We descend further into bleak darkness. Metals scream as they scrape to one another, and small circular holes from the walls of the rectangular pit leak firelight, casting dancing shadows.

The surrounding walls curve and narrow until its like a tube, and our backs meet the curve wall, then the pit itself curves further until we're already sliding along its curved surface as though in a watery slide, and Oliver's body slides against mine. Bulbs, which shine like fire, are screwed above us, flooding the empty dimness with its light.

Not long enough, distorted voices boom far ahead in the darkness along with metal screeches. As we descend further, more sounds start to blanket the air, from whistles to hammers to echoing footsteps. A wave of the underground's cold must dawns upon us.

I feel like entering a completely new world.

Dangling at the end of the void is what seems like a worn cloth. Firelight leaks from its crude slits.

"You may have thought that I've been only slacking myself within your house every time you leave for work, haven't you?" Oliver starts, his voice ricocheting from the compact walls, making it louder than the groaning metals ahead.

The growing sounds stab my ears and causes me to contort my face.

"What do you mean, and where on hell are we really heading?" I yell and brace myself for a possibly rough landing.

"No more explanations, you'll know it when you see it," Oliver snaps, and he even seem delighted that I'm lost in my confusion.

"You have so much explaining to do after this, Oliver!" I boom in response, and we both flinch as our ears throb once more.

"Welcome to Site A!" he proudly announces as we burst past the knit of threads that blanket the way.

The sudden surge of lights momentarily shut our eyelids down, and I feel Oliver's hands clamp on my arms, hefting it up and fastening it on what I think is a rope. His own sweaty hands clutch over mine.

As my eyes flutter open, I barely have the time to shut it back.

The tube-like void abruptly ends, and we start plummeting down probably two stories high from a rubble-cluttered floor.

I scream.

A wave of adrenaline washes over me. Thankfully, our trembling hands are clamped upon the rope, which steeply angles downward so we could slide instead of free falling down. The rope's thorny fibers threaten to breach past my bare skin, but fear mutes the piercing pain. I dare not close my eyes amidst the blinding orange lights that reign over whatever place I'm currently in.

It is hard to process everything at once, for we are on a steady course towards the grimy wall ahead where series of metal spires are screwed upon; sharp glinting edges are pointed to our way like serrated teeth, waiting to sink into our bodies. My stomach somersaults at the thought of being impaled.

"When I say let go, you let go of the rope, okay?!" Oliver commands.

Now I'm also starting to doubt his sanity. We're in a good distance away from the ground for our bones to shatter once we land, and he wants me to let go.

Sweat starts to claim my palms and acts like a lubricant, speeding us up as we slide closer to the spired wall ahead. My heartbeat starts to match my frantic breaths, and my bandaged wrist sings in searing pain.

"You're kidding," I shot back loudly rather as a statement.

"Kiera, will you please trust me for a short freaking time?!" he booms before my ear, and his clutch upon my hands tightens, increasing the searing pain as friction intensifies between my probably-bruised-already palms and the rope's thorny fibers.

"Alright fine!" I holler.

As the rope angles downward, gravity gives us more spurts of speed.

My heart nearly skips a beat as we near the metal spires that adorn the lower wall where the rope ends, patiently anticipating for our flesh to sink into its glinting edge, causing me to panic more. Now my panic-battered mind couldn't decide. If we don't let go, we'd end up like barbecue meats on a stick. But if we do let go, our bones would be in for a lifelong healing; we probably wouldn't even survive the landing.

"Oliver, I think this is the time we let go," I prod, swinging by body a bit.

"Wait, dont!" he warns in knitted teeth and digs his nails on my knuckles as I attempt to loosen my grip.

The spire-adorned wall come into a closer proximity, its polished edge glints orange flecks.

"Oliver, we won't make it!" I yell out in panic; now I would rather take my chances free falling down, at least I may still get the chance to live, but I certainly wouldn't earn that chance once I get myself impaled.

My heartbeat is erratic, and the fibers of my skin are coaxing me to let go of my grip, but as I dare spare a glance below, the sight of the iron roofs makes me waver from my decision.

Nevertheless I still think broken bones are better than perforated chest.

"Oliver I'm letting go!" This time, my voice turns hoarse.

Catching the urgency, Oliver's grip turns to squeeze, locking my hand between his' and the rope.

"We're getting close!" he yells back.

