Todd Marco
APOCALYPSE UNDERGROUND
Prologue
After the great war in 2077, the world was blown to smithereens. The communists of Russia and the capitalists of America finally did it, they ended the world. Europe, being in the dead center of both the east and the west had it the worst. Infighting between communism and capitalism came to an all time high – England, France, Spain, Germany – no country was spared from the harshness of nuclear devastation.
Italy was ravaged no different to any other nation, but they had the fortune of being prepared. Millions flocked underground into the Italian Metros. They remained inactive ever since Italy hit their oil defecate, but when other countries heard of the preparations Italy was taking, they sent immigrants to take over various stations.
Italy is repeating history, this time – underground. Various factions formed, the Venetian Brotherhood, the German Reich known as the Realm, the Italian communists, and the Hunters. These groups wage war trying to conquer and unite all of Italy, and no station is safe from the vying factions or the mutants that now linger on the surface.
Chapter 1: Business as Usual
“It’s too late now, the boss is angry; wants to see you immediately.” A gruff voice stated haltingly.
“No, wait! Tell him I’ll get him everything he wants, please!” The shrill cries of a short and slim man kneeling on the tracks of this particularly barren stretch of tunnel did nothing to sway the larger one, who was standing over him with a sub-machine gun in his hands, finger stroking the trigger guard impatiently. “I h-had trouble at the border, that’s all. You know how it is with these rules about transporting goods past the Central Gates!”
There was a cautious moment of silence before the large man grinned as he cast his eyes down the far end of the tunnel ahead of them. The smaller man timidly followed his gaze, his eyes wide and his brows twisted in fear and terror. Distant footsteps were heard thundering forward and the echo made it very hard to discern whether it was one person or a whole army… or something far worse.
The sound grew steadily, until three figures began to emerge from the abyss. Two strong similar-featured men in grey uniforms and brown armored vests flanked the third figure who seemed to be the boss that the large man had forewarned about; each one carried a Malikov and a stern look. The one in the middle came to a halt squarely on the cross tie in front of the kneeling man, he followed the worn pair of combat boots upwards; the sight becoming more shocking as his eyes climbed the unexpected form.
“Well then.” Spoke a smooth feminine voice, it would have been comforting, had he not known the context of the situation he was in. “What seems to be the problem, Herr Schmidt? Are you no longer in need of our services, or have you simply ceased to function as a useful member of society?”
She spoke like a scholar or politician, calmly and yet condescendingly. He examined her stature quickly; tall and thin, lightly armored – yet armored. She also carried a Malikov, but as he had caught the glimpse of it in the dim emergency lighting she was placing it into a holster on her back. Her long reddish-brown hair fell in soft loops beside her face, as if it were slipping from the clip behind her head. Her face was smooth and porcelain pale; she couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five. His jaw hung agape, his tongue struggling to form a word. Her colorless eyes pierced at him, both hands on her hips, and she waited for his response.
“Y-you’re a… I mean you-you’re Farkas Polo? I thought—” The small man stuttered.
“Farkas.” She raised her eyebrows and leaned forward at the waist, challenging him to continue prattling, daring him to continue to delay answering her question. He received the hint quite clearly.
“No, no, of course not. I-I mean, there’s no problem at all miss—” His sentence was cut from his lips by the swift motion of the woman drawing a silenced Maro pistol from its holster at her hip and aiming it at his head. It seemed like a flash of lightning had gone off in that brief moment, as if she had manipulated the very fabric of time. His hands flew up beside his ears to protect himself instinctively and he crumpled further downward, cringing.
“You may not have known, so I will tell you now, if there is one thing I cannot stand – it is a liar.” She took a deep breath and then relaxed her weapon arm, crossing it over her other arm pensively. “Now, I shall give you two more days. Sokolov will be keeping his eyes on you until you reach Madrid. You will deliver my message and bring the supplies to Venice. Sokolov will take them from there, since you’re so stunningly incompetent.” She gestured in the direction of the large solider whom he had initially been pleading with and the man winced at the thought of being followed by the brutish man.
The small man nodded silently and slowly the whole time she was talking. Anything to keep that pistol from pointing in his direction again, anything to keep these soldier’s from tearing him apart in their minds, and to keep them from making their fantasies a reality.
“Did I make anything unclear to you?” She leaned down to him again, returning her pistol to her holster. The small man was finally able to let out a breath.
“N-no, I’ll get on it straight away. Thank you, thank you. I’ll never speak a word of this to anybody, I swear!” He began to stand up and back away slowly, gathering up his pack and jacket that had been dropped during the initial scuffle.
“No. You won’t.” She seethed, letting the malice in her eyes show through until he turned his back and ran as fast as he could back towards the KelavaLine.
Sara sighed with annoyance and relaxed her stance, rolling her eyes as she took a few steps forward to where the small man had been kneeling down. The large soldier began to chuckle and stepped forward out of the shadows with a lopsided grin.
“What is funny, Sokolov?” Spoke the shortest soldier to the biggest.
“The look on their face – never gets old.” Sokolov grinned as he balanced the large box magazine of his weapon on his shoulder and put his free hand on his belt. “I think he might have pissed himself just looking at you, boss.”
“Stupid traitors, thinking they know everything – thinking they can get away with slacking off. You would think Realm would stop sending so many spies. How many have we turned into errand boys, Marco?” The other soldier who had been standing at her side said with disgust, slinging his rifle strap over his shoulder.
“They aren’t all spies, Nikolai.” She spoke in a voice so low it was almost consumed by the expanse of the tunnel. “Not that one, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” The same young man raised an eyebrow.
“A Realm operative wouldn’t tremble and piss on themselves. Think about it – they send paid scouts, outcasts like us to do their dirty work and report back. None of them want to come this far, especially to Paveletskaya.” She shook her head and turned around to face her companions. “I sort of feel sorry for him.”
“So why scare the poor guy like that, then? If you knew so much about it…” The soldier called Nikolai crossed his arms and scowled.
“Because we can’t afford to show any weakness. Outcast or not, he is still being used by them, and they do not easily give up.” She narrowed her eyes and turned her head back down the tunnel. Many kilometers north on the very same line was the Fourth Realm territory – her former home.
“Hey, Sergio!” There was a muffled knock on the hard steel frame of the door. “Are you awake or what? Can’t stay in bed all day forever, you know.” The voice was playful. It was definitely Makarov, come to check on him.
Sergio groaned and rolled onto his side, his senses slowly shifting back into reality. He remembered that he was in D-6 now, that he didn’t live in a station anymore; it was the light in the small room that surprised him the most. Never had he thought that he would live to see this mythical place, or find out that it even existed let alone have his own room in it, he absorbed every detail he could until Maro began knocking again. Pushing the heavy metal door aside, he was greeted by the mischievous expression on his partner’s face.