Allan was in a daze; how could his eyes be glowing like that? He wasn't affected by whatever this new thing was, he was sure of it… so sure… and yet…? His hand found the door handle, and was just about to turn it when Carter came slamming into the door next to him, insisting that it would be a bad idea. It was the daze that kept Allan from reacting the way he would have normally; he twisted at Carter's interception of the door, his other hand flying back behind him to reach for the gun holstered there. But he had paused when the door was slammed shut, and his brain had time to connect with Carter's words before he drew the weapon he had already cocked.

"Why can't anyone know about it?" he finally asked, still tense as ever; while he hadn't pulled out the pistol, he kept his hand on it in case he needed to change Carter's mind by force. Allan's hand was still gripping the door handle, but his unease at the situation was still evident in the slight shake of his hand and in his voice. "If it's in the water already, then everyone would have it… why even bother with containment?!" he challenged, his eyes narrowing again.

Carter noticed the movement Allan made, the hand disappearing behind him, and he jammed his right hand into his pocket. He had heard the click, the click of a weapon, a gun of sorts, and Carter knew if Allan decided to draw it he would have to act fast. It was a fact, he knew, that keeping the door closed would only draw upon Allan’s instinct to get what he wanted by force, and Carter’s thumb was on the trigger under the hilt of his knife, ready to be drawn and extended. Carter sighed, stifling a scornful laugh.

“No one else has come forward in a panic with enhanced senses. Sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, whatever the cells do to one’s five senses, no one has reported anything odd. Right now is another story. Someone else could be dealing with a critical sense right now, but like us are keeping it hidden. People are bred to fear or destroy anything foreign or new to them, something they can’t explain. If we tell anyone, or let any blame fall on the water and the substance it holds, the results may be something steep. People follow the masses, and if everyone is afraid, the city will be a mess. We can’t let anyone know what’s going on, and to do that, we can’t come into contact with others. Not direct contact, anyway.”

Although his eyes were locked on Carter, Allan had noticed his hand going to his pocket; the first thing to run through his mind was the odds of his pulling the gun before Carter could pull out his own weapon, and the odds of what Carter might have. But as much as he absolutely loathed to think at the moment, the professor made sense.

He looked down at his hand, which he could still see, feel, shaking. He'd never felt this before, this total helplessness at his own condition. Not only had he been blindly suffering through his continued sensitivity to light, but apparently something else had been doing more than just that to his eyes. Something that even this teacher or the museum scientists couldn't figure out just yet. And he was right; what if there were other people who were hiding these abnormalities? Carter made sense; he just made too much damn sense.

"Shit!"

Allan's hand released the door handle and in the split second after, his arm came back and flew into the wall next to the door, landing with a loud crack, the pain jolting his hand helping his focus. He shut his eyes tightly as he panted, shakily, turning away from Carter as well as tucking his head behind his upraised arm, his other hand staying in place on the pistol out of habit. This was clear as the click of the weapon being set back into a safe mode could be heard, despite both arms remaining stiff. The arm holding his fist against the wall was still shaking a little, and Allan ignored the wet feeling that was spreading over his knuckles yet again. All he wanted to think about was the pain in his wrist and hand, striking it as hard as he had a second time like that; anything to not think of his current situation.

Carter grimaced; the combination of Allan’s burst of anger and his punching the wall startled him for the loudness, rather than the suddenness. He had expected something to happen, just not what left a nice crack in his office wall and a dark smear that he would call blood since it could be nothing else. Allan was in denial, but quickly being pulled out of it. Carter didn’t consider himself much, but he knew he had a level head and an ability to convince even the most bull-headed what was fact and what was fiction. But what Carter didn’t get was why Allan found this information so damning. Leaning against the door jamb with his hand still in his pocket, he had to wonder…

Was it really so terrible to be different? To show some oddity or have some ability no one else possessed? Was it so impossible that some people just refused to believe it, and when finally convinced, didn’t want to accept it? Carter’s mind was an advanced one, something that could read a book and remember almost every detail even a month afterward. He considered it a gift to be able to remember things with such startling clarity, but others would see it as a curse. And while others believed a genetic advantage such as height or strength or some physical altercation no one else had to be a disadvantage, others would kill for it. Yet while some long for what another has, that person hates their ability. Watching Allan raise his arm to his face as though to hide it, Carter shook his head. One wants what one doesn’t have, but when they have it, they hate it. If one doesn’t understand or doesn’t want to understand, they hate it.

“Chance favors the prepared mind.” He said at last. “If I were you, I wouldn’t lose my head right now.”

Carter was very optimistic about this discovery, of the potential for what he claimed to be sensitive hearing. And there were plenty of reasons how that could be useful; spying or cheating for lowlifes, or trying to use it to help other people. It would let him stand out in the crowd as an individual, a hero if he worked it right.

