Are You Challenging Me?

The cavernous tunnels echoed his every footstep as he entered. It was dark; he squinted to try to make out the interior of the sub-metro. Some blurry shapes came into rough focus: some support pillars, an overhead wire-meshed walkway. A wind whistled through the tunnels on his flanks from the outside world, pipes knocked and groaned above and below him. The stone floor was cold, inhospitable. He shivered, drew his arms in close, and hugged himself as he progressed.

He heard scuttling, scurrying, scattering noises from every direction. He snapped his head to and fro to try and locate the source – probably rats – but never could. It was too dark. He wished he'd taken his coat down with him, it was cool at first, but the temperature had steadily worn on his body. He'd had goose bumps for so long now that the tingling in his arms had become natural. His shoe soles had worn thin a few months back, and he could feel every clump of dust, every separation in the paving, and every rat dropping that crushed beneath his feet. There had to be another way – another way to do this. But he could never quite work one out. Coward.

A droning honk filled the echoing stillness of the tunnels, louder than an air siren, and light briefly illuminated his course. He flung his arm up to shield his eyes. A train roared past, carriages rattling against the rails. He peeked through his fingers long enough to see the silhouetted forms of everyday people aboard the carriages whiz past. The train barrelled past, and all was dark again. It was so dark. He didn't really like the dark. He didn't like coming down here, never did. Seemed dangerous – was dangerous – but he needed to. Or else they wouldn't leave Suzie alone.

He'd been down here before. Twice. He didn't like that he needed to come down again; it never felt right. The scuttling noise came back, now the train was gone. He drew in a deep breath, and then continued, squeezing under a cluster of low-hanging pipes. Another few paces and he hit a wire mesh fence. It rattled and echoed in the stillness of the metro. He felt down, toward the lower left corner, pushed at a section of the fence, and felt it come loose. He grunted and squeezed through it – how some of the bigger guys got through here, he'd never know. The wire scratched and caught on his clothes as he squirmed through. Something tore a hole in his shirt. Great.

The boy continued onwards, remembering to step over some piping set into the floors to avoid tripping. Last time he'd tripped and fallen on them. Something hot ran through the pipes, so they scalded him, left burns for nearly a month. He was careful about things like that now. The sound of scuttling had stopped, replaced by deep and shrill echoes from somewhere up ahead. Hyena-like laughter – probably Stacey's – and deep, rumbling bass pervaded the tunnels. Music – some kind of techno stuff. He didn't like it, but it was something you had to put up with in order to get anything done with these people.

He could see glowing up ahead, now. Typical oil drums filled with burning wood and newspaper were scattered around. The dancing flames highlighted the enclosed space between the train tracks, washing light across the grey walls, thick with colourful graffiti and unsightly stains. Some of them were red. The goose-bumps finally subsided under the warmth of the fires all around, and he let his arms drop to his sides, eyes zipping to the floor, avoiding eye contact with the teenaged tunnel rats huddled around them. He heard whispers above the booming music, some hushed laughs, and inched reluctantly toward the middle of the space.

"Looks like a little puppy's lost his way, don't it?" A familiar voice called from the sidelines. He didn't need to look to know it was Lain. Lain was taller than him by at least a foot and twice as broad, but the voice didn't match the frame. It was shrill, perpetually mocking. The man jeered, came to his side, gave him a hard slap on the back that made him feel like his heart had been knocked up against his ribcage. The boy coughed, looked up to the powerfully built man. "Back again, 'see. Been up to much?"

The boy shook his head numbly. Lain was friendly enough. At least when they were out of sight. "Whatcha back for now? Protection?" No. "Loan?" Nope. "Oh, your bird, then, uh?" A reluctant nod. Lain looked at him with what could have resembled pity. "Mate, why you chasin' her? Doin' this? You know she was someone else's." The boy grimaced and clenched his hands into fists. "You know what you gonna have to do, righ'? He got 'er off you fair'n square." He sighed. "Look, mate, I don't mind you. I jus' don't wanna see you get put in hospital. Do yerself a favour an' just leave. Forget 'er. Plenty more birds on the street."

He considered it. He really had considered doing just that. Leaving and finding someone else – but it wasn't right – even less right than what he was going to do here. He'd been beat up and tossed aside, drugged and left on the street, even woken up in hospital once, but it just wasn't right to leave it at that. He felt white, looked pale, like a stiff breeze could push him over – probably could – but his mind was a pillar of uncertain strength. He'd wandered aimlessly through life before this.

