Beneath the Uniform

 Elias moved slowly now, like a man walking toward a reckoning. The stench of piss and old smoke thickened as he reached the rusted service door at the end of the platform. He shouldered it open with a creak that sounded like a scream in the silence. Inside, the corridor narrowed — ancient maintenance tunnels worming deeper into the earth, untouched by even UDER's drones.

He stopped at a rusted locker bolted to the wall, half open. Inside, faded overalls, a dusty first aid kit, and a grey hoodie mottled with grime. He stared at it for a long time before he reached in and pulled it out.

It still smelled faintly of soap.

He took off the black chestplate of his UDER armor, one strap at a time, until he was bare from the waist up. His skin, pale and marked with bruises and burns, shivered in the damp air. For a moment, he just stood there — the hum of silence pressing in from all sides.

Then, slowly, he slipped the hoodie on.

It was tight across his chest, the sleeves short, but it felt real. Human. The kind of thing people wore before they had to choose sides. Before everything became armored and armored hearts.

He left the rest of the gear behind — save for his pistol, holstered low at his hip. Not for war. For survival.

The tunnel stretched ahead, lit only by the occasional emergency strip light still clinging to life. Moss clung to the walls like veins, and the air grew warmer, as if the city’s bowels were alive.

Then he saw it.

A faint glow.

Blue. Soft. Artificial.

He moved toward it cautiously, heart pounding, until the tunnel widened into a circular chamber — an old switching station long abandoned by the transit authority. But this one… had been repurposed.

Solar panels lined the curved ceiling where collapsed debris had left a hole to the sky. Someone had rerouted power through old battery banks. Clean water trickled from a pipe into a filtration drum. Crates of scavenged medical supplies and canned food lined the walls. Books. Candles. A sleeping mat.

And on one wall, scrawled in paint, large and defiant:

“WE BEGIN AGAIN. BENEATH.”

He took a step forward — his boots crunching softly on gravel.

A noise behind him.

He turned, drawing his pistol.

A young woman stood in the tunnel mouth, a rifle slung across her back, eyes narrow and fierce.

They stared at each other for a long second.

Then she said, voice low but steady, “You’re wearing a UDER belt. And a rebel’s hoodie. That means you’re either insane… or interesting.”

Elias slowly lowered the weapon.

“I’m neither,” he replied. “I’m just done pretending.”

A beat of silence.

Then she nodded toward the chamber. “You better come in. They're going to want to meet you.”