Help? They naturally needed it. It wasn't a universal law in these troubled times but rather an unspoken rule to ensure the survival of various stations.
When the concept of underground living first emerged, this issue naturally presented itself as an inevitability. While the solution wasn't universally agreed upon, it was largely adopted by most stations.
After all, what guaranteed that the one refusing to help today wouldn't be the one in danger tomorrow?
Altruism was never a universally shared value, but self-interest was.
The motive wasn't kindness but the assurance of one's own survival—a sort of long-term investment.
And for stations that wanted immediate returns, there was always room for negotiation.
Each station or base was unique.
As such, some possessed resources essential to others.
Exchanges could occur.
Amanise's station, for instance, had a giant drill that allowed them to carve out Quadra and Quintis, extending their survival in this ecosystem. Such a tool could be extremely valuable to other stations seeking to expand or dealing with issues that could be resolved in this manner.
Thus, during negotiations, such a tool would hold considerable value when discussing interests and costs.
But all of this remained theoretical.
Reality was far different. And it was reality that mattered.
Thus, Amanise remained silent.
Thus, Raphael feigned disinterest in his sister's explanation.
Adonis's questions were nothing new to these two.
How could they not have thought about it?
Amanise was indeed an optimist, but she was also a researcher. She based her conclusions on facts, her experience, and her understanding.
Raphael was no less capable. He was a rationalist. His opinions were often based on his grasp of things, his accomplishments, and verified facts.
The various plans both focused on weren't based on luck or hope but on a wealth of data gathered over months of preparation.
Despite this, there were still many unknowns. No matter how meticulous their foresight, they remained limited in what they could achieve as just two individuals.
What's more, reality didn't align with their intended course of action.
More than three years had passed since they had taken refuge in the station, and over two years since they realized they were effectively trapped—leading the station as a whole to consider and implement downward expansion.
Yet, nothing had happened.
Not once had their station received any signal from the outside.
No one had come after them.
For most stations, three years was far too long without resupply or exchange with others—one year being the common threshold.
And yet, they had received nothing from anyone.
They were like a world unto themselves, isolated from all others.
This was the siblings' greatest concern. They believed something unusual lurked beneath this veil of confusion.
The world was far darker and more mysterious than the simple layer of survival that covered everyone. Sometimes, calling for help could spell the demise of a station.
Even with the potential benefits, not everyone "played" by the same rules. There were now more dangerous individuals in existence than ever before in the known history of the world.
But the situation was critical.
They could no longer afford to worry about adverse consequences—inaction would bring about the gravest consequence of all.
Thoughts raced through Amanise's mind at an impressive speed, her expression growing darker as she deliberated.
At that moment, Raphael spoke up:
"One thing at a time, one concern at a time. Once the antenna is repaired, we'll consider the right approach. For now, just make sure to look after my sister once you're outside."
Adonis felt his question had unsettled the atmosphere, so he withdrew.
"Understood," he replied simply.
After that, their small gathering quickly dispersed.
Raphael set off for his workshop to continue his research. He still had much to address.
Before leaving, he reminded his sister of her meeting with the elder—a suggestion she cheerfully ignored with a smile as she headed toward her room.
He also assigned Adonis a task, not forgetting to throw a few insults his way in the process.
Of the three, Adonis appeared to be the oldest, though he didn't know his actual age. Raphael, on the other hand, was in his twenties. Amanise remained the eldest of the trio, though she refused to reveal her age.
The reasons for this refusal eluded Adonis. Raphael, for his part, dared not comment on the matter. The few times he had tried, it had caused him trouble.
And so, Raphael departed, leaving Adonis with Amanise.
These two had been living together since she took him in.
She had taken on the responsibility of monitoring his condition—he was not yet in peak form. In return, he assisted her with various tasks.
The siblings, for reasons known only to themselves, had embarked on a highly perilous mission. As such, they couldn't overlook any form of support, as long as it was even slightly trustworthy.
Their encounter with Adonis had been a blessing of sorts. His assistance made Amanise's secret explorations far safer. Raphael had come to realize—often to his own detriment—the physical abilities of this young man when paired with his sister.
So, even though he didn't particularly like him, he was fully aware of Adonis's value.
This freedom of movement granted to the green-eyed young man, however, was strictly limited to the outside—and even then, only to a certain extent.
The station maintained archives and a clear register of its inhabitants, their known genealogies, and affiliations.
Introducing a new individual would have raised numerous questions.
As a result, for most people, Adonis remained confined to Amanise's apartment in Gemis. He rarely ventured out and only visited areas with reduced surveillance, such as parks, bars, or less commonly used social spaces.
The station was spacious.
It was large enough to resemble a superimposed city when accounting for its three initial levels.
In general, if not for incidents that occurred a few years prior, this particular station could have sustained its population for at least five years before facing the issues it currently grappled with.