The rope we're currently clinging onto ends above the longest metal spire screwed beneath the gears on the grimy wall ahead, and we barely even have a minute before our bodies could hit the edge.

I'm sorry, Oliver.

As I draw in a sharp breath, I yank my hand off the rope, desperation strumming my nerves, and my action causes Oliver to grunt and curse.

"Dammit! Kiera, no!" Oliver growls, efficiently catching my arm as I attempt to whip it away from his clutches, then he fastens it back to the rope.

I clench my fist to stop him.

"Oliver, we'll die if we don't jump!" I yell amidst my panting, but he hardly heed what I say.

He presses my closed fist against the rope fibers, thereby forcing me to peel it open in pain. My palm boils in friction as we speed closer to our deaths.

"Oliver, stop!" I scream.

I won't die tonight. I won't without finding Oakley first. Yet I couldn't do anything.

"Hold on, here we go!" he screams back.

"No!" I clamp my eyelids shut; tears still sting my eyes as I slowly surrender and wait for death.

But nothing comes.

I wince. The only pain I feel is from the rough rope we're holding onto. As my eyes open, I barely have a second to process everything.

"Okay, let go!" Oliver immediately howls, and I take no second thoughts as I peel my grip off the rope.

Together, we plummet and quickly crash on what seems like a stack of wrought mattresses. Its springs groan against our pressing bodies. For a moment, we lightly bounce off on its bobbing motion before the mattresses surrender under our weight, and the stack topples and strews, sending us down on the ground.

Groggily, I cling on to the mattress where I land until it falls from the stack, and my shaking feet finally rest upon the ground with a squelching sound.

As I attempt to recover my bearings, the sudden crowing sound from the people erupts around me, startling me in the process and sending me back on the mattress.

With the help of my shaking hands, I hastily clamber up to my feet, wincing from the burning bruises I've earned from the rope. Profuse sweat leaves blotches of my outline across the greying mattress. People donned in outfits that ranges from jackets, to greased shirts, to threadbare, flock around me, cheering and howling, and my mind is at halt in bafflement as I couldn't take everything at once.

Their voices slowly turn muffled as my head spins.

The atmosphere is blistering with humidity, and the air hangs thick with a mixture of sweat and booze, which stings the rim of my eyes and squeezes my throat.

I tilt my head up in hopes of fresh air, and it is only now that I am able to slowly process everything. Far above me at the very ceiling are symmetries of industrial light, shining voluminously in orange. And there's the metal spire that could've taken our lives, only it's much shorter than the first sight.

"Optical illusion," Oliver whispers behind my ear, and it causes me to flinch, dragging me back from my thoughts.

Then all the sounds from around me materializes, and I'm back in reality.

I look back at him with a bemused gaze, surveying him at the same time. Brown sweat-stricken curls that shine gold beneath the lights hang on his forehead, and even with his face bruised, Oliver would probably look younger than me in another person's view.

"The colors of the wall surrounding the metal spire makes it seem long from above, so that any intruder would choose to let go and fall rather than notice the mattresses beneath the tricky spire. That's only one of the many ways we keep this place free from authority's control," Oliver adds, and a prideful smirk forms on his lips.

The people around me are in a frenzy as though I'm an alien who accidentally crash landed into their realm. Children even adults throng around, ripping the mattresses and tossing its parts in the air.

I feel like I'm about to suffocate.

My heart lurches to my throat as a sweaty hand abruptly grasps my arm and raises it in the air. I snap my gaze beside me where a bearded man clad in ragged white shirt towers, and my shuddering arm is locked in his fist.

"The newbie survives!" The man announces triumphantly, and the people responds with their cheering as though I just win a competition I'm not told.

Oliver stands by the fallen mattresses beside the wall of commoners. He eyes me like his own daughter in her graduation, and I can't help but frown. 

"Welcome to Site A! From now on, may be this your refuge in the demising society. Criminals or innocents, we are all victims," the bearded man says his speech-like introduction.

I couldn't do anything else but stare stupidly back at them. Site A? Refuge? Criminals? I'm not planing to stay here. All I ever want is to find my sister and live a tranquil life, no matter how the latter may seem so fictitious now.

"Site A? I—" I'm about say something, but I am suddenly cut off by the scorching heat that suddenly erupts on my right shoulder like a giant molten nail piercing through my flesh, causing me to scream hoarsely at the top of my voice.

