The Underground

Chapter I

Winston aimed down the sights of the gun he was holding. He gripped it tight, but not so tight he would begin to shake. His left eye was closed, his right eye fixated on the target. If he would've had a bullet he could spare, he would hit his target right in the neck. He put his gun down with a military-like steadiness. He stood up with a sigh and walked away from the improvised shooting range. He went through a few blackened hallways to eventually come back to the main bunker. It's where they did nearly everything; eat, sleep and just living in general.

As he walked through the place, he was approached by Clark, Greene's assistant. Clark was small of size, had dusty and probably outdated glasses, the messiest blonde hair ever, but a clean look in his eyes. "Greene wants to speak to you." Winston looked at him and frowned. "He has something to complain again?"

Clark shrugged, looked over his shoulder and then back to Winston. "I don't know. He didn't want to tell." Winston understood why Clark checked his back. If you were caught talking bad about Greene, you got another thing coming. Winston nodded. "Alright then."

Both him and Clark walked off. Winston took a turn left and knocked against a humid wooden door. "In." a strict sounding voice said. Winston breathed in and out. He saw dust particles flying around in the shimmery light of the lightbulb above him. He opened the door.

Even though that Greene was a filled with narcism and self-centered dictator, his room wasn't any different than everything else. A wooden desk as humid as the door was, a worn out, not so comfy looking chair and a lightbulb. A bed and a shelf stood in the unlit part of the room.

"Ah good," Greene said, in his always deep voice. "Winston. Take a seat." he gestured towards the wooden chair standing in front of the desk.

"Get to the point, Greene," Winston said, rolling with his eyes. He didn't want to listen to his endless rants about taking back Satan's playground. Greene himself laughed with a sinister tone "Oh, Winston. Always firm 'till the last second. This time I'll get to the point and I'll skip the ranting." he said it like he could read Winston's mind. Winston didn't move an inch. Greene seemed to wait for a reply. But Winston remained silent so the man just continued. He leaned on his desk a little. His face came into the light of the lightbulb.

He definitely was a man of age, an age he had forgotten himself. Gray hair stuck to his head and his brown eyes could pierce right through you. He had something monotone and soulless over him. He sighed and a hand went through his hair, or what was left of it.

"Winston, I want to re-establish contact with the remaining survivors."

Winston looked up and slowly shook his head. "N-no," he said slowly, with a tone of disbelief. "They'll kill you. They're horrible people." Greene laughed. He knew he had brainwashed the kid well. "Yes, Winston. They'll kill me if I go. That's why you're going."

The comment came to Winston as a punch in the face. He shook his head as a variation of feelings came over him. Sadness, betrayal, but most importantly; anger. That anger took over him. He stood up. "You utter dipshit. You're sending me back to the people who killed my parents." he pointed to him, breathing in and out. "You-"

"You're going in unarmed and you give this to them." Greene threw a piece of paper at him. "That's that. Now out of my office."

Winston stood up. "It's not an office, dipshit. It's a room that's just as filthy as your morals."