This was one reason why some of the current leaders believed patience and passive solutions were the best survival strategies.
They failed to grasp the station's true state, deluding themselves. Adding to this was their fear of the now-unrecognizable outside world.
Inside the station, relative safety still existed.
But the outside was different—unknown and strange.
Life had already been challenging there three years ago under normal circumstances. What could it be like now? Why risk venturing into an environment teeming with dangers of all kinds?
In the station, the first level, Solis, housed most of the residences. It was the most spacious and heavily populated, home to several thousand people. It was divided into different zones, with varying appearances and accommodations for its housing units.
It wasn't ideal, but it was the reality of life.
Even in this "narrow" and "dark" underground, not everyone lived the same life.
To secure a place in this station, each person underwent a different recruitment process, granting them specific access and varying degrees of privilege.
Naturally, those with the most advantages were less inclined to risk embarking on ventures that could strip them of everything—or even diminish their privileges.
Sector F, Crescent Bar
A man sat at the counter. He wore a worker's uniform, resembling that of technicians from earlier times. It was covered in dust, with a color that had faded from its original hue.
In his right hand, he held a large plastic cup as he shouted at the man a meter away from him,
"Another drink! What do you dilute your alcohol with? I could barely taste it!"
The bartender observed him for a moment but remained silent, opting instead to refill the man's cup.
The bar was packed.
The counter had no available space. Conversations took place all around. It was nearly impossible to hear oneself think amidst the chaos.
The lights were dim, reflecting the state of the outside world. The music was soft and sophisticated, barely noticeable, gently accompanying the shouting and interactions of the patrons.
In a darker corner of the bar, a group of individuals sat in a circle, speaking more calmly than most of the other tables.
A waitress approached them but was immediately waved away by one of the men in the group.
Around the table, no one had alcohol. Most held either a glass of milk or distilled water.
"When do we take action?" one of them whispered.
He wore a hoodie, the hood covering his head. Under the table's light, only his eyes gleamed, reflecting like a glint in the shadow.
The others around him were much the same. One way or another, they concealed their faces, making it hard to distinguish them, especially in the dim atmosphere.
Adonis sat at a nearby table, sipping his drink. He savored it openly, not hiding his pleasure.
"Grape juice, they call this. It's incredibly delightful. I feel like I've tasted this before," he muttered.
"No matter. I'll have to bring some back when I'm done with 'this.'"
This time, he was dressed in tailored pants and a striped shirt, giving him a responsible appearance. His musculature was subtly highlighted by the outfit, which seemed slightly too small for his frame.
In a bygone era, he might have been seen as an elegant businessman.
The clothes Raphael had lent him suited the occasion perfectly.
He continued sipping his drink, a smile on his lips as he listened carefully to the conversation unfolding at the other table.
"It must be them; that old scarred man matches the image Raphael showed me," he thought.
At the table where the circular meeting was taking place, a middle-aged man with a scar running across his cheek spoke up.
"Let's avoid rushing things. The time for action isn't here yet. We still know far too little about the internal situation."
"And whose fault is that?" retorted the previous speaker.
"These people keep us in the dark, treating us like subjects or children. It's gone on long enough."
"You're far too agitated. We're trying to claim better living conditions and clarity about this situation that has dragged on for far too long. This isn't about charging in recklessly and attacking everyone," the scarred man continued, his sharp gaze scanning his companions seated beside him.
"The Depths Flu is affecting our people. Some haven't returned after being sent to Triax. What we need are answers and assistance. I hope no one here has forgotten that."
The previous man sniffed in dissatisfaction but didn't argue further.
"Calm down, both of you," another voice interjected.
"We'll act as planned, but rushing won't guarantee any satisfactory results.
Amanise seems to have resurfaced recently. Let's give her time to deal with the flu, and then we'll follow through with the plan.
Our ultimate goal is the surface—I want to remind each of you of that."
He paused, taking a deep breath as all eyes around the table fixed on him. After a brief moment of reflection, he resumed,
"Two months. We'll act two months from today."
"The leaders of this station are doing nothing to pull us out of the current crisis. You can all see it clearly. The station is losing autonomy. Our already meager rations have been cut further, our working hours extended—it feels like the old world all over again.
All of this because these people aren't willing to risk their comfortable lives. But they're the only ones living comfortably here.
None of us belong to them; we aren't servants meant to cater to their satisfaction."
"We must act, but act with caution and prudence.
I miss fresh air. The air outside—not this processed, lifeless air that poisons us. I miss nature. I know you all do too.
No matter the dangers outside, we've survived there before, and we'll survive again.
So, we'll take back control of this station from these cowards, and then we'll finally make our way back to the surface!"
Smiles formed on the shadowed faces of the listeners. Their leader's speech had rekindled their resolve. They each expressed their approval and satisfaction.
Most of those present were low-ranking workers.