My arm helplessly shudders under the searing pain. The heat breaches past the fabrics of my turtleneck, and the wave of adrenaline gives me enough force to wrench my arm off the man's grip. Tears streak down my contorted face, and I quickly clamp my left palm over my burning shoulder.

The bearded man raises a stamp-like object and throws it down on the ground, traces of smoke billows upon its wake.

"The mark of the innocent," the bearded man mutters ominously, caressing each syllables like a priceless vase.

It causes me to bristle.

Then a pair of arm snakes around my waist, and the next thing I feel are the puffs of warm breath against my skin and a man's face nuzzling my nape.

"A newbie. I used to be a rapist and still kicking, mind if I teach you the ropes here?" The guy whispers in a carnal tone, and the contact of his wet lips to my nape sends shivers throughout my body.

The stench of booze forces my face to sour, but before I could even have the chance to spin around, Oliver bolts from his position and comes to my direction in three long strides.

"Hey!" Oliver thunders, his voice roaring deeply.

The guy didn't even have the chance to glare at Oliver as he looks up to him.

Oliver's fist quickly lands on the guy's face in one scrunching sound that tells me he's just broken the rapist's nose. People's cheer follows as the guy loses his balance and falls down on the cluttered ground. His hand rests on his nose, and a telltale crimson leaks between his fingers.

"And brownie here has defended his territory!" The bearded man, which I also think is badly drunk, announces triumphantly as he raises Oliver's arm.

Oliver, however, impolitely yanks his arm off beardy's grip and turns to face me impassively. He places an arm on my back, lightly pushes me, then he slowly leads me out of the crowd. People slowly take a step back, giving us a narrow passage away from their midst, but their crowing and cheering doesn't seem to abate.

As we get out of their throng, I realize just how big Site A is. The upper most ceiling, countless of meters above the ground, is blotched with shadows, for the industrial lights' focus is downwards. The place is stinking huge, and is framed with towering walls that rise up forever.

Along the aging walls are hollow tubes, much like the ones we jump onto in order to arrive here. Ropes are rigged up right above it, angling down steeply so anyone would slide in spite of its roughness. The rope goes to one of the metal spires that aims to trick trespassers.

Above the spires are giant gears, albeit its purpose remains veiled for me as of now, and there's this trace of weird metal beam that crawls along the expanse of the ceiling, albeit I could hardly make anything out of it with all the bright lights above.

I gape mutedly around me as I carefully fix my disheveled hair into a ponytail, wincing as hot pain sings from my shoulder with every motion I make. I'll remember to fix myself later.

"Watch it, Byrne," Oliver starts and pulls me away just in time before I could collide to a hurried body, which bolts past us with stacks of metalware caressed on his arms.

I hiss as pain spikes on my shoulder. The ground is as squalid as it may seem. Stalls and makeshift houses are scattered in no particular order, while bricks, scraps of metal, and grimy substances coat the blackened floor, which causes the squelch in every step we make.

In spite of the makeshift structures, there are few black apartments and some buildings built along the walls. And some areas have duplex houses rigged up just like the ones I often see around the streets of Creed Holme. I think we are in an underground city of some sorts. And this part is probably the shanties.

As we pass by a food stall, Oliver's hand quickly darts out, nabbing a bottled water left atop a table and quickly hiding it within his hoodie pocket. As he turns his head to gaze down at me, I look back at him disapprovingly.

"Did you just—" Before I could even complete my question, he quickly jerks the bottled water to my right arm, making me wince as the motion causes a pang on my shoulder.

"Drink it," he commands.

"But you stole it," I protest.

"There are no judges or prison cells that exist here, Byrne. If nobody sees you steal or kill, then you're safe. With that said, you also can't go farther from me," Oliver mutters, keeping his eyes ahead.

"That's, well, unfair," I say, and I still don't have the guts to down the stolen water.

Even on my periphery, I swear I could see Oliver's lips quirk down. Without saying a word, he snatches the bottle from my clutches, rips the seal off, and opens it before handing it back to me.

This time, he looks at me displeasingly. "If you haven't noticed it yet, this place harbors no rule, Holland. Learn to adapt, or you'll only kill yourself," Oliver states and snaps his gaze back ahead, giving me no choice but to drink the stolen water.

As the first gulp lands tepidly on my tongue, I realize just how thirsty I am. And so I down the bottle to the last drop and throw it empty on the heaps of rubbish that we pass by.

