Sanctuary

Chapter Eight - Nigel

Yeah, he'd think about it. Sure. Right. No. No way. He couldn't think of any place in all of Sanctuary more dangerous for a guy like him than the Presidential Tower. He could only imagine the sort of conversation they'd have around the dinner table. So Senna tells us your little sister is deaf? Is it genetic? You realize she should've been killed at birth, right? Have you sued the attending physicians for violating the Genetic Purity Act? Wait—you love your sister and would rather she be alive? Guards, throw him down the garbage chute. So fun. Not.

Nigel wove his way down through the tunnels of the Underground, too distracted to do much more than wave when people greeted him. He was on a mission.

The Underground was the rather uninventive name for the old sewer tunnels that had been closed off and shut down during the initial Quarantine. No one in their right mind would poke their heads down into the decrepit tunnels, especially not when they got a whiff of the musty stench that was encased by the cement walls. It was too filthy of a place, lower than the low—a perfect hiding spot for the outcast dregs of society.

Nigel strolled through the majority of the tunnels without a second glance. He skimmed past the cafeteria, which was already thick with the smell of stew for dinner. He skipped on over the med wing, which was thankfully quiet. He even took long strides over the empty cots of the temp sleeping area—where drifters and newcomers would stay until space was found for them. He moved from the cavernous main hall into a darker side hall. Some of the lights had ceased to work, while others flickered dimly. His footsteps echoed unnervingly, but Nigel didn't seem to notice as he kept at his determined speed. At the end of the dreary hall was a door, behind which lied the scariest thing in all of the Underground. It was more unsettling than the empty echo, more terrifying than the flicker of the lights. Behind that door lived the 'Leader' of the Underground: Michio Nact. He didn't much care for Nigel. Then again, not many people did.

Nigel came to a skid of a stop and rapped on the door with a quickened pace close to panic. He kept knocking until the door flew open, revealing the irritated face of a man who didn't like being disturbed. His abnormally blue eyes were bleary and his black hair was disheveled. It looked like maybe he had been woken up from a nap, but the smell of liquor on his breath told a different story. His eye nearly twitched when his gaze landed on Nigel, his lips contorting into the deepest of frowns.

"What do you want?" There was a grumble to the tone, but Nigel had heard a lot worse. He was good at ignoring the apparent irritation of others, much to everyone's dismay.

"Heeeeey Michio... so... I met the President's daughter today. Well, actually, I met her on the first day of school. But I found out she was the President's daughter today. Well, stepdaughter, I guess."

"And you came over here to what—brag about it?"

"Noooo, of course not! I came over here to give you information."

Michio considered Nigel for a long moment, his blue eyes finding some sense of steadiness. When he heaved a heavy sigh Nigel got another whiff of the liquor on his breath and stiffened. There were too many horrible memories tied to that smell—memories of screaming and blood—memories that curdled his stomach.

"Come in." Michio stepped aside, letting Nigel into the darkened closet of a room. The converted maintenance closet consisted of a makeshift bed on a lifted section of drawers, a nightstand, and a chest at the foot of the bed that was padlocked. Michio moved over to the nightstand, where the offending bottle of alcohol rested near an old photograph.

"Have you been drinking?" Nigel asked, even though he already knew the answer. "Your breath reeks."

"Yeah. I'd offer you some, but you're underage."