In life and in the world at large, no matter its state, every job and every activity has its importance, its value, its utility. Yet isn't it true that every activity is classified? Stigmatized?
The powerful determine what holds value and what doesn't, what deserves honor and what doesn't. And most of the time, it's always activities that satisfy their personal desires, coloring their world, rather than those that serve the greater good of humanity.
During the construction of this tower a few decades ago, most of the workers who had sweated blood and tears to bring the architect's vision to life hadn't earned the right to live there or seek refuge.
After the construction, they were thanked with supplies and other necessities, then dismissed. If they wanted access to their creation, they were required to pay for it... a strange contrast, especially as the luxury areas of Solis at the time were filled and overrun by individuals who hadn't shed a single drop of sweat on the project.
The "revolutionaries" here found themselves in a similar situation. They worked tirelessly to maintain this structure, dedicating all their efforts—not out of love or devotion but in the hope of a return.
Better hygiene, better rations, and other advantages in this underground world filled with "artificial" light.
Yet, as soon as the station faced peril and resources dwindled, they were the first to suffer.
They knew the quality of life of those in other zones, even if they didn't work there. Their wives and children did. They were well aware of these disparities. How could they not erupt in rage and resentment at some point?
"Two months, then. I think I have the information I needed," Adonis thought as he continued playing with his glass in hand, now empty for the third time, waiting for it to be refilled again.
He had done his best to listen to most of their exchange. He had been sitting there for quite some time, after all. He'd taken care to observe and memorize the build of each of them.
From a personal perspective, he didn't care. Some people live miserable lives—regardless of the context or nature of the world, nothing could change that. Such were the realities of life.
Adonis, like anyone else, couldn't have cared less at the moment. The conversation he'd witnessed had been much richer than the resolutions ultimately made.
Some expressed their pain and suffering, their despair and desire for a better life. Others lamented the injustice of their situation, the irony of a life so similar to the old days, even in a world as decayed as this one.
Some things change; others remain immutable.
Often because humans ensure they stay that way.
Adonis viewed it all from an even more superficial standpoint. He had no personal connection to any of them and thus felt nothing for their suffering.
"They seem to have a genuine reason for wanting to do what they're planning, yet it doesn't affect me in the slightest!" He had a ashen expression as he pondered his own emotions.
What does one feel in the face of emotional absence?
"So far, none of the situations I've encountered have stirred any influence in me. Is it because of my faltering memory that I feel such indifference, or have I always been this way?"
Once he was served, his mood immediately calmed as he sipped his drink again.
Truth be told, he was trying to understand himself, using everyday situations to define his nature.
The oldest memories Adonis had dated back only a few weeks, to when he had woken up on the edge of the forest above the station.
At that time, armed with a makeshift tree branch, he had survived by hunting small animals and sleeping in trees, using vines he had struggled to tie securely.
He knew how to do it. He didn't understand how, nor why this skill was so deeply ingrained in him, but he was capable of it. From his perspective, this ability had saved his life.
Countless questions ran through his mind, but there were no answers.
Even now, he had virtually no answers and planned to venture outside again, alone, to seek them.
But for that, he needed time to prepare. The station turned out to be the perfect cover for ensuring this transitional state. However, even though he had answered one of his many questions—whether he was alone in this environment or not—he had to admit that the more humans there were around, the more things happened.
Surprisingly, he found himself entangled in quite a few of them. It wasn't advantageous for him, but at least it helped fill his knowledge gap regarding human nature.
So, he would play his role—guardian to Amanise during her explorations, spy for Raphael in his projects, and anything else assigned to him.
He had no memory, knew little about himself, and even less about his past. It was a significant handicap, for what are we without our experiences, without the things that shape us?
He had loved tying vines without ever understanding why. It seemed like child's play to him... but so what?
The present remained the most important. Not knowing his past and nature presented an advantage: the opportunity to recreate himself, to rebuild.
He knew nothing of who he once was, but he could—and intended to—forge himself anew. Starting from scratch.
He intended to head outside to search for answers, for identity, as it mattered to him; his dreams constantly reminded him of this.
But that didn't mean he planned to stay passive until he obtained all his answers.
He didn't know if he would get them or what he might find along the way. He didn't intend to bet on a hypothetical future but rather on the immutable and real present.
Thus, the current situation of these workers taught him at least one thing: he wasn't easily moved, if at all.
They had their problems, and he had his.
Moreover, he didn't feel much closer to Amanise or Raphael either. As long as they helped him achieve his current objective, he wouldn't mind being their lackey.
"Lackey... hmm," he mused with a soft smile at the thought. Raphael had called him that once, and Amanise had corrected him by explaining the proper meaning and context of the word.
In a sense, if he had to identify an emotion tied to his current experiences, it would mainly be amusement. He took great pleasure in the events unfolding around him; he was having fun.
