Ablaze

00

 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming

☆

The clanging of metal could be heard, the echoes felt like thunder throughout the Underground.

Five pairs of footsteps pounded on the concrete, the sound amplified by the sealed concrete jungle. Booming and heavy under the sound of pounding boots.

The footsteps were followed by laughter. Maniacal, not completely sane to anyone who happened to be listening. Although in the Underground, they were the leaders and never paid any mind to prying eyes and ears. Hoots and hollers, loud and boisterous coming from between the bellowing of the machines, working overtime to provide life to those who now call the Underground home. Steam billows from rusted machinery, the sound of a high-pitched whistle covering the noise of the five boys momentarily.  

The footsteps came to a halt, silence temporarily blanketing the Underground. The squeaking of a door being pulled open could be heard next. The door was heavy on its hinges squeaking briefly as a result of its weight. 

Inside the room that was sealed by the heavy metal door, something that looked straight out of a submarine, five boys sat in their designated seats. A red light blinked periodically, allowing onlookers brief glimpses of their leaders before blanketed in darkness, a continuous cycle. Old chairs that they had collected when the move to the Underground first happened supported their weight. They had repaired the chairs to make them reflect their personalities, using knives and recycled material. 

The chairs now sat like thrones. 

Among the five boys, one happened to sit a little straighter in his chair, an air of authority clung to him. Although it was never verbally stated, he was the ringleader of them, the designated authoritarian.

Perhaps he was born with the inherent chip on his shoulder to be a leader, or perhaps it was after years of hardships that allowed him to exude an arrogance that can only be associated with repeated exposure to darkness. His green eyes glowed when his face was illuminated with the flashing red light before settling in the darkness he was so fond of. 

"Now that Zarkov finally has a bullet between his eyes, we should be able to gain control of their stock and integrate it with our own. Might be some push back from their people, but I'm sure we can encourage them to contain themselves."

The words came from a blonde-haired boy, arms covered in tattoos, snaking their way up his neck with a few tattoos littered on his face, framing his features.

In this room, the five boys did not need to lower their voices or speak in code for fear of being heard. They were at the top of the food chain, they could say what they needed to without having to speak in harsh whispers. Anybody brave enough to listen would be shot on sight, but their dominion was formed on trust. 

Although the group came across as ruthless dictators, they cared for the people of the Underground. They are here for a reason, one that will never be forgotten not even after the many years since the first move.

The leader leaned back in his chair, shifted his legs forward, and raised the hand that was leaning on the armrest to rub the stubble on his face. He listened to his friend's words, articulating his response carefully. Common to him, a big believer in only speaking words that were utterly necessary, allowing him to always monitor the constant commotion around him.

His dark curls were pushed back by a makeshift headband, off of the sweat that pooled around his forehead due to the constant humidity the Underground supplied. He too had similar tattoos, all five boys did. 

But, his told a different story. 

Each piece of artwork etched on his skin told a story that only he knew, not even the five boys who he considered his closest confidants were privy to that information. The red fluorescence perhaps foreshadowed what was going to happen, signifying his impending doom, ripping open wounds he worked so hard to heal. For not only was he the birthright of the Underground, but the Underground had also swallowed him whole, a shell of a person that was never meant for greatness.