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The motor cart bumped and shuddered along the uneven track, its wheels grinding softly over ancient grit and fractured concrete. The tunnel yawned ahead—a vast, crumbling artery of the Below World—its arched ceiling stained dark with age and veined with cracks that ran like spiderwebs across old engineering. The cart’s headlights cast erratic beams through the gloom, throwing long, wavering shadows that danced across scorched wall panels and rusting girders. Occasionally, pieces of debris skittered away into the dark as the cart jolted over rough patches, echoing like distant footsteps in the vaulting silence.
They rode in a tense hush; each lost in thought until Valerie’s voice broke the stillness. “Do you remember the wall of fire that wasn’t fire?” she asked. “When we tried to get Barry out of here the first time?”
“It wasn't real,” Dan said grimly. “Just a projection—an illusion. But a good one. Good enough to slow us down.”
“He’s got tremendous power,” Betty added, shaking her head. “Whether it’s science, mind control, or something else… Mendez doesn’t need armies. He makes you see what he wants you to see—and believe it.”
“He took Barry,” Mark said. “Just took him. One second, he was with us, the next gone. Not like a teleport or anything with lights and noise. He just wasn’t anymore.”
“And now Barry’s saying whatever Mendez wants him to say,” Steve added. “We all saw it. Calm. Convincing. Like he believes it.”
Fitzhugh folded his arms tightly, peering into the darkness. “That’s the worst part. He thinks he’s helping us. Mendez isn’t just fooling him—he’s using him.”
“The Underfolk… they’re guided by him,” Valerie said. “He’s like their high priest or king or something. Whatever he says, they do.”
“God only knows how long they’ve been down here,” Mark said, looking up at the tunnel walls, “hiding from the surface world. Maybe it was radiation that drove them down here—maybe bio-war. Whatever it was, it warped their society.”
“They’re a civilization that’s grown up in secret,” Betty murmured. “A counter-civilization. Hidden right beneath the apes’ feet. No wonder they’re so paranoid.”
“They have to be,” Steve replied. “One mistake, and Ape patrols would be swarming down here.”
“But they’re still vulnerable,” Dan said. “All the illusions in the world can’t stop a gorilla tank column if they ever come this far down.”
“They’re dangerously paranoid,” Fitzhugh repeated. “And that makes them unpredictable. Especially Mendez.”
The cart rattled on into the dark, their voices fading into silence once more as they descended deeper into the forgotten bones of a world that had once been human—and was now anything but.
"Steve!" Dan was peering into the darkness ahead.
"What is it? Do you see some illusion Mendez has set up---something like that fake hole that we thought we were going to fall into?"
"No, I think I see a little light. Might be the station. You better slow the cart down, Steve.
He eased off, and in a few moments, everyone could see the dim light that marked the subway station. Steve let the motor cart coast to a halt in the darkness of the tunnel. As the castaways eased quietly out of the vehicle, Dan reached in and punched the button that killed the headlights.
As Steve climbed onto the cracked and dust-choked platform, the others spread out cautiously behind him, their footsteps muffled by the thick coating of time and grime.
Dan was the first to step off the cart after Steve. He scanned the train’s twisted remains with narrowed eyes. “We’re getting close. I remember this heap,” he muttered. “Those cars didn’t move an inch since last time… and those skeletons haven’t either. Let’s keep it that way.”
Mark approached the wreckage more slowly, his eyes darting from the rusted doors to the dark windows that seemed too still. “Creepiest graveyard I’ve ever seen,” he said lowly. “Makes you wonder how many people never made it to the shelters.”
Fitzhugh stood beside the cart, unwilling to come any closer than necessary. He clutched his coat collar, lips curled in disgust. “It’s like a mausoleum,” he said. “Frankly, I don’t think we should be tiptoeing around in it. Next thing you know, the walls will be talking again.”
Betty stepped carefully around a bent railing, casting an uneasy glance up toward the ceiling, half-collapsed and webbed with dangling wires. “It’s hard to believe this was once a working city,” she said softly. “These people… they never had a chance.”
Valerie moved beside her, keeping low and alert. “Just remember—we’re not alone down here. If Mendez is watching, he already knows we’re back.” She paused, hand resting on the grip of her makeshift weapon. “Let’s make this fast.”
Dan narrowed his eyes at the corroded shells of the subway cars, his hand resting lightly near the holster of the primitive pistol they’d salvaged weeks ago. The gloom was thick and silent, broken only by the low creaks and groans of the tunnel shifting with age. He scanned the shattered windows and buckled frames, half-expecting the flash of movement, the glint of an Underfolk weapon—but there was only stillness.