Only his dreams weren't amusing. They struck him randomly and left him in a truly deplorable state.
A few days ago, he had almost died after falling from one of his perches during a dream. It was also one of the reasons that had led to his encounter with Amanise.
Given the power and impact of his dreams, he realized he couldn't simply live while abandoning his past—a path he might have been ready to take if events hadn't turned out as they did.
"I think it's time to act," he murmured under his breath before taking a large gulp of juice, nearly finishing his cup.
"Hey you, who do you think you are... hic? My wife... hic, told me you were... hic... getting too close to her," as Adonis rose, he heard drunken ramblings from behind him, drawing the room's full attention.
"Old drunkard, if you drank less and worked more, maybe she wouldn't have to come begging for my food rations," replied the man being addressed, a smile on his face.
Of the two men, one seemed to be in his fifties—unkempt, with graying hair, a hairy and weathered complexion. His short beard was dirty, his eyes unable to focus. At that moment, he clung to the other man, barely able to stand, his trembling eyes darting about. Even in a place like this, he reeked of alcohol.
The other man could have been twenty years younger than the one grabbing his collar. He was relatively well-groomed. Initially holding a glass of wine, he set it aside as the situation escalated. His eyes were clear and sharp, his teeth white and gleaming, displayed in a broad smile. He exuded a sense of superiority—and rightfully so.
The "old" man continued his tirade, shouting and attempting to push the other backward. But his actions were futile; he could move him no more than a few inches.
"With strength like that, no wonder you can't provide for them in this hellhole," the "younger" man grew less and less accommodating. The situation dragged on as the spectators around them simply watched the spectacle with smirks.
In a place like this, there wasn't much entertainment, so such diversions were highly valued.
The audience laughed at the revelations while drinking.
Adonis, who had long since sat back down, observed it all with complete indifference. He seemed to be waiting for something.
"Soon, this should escalate," he thought as he kept an eye on the group in front of him.
"I suppose she didn't tell you either, but every time she comes to me asking for extra rations for you and your daughter, she offers a little something in return... if you know what I mean. It's not much, but it does the job for now," the younger man added, mimicking rather explicit gestures.
The spectators didn't miss a single moment, bursts of laughter echoing through the room.
The older man lost all self-control—if he had any to begin with.
He grabbed a bottle lying nearby and smashed it. Shards scattered and spilled onto the floor.
Gripping the broken bottle, he lunged toward his target, aiming the jagged edge at his throat.
His intent was unmistakable.
Serious expressions emerged in the room at some point.
However, the younger man reacted even faster. Lowering his stance and leaning forward, he narrowly avoided the strike aimed at his neck. In one swift movement, he lunged at his attacker, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him a few centimeters off the ground.
The older man still seemed to have some decent reflexes, quickly recovering midair and shifting the direction of his assault.
This exchange lasted only a few seconds.
The entire crowd's attention was riveted.
No one had expected the situation to escalate to this extent.
Or perhaps they secretly hoped it would.
But the escalation was swift. And brutal.
While the older man displayed remarkable agility, the younger man was even quicker, more decisive, and more resolute.
The older man adjusted his grip, aiming his makeshift weapon toward the exposed back of his opponent.
But at the moment of impact—just a fraction of a second before the jagged bottle would slash the younger man's back—he hesitated.
Whatever reason might have caused such an action or inaction, his assault was delayed.
In that brief moment, the younger man, still struggling to lift his opponent, tightened his hold.
In a decisive and unwavering motion, he hurled the older man onto the table behind him.
Boom... Crack...
The sound was heavy, vicious, and unsettling.
The altercation had abruptly ended.
Adonis, who had witnessed the entire scene, stood a few steps back, having retreated earlier.
Before him lay a shattered table; his juice cup had been crushed.
It was empty anyway—not a significant loss.
On top of the wreckage was the disheveled older man. His greasy beard and oily, graying-black hair were soaked in a viscous red liquid. His face, once pallid and jaundiced, had turned a pale pinkish-white.
Huck... Huuuhm...
Faint choking sounds escaped amidst the surrounding noise.
The room fell silent. The music reclaimed the atmosphere. Yet no one could tear their eyes away from the scene. Expressions and reactions varied.
The old man was visibly trying to move, speak, or cry, but he lay there, incapable of doing any of it.
Hot tears streamed from his eyes, whose brown irises—barely visible in the dim light—were already losing their shine. Initially transparent, his tears turned a pale red.
Mucus followed, also mixed with blood—viscous and abundant.
Adonis gazed at the body struggling to stay warm. An unusual expression formed on his face.
A bottle was lodged in the old man's throat, acting like a blood faucet. The liquid flowed in a steady stream, flooding the entire area.
It took some time, but his blood drained away, carrying with it every last trace of life he had left.
He died before Adonis's wide, unblinking eyes.