But that was exactly what Allan had always tried to avoid; he wanted to blend into the crowds, the shadows, to disappear. Training and basic survival instinct had been all that kept him going; he didn't want to stand apart, he didn't even want to be around others, but only through them could he ensure his continued survival. It was this desire to be alone that confused him so much when he was suddenly interested in this little experiment, to get involved in something that didn't relate to survival at all. But now he knew he had something that would instantly set him apart, did set him apart. It was the last thing he could possibly want.

"How do you become prepared for something like this?" Allan asked after a silent minute, his voice unexpectedly soft, considering his posture hadn't loosened an inch from when he hit the wall. His voice was still shaky, but this unexpected feeling of fear was starting to poke through his voice now rather than simply being referred to.

Carter had to consider it. How to prepare for something no one has ever heard of, ever thought about being possible? He looked away from Allan, considering his hearing. It was strong, yes, enough to let him know Allan had a gun and had thought about using it. His hearing could be a great advantage, to hear the danger in simple movements, to catch the quickening heartbeat or breathing of a liar, perhaps to listen in on conversations that could save someone from being hurt. But its disadvantages outweighed anything else. His hearing would only hinder him in loud crowds, in noisy situations. It would confuse him, and he would lose track of everything. It was better to be normal when it came to one’s five senses, he knew. He didn’t want to help others, to hurt others, or to be a villain or hero. He wanted to take his exceptional mind and be a person, a normal person without worrying about glowing in the dark if splashed with water.

Carter could hide well in a crowd, even with his hearing. But if the cells that coated him were easily triggered, he would have to worry about physical activity or overly-warm rooms that would cause him to sweat. It would be difficult to hide the glow then.

“We can’t prepare for anything like this.” He said at last. “But expect the unexpected. I’m sure you not only heard that before, but live it. As long as we understand these cells and what they’re doing, we don’t have to let anyone else know of it.” He paused, thinking. “But what if it’s lessening on the surface? If it’s being washed into the ground, it’s leaving the surface clean.”

Allan cursed at Carter silently for several seconds, knowing he was right. Damn him… why was he right? Allan wasn't a person to think about things first; it was react, retreat, then think. This new element in his system, his life, changed what that order had to be.

Slowly, he lowered his fist from the wall, his other hand finally releasing the handle of his pistol. His eyes slid open, but continued to focus on the wall, not looking at Carter, nor the blood sliding down his fingers from the reopened split. The blue-green eyes shifted to the teacher when he began to speak again, not quite able to look him in the eye yet, wondering how much of a menace he had looked this entire time, with his eyes glowing like a demon's.

They finally managed to jump up when Carter began to wonder aloud about the surface; "Clean? Wouldn't there have to be a lot in order to infect the water the way it has?" he asked, starting to regain his composure. The pain had done it's job; Allan was starting to focus again, with the throbbing prominently keeping his mind off of his eyes.

Allan was calm again, if only a bit. Carter watched his hand as it came back into view, and released his knife in turn. Allan’s reaction had been immediate and vicious, rather than calm and calculated. He considered the other man’s method for a moment and wondered how he managed to survive as long as he did. Carter was a fighter, his father had forced him to be very early, and Carter always thought of his actions and reactions first, even under pressure. An immediate but well-considered reaction could save one a bit of pain in the end.

Still, when those glowing eyes were turned on him again--though not directly--Carter considered his words. “The surface won’t be completely clear,” he said, “so quickly. But consider how long it must have taken this element to have gotten into the underground river system, the underground lake in the east. It must have taken years, decades, of rain and erosion to clear the top soil at the very least. It can’t be as prominent now as it was before. The surface is constantly changing, altered by time and life. Eventually the element or compound or whatever you want to call it will be washed away…” He paused, then lowered his voice as though listing the possibilities to himself. “Unless the rain washes the compound into the rivers that lead to the oceans. How much is really left after the Fall? Did the element affect the plants or animals in some way, perhaps to make them glow in the night? Or do the rivers and oceans glow instead?”

He wandered away from the door and to the glowing water pitcher. “But in great amounts, would it kill plant and animal life?” He swirled the water with one hand for a moment. “Or cause odd mutations in them? And if it gets too far into the water system here, what would it do to the humans it affects…? I can’t take this. I need to know how the surface was affected!” He glared at the ceiling, clenching his hands at his sides.

Allan watched Carter with as much wariness as when they had first met, not happy that he was stuck in this situation. He clenched and unclenched his hand a few times, trying to balance the throbbing rather than having it focused in his knuckles, finally noticing that it was wet. He didn't look down, however, just kept his hand closed, just in case Carter was right… just in case that strange element really was in his whole system. He'd hate to see if his blood glowed too…

"It has been over a century since the Fall," Allan said, almost as if he was admitting something; "Do you really think that what's happened to us happened to whatever was left up there?" With an unfocused step, Allan finally decided to move away from the door, relocating the chair he had been sitting on. He sat down heavily, eyeing Carter from across the room with his pitcher; a more comfortable distance.

