Arcane, Voice of Zaun

Cole dragged me down a narrow corridor, his grip firm but not painful on my shoulder. The walls were covered in a patchwork of metal plates, some newer than others, creating a maze-like pattern that made my head spin. Or maybe that was just exhaustion. Solely the sound of our steps filled my ears.

He stopped at a heavy door, its surface scarred with what looked like knife marks and burns. When he pushed it open, I got my first look at what would be my new home - if you could call it that. The room was larger than I expected, with fourteen bunkbeds arranged in neat rows. Some were occupied by children a bit older than me, their faces turning toward the door as it creaked open. A few of them rose from their beds, curious about the newcomer.

The air in the room was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and something metallic, probably from the walls themselves. Dim lights flickered over the room leaving almost no place for shadows. It reminded me of the nightlight mom used to... No. I couldn't think about that now.

"Hey Cole," a kid with ginger hair and bright blue eyes called out. His voice was cheerful, almost jarringly so in this place. He was sitting on one of the lower bunks, some kind of makeshift toy made from scrap metal in his hands.

Cole didn't even acknowledge him. Instead, he raised his voice to address the whole room, his tone flat, almost unfeeling. "This is Paul. He'll be staying in this room. That is all."

Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind me with a heavy thud that seemed to echo in my chest. I stood there for a moment, feeling everyone's eyes on me, before the ginger-haired kid who had spoken earlier walked over. His smile was genuine, which made me instantly suspicious. Nothing in the Undercity came without a price.

"Nice to meet you, my name is Jay," he said, extending his hand. He had freckles across his nose and cheeks, standing out against skin that was surprisingly clean for someone living down here.

I looked at him carefully, then at myself or my hands, still bloody, the difference in our appearances was jarring to say the least, not that I had the energy to care about my appearance. My whole body ached, and my throat felt like I'd swallowed broken glass.

"Hello, my name is Paul," I responded quietly, not taking his offered hand.

Jay didn't seem bothered by my reluctance. His smile didn't falter as he asked, "So what do you want to talk about?"

The other kids had mostly lost interest by now, returning to whatever they'd been doing before. Some were playing with similar scrap-metal toys, while others lay in their bunks staring at nothing. One was scratching something into the wall with what looked like a broken piece of metal.

I looked at Jay, taking in his friendly demeanor and open expression. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated his attempt at kindness. But right now, all I could think about was how everything hurt - my body, my heart, my soul.

"I'm tired," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't had anything to eat or drink, I'm hurt, I just want to go to sleep."

"O-oh okay then," Jay responded, his cheerful demeanor faltering slightly. He took a step back, finally seeming to realize that I wasn't in the mood for conversation.

I shuffled over to one of the empty beds, my legs still protesting every movement. There was a boy nearby, maybe a year or two older than me, picking at a scab on his arm.

"Is this bed free?" I asked him.

He nodded without looking up, apparently finding his scab more interesting than the newcomer.

I crawled onto the thin mattress, which was somehow both lumpy and flat at the same time. The sheets were rough against my skin, nothing like the worn but soft blankets mom and I had shared, at least we had them beat in that department. A lump formed in my throat at the memory, but I forced it down. I couldn't cry here, not in front of these strangers. Lloyd's slaps had made that lesson clear enough.

I curled up into a tight ball, trying to make myself as small as possible. The springs creaked beneath me, adding their voice to the constant mechanical symphony of the Undercity. I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly and give me a brief respite from everything that had happened.

But sleep, when it finally came, brought no peace.

BAM

My mother's face appeared in my vision, clear as day. Her gentle smile, the way she used to stroke my hair, the sound of her humming in the dark. But then the image changed, showing her still body on the street, blood trickling from her mouth, her chest refusing to move under my desperate hands.

I jerked awake, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. The bed was soaked with sweat, the rough sheets clinging to my skin. The room was darker now, the only light coming from the faint glow of the eternal chemtech fires that burned somewhere beyond the walls.

"I can't do this," I muttered, my eyes finding a window on the far wall. It was small, probably too small for an adult to fit through, but maybe...

I slowly got out of bed, trying to ignore the protest of my aching muscles. Careful not to wake any of the other children. Their soft breathing and occasional snores filled the room.

The window latch was surprisingly easy to open. I hung from the windowsill for a moment, my arms shaking with the effort, before letting myself drop. I landed in a pile of trash cans, the impact sending sharp pains through my already battered body.

"Aah," I couldn't help but cry out, but quickly silenced myself. I started to get up, only to find myself face to face with those same white hair and red eyes that had been haunting me since I'd woken up in the isolation chamber.

"Looks like the mouse tried to escape," Lloyd said, his face inching closer to mine. His breath smelled like chemical smoke and something metallic. "Why would you go on and do that? You really want to get thrown into the vents?"

"No," I managed to say, my voice small.

"Well then why the jump? Do you just want to smell like garbage? Cause let's be real here kid, you already smelled bad before. The gray, smog and blood ain't exactly pleasant scents."

I swallowed hard before answering. "I wanted to go to the Slums Memorial Wall."

"Hah, well ok then," he sighed, turning to walk away. The unexpected response left me staring at his back in confusion. He looked back at me, one eyebrow raised. "So you coming?"

I wasn't sure what to make of this sudden change in his demeanor. Was he bipolar or something? The man who had slapped me until I stopped crying was now offering to take me to the Memorial Wall? But I knew better than to question unexpected kindness in the Undercity. Sometimes, it was all you had.

I followed behind him, keeping a careful distance. We walked past Old Hungry, the mechanized clock that served as the heart of the Sump, its exposed gears no longer turning, hard to believe that clock had once been the heart of the entire Undercity, it was said that if you climbed to the top you could see all of Pitlover.

The air grew thicker as we passed one of the Factorywood facilities, where pools of chemtech cast an eerie green glow into the perpetual twilight of the Undercity.

Finally, we reached the ruined factory wall in the Slums where thousands of names were written, each one a memory of someone lost to the harsh reality of life below. The wall was just that, a darn wall, but nobody could take this away from me.

"Do you have something to write the name in?" Lloyd asked, his voice unusually soft.

I looked around and spotted a rock, but before I could pick it up, Lloyd stopped me.

"That's not gonna work here," he said, lifting his white shirt to reveal a gray knife with green veins running through it. The blade, was something I had never seen before, chemweapons were harder to come by than what you might think.

He handed it to me, handle first. "Press the bottom for the chemtech to run through it."

I did as instructed, watching as the veins glowed brighter, heat radiating from the blade. With trembling hands, I approached the wall, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly, carefully, I began to write. My letters were shaky - I hadn't had much practice with writing.

"Jessica, beloved mother."

But when I got to the 'r', the tears I'd been holding back finally broke free. The knife dragged too long, leaving an ugly scratch in the wall. A warm hand wrapped around mine, gently taking the knife away.

I stood there, quiet tears rolling down my cheeks, staring at the crude letters that were all I had left of my mother. Lloyd's hand came to rest on my head, it was... heavy.

"Stop crying," he said, his voice gruff but not cruel. "You're a kid in the Sump. Act like it."