The others gathered close, eyes drawn to the far end of the platform, where an uneven patch of wall sat just beyond the edge of the last derailed car. The door. Faintly outlined in grime and shadows, it was easy to miss unless you knew to look for it—an ancient slab of alloyed metal indistinguishable from the tunnel wall until two Underfolk had once slipped silently through it.
“There it is,” Steve said quietly, nodding toward the concealed seam. “That’s how they brought Barry in.”
“I still don’t know how they spotted the switch,” Betty said, frowning. “It was like they just waved their hands and it opened.”
“They probably felt their way to it,” Valerie added. “Or maybe they know every inch of this place by heart.”
Mark stepped closer, running a palm along the stained wall. “This is it,” he said. “There’s a catch, some kind of hidden pressure plate.”
Fitzhugh sniffed, arms folded, keeping well behind the others. “Marvelous,” he said dryly. “Let’s all lean against mysterious panels and see who gets zapped first.”
“I’ll do it,” Dan volunteered, stepping forward with a crooked grin. “After all, I’ve always dreamed of being vaporized in a moldy hallway.” The black aviator reached up to touch a certain stained tile in the crumbling tile wall of the station. At once, a large section, ragged-edged and irregular, snapped back a few inches, then slid whiningly to one side. Beyond was a chamber crudely cut in the living rock and dimly lit by a single red light.
The castaways moved as one, their footsteps muffled on the smooth stone beneath them, the air heavy with the faint tang of ozone and aged metal. As the hidden door sealed behind them with a dull thunk, they found themselves once more in the stark, rectangular chamber they’d crossed weeks before. It was eerily silent—no hum of machinery, no murmur of voices—only the sound of their breathing and the soft rustle of movement.
Steve took the lead, glancing back once to ensure everyone was close behind. Betty instinctively checked the edges of the room, remembering how disorienting it had felt the first time. Fitzhugh hesitated at the rear, casting suspicious glances at the ceiling as though expecting it to fall in.
“Same trail,” Mark murmured, running his fingers along a groove in the wall. “No detours this time.”
Valerie nodded. “Let’s hope Mendez isn’t waiting with more hallucinations.”
Dan moved to the inner door and placed a hand on the cold metal. It slid open smoothly, revealing the vast artificial cavern beyond.
A collective hush fell over the group.
They stepped onto the platform slowly, one by one, the immensity of the space ahead swallowing them. Below, hundreds of feet beneath, lay the strange, shadowy city of the Underfolk—glowing softly with energy grids and faint lights embedded in the cavern walls. The size of it was staggering, like the ribcage of a fallen titan hollowed out for habitation.
“Still unbelievable,” Betty whispered.
A narrow metal catwalk extended before them, suspended over the open gulf. It swayed ever so slightly in the unseen currents rising from the depths.
“There’s the elevator,” Steve said, pointing to the shaft that rose and fell along the far cavern wall. “Same as before.”
Fitzhugh gave the catwalk a wary look. “I assume parachutes are still out of the question?”
“Just don’t look down,” Dan muttered as they stepped out over the void, one careful footfall at a time.
The castaways stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the narrow catwalk, their hands gripping the railing as they stared down at the vast, humming expanse of the Below World’s inner sanctum.
Below them, the smooth floor of the cavern was a sea of machinery—tall, angular transformers bristling with cables, thrumming generators, sleek columns of gleaming unknown metals pulsing with energy. Strange arrays blinked and shifted colors with unreadable rhythms. On various levels of metal walkways, Underfolk in their immaculate white and gold robes moved calmly, checking readouts, pausing to confer, or making adjustments at glowing control panels. Everything was orderly. Purposeful.
The enormous converter stood like a mechanical monolith near the center of the level—repaired now, its once-shattered upper conduit replaced with polished precision. The egg-shaped command chair gleamed under a bank of low lights, cables and conduits snaking from it like the roots of some alien tree.
Fitzhugh exhaled low and slow. “Well. Everything looks calm enough down there.”
Steve didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the converter—the same one Barry had sabotaged to spring him and Dan from that dreadful cell.
“Yeah,” Mark muttered. “Calm like a crocodile’s grin.”
Dan folded his arms, scanning the tiers of catwalks. “They’ve repaired everything fast. No signs of a fight. No alarms blaring.”