Unexpectedly, he let out a very agitated sigh; he hadn't shown aggression for several minutes, so the sudden shift again seemed surprising with nothing to set it off. But what he said was what clearly soured his mood again. Allan looked back to the floor, at the box he had carried the microscope in, when Carter stared at the ceiling, as if the answer would be up there.

"Have you looked at the south quarter?" Allan asked, his tone the same as his earlier sigh. Pausing, as if considering if he really wanted to continue, he added, "When I was getting that plant piece, I happened to find some notes on it. It said they didn't find it in the forbidden quarter; it was over by an unused tunnel in the south."

South. An unused tunnel in the south. The words almost echoed, everything else Allan said becoming nothing more than a backdrop for those words. He lifted his hand from the water without looking at it, drying his hand on his pants and staring at nothing when he turned to where Allan’s voice was coming from. All this time he had been focused on the forbidden quarter, the darkness there and the mystery, the absolute mystery. But it was likely nothing was there. Perhaps some odd animals that were the birth of the rumors of monsters in the river, perhaps rock and moss and strange fungi, but most likely, nothing else. Bats? Certainly. An area untouched by human influence for many decades? Of course. Carter nodded, slowly, as though contemplating what he said and what Allan said.

“I… I do believe that the surface creatures have been affected in one way or another. The compound settled in the ground, and with the rain washed it into the soil and rivers, plants probably absorbed it. And as it’s in the rivers, animals must have ingested it.” He looked at Allan. “The problem is whether the cells have a different affect on humans and animals. Since animals are very different than humans, I’m not sure how it could affect them. Perhaps change the color of their fur, or skin, or make them physically different. It may have enhanced their intelligence, or weakened it significantly. Maybe it was absorbed by the trees, the flowers and grass, and they’re now able to move easily about, or communicate in some way with other plants.”

He considered the tunnel Allan had mentioned, quiet for a moment. Walking across the room, away from Allan, he tossed one of the books off the end of the couch and sat. “I never thought of the south tunnel. I’ve been there several times, chasing a couple beetles, but I never paid much attention to it. Usually the most interesting things are the things outright forbidden. I suppose our superiors caught on to that. They never mention the south tunnel, but always say no going near the dark area of the river or into the forbidden area. The south tunnel isn’t lit, but there are a few signs a ways into the tunnel, and it moves steeply upward, what I saw on some visits. I just didn’t care at the time. It must be the way our ancestors came down, a way to the surface.”

"What, talking plants?" Allan snipped, still not fully happy in this situation, but he was trying to at least "keep his head" as Carter had suggested. After a moment, however, he paused; what was it Carter said exactly? That this new, actually alien element could have changed things enough to enable communication with other things in some way? Then... with their...

Nah... what am I even thinking?

Even as he assured himself that what he was thinking was impossible, he couldn't shake the sudden realization that, at the riverside, as much as he was enjoying his solitude, he'd become fascinated with what Carter was doing, as strange as it was. Carter glowed like an underwater night light and apparently had super-sensitive hearing. Allan's eyes were both sensitive and... glowing as well.

"A way to the surface," Allan almost corrected, with a tone that suggested he had been interrupted similarly multiple times before with that same statement. A previous partner must have gone after him at verbatim about it... He lifted a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Is there..." he started to say, pausing as if surprised he had spoken aloud. "Is there any chance that whatever's up there... would react differently to us than otherwise?" Allan wasn't even sure what he was asking; Does being contaminated change the situation once up there?

“Not talking plants.” Carter almost laughed. “Plants that can, perhaps silently or through a natural chemical element they give off, silently communicate with one another. Depending on the strength of this element and the length it can go to alter them, I could think anything’s possible now.” But, he said to himself, if the plants could communicate with one another, could they communicate with animals…? He shook that thought out of his head. Impossible only goes to a certain length. Even impossible has its limits.

He had to give Allan a critical look when he seemed to correct what Carter said. “A way to the surface,” he had said, as though he had taken that slip of the tongue personally. As though Allan had found it and didn’t want anyone misusing it in any way. “All right, a way to the surface.” Carter huffed. “But it’s a big tunnel, and New Angeles is a big city. Perhaps it was the main tunnel, and when our ancestors came down, they spread through other tunnels to make the other cities. Whatever’s through that tunnel, it’ll have to be important. Perhaps it’s a facility of some sort, housing people just before the Fall.”

Carter contemplated the last question. “Perhaps… There is a chance the animals on the surface, like the plants, would react differently than with others who aren’t affected. If plants have become aware of their surroundings, or keen to threats, they could be able to move quickly or defensively. And if animals can sense it in us, perhaps they would consider us a part of the surface, instead of something new and never seen before. Of course, they would be curious, but we should be wary of carnivores larger than us. Big cats or dogs, bears, and so on.”

Allan scoffed at Carter's explanation, clearly feeling that he had just said the same thing he had. "Talk, communicate… whatever," he muttered, stubbornly staying resistant to the whole thing. The fact that he wasn't being venomous towards Carter anymore was a good sign, at least.

