text: Prologue I've always hated the news. My parents however, couldn't get enough if it. To me, the news nowadays was just middle aged men rambling on about all the bad things in the world. And on the rare occasion they did inform the people about something good, they talked about it for 45 seconds and went right back to the usual: a murder, a kidnapping, you get the picture. So when I visited my parents house last week it was no surprise that they had Fox News on in the background. My parents were both politically red but they weren't the kind of conservatives to go rambling on about how the government was putting chips in people or yelling about how terrible democrats are. And that was really nice. I think we can unanimously agree that people who do participate in previously stated affairs are generally more right wing. Personally, I hated politics, if you were wondering. But regardless, we were sitting in their living room when a news reporter started mundanely reading breaking news out loud. Apparently, there was a mother playing with her two sons in her Chicago home when a rock flew through her window. Neighbors reported screaming, and blunt objects strike floors, walls, and people. They heard a door opening, possibly a backyard door, and after this quick three minute terror, they dialed 911. The neighbors did not choose to release a statement, nor have the officers and the Chief of Police, who quickly arrived at the scene. However, the official police report has been released. Apparently, two men with sharp weapons, likely axes, had thrown a chunk of cement that broke of the sidewalk through the largest window. They quickly entered, and did something terrible. They used the axe and chopped off one of her sons arms and leg. They then moved on to the other child, and they drove the axe into the poor boys chest and the other man decapitated him. The later chopped of the mothers limbs and chunk of her skull. They busted down the back door, and left. The motives were unknown, and the late widows husband had died 7 years ago. She was 30, the children were 4 and 6. "Oh my God" was all my mother could say. But, then again, what are you supposed to say. My mother began to sob. She was a very emotional woman. My father tried consoling her, but his eyes started to become wet. "Why don't you leave, son. We need some space. Text us when you get home so I know you make it home alright." We all hugged and said goodbye and drove home. Buy before i left i couldn't help but notice the painting my family has had for years. It was of my ancestors. A man and a princess were forced to sail a ship and they fell in love. I believe they tryed to settle down in the colonies but the British found them. They had one five year old child that was given to the neighbors. The radio was playing one of my favorite songs, but I turned it off anyway. I drove the hour and a half home in silence. And as I drove past the football fields of corn, I realized I hated it here. It was too quiet. I wanted to return to my apartment right in the middle of downtown Chicago. When I got there I settled in by getting changed and making some tea. I then texted my parents telling them I was alright, but it never said they say it. So I called them and it rung for 30 seconds, and all I heard was the dial tones and the same thing here when I call my friends dead phone: The number you are trying to call has not set up a voice mail, At the tone, please leave a message. Maybe they decided they weren't going to talk anyone. 30 minutes go by and I get a call from the North Utica police department. The Tunnels I'm not sure you picked up on that. Long story short, my parents died. The weapons used were long, sharp, and easy to use. They were murdered in their own home crying. They were found in a pool of blood. But that was a week ago. I wish I had time to mourn them, but I'm much too busy. Hell, everyone in Northeastern Illinois was. The murders started the day before my parents died. With the mother and her sons. For the past week, small groups of men were breaking into houses and murdering everyone inside in cold blood. About 650,000 people have died. Nobody knew how many men with axes there were.. The bodys were countless, and you couldn't go out in public without being murdered. Me and some refugees built a small hidden network of tunnels to hide from the murderers. The tunnels reach from the Chase Bank building to the soup kitchen and the subway. They also had secret weapons hidden in fake walls throughout the tunnels such as rifles, pistols, knives, and what we had the most of; axes. We had ambush teams that quickly intercepted convoys. They brought back axes. Sometimes they themselves didn't come back. We have plenty of matches and electricity. However, we needed candles just in case. To solve this, we quickly formulated a plan. They would each bring a 9mm on the subway. If any axemen (oh right! Forgot to tell you. We call them axemen) boarded the subway, our supply team will quickly take care of that. They will later take supplies from stores such as food and candles. About 300 men live here, 270 women, and 400 children all crammed into these tunnels. Everyone did their share here but wait. I can hear something. It sounds like, a giant boom. I decided to go examine, but then I saw axemen. But with new, louder weapons. Chainsaws. That was yesterday. Let me tell you all about it. The Attack in the Tunnels The moment I saw the Axemen I knew we wouldn't survive. But alas, I still grabbed a weapon from the walls. I grabbed a lever action rifle. I was so glad I was in this spot because I knew there were so many unfortunate people who probably grabbed pocket knives or pistols with no magazines. As I slowly approached where I saw them, I realized something. They were gone. But the U-Hauls they stole were still there. Still open. That meant they were in the tunnels. Killing. They were