He directed his gaze back to the floor, away from Lain. Good guy. Strong. Not like him. This was why Lain was here all the time, and he wasn't. He was just Runt. Runt of the litter. Been kicked to the streets because he couldn't kick it down here. He felt another slap on his back, laden with pity. "'Right, mate… Good luck." Lain returned to his post on the right with a sigh. The others down here stared him down or completely ignored his presence.

Stacey's laughter filled the tunnel again as a makeshift door of corrugated roofing metal slid to the side at the front of the lit space. He looked up, saw Stacey stagger from the doorway, and paused as she beheld him, looked at him, and made a face like she smelled something bad. She returned to the doorway, spoke to someone, and then returned, looking at him with contempt. He knew what would come next, though.

A tall specimen of man emerged from the inky depths of the faux-room. He was at least six feet tall and was athletically muscled, wore no shirt. He walked with a confident strut, one that the Runt envied, because he always shuffled everywhere, afraid he might step on someone's toes. The man opened his arms in greeting, laughed, "Well! The Runt makes another appearance!" He didn't respond except for a grimace. Their eyes met. "Runt, you lost? Want directions? Anything I can do for you?" He asked mockingly.

The runt felt his throat tremble before he'd even croaked out an answer. He cleared his throat, and took a shudder of a deep breath. "I w…"

"Out with it, come on!" The man insisted.

Runt grimaced again, and said defiantly, "I want Suzie back! I had her and then you took her! She doesn't even like you!" He surprised himself with his volume, but he wished the pitch had been lower. The man's faux-smile dissipated into a fierce glare. He cracked his neck both ways and shrugged, smirking. "Back for another walloping, then, Runty? You want her, you gotta take me down. I don't see any new muscles on you, mate." His pride stung. He was about as muscular as a bean pole and about as broad. "Go home. Forget about her; she's mine. Ain't that right, princess?" He called over his shoulder.

A soft-featured, fair-haired girl slunk out from behind the frame of the metal doorway. Her cheek had been smeared with dirt, and he saw, to his horror, that she'd been dressed… Inappropriately. The bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed uneasily as tears blurred the edges of his vision. Suzie. Her eyes pleaded for him, but she gave a reluctant smile and nod to the shirtless man in front of her.

Snap, the man keeping her here, took her from Runt a few months ago. He didn't know what had become of her – just that Snap had taken a liking to her and decided he'd take her for himself. Suzie was frail, too weak to resist. She'd always said she'd wanted to be an action girl, be rebellious and strong, but she didn't get enough food to get strong. She was rebellious in spirit but weak in body. Suzie.

Runt shook his head, brown mop of hair draping across his forehead. "I want her back! She doesn't want to be with you!" He yelled, voice cracking with fear as Snap took a menacing step toward him. The Runt took a step back and assembled himself into a weak defensive stance, left arm slightly raised. The rules down here were simple. Take, and be prepared to fight for what you took. There's no honour amongst tunnel-rats.

"Fair enough, Runt." Snap cracked his knuckles, and sprinted at him.

Last time he'd taken a beating. A few broken bones, some bad bruising. He'd gotten better, though. He still shook, hatred burning and festering in the pit of his stomach. He was weak. So weak. What did weak people do when they couldn't bench a cup, let alone another person?

The Runt scrambled for his pocket, it was heavy. He fumbled with what was in it, lifted it with a grunt. It was black, weighty, and loaded. He raised it high, and several bottles fell from the dumbstruck hands of the spectators. Some gasped. Stacey screamed. Snap baulked, staggered and slowed, and moved to throw his arms up in front of his face. Runt pulled the trigger. The explosive recoil knocked the gun back into his chin. The shot rang out through the tunnel, and Snap hit the floor, a hole in his stomach.

And for the first time, the Runt knew what it was to be feared – to be Snap – and gazed down to the man, clutching his stomach as blood splurted and gurgled up between his fingers. Nobody moved for Snap, to help him. Stacey trembled and backed away. The Runt took a deep breath, and reasserted himself, glancing to his right. Lain stared as well, but not with fear. Perhaps this was what a glint of admiration looked like. Runt wouldn't know. Lain glanced away, smirked, and spoke loudly. "I didn't see nothin'. Did anybody else?"

Nobody answered. "I said, did anybody else?" He asked. People murmured agreement. Runt snapped the safety on. Nobody liked Snap, anyway. They were just afraid of him. There wasn't anything to be afraid of anymore, though, because Snap had a hole in him. Snap bled. Snap had never bled before. The other tunnel rats looked away from Snap – even Stacey stayed away – and Runt extended a trembling hand for Suzie.

Nobody would challenge him anymore. Nobody would ever take Suzie away from him again.