He couldn't help his curiosity being pricked at the idea of a structure in the tunnel; Allan glanced up at Carter as he noted how there could have been a facility, but he managed to keep himself from asking anything about that theory, instead looking down at his hand, flexing it out flat, eyes narrowing for a moment at the sensation. The red was still quite prominent on his hand, but he didn't exactly have something to wrap around it; he would have already otherwise. Unsure where else to set it, he rested it on his knee, the throbbing starting to annoy him now, being faint enough to just be felt, but not do him any good.

"So, if the ones who went up there before did get eaten, you think you'd have a better chance since you're "one of them"?" he asked, the snarky remark half genuine.

Carter watched Allan for a moment. He had fallen into a familiar pattern of emotion, reintroducing who he was to Carter. Talking and communicating was hardly the same for plants. There was a difference between speech and the ability to sense what something of the same genetic makeup wanted, or knew, or felt. Carter shook his head, feeling it was impossible to explain that to Allan. Even if he was interested, he didn’t seem to want to understand much relating to how.

He tried not to smile at Allan’s last question. It was odd, to say the least. “I doubt we--er, I--would be eaten immediately. But certainly due to the extra alien compound in the body, I’d be considered as a lesser threat, something strange in appearance but not exactly alien. Still, it’s not as though we… I would be going up there unarmed.” He thought about getting up and going to his wardrobe, to the hidden compartment in the floor, but decided against it. What he did do was stand, going to the wardrobe and digging around the darkness. Pulling something out, he went toward his desk, near where Allan was seated. He threw the bundle at him.

“Take care of your hand,” he said, searching his desk. “I don’t have actual bandages, but it’s better than nothing.” Finding a pair of goggles that appeared to be blacked out, he set them on the desk and turned to one of the bookcases. “I’m going to the surface.” He said in finality. “I don’t care if you want to go; I don’t need an escort or someone to join me at all.” He pulled one of the books off the shelf and grabbed a black backpack from the corner. “Still…” He put the book inside and went to his wardrobe. “If you do want to come with me, look at the goggles.”

He refused to look back at Allan. Quietly, he slid the false bottom out of the floor of the wardrobe and turned a small light bulb on. “Those goggles,” he continued, “have lenses nearly blackened. Much darker than your weak sunglasses, and will easily block out almost all of even the strongest light. They were my great-grandfather’s, whose eyes were also very sensitive to the light after a while.” He examined his stock of weapons. Five pistols, two rows of ammunition, a laser sight. He took two pistols, placing them and one row of ammunition into his backpack, and adding a laser sight. Just in case, he thought. Turning the light back off and replacing the bottom, he zipped the pack up securely.

Allan's eyebrow arched when Carter slipped, hurriedly fixing the "we" to "I," but said nothing, mentally noting that it was just the one-time slip, one mistake. He made a face and looked away almost in disgust when it happened a second time. He looked over when Carter came close, and just barely caught the bundle of cloth; the way he grabbed it was instinctive, using his injured hand. He softly hissed as he repositioned his hand, unraveling the bundle with his other at Carter's explanation for what it was for, the confused eyebrow lowering from its relocation to an arched position.

He didn't bother watching Carter as he wrapped his hand, barely swallowing the scoff at the teacher's decision about going to the surface. He instead made a face as he tightly bound his hand, needing to use his mouth to help tie the knot on the back of his hand. The speed in which he pulled off the maneuver would have supported Carter's earlier questioning of how the hell he'd managed to stay alive this long; it was obviously something he was used to doing.

Allan did finally look up when Carter paused, mentioning the goggles. He squinted his eyes irritably as Carter turned on the light, the continued description of the safe darkness in those goggles finally urging him to stand and pick them up, studying them cautiously. He looked over as Carter started to pack the weapons, and with as much of a snarky tone as was possible, asked, "Ah, so your methods of dealing with problem students would be the same as mine." He settled himself against the table, still holding the goggles.

"So your great-grandfather… Did his eyes glow, or am I just… unique in that?" he asked, the inevitable pause questioning, even as he continued to focus on the goggles, silently noting with pleasure that they were indeed exceptionally dark. But he was uncertain; was the deal going to be the goggles for his companionship up to the surface? He resisted the urge to glance up at Carter, fully uncertain why he seemed so insistent on his going with him. He did slip twice in revealing that he had planned on Allan going to the surface with him. It wasn't like Allan had been playing the friendly type this whole time, after all…

Carter metaphorically kicked himself over and over, hating that he had slipped up while speaking of the surface, possibly falsely noting that he wanted someone to accompany him. While moving around the room, getting the goggles and the book, the backpack, he cursed himself. He had been around the man for too long, he knew. Being around someone too long, he told himself, bred familiarity, just as he always knew, and was almost nonchalantly referring to himself and Allan as ‘we’. He had to get out of the cavern, out of New Angeles, and be once again on his own to explore the world and see its wonders. If he wanted to go, he could, but Allan had made it clear more than once he didn’t like dramatic change, nor did he want to go to the surface.