destroying families. Destroying lives. I didn't have much time to think about that though. Although in hindsight that was probably for the better. What wasn't for the better, however, was that an axeman swung his axe right next to me. Well, he did hit me, but the axe just grazed my right arm, leaving a huge cut that would later heal but leave a mark on me forever. I turned around and saw the murderer. His eyes looked scarily human but not quite human. Almost like an American Girl doll. They were blue, with a slight triangle of red in the top of his void black pupils. I couldn't see the rest if his face because of his ski-mask. I quickly kicked him back with my leg and aimed my rifle. Alright. Just aim for him and shoot, not the hard, I thought to myself. As I pulled the trigger, I heard a deafening boom as the bullet left the chamber and hit him right in the neck. I was aiming for the chest, but I couldn't steady myself and aimed too high. He quickly collapsed on the dirty floor as blood quickly poured out his neck like a pitcher pouring lemonade on a hot summer day with neighborhood kids. Before long, he was laying in a pool of blood. I did this, I thought to myself. I took away this man's life. He tried to hurt me but I hurt him myself. And that's a thought I will carry with me to the day I die. But then I saw a man run through the tunnels with an assault rifle, screaming and firing at the same time. He then stopped and looked at me saying, "They're all gone now." I felt so bad taking this mans life, yet heres this guy screaming triumphantly about how he killed however many axemen he killed. I fell to the ground and fainted as blood poured out my arm. The Aftermath After I woke up I found that me among many others were placed in beds in what seemed to be a makeshift hospital. If they placed this many people here, that meant the spots we reserved for the sick were all filled up. As I woke up, I saw that a nurse was running towards me. "Hello?" I said weekly. I felt surprisingly fine, but my voice still trembled. She sighed a sigh of relief and spoke "We were waiting for you to wake up! The doc said you were able to leave the moment you woke up. And besides, you were invited to a meeting put on by the leaders of our little..." She seemed to struggle what to call the shelter. "our little den." Either way, they are expecting you at this very moment." As I nodded yes I saw how my arm looked. It was blood stained around the area the axeman hit and there was a large piece of cloth around it. I slowly got up and walked to the head office. As I slowly walked down the corridors, i saw the victims of the attack. I saw piles of blood that nobody bothered to mop up. I saw people who looked like dollar store guards brandishing AR-15s. I saw children crying, women sobbing, men grieving, and people dying. Everyone looked tired, and the people that weren't any of these things were on the verge of breaking down. I wanted to help these people so bad, but something told me no. I felt so evil. Children were here acting strong, protecting their siblings while receiving news that they would never see their parents again, while I walked through, with a small gash on his arm. I was scared walking through this place. That was so out of the blue. It didn't seem planned. And this is what they caused. What if they launched another attack? What kind of damage could they cause? I had to stop thinking about this. I felt quite queasy. I took my last turn and saw the door to the office right in front of me. Every step I took felt like an Earth shattering boom. As I approached the door, I reached for the handle and turned it as I walked in. The Meeting "Oh! Here you are! Sit down now. We have important matters to discuss." A man in a khaki uniform told me. I noticed a small tag on his breast that read "STRUMMER". I complied. "What happened yesterday was disgusting. About 700 men died, 530 women, and 400 children. We have recently initiated a task force we dedicated to protect citizens and refugees living here in the Tunnels. We have also decided upon a name for the Tunnels. We call it Solsbury. We also have named the task force the SPS. SPS is short for Solsbury Protection Services. The SPS doesn't have much, so we would appreciate any contributions. So far, we have simple blue-gray Dickies uniform with an ironed-on patch. We hope to have more official wear, but we are managing. The SPS is also armed with at least one firearm with variable efficiency. The SPS also carries either a knife or a baton with them." He said all this in an almost robotic voice, as if he wasn't really in the moment. It was like a Text-to-Speech machine, only with a slight Scottish accent and a bit more human. Another man to my left looked like he wanted to speak, but didn't. I noticed he too had a tag on his breast that read "SKINNER". I felt bad, for some strange reason. It was like he wanted to speak, but was muted like a television. But I didn't dwell on it for too long, as a woman in a very dusty yet elegant skirt spoke. She looked young, but she had definitely been through much, as the wrinkles in her face proved. I noticed yet another name tag, this one reading "PEART". She started to say something, but I wasn't listening. I heard a switch knife flicking open and a smile cross the man next to Strummer. What happened next was easily the most disturbing thing ever at the time the man next to Strummer, who I noticed had a name tag that read "GRAY", brought a small knife up and stabbed Strummer in the neck with it. The worst part, Strummer was still alive. Everyone in this conference room screamed. Gray then brought the knife out as heavy, red blood spurted on Grays face, the table, and many of the surrounding people. Gray then stabbed Strummers heart, instantly killing him. Blood poured out of Strummers neck like water out of a Budha fountain. Everyone instantly jumped out of their seats, but