The Bellators

4:12:1

 Facing down is the perspective of the one walking, part of his peripheral blocked by his own body which is primarily clothed in dirty brown rags, a wrinkled half shirt covering his torso with the same material as the pants down to the knees, though both are covered in rips and tears exposing his rough –almost that of a rock– gray skin, his arms and legs both slender. Movement is done with his two exposed feet, wrinkled with scratches on the verge of blisters, for it alone makes contact with the rocky dirt ground, pebbles and protrusions as common as grass in a field: practically composing the floor. The footsteps are in shaky ambles, subtly lacking confident strides not due to the surface posing challenges as said challenges have been adapted to long ago, but rather there's a sense of urgency or rather apprehension in simply being present.

From the constant influx of distant gentle chatter surrounding him, he's clearly not alone which he reminds himself with a simple upward gaze, first aligning it straight forward in between the row of buildings along the street if that's what it may be identified as, those buildings pretty low with only a few stories of height maximum, shaped simplistically in rectangular boxes though not all stories of one building have the same dimensions but instead some are distinct based on either having a slimmer or wider base. They are although composed of the same filthy gold dirt composite, rough like huge sand castles yet the brown tone isn't as glamorous, the only separate material being the doors in the arched entries made not of a physical material but rather a projected red-tinted barrier, some of which are active though others aren't. The inactive doorways allow for the passage in and out of the many occupants of the city space, those on the right side walking in the same direction as the one watching them whereas those on the left side instead walk towards, moving like a road would though there's not a single vehicle in sight. They all dress their rough gray skin in similarly brown rags, exposed feet and hands, some taller than others though they're all similarly slim for only a few of them even have broader bodies. The most diverse attire piece amongst most of them is the optional headpiece, as some have hoods over their heads, others wear caps or hats, but all those without a physical piece reveal their heads to be entirely bald as in fact there isn't a single person with visible hair on their head or bodies for that matter. They at least do have familiar structures of adult couples, some of whom are joined with small groups of youths or teenagers likely being their children, though there are many who roam alone, keeping to themselves. This man seems to be one of them as he glances to both sides, nobody beside him though at least that fact provides a clearer view of his surroundings, the various gaps between buildings leading to alleys some of which have devices within them such as dark green dumpsters covered in litter most of which are empty glass containers resembling deodorant sticks, however most inhabitants don't pay mind but instead go about their day entering and exiting open buildings.

The man's focus lowers back down to his own body, specifically to a bag in his hands like a drawstring pouch, and while it is closed to prevent visibility of its contents, they do poke the material in the shape of objects also like deodorant sticks. Noticing the appearance of the contents, the man instinctively shakes the pouch a bit, though doing so only triggers the sound of glass bouncing off each other, only more suspicious to which he grabs the bag with his other hand for a quick silencing. He glances around to find that most others pay no attention, though there is an older woman walking alongside a young girl likely around the age of eleven, the woman casting a quick judgemental glare his way before returning her sights ahead while muttering to the child unintelligibly.

Shame blasts his face first, diverting the gaze of even letting the woman in his sight, raising it towards the sky or rather the ceiling as there are no blue firmaments, no white clouds spread across nor cyan sun beaming down. Instead, up above is just a hard ceiling made of natural rock like the ground beneath his feet, still elevated relatively high as it's far taller than any of the buildings around even with the many stalactites hanging, many of which seem larger than the people walking underneath them. There is not a spec of natural light piercing through as all the light provided in the cavern is emitted from said cavern, various generators spread across the underground city emitting the only luminescence preventing the civilization from living in utter darkness. There are small holes in the ceiling, perhaps tunnel entries that may lead to the surface above ground, however from down below there cannot be seen any exit nor are there available devices to discover for certain. Taking in a deep breath while facing this solid ceiling entrapping the cave city as both a safeguarding shelter but simultaneously a cruel cage, the man readies to return his gaze back down, that ceiling stretching as far as the eye can see, all the way down to the rock horizon behind the many buildings ahead.