Carter had thought he was blocking Allan’s view of the compartment, but his question was evident that he had spotted the contents, even through the light. “Problem students?” He repeated, a bit perplexed. “I never threaten fool kids with guns, though I would love to sometimes. They’re for protection…” He paused. Protection. Allan would wonder what kind of protection. Probably not aloud, but Carter almost felt it. He had his reasons, just as Allan had his. Carter turned with his backpack, seeing Allan had taken up the goggles in one hand.

Carter was quiet after Allan’s question. He set the bag on the end of the couch and went to a pile of books on the floor. They all related to plantlife and animals of the surface. Sorting through them, he considered the question. “I never saw his eyes glow.” He said at last. “Although, about the same time he started complaining, he wore the goggles. Never would take them off. But that was a while back.” He found two books and stood. “I’d have to think it was a very early sign of contamination, but never really thought about it then.” Slipping the books into a smaller outer compartment, he sat and looked toward the ceiling. He didn’t care to look at Allan at that time.

"Why not?" Allan asked, and for once his tone was completely, genuinely curious; "Even "fool kids" know to back off at that point," he added, with a look that indicated that there were a lot of people he'd be willing to pull a gun on. Question was, how many of those people he'd be willing to shoot with it. As brash as he was, even Allan knew enough about his job to know that you never actually pulled a weapon on someone unless you were willing to finish the move out to the end. Was that why, then, he resisted pulling one on Carter?

"So, getting grants, or giving bad grades… or whatever it is that you do, it ruffles feathers enough for you to feel a need for protection?" he asked, his eyes lifting up from the goggles to watch the backpack, finally moving to Carter's back as he shuffled through the books. Now packed, he sat down and stared at the ceiling again. Allan resisted the urge to ask if he had something up there that continued to grab his attention, knowing fully that he wasn't sure about what else to say.

Allan knew that because he didn't know what to say either. His eyes went back to the backpack; in the space of just a few short minutes the teacher was packed and ready to just go, obviously eager to leave this world behind for whatever adventures awaited him above the cavern, on the surface. Allan was just used to the idea of trying to survive, to just keep going; his migratory pattern was more out of habit than anything else. He carefully considered Carter's description of his grandfather's eyes – great-grandfather, whatever – and how he hadn't ever taken the goggles off. That sounded eerily familiar for him, and here he was, sitting within feet of someone who might help explain what was going on. And if Carter could figure it out, maybe… maybe he could find a way to fix it. Or maybe the rumors he never believed in of monsters living in the darker areas were true, and they'd be eaten before ever reaching the surface.

All of the many maybes were circling his mind, giving him almost as much of a headache as the lights did. But that one maybe kept coming back the most, kept nudging at him, offering a return to his old life if only he'd take the chance. But did he really want it back? He never knew what his next move would be, never felt like he was a part of anything, just a ghost wandering the various caverns. Was that really worth going back to?

After a few minutes of silence, staring at the goggles, Allan threw his head back, but rather than stare up at the ceiling, he shut his eyes tightly as he softly hissed a very long, darkly growled string of curses, directed at no one in particular. His decision was completely unclear at that point; whatever it had been had clearly irritated him, but that was no great feat with the options open to him at the moment. But not quite a minute later, his eyes still closed, he lifted his head back to a regular position, letting out a sigh of what almost sounded like defeat, even if it was surrendering to himself.

"I am NOT going without my guns," he stubbornly stated, as if he had been arguing over the idea for an hour. His tone also indicated that by "guns," he didn't mean what he was wearing at the moment. So what would he consider to be his "guns"?

“Why not.” Carter sighed. “I don’t threaten with guns unless I’m ready to kill them. I use a knife to threaten kids if they get… out of hand away from the classroom.” He looked toward Allan, but turned his gaze swiftly to the microscope. It was dark, very faintly lit with the glowing water beside it. He hardly found Allan’s halfway-sarcastic question funny. “I’m not saying it’s a dangerous job, to be a teacher.” He added. “I have my own reasons, just as you do. They may not be as apparent, but they still exist.”

He saw Allan eyeing the bag beside him. Instinctively, he moved a hand to one of the straps. He had always been halfway ready to go to the surface, and with everything in his office, only a bit of extra preparation was needed. He had always been outcast for his old ideas, his hopes for going to the surface and somehow leading the human race back into the sun. But the ideas were passed on by Carter’s grandfather as well, stories that were more than stories, ideas that had substance rather than wishful thinking. If his grandfather had sensitive eyes, eyes that probably glowed in the dark, or even the light, he knew something was wrong with the world, in some way or another.

Carter stared at Allan as he muttered, turning his face to the ceiling with eyes closed. The silence had been broken, and it rang slightly in his ears for a moment. Allan was cursing to himself, perhaps fighting back words or actions instinctive to him in some way. Perhaps wondering what to do, now that Carter had given him the answer he wanted. Carter half hoped Allan would leave, would let him continue his solitary life, let him put himself in as much danger as he liked.

