REM

Underground

There is no 'Welcome to the Underground' sign as I slunk into the shadowed entrance. Old, cement steps from an abandoned building lead you down to the hidden world inside the decaying city. No one would expect people to be this far past the outskirts of the safe zone, but then, is anything safe anymore?

Two muscular guards glance at me as I reach the bottom of the stairs, flashing my citizen marking on my wrist before rolling my sleeve back down. I'm wearing dirty jeans and a black hoodie, but the hood is left down until I'm ready to leave, or escape a fight. If you don't want to get noticed while you're here, it isn't too difficult.

On my way through the city's ground level – just outside the Underground – I saw the flashy cars people drove to get here. Drones that patrolled the inner parts of the city never ventured out here often, but brush was still used in an attempt to hide the various forms of transportation.

Down below anything was fair game. The Underground was a place for partying, fighting, and fucking. Some of it was pretty mild with ravers dancing around in minimal amounts of fashionable fabric, some even stripping down completely naked.

Then there were the ones who did drugs in the lounge. Everyone so high they just laid there, or humped one another on the deck chairs with tattered cushions. Most of the fucking that occurred happened in there.

Fights took place in the worst possible places.

As I walked in, I saw the main strip lined with men. A few women were present in them, looking tough as hell. Most are skinny, but the scars don't let me underestimate them as fighters.

There are two pits for fighting, both out in the open. You line up and hope your random opponent isn't bigger than you. Some fights are even planned in the event someone elects to call you out for being a drunk piece of shit, or even a liar. Most of those fights are instigated by drunk pieces of shit, who are actually lying when they make the accusations.

I steered clear of those pits every time I visited. No one ever bothered me as I walked around, checking things out. I wasn't some sort of pervert who watched people fuck in the lounge either, I just liked being in a place where I didn't feel so constrained. This place was my getaway, a vacation if you will.

The noise from people cheering on fights in the main strip was always loud. Once you managed to squeeze by the groups of people huddled around the active fights, doors led you into indoor sections that descended even further underground.

Everything was sectioned off inside, with only two doorways on either end of the structure, which served as entrance and exit to return to the main strip before ascending the decaying steps to the city's surface.

I swear most people lived here. Not that I remembered their faces from the last time.

Continuing downward, I reach the inside ground level, passing by the rave pit that doesn't seem to compare to the fights upstairs.

Glow sticks and drugs, or bloody faces and fists?

I had to hand it to anyone who was able to make it out of here alive. Between the chances of overdosing because everyone is so fucked up they don't even care to help you, and the bludgeoning your brain would receive inside your fractured skull up top, I didn't know which would kill you first.

Fighters would usually come inside, take a sharp right down the hall to the showers and come back all bandaged up before getting drunk, or high as they tried to further numb the pain from life.

Pain killers, alcohol, weed, cocaine, X9, and so much more. Combine enough of those things, and yeah, you won't feel much pain. You won't feel much of anything actually, because you'll probably be dead on a deck chair as some dirty slut grinds a snail trail on your stiff body, the warmth draining from it.