The Return of Pluto's Socket

17. Unknown Orbital

Vanessa's POV

December 25th

It was around the afternoon with the sun of Washington coming down on us, clouds dissipating as the day went on. The sky appeared in strokes of yellow, accompanying the dead grass that touched the soles of my shoes. While we went deeper into the suburbs, I noticed fewer people and citizens but an increasing number of stray cats and dogs. The buildings surrounding us came with grays, blacks, and dirty browns. It had varying heights and tinted windows, displaying secrecy and mistrust along the sidewalks. There were traces of trash, footprints, dried-up mud puddles, and faint blood stains on top of them too. It was like walking through a town plagued by an apocalypse and sickness: abandoned, ruined.

Ingrid and I soon found ourselves in front of a few dumpsters; All of them overflowed with trash bags, and the containers had dirt and rust. Their sizes overpowered us, and you could see flies accumulating around its contents. I pinched my nostrils closed as I watched Ingrid go to the side of one and put her hands against it.

She scoffed, "Vanessa, are you not going to help me?"

I stepped away from the scene, "You can't be serious."

"Oh my god," she laughed aloud, "The princess doesn't want to get her hands dirty. Well, this is where the hideout is, believe it or not. All we have to do is push it, but I need your help. I can't move it without foundation." She then pointed to her sprained leg, cocking her head and smiling.

I plopped my arms to my sides. "I swear on my life if we do this and it turns out there's nothing, I'm going to lose my mind."

I hesitantly went beside her and placed my hands against the dumpster. She spoke, "With all the places I've taken you to, everything has gone as promised. Why would I bring you to a dump site if it wasn't genuine?"

"I don't know. Maybe you want to chuck me over, steal my stuff, and run off into the sunset."

Ingrid chuckled, "You're so stupid. I can't even run. The only thing I can do is push."

With that, I swallowed my pride, and we got to work. Thanks to the help of my trusty hand sanitizer, I was able to push the dumpster aside with overbearing strength to reveal an opening: An illuminated path with a floor covered in newspaper. Looking at it, I could sense the shadows creeping up behind me, waiting for me to become trapped in their suffocating grasp. I waited for Ingrid to enter the mysterious hallway, as I was responsible for closing it back up. My nerves played in the daylight as I proceeded to walk beside her, clutching my belongings and hoping for the best. We went down the narrow area with hanging candlelight to guide us through the maze. I noticed  the walls were peeling, there were a few sewer drains, and we passed by exposed pipes that let off a foul smell. It was slippery, and our footsteps echoed in the darkness. I felt myself clinging to Ingrid to avoid getting lost or engulfed by the unknown.

After 20 minutes of walking, we came across a flight of stairs that curled around a pillar. The spiral stairs were creaky, unsafe, and overworked. Before descending, I looked down the edge to see some light and flicks of fire beaming from the bottom floor. The brightness was blurred like a beaming flashlight from far away. Emptiness surrounded us as if we were being dropped from the top of a well. While attaching my body to the walls and walking slowly, there was increasing noise: Laughter, glass clinking, fighting, explosions, the clicking of computers, and so much more. 

Ingrid flicked her coat back and kept walking down with confidence and assurance. In the corner of my eye, I could see a smile forming as we got further into the abyss.

My legs wobbled once I came down the last step. I lifted my head, only to see an enormous gathering in a spacious room. The place was rustic, yet had televisions and tech screens as big as the heightened walls. There was a corner for food vendors which gave out beer, juice, smoothies, and various snacks. One side hid an arcade and a pool table, and another had scratched-up couches for the members to sit on. Its most noticeable feature was a section that harbored paint, chalk, and spray paint; its purpose was to free creativity and angst expression. The place was murky green, and the walls were covered with oil splats, using hanging lamps to provide lighting. In the center was a wide-spread table, and at the head stood a man with purple hair and dark skin. His face showed distress, aggression, and an overall gruesome countenance. His eyes were two different colors, gray and red. The attire included a business suit, a long black tie, an attached belt carrying small weapons, and a gas mask on his hip. Around him were his goons, men, and women in rudged assassin clothes with similar equipment.