When Allan spoke again, it came as a surprise to Carter. He didn’t want to go without his guns, but it was almost as though he meant something else. Carter sensed the change in tone, the indication he wanted to get something. But what Carter sensed most was Allan wanted to accompany him to the surface. He almost shook his head, almost bid Allan goodbye and took off. He almost stood, but his legs wouldn’t move.

“Fine.” He said at last. “Get your guns and you can meet me just outside the academy.”

Allan had almost shrugged off Carter's response to his questioning about using guns around the kids, and about having so many weapons. Those answers had nothing to do with his decision; it was that nagging hope that maybe his eyes would be cured and he could go back to what resemblance of a normal life he had had before. If nothing else, that was his; he wasn't about to just let this eye issue take it over. It already had been trying to, screwing up a few jobs by making him unable to focus properly on targets. He wasn't going to let it any longer.

He stood away from the table, setting the goggles down on the table behind him, slipping his own glasses back out and back onto his eyes, the glow dimming instantly. Almost as if out of character with his entire attitude up until that point, he suddenly smirked, looking over at Carter. "Don't worry…" he said, his tone matching his smile, that wolfish, self-satisfied grin. "I won't be long. Don't want to make us wait too much longer to go," he added as he walked to the door, opening it to the bright hall ahead. He had definitely picked up on Carter's lack of conviction in advising him to go and get ready, and somehow, knowing that Carter wasn't fully happy at the idea clearly lifted his mood. With a chuckle that was just as warm and inviting as his smile had been, he stepped out of view, the door clicking closed behind him.

---

Weird. All he could say was it felt weird. The pack resting on Allan's back as he came back up to the academy's walls was normally filled this way for traveling from cavern to cavern. The idea that he was going up rather than to a new cavern was throwing him off completely. His jacket had once again been buttoned up, which was good as he passed many people who would have been more than freaked out at seeing a man walking about nonchalantly with visible weapons.

The large, obviously stuffed duffel back slung across his shoulder looked heavy, as did the shoulder satchel he carried, although there was only some food included in that pack. While Carter had stored ammunition and multiple pistols, Allan's collection was… rather more extensive. Of course, Carter had expressed he only threatened people who caused problems by possibly waving a knife at them or something akin to that. Allan's work often dealt with doing quite a bit more to people, usually ending in permanent results. Not the steady, don't-really-make-enemies job Carter had…

Allan had to admit that the familiar weight of his twin sniper rifles, assault rifle, and of course the numerous hand knives and ammunition in the bag helped calm him down. He'd been feeling fidgety ever since he left Carter's office. Was he really going to the surface? He'd gone ahead and packed his heavier pieces, along with more food than he normally would have. It wasn't like there were going to be places to stop and have a bite on the way up… not unless it was some alien creature doing the biting. But Allan wasn't sure; he'd heard plenty about the wonders of the surface, where plants grew in an abundance of color, animals roamed freely, feathered things called birds soared through the skies, and where mankind could build up and up until he could practically touch the sky. Some men had apparently already managed to find a way off the surface, to fly above the earth; Allan had always wondered why it was considered so practical at the time, as obviously, gravity works. Carter probably was hoping that there would be some way to do it himself…

He sighed out loud, wondering why he kept wondering about Carter's reaction to seeing the surface rather than his own. Was it because Carter still wanted to go out and live, that he had aspirations beyond just simple survival, that kept dragging his attention back? Or was it because he was so like Chris…? Allan paused at the thought, shaking his head sharply before continuing, seeing the doors to the school in the not-too-distant area before him. Chris had been his best partner, one who had begged him to go to the surface with him. Allan had said no. Carter was just the same as Chris; eager, wide-eyed at the marvels told in stories and in history books about the surface, and desperate for adventure above ground, in a world illuminated not by lamps spaced every so often, but a sun, moon, stars, and whatever else was left. He was obsessed with it, couldn't resist the urge to go above and explore.

It was three years now since he left…

When Allan stood, Carter followed. He could hardly believe what he had said, what he was doing. All his life he wanted to get to the surface, explore and return, somehow get everyone out of the dark. All he thought about was going, alone. Alone to the surface, to the untouched world. He had always been told that it’s nothing but dark, a world above the underground plagued by more darkness, more and more darkness and shadow so complete no amount of artificial lighting would chase it away. But he knew they were wrong. Allowing someone else to go with him seemed like a betrayal to himself, his hope.

Still, he ignored Allan’s words, the blunt wolf-like words, the equally-animalistic grin and laugh. He didn’t care if someone accompanied him suddenly, didn’t mind at all. He watched the microscope hard as Allan passed, as he went to the door and spoke again. He emphasized us, as though taunting Carter. He had enough self-control not to react. Besides, he thought as the door closed, he had a few more things to get. No use dwelling on what Allan said, or meant. He never cared what anyone else thought of him or his work anyway.

