1300 Words.

Part I. The Deaths of Christian & Gloria

The City was unnaturally quiet at this hour -- either that or the life there at three ante meridian had changed significantly since I’d left three years before. I guessed that the latter was correct, since the Underbelly had stopped wreaking havoc at all times of the night and morning and day and -- well, you know, all the goddamn time. I was thoroughly unused to the silence as I snuck out of the hotel building, Tré close on my heels. We turned the corner and walked up the street to the headquarters of the Underbelly -- well, what had once been the headquarters of the Underbelly, anyway. The sun was still lurking on the other side of the world, setting slowly on the other hemisphere and watching as other people fell asleep. The sun was sure that the world was silent over here, the sun was sure that most everyone was asleep (except for the people on the East Coast, who were then just waking up).

Well, Tré and I sure as hell were not asleep.

We climbed up a small hill, sticking to the shadows in true Underbelly fashion. My hood had been flipped over my eyes at the time, and Tré stopped at a shady kiosk to get a pair of sunglasses and a hat, hiding his identity. No one would recognize us as we went incognito through the City streets to the run down apartment complex that, as far I could see, was still standing. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized that I had been holding as I saw its outline against the dark, hazy, cloudy sky.

“It’s still there,” I muttered in utter disbelief. It was impossible -- well, it was totally possible, but it wasn’t likely in my mind that the building would still be standing after all that had taken place there. For all I knew, by then it could have become an insane asylum or a county jail or something of the like. Or it could have been quarantined, too -- no one knew what had been growing in the fridges or on the walls. Or what the hell people had been cooking up in some parts of the house. As far as I knew, there was most likely a meth lab or two on the second or third floor of the apartment. It had been an almost-scary place on some days, but totally harmless on others. It was living on the spot, living without permission, living without warning. It wasn’t safe, but it sure as hell was a lot of fucking fun.

Tré looked up at the building and looked back at me. Behind the dark shades, his eyes were unreadable. “It looks like a regular place, to me, you know -- like my old apartment. Right? That can’t have been the headquarters of the fucking Underbelly,” he scoffed. I couldn’t tell if he was just as surprised as I was, in awe of seeing the headquarters of what might once have once been the headquarters of the Underbelly of all things it could have been the headquarters for, or just didn’t think that it could possibly be the headquarters. It did seem pretty far out, actually.

I looked back at Tré as we ascended the hill. “You really don’t think so? I wouldn’t be mistaken ‘bout this shit -- I may have been seriously drugged out when I used to go here, but there’s no chance that this damn building could be anything else.”

“How do you know that? It just looks like a regular apartment to me --”

I cut him off quickly with a sharp retort: “This isn’t suburbia, you know. Not everything down here in the City looks the same, wouldn’t you agree, Tré?”

“You’re crazy,” said Tré, but he quickly dropped the subject as we just kept walking. Our footsteps were the only things that made noise now, the only sound being our shoes hitting the pavement with a dull thud. It was monotonous and boring, but somehow rhythmic. I almost liked it -- well, that might just have been the recent trauma and resulting sleep deprivation.

I tolled my sore shoulder, which was fairly useless now that it was totally bandaged as all hell and in an awkwardly bandaged position.

It took very little time from then to get to the old headquarters. It looked exactly the same as I remembered it, it looked just like the same old run down apartment full of delinquents, miscreants, and mischief makers as it always had been.

We silently walked to the doors and I opened it, greeted by the oh so familiar smell, the wall of the scent of rotting eggs, sour milk, mold, and general uncleanliness. It was the same dark hallway that it had always been. It was the same claustrophobic staircase that I ascended then as it had always been. It was just so familiar that I could barely stand it then.

“I’m sure this is the building,” I whispered to Tré as I ascended the steps, pulling my hood further over my eyes. There was a quiet, muted light at the top of the stairs that I was immediately drawn to. It all felt so familiar, and I knew why.

That’s when voices drifted down to us. “Did you hear what happened…?” “Yeah, I can’t believe it…” “It’s amazing, I can’t believe it would ever happen in a million years…” “Those arsonists will probably be let out free, this government’s such a bitch…” I ignored them, and as Tré and I got closer to the top of the stairs, they evidently heards us and all went silent. Making sure that no one would be able to see my face, I walked in first, creating a dim shadow on the flimsy plaster walls. I knew where we were -- the top of the building. Where Whatsername and I had once lived.

“Who’re you?” someone finally asked. A small tomboyish girl who looked to be around 15. Her dirty brown hair was tied back, a few strands brushing over her tanned skin, and her brown eyes glimmered with life. It was amazing how fragile she seemed.

“Me?” I asked, my voice quiet and bland. “I’m Wilhelm Fink --” A name made up on the spot. “-- you can just call me Fink, though, and I’ve heard that this is where you go in the City to hook up with the Class of Thirteen?”

Tré remained silent behind me as the girl responded in a quick, harsh whisper: “Didn’t you two morons hear? Christian and Gloria -- dead, the both of ‘em. They were shot and killed in the fire. Didn’t know that, now, didja? It only happened, like, six hours ago and word’s only been going ‘round for about an hour now.”

“Holy shit,” was all I could say.

They thought we were dead. They all thought -- and swore they knew -- that were really, honest to God dead.

“I know, right?” asked another girl from the corner of the room. She had long blonde hair thart was tied back with a rag, and streaks of dirt covered her pale face. “It’s kinda crazy -- I mean, makes more sense than Whatsername just packin’ up her bags ‘n leaving, but crazy all the same.”

I just nodded, my throat seeming to close.

“So, Fink, ya really don’t need to be here,” said the first girl. I nodded my head, signifying ‘no, I really don’t,’ and turned around to leave. “See ya ‘round the City, huh?” I nodded once more and walked down the stairs in total and utter disbelief and Tré followed me in complete silence as we were plunged back into the darkness.