The narrow tunnels of the metro stretched endlessly, with the dim light of old lanterns casting flickering shadows on the damp walls. Simon and Victor walked in silence, their footsteps muffled by the layers of dust and debris that had settled over the years. Each sound felt amplified, as though the walls themselves were listening.
Simon tightened his grip on the metal rod he had found earlier. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them.
"How much farther?" Simon broke the silence, his voice echoing faintly in the cold corridor.
Victor glanced back, his expression unreadable. "Not much. You'll recognize it when we get there."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
Victor smirked faintly. "You'll see."
They turned a corner, and the air grew heavier. A faint metallic tang lingered, mingling with the scent of mildew. Simon's unease deepened.
"Victor," Simon began hesitantly, "why did you leave the Resistance in the first place? You could've stayed safe underground."
Victor hesitated, his footsteps faltering. "Safe?" he repeated bitterly. "There's no such thing as safety anymore, Simon. Down there, it's just a slower kind of death."
Simon frowned but didn't press further. He could sense there was more to Victor's story, but now wasn't the time.
The corridor opened into a cavernous space. Simon stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. Before him was what used to be a grand underground station. Rusted train cars were scattered like discarded toys, their windows shattered and walls scorched. Makeshift barricades, fashioned from twisted metal and broken furniture, divided the space into uneven sections.
"This is it," Victor announced.
Simon scanned the area, his gaze lingering on the people who occupied it. They were a mix of ages and conditions—children clinging to their parents, men and women with hollow eyes and dirt-streaked faces. The atmosphere was tense, with an undercurrent of desperation.
As they approached the barricade, a man stepped forward, his weathered face marked by scars and suspicion.
"Victor," the man greeted curtly. His gaze shifted to Simon, narrowing. "Who's this?"
"A recruit," Victor replied.
The man's eyes hardened. "We don't have room for dead weight."
Simon bristled but kept his composure. Victor raised a hand. "He's not dead weight, Ivan. He's the reason I'm still alive."
Ivan studied Simon for a long moment before grunting and stepping aside. "Fine. But if he causes trouble, it's on you."
Victor nodded and gestured for Simon to follow. "Come on. I'll show you around."