***

They didn’t ask many questions. Carter had been to the lunch room many times in the past, asking for this or that. They did give him an odd look at his request, though, for bags or easily-opened cans of imperishable foods. He paid, of course, as he always did, which lessened their confused stares. The two lunch ladies still in the back hurried around the counters with a shallow box, and Carter thanked them after giving them the coins he promised. He stuffed the bags and cans--with only a glance at their written labels--into a satchel he had found under his couch, and bid them good evening.

Waiting on the steps outside the academy, he had to wonder why he even decided to trust the man known as Allan. The last time he trusted anyone, he had nearly been killed when the man betrayed him and took the items they had tracked down together. Items of great importance to Carter, such as bright feathers from surface birds, a rose, a lily. Carter cupped his hands over his ears, the noise of people passing by with their loud voices nearly driving him crazy. His thoughts were not as comforting, unfortunately, and he had to endure the past as it replayed in his mind. He still had the scar from the first and last trick.

He looked at the bags beside him. It would have been easier to get another gun or two, or something… He tried to consider what else they would need on the way up, or even once they got to the surface. He never thought about trusting again. It was enough once to sour his view on anyone. If one person lied, what’s to stop anyone else? He had never been lucky in life, or with the people he knew, be them family or supposed friends. But Allan was hardly a friend. He had threatened to pull a gun on Carter, and Carter had threatened to pull a knife on Allan. They were hardly friends, hardly acquaintances, but somehow had agreed, without directly saying it, to put up with one another.

Carter worried about Allan’s reactions, those hairpin switches. If they came across an animal of sorts, a large but harmless one, Allan would probably shoot it before pausing to find out what it was or how it behaved. And if he became annoyed with one thing or another on the surface… If the sun was strong enough to cut through his grandfather’s nearly-opaque goggles, would he want to leave? Take something with him back to the underground cities? Carter didn’t mind that, but what he did mind was Allan’s immediate violent reactions. The killing of a harmless animal would be Carter’s fault, if only in part. He sighed and looked down the street.

Carter might have trust issues based on what he experienced; Allan couldn't say that was his only reason. Frankly, he'd broken off about as many partnerships as he had broken on him, his betrayals just as bitter in some cases. He just learned to accept one person for a period of time, for one job. That was the easiest way to look at this; a job. Made everything feel more natural. So even though he knew now that Carter was fully capable of taking care of himself, evident in what he had seen – both weaponry and his speed – he had still decided he would be his unofficial "bodyguard" for the trip, payable by a cure for this odd condition his eyes were being affected by.

Not that he had told Carter any of this…

"Got the goggles?" Allan asked as he came into what he had judged was hearing range for the teacher; he was off by quite a bit, but he was still several yards away, and had spoken as if standing next to him. His tone almost indicated that he was going along for the goggles themselves, and no other reason besides. He looked up at the doors as he paused, not quite willing to get close again. On his way out, he had ended up threatening a few kids who were playing with their blinking jewelry in one hallway, which had gotten him unceremoniously kicked out by another teacher; he wasn't really interested in facing the woman again. After that experience, he wasn't so sure of how common it was for teachers to be armed anymore. Not if coworkers were like that…

Allan looked to the south, the lights reflecting off his glasses and effectively hiding the glow of his eyes. "We can hit the tunnel from the side; they've got the road blocked off down there. "Under construction," or so I'm told," he said, and began to walk towards the south, not even bothering to wait and see what Carter would do after getting the suggested directions.

Carter had decided to ignore Allan’s tones, his behavior. He would not focus on how the man said it, but rather, what he said. He would listen for the clicking or scratching of the mechanics of a gun behind him. He would listen for minute changes in tone, telling him what Allan was feeling in regards to anger, irritation, or if fear presented itself at all. Other than that, he decided, he would not let anything else get to him. It wasn’t worth the headache. Allan would be there just to be there, for one reason or another, a mere tagalong in a job Carter hoped was his own. If Allan would be like his previous partner, and betray him, Carter would not be caught off guard.

His voice was easily discerned from the others. Carter looked around, standing, grabbing his bags, and stepping down the bottom stair. He tossed the goggles to Allan, and as he went by without really glancing toward Carter. He didn’t particularly look at the school either. Carter wondered silently if scowling Annie Shan, one of his coworkers, had encountered Allan before he left. As Allan wasn’t looking at him, Carter smiled. He caught up to Allan and swung his satchel over his left arm. “I know where that is.” He said. “As I may or may not have noted some time before, I’ve been there a few times.”

The beetles around that area, the area Allan described, contained the most fascinating beetles and spiders. Some large, others glowing with their own light that wasn’t the creation of the alien element that was slowly spreading through the cavern. He had collected some, though had to release them after examining them under a magnifying glass.

Allan caught the goggles easily this time, his injured hand resting on the side satchel, the wrap almost totally invisible under the leather gloves he wore. Surprisingly enough, the gloves were a medium brown rather than the expected black. This just meant that the stains on them were visible; dark stains, several obviously oil or grease marks, others… obviously not.