“They weren’t built for panic,” Betty said, her voice tight with unease. “But that doesn’t mean something isn’t wrong.”
Valerie leaned toward Steve. “Do you think Mendez knows we’re here already?”
“Of course he does,” Fitzhugh huffed. “He probably knew the second we stepped into the tunnel. He probably knew before we decided to come.”
A tense silence stretched for a beat. Then Mark stepped forward suddenly, his voice sharp with urgency: “Enough sightseeing. We came to find Barry, not admire the architecture!”
Steve raised a hand to calm him, but there was no denying the tension now rising among them all.
“We go down,” Steve said quietly. “Together. And carefully. If this is a trap, we spring it on our terms.”
The castaways moved in single file across the narrow catwalk, their footsteps echoing faintly over the deep hum of machinery below. The metallic mesh beneath their feet vibrated slightly with the pulsing energy that permeated the cavern. At the end of the walkway, Steve reached out and pressed the call switch beside the elevator shaft. A moment later, with a soft mechanical whir, the grated cage began to rise from the depths below.
“Here we go,” Dan muttered, stepping aside as the cage arrived with a clang and a rattle.
They crowded into the tight space—six bodies packed shoulder to shoulder within the confines of the aging lift. Valerie grimaced as she pressed back against the bars. “If anyone sneezes in here, we’re all going to need space suits.”
“Cozy,” Fitzhugh grumbled, wedged between Mark and the wall. “Just like a holiday tram at the zoo. Only with more anxiety.”
“Better than walking,” Mark muttered, shifting to make room as Betty ducked in.
Steve reached out and hit the lower button. With a soft jolt, the elevator began its descent. The cage rattled slightly as it dropped, metal cables groaning faintly overhead—but the trip was smooth and swift.
They descended past tiers of walkways and banks of lights. Below, the hum of machinery grew louder. The castaways peered out through the cage’s lattice as the main floor rose toward them.
As the elevator eased to a stop, no one looked up. The Underfolk nearby moved with quiet purpose, their focus fixed on terminals, instruments, and readings. No alarms were raised. No heads turned. It was as if the group was invisible.
“Well,” Betty whispered, stepping out first, “either they really don’t see us—or they really don’t care.”
“Either way,” Steve said softly, scanning the chamber, “keep your eyes open. This place is never what it seems.”
Conspicuous in their 20th century clothing amid the sea of white-and-gold robes, the castaways moved briskly but cautiously across the main floor. Their shoes clacked against the smooth metal surface, drawing brief glances from some of the Underfolk—but none of the workers broke stride.
As they neared the door that led to the inner corridors of the Below World, Dan glanced to his left—and froze for a second. One of the Underfolk had turned his head and looked straight at him. Their eyes met.
Dan tensed, expecting an alarm or at least a raised voice. But the white-clad figure simply blinked and turned away, returning to the data stream on his control panel as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
"So far, so good," Steve said under his breath.
Mark, just behind him, rolled his eyes. “Famous last words. Right up there with ‘Trust me, this wire isn’t live.’”25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwtLo8tgFGy
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The speaker on the wall of Mendez’s study gave a brief, metallic beep. Without turning his head, the elegantly robed man extended one bony finger and flicked the switch.
A voice issued from the grille, deep and unhurried. It was the Fat Man. “The companions of Barook have arrived,” he said. “They await you in the Planning Chamber.”
Mendez inclined his head slightly. “Acknowledged,” he replied in his measured tones.
He turned his gaze toward Barry. The boy sat with unnerving stillness, but there was a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth—brief, flickering, almost imperceptible. Mendez noted it, but his own expression remained unreadable, his pale face composed like polished stone. No observer could have said what he thought…or whether he approved.
“Come,” he said simply, rising. He made a small gesture, and Barry stood to follow.
Mendez approached the wall and pressed a recessed panel. The door slid back with a whisper, revealing the silent corridor beyond. Without another word, he stepped through—and Barry followed.
Barry fell into step behind Mendez as they moved through the winding rock corridors of the Below World. Their robes whispered softly with each measured stride, the fabric brushing against the cold stone walls. Along the passage, other white- and gold-robed figures paused in their tasks, bowing their heads or stepping aside with practiced reverence to let the leader and his companion pass unhindered.
At last, they reached the threshold of the Planning Chamber. Mendez paused, lifted a finger, and pressed a small, almost hidden stud set into the wall. With barely a sound, the massive door slid smoothly to one side, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond.
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