Dodging the bodies along the way, Oliver's hand darts in and out again, albeit I don't know what he steals this time. No matter how much I might get angry to him, I know I can't stop him. I must adapt.

After squeezing our way through the crowded paths, we head to the nearest apartment.

As we get ourselves in, we proceed to the gothic lobby. The barbaric colors that scrawl the wall proves incongruous to the light brushes of blue that coat the wall next to it, and it makes me cringe. I have interest for arts, but this combination is just so jarring to the eyes. Oliver doesn't mind at all.

We amble for the counter, then Oliver produces a wad of cash and handles it to a woman receptionist clad in red polo and grey vest. I bet those cashes are stolen as well. The grumpy receptionist clad in cream and red uniform handles him a key, then Oliver briskly leads me to an ages-old elevator.

"We have to rest for tonight," Oliver says, his voice dominating the elevator's deep mechanical groan, as it ascends.

I look up at him.

"If they have internet access in their rooms, I guess I'll figure a way to contact Oakley first," I say as I avert my gaze away.

"They probably have no computers available here," Oliver mutters, but I won't let him do so much as discouragement on me.

"We'll find out," I flatly mutter, and he just shrugs, giving me a suite-yourself expression.

We arrive at the third floor and roam the dim empty halls; it reminds me so much of dark haunted corridors I often see in horror movies. Oliver proceeds and wedges the door open to Room 25, and a simple room stares back at us. And with simple, I mean it hardly has any furnitures left other than the small battered bed and a table, and the view outside the window offers nothing else but the grimy wall far on the other side of Site A.

Cream paints slowly peel off the aging wall, and the floor seems like it hasn't been mopped for centuries.

I sag in surrender and proceed on the bed beside the window.

"Is this where you go when I'm off to work?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Oliver halts before he trudges and sits beside me, then he fiddles with his shoes. I didn't even bother removing mine. "Sometimes. Some areas in Site A are more technologically advanced, but what we need now is rest, so pardon me if I choose this apartment. It's the nearest," he says in a monotone, then I nearly flinch at the sudden tug from my sleeve. Oliver eyes me. "Can I see your mark?" he asks.

I'm not sure why people here act so weird, but if there's someone I know who might be accustomed and knows more about them, it's Oliver. And so I angle my shoulder towards him, and he peers through the hole of my turtleneck and into the throbbing scar emblazoned on my skin.

"Mark of the Site C." I didn't miss it when Oliver draws in a sharp breath, but the reason remains shrouded.

"Site C? That's in Towford City," I mutter, the memory of the woman and the paper she's given me reeling at the back of my mind.

"How did you know?" he asks, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Someone told me. You have your mark too?" I shot back.

"Yeah, but mine's Site A," Oliver says.

"Does it even mean anything?" I snap.

"No, it's just that—" Oliver got cut off as a loud mechanical groan blares off all over the place.

"What's that?" I ask.

Then the muffled sound of gunshot and the telltale sound of siren, followed by the silence of all the people outside, causes me to bristle.

"Search night," Oliver mutters.

"Would they find this place?"

"No guarantee, uh, but the lights will all go down for security measures," Oliver says.

As the words dawn on me, I could feel my colors starting to ebb.

"I won't wear another night vision goggle," I mutter annoyingly; I've had enough of those bloody goggles.

"We won't, but the guards will. The least we can do is stay put, be quiet, and wait for the lights to come back." Oliver stares out the window, running a hand through his hair; the outside lights begin to slowly fade.

"Are we safe?" I ask, fear cripples my voice.

"Of course, let's just sleep for now. We both need rest," he suggests.

And, with that, I halfheartedly set myself along the bed. Oliver follows and turns his back against mine. Then as the mechanical groan stops, all the light goes down.

I close my eyes uncomfortably, thinking about the people who've previously used this battered bed, but the exhaustion after all we've been through today causes me to care less about it. I'm just glad I still manage to lay back on a bed.

Then, slowly, as if fear finally looses its effect on me, I drift to sleep.

Incongruous: not in harmony or keeping with the surroundings
Ricocheted: to rebound one or more times off a surface
Voluminous: occupying or containing large space
Drab: lacking brightness; dull

Another chapter done! Sorry if this one is somewhat lengthy. It's because it might take me long before I could update again (School is killing me). Anyways, I also want to take this chance to thank you guys. Thanks for all those who've supported me so far! I deeply appreciate it.
If you see any corrections, or if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask or comment.

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