"Oh yeah," he said as Carter noted how he was repeating himself now, as if a vague, distant memory suddenly had a tiny echo of him having said that. His nonchalance about not having fully paid attention to what Carter was saying before was extremely obvious. "Know how to get around the guards then?" Personally, he was expecting to either slip through the shadows or knock out a few men to get through. Maybe Carter had clearance to go there or something…

Very unlike Carter, Allan hardly paid attention to his companion, other than just making sure he was keeping the same pace. The teacher had been betrayed once, badly; Allan couldn't remember anymore if he'd betrayed more partners, or if he'd been betrayed more by partners. Then again, there was always that gap between their professions. Carter was a teacher, someone who was able to simply hide away to nurse one wound. Allan's world hadn't been like that, nor had he ever imaged it being otherwise. He didn't consider it harsher or easier, exchanging partners almost as fast as ammunition, neither better nor worse. In that world, his act first, think second strategy was actually crucial, necessary if he was to be capable of taking out a partner who was becoming a threat at the first signs, before it got any worse.

Of course, that also meant Allan had more than once been the partner becoming a threat; he still bore plenty of scars from those fights, but the one he lost he only barely survived. But he had been through it, on both sides; betrayal was just another element to his world, not a factor to be considered and feared. It was the idea of actual loyalty that he couldn't quite get yet, so the continuing presence of Carter was the alien element, the unknown thing in that world, someone with absolutely nothing to gain by killing him. How was Allan supposed to handle him, then?

Carter walked alongside Allan, a ways away, keeping only a bit of suspicion lingering about. He had always considered it better to suspect everyone rather than trust specific people. He had moved quickly, and when he did Carter caught a clicking noise relating to hard plastic or metal coming from Allan. He seemed to be ready for a war. He noted the carelessness of how Allan spoke, as though he didn’t much care about forgetting what Carter said. But if he forgot everything the man said, how would he understand anything else other than what he wanted to understand? He shook the thought away.

“I’ve been to the entrance many times. The guards know me as a harmless man, only going around the darker area to look for interesting insects. I’ve never showed interest in the tunnel, or the surface. In fact, I don’t even care about the surface. It’s nothing but darkness and danger. At least, that’s what they think about me.”

Carter, without paying much mind, had reached up with his right hand to a place just below his ribs, as though feeling there. It often pained him, that particular area, and a very faint, almost impossibly-detected tone in Allan’s voice had brought the pain to life. He recognized the tone, but could not place it. It was familiar, so familiar, and hated. He forced it from his mind and in turn raised his hand to his glasses, repositioning them on his face.

He felt Allan only saw him as a teacher. A teacher, a thinker, and nothing else. Indeed, Carter knew he came across as a wannabe scientist, reading and writing and observing even the minute and unimportant changes in insect behavior or the makeup of artificially-created plantlife. Certainly, many people could not see past the façade, the mask he wore to take away at least a bit of the angst out of the way he saw the world, and himself. He hated himself, as much as he hated the things he did before resigning to a teacher‘s position. Carter hardly believed Allan knew how he really was. Even with the collection of guns--though they were hardly worth long-distance shots-- or his knowledge of the alleyways of the city, his inability to trust. Certainly he had killed, just as Allan had, but some of those deaths never should have happened. And for that, he hated himself.

Even before employment in the academy, Carter had been thought-out and planned with everything. He knew others who could think as quickly as him, but even as they walked to the south tunnel they put that ability to illegal use. To make an immediate decision built on a deduction was difficult, almost impossible, but saved a lot of bloodshed and broken faith. Perhaps he should stop thinking, he considered, glancing at Allan. Stop thinking about the person, the situation, the later consequences for what he does. It was impossible. Carter’s mind would always be a studied one, with decisions built on well and quickly thought out plans. He could have ducked into an alley or wound his way into the crowd, lost Allan and bounded toward the south quarter, shot the guards dead and gotten into the tunnel.

He silently kicked the thought away, his face placid and blank. He didn’t care to kill anymore.

"Hm. Makes things easier," was all Allan said at Carter's words, and for the remainder of the time walking to the south tunnel. He glanced off to the side a few times, noting a few curious looks from the few who were wandering around that early in the morning, but not at Carter. He missed the teacher's subconscious reaction to the old wound, but he wouldn't have understood anyway.

Even with the bright lights forcing him to squint, Allan was quickly able to pinpoint the guards ahead, instantly counting and calculating the odds. His hand shifted on his side bag, unbuckling it; he kept his hand on top, visible, but he was ready to pull out something if needed. "You're up, professor," he said, breaking the silence he had kept since the school vanished from view behind them. He kept his eyes forward, or appeared to; in truth, he glanced at Carter, making sure that he was ready to do his end of the deal. He considered possibly keeping these glasses even after he got rid of the reason he got them. Rather useful in deal-making, he had discovered… so there was one advantage to this happening, anyway.