so far, reflected against so many walls. From below, man's imitation; the bitter, harsh fluorescent flood from halogen lamps, bulbs, and beams. Their shadows almost seemed fake; as if they did not know where to fall, with no sharpness cast in their out-of-focus shapes. Bunches of pipes ran from ports in the ceiling all the way up to the surface, carrying water, electricity, and sunlight - thick fiber optic tubes bounced light all the way from the open air above down their length to the subway below. It produced an almost eerie effect of underground day and night, as the surface above shifted in and out of the sun's view, so did the light below, to an extent. It was ingenious, but at some subconcious level, slightly disturbing. The mind knew it was being tricked.

.    She enjoyed every moment of it. The silence, the light, the world below our world - it was fantastic in a way not realized since man first entered space. And at the same time, it was tragic. No one lived or worked down here any more, because those on the surface began to war as they always have, and brought their war underground, to this place. Now it was almost a wasteland.

.    A stirring in her periphery caught her attention and she instinctively watched as figures climbed out from a doorway half buried in rubble. Warm, incandescent bulbs poured a friendlier light onto broken rocks, puddles, and metal tracks. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she watched the four men quietly and cautiously look around, searching. They were not as dead still as she, but they were not blundering either; their movements gentle but deliberate. Finally she moved, rising slightly from the walkway and standing with one hand softly holding the railing for balance. She unholstered her sidarm and took aim, waiting for one to look in her direction. The sights of her pistol drifted slightly in and out of alignment without the other hand to balance her grip. The men took a handful of calm steps out towards the tracks, scanning the passageways, searching, their headlamps making shadows dance behind broken walls and rocks. She saw a flash as one head turned to her. "Bang" She thought.

.    But there was no bang. She smirked as she thumbed a small button on the pistol, projecting a narrow cone of blue light towards the group. The man saw her signal, and motioned to the others. They carefully picked a path to her as she put away her gun and quickly slunk down the side of the catwalk, dropping to the ground with a soft muffled tap. Two of the men took up concealed positions closeby, keeping watch. The other two came up to her, and removed their filter masks. Her face was washed with joy at the sight of their faces, and she embraced them both tightly.

.    "Not yet," she replied, letting go and again brushing the hair from her face.


* * * * *

.    Cold, naked, and alone. Shivvering, cowering. She was 12 years of age. Beyond being raised as a weapon, she was an exotic pet, a plaything to them. She remembered that she meant nothing of consequence. Her will broken time and time again, always struggling to survive repeated lashings. Without friend or companion, she succumbed to solitude. To have made it this far and remain psychologically intact, took a very bright spirit. Over the years that spirit was battered and worn, roughed up and bruised, black and blue. But it was still her spirit, and it still shone dimly from within.


.   The day sunlight first touched her cheeks was her trial by fire. She was to prove herself to them for the first time. She hated them, but this was the first time she had the chance to do something she could be proud of. So she obeyed once more. She obeyed all the way until the simplest event stirred the most complex reaction. The trigger of her handgun clicked back without recoil, the sound echoing across the tunnel walls. It would have been perfection had the shot been fired, but for this abnormal clicking sound, accompanied by the most subtle mumbling of a swear from her clenched teeth.

With the failure of that shot came the most intense sense of failure. She broke down on the spot crying.