I didn't move a muscle. I was petrified. But then I noticed Peart pull a seven shot revolver out of the waist band of her skirt. Unfortunately, Gray also noticed this and threw his knife in my direction. She pulled the trigger. A large boom filled the conference room, alerting the SPS something was definitely wrong. However, Gray released his knife a little to late and Peart fired a little too late, causing the knife to curve, as it wasn't a good throw. It didn't strike me, although it struck Skinner dead in the eye, causing his head to jolt back. A start of a blood curdling scream started to erupt out of him, but he passed before he could finish. I looked from Skinner back to Gray and saw a large bullet hole in between his eyes. Blood slowly poured out from the wound, causing many more people to throw up. I looked back at Peart, who looked petrified. She was still holding the gun with both hands, the gunsmoke still curving smoothly out the barrel. She dropped the revolver, and fell to the ground, just as I had before. Two SPS guards picked her up and brought her to a stretcher, where they transferred her to two large SPS paramedics, who quickly rushed off with her, her messy bun still in place. As I looked over again at Gray, I saw something in his eyes. It looked like a contact lens. They made his eyes blue, with a small red triangle in the middle. The Noticing This was some weird stuff. That's for damn sure. The first Axeman I see: blue iris, red triangle in pupil. Ok. Whatever. People have weird fashion taste nowadays. Maybe that's what's cool now. I couldn't give a damn. But an infiltration in the tunnels with the infiltrator having the exact same contact lenses? No way in Hell that is a coincidence. As I walk through the tunnels I look at peoples eyes. No lenses. Even the new arrivals from Indiana don't have them, and they are looking good. Oh yeah. I forgot to mention. The Axemen just took over Indianapolis as well. People over their thought Chicago was a safe haven, given it's security levels. What a shame. If only they knew. Nowhere is safe. Last night we all turned on the last news station on, CNN, and witnessed something horrifying. The axemen found the new CNN news room and busted in. The people on the news first had a look of concern, then shock, then forgiveness, and then fell behind the desk. A lone Axeman jumped over in an honestly super clean way. I hate to give them credit, but they are agile. I then heard screams, that stopped scarily abruptly. The Axeman jumped back over, facing the camera. He pulled out something from behind his back. I really hoped he was just doing an immature joke we did back in grade school, where you pretended to pull something out and its just your big, fat, middle finger. I'm half right. He pulls out an arm. Its doing a limp middle finger, and you don't usually get so scared you get angry. Or cocky. Or annoying. Or anything other than scared. Meaning this disgusting waste of oxygen actually positioned the victims hand like this. The arm has blood gushing from the sever point, which appears to be just below the elbow. The fingers fall, but they still twitch. Look, I've read horror. I once read a book called "Sadness" or something of the sort. The main character got his foot cut off. I also think his thumb. But when his foot was off, his toes still twitched. That was a good book. When this ends... no no. If this ends, I'm going to try and find it. But the point is, words aren't scary. Just a bunch of lines. Those won't hurt you. But actually seeing it, oh Lord. This sight is disgusting. I'm praying that my worst enemy never sees this. As the fingers stop moving, he shakes the arm so it waves. He gets closer to the camera, and I see it again. The blue iris, the red triangle. I don't know how I see this. It only was there for about half a second before he slashes the axe at the camera, ending the program instantly. I remember what Mom used to say. "I had a photographic memo-" I stop thinking about it. To think about that, I need to think about my mom. And mom was murdered. By an axeman. The Axeman likely also had a blue iris and red triangle. My attempts to stop thinking about it only lead to more thinking about. I can't. I try to push through the crowd as my eyes get blurry and wet, but they barely even move a muscle. I start to cry. But not that quiet sob where you try to breathe and just choke but more of an ugly cry. I feel the tears hit the ground and splatter softly. Drip drip drip. It starts slowly but slowly gets worse and worse. Eventually I have a small three year old looking at me silently. Great. Children are just watching me cry on the dirty floor. I'm done. I don't politely ask people to excuse me. I run through the crowd, pushing everyone that doesn't see my speeding by like a bullet. I see a man in front of me, with a blue iris and red triangle in his eye. Another imposter. I quickly bow my head down, not out of respect, but to hide my face. When he's close to me, I see his eyes one more time. Yep. Blue iris. Red triangle. I then do the last thing I expected. I punched him square in the eye, almost as if the triangle were a target. As i run by, picking up speed, I here people "ooh" ing and "aaahhh" ing but on more of a concerned way than a fascinated one.I run back to my room and slam the door shut and lock it. I throw myself onto the bed, not bothering to use a blanket. I sob. And I sob and I sob. Mostly out of sadness. Partially out of anger. And for the first time, I grieve for my parents. The Death I woke up later that night to a knock on my door. Its extremely late, and no one should be knocking. I open the door, and see a man in a ski mask looking at me. I back up. He walks in. He pulls out an axe. He raises it. I fall to my feet. He swings the axe. It hits my elbow. Pain that I never knew existed shoots up my arm. He raises it again. He drops it in between my ribs.