RED AND THE APOCALYPSE
Chapter 63 —THE Hell Below
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly into the bowels of the subterranean complex.
Row after row of harsh fluorescent strip lights hummed along the low concrete ceiling, casting an unyielding glare over a constant, chaotic stream of survivors navigating the underground halls. Men with calloused hands carried heavy plastic crates, wooden pallets, and rusted oil drums. Others shoved overburdened handcarts stacked high with canned rations, bottled water, medical kits, and spare mechanical parts.
Armed guards were stationed at nearly every major intersection, their rifles slung over their tactical vests.
Female fighters walked through the corridors carrying shotguns, their eyes sharp and vigilant.
Some civilians hurried past without glancing at the three captives being marched down the center lane.
Others stopped dead in their tracks.
Children shrank back, clutching their mothers' skirts, their wide, frightened eyes tracking the trio as they passed.
Whispers began spreading through the crowd like wild sparks in a dry field.
"Look... those are the prisoners."
"The ones the captain's squad picked up near the perimeter?"
"They look so young... barely out of high school."
"Wait. I heard two of them are ability users."
"For real? Ability users?"
"Yeah. The red-haired one tried to threaten the boss."
A haggard man lowered his voice, leaning toward a nearby guard. "I heard they caused serious trouble in the main hall."
Another survivor glanced nervously at the surrounding guards, shivering. "Oh, man..."
"What's wrong?"
"If they really crossed the boss... they're already dead men walking."
The whispers clung to them like a heavy fog, echoing off the damp walls.
Kaito heard every word. So did Tokita. Neither reacted. They kept their heads straight, their eyes scanning the terrain.
Directly in front of them, two muscular guards were dragging Natsuki between them. They held him carelessly under his shoulders, allowing his legs to hang limp, his boots scraping brutally across the uneven concrete floor.
Natsuki's head slumped forward onto his chest. His breathing was shallow, raspy, and uneven. Every few paces, as his wounded thigh jostled against the floor or knocked into a guard's knee, his body jerked violently from the agonizing shock waves shooting up his leg.
Kaito's eyes shifted to the guard on the left.
"Hey."
Neither guard bothered to look back.
"Be careful with him," Kaito said, his voice dropping an octave.
The man on the right cast a lazy, disdainful glance over his shoulder.
Kaito's expression hardened into granite. "He's badly injured. Hold him up."
The guard gave a dismissive shrug, not slowing his pace. "We were ordered to transport him to the cell block. That's what we're doing."
Kaito's jaw clenched until his molars throbbed. "He's our friend. Show some damn humanity and lift him properly!"
For a moment, neither man answered. Then, the guard on the left let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
"And what the hell are you gonna do about it, prisoner?"
Kaito's eyes narrowed into deadly slits, his knuckles turning white as his ability flared near the surface of his skin.
Before he could step forward, Tokita spoke.
"Just carry him carefully."
The words weren't shouted. There was no theatrical anger. No dramatic surge of sound. Just a quiet, flat statement.
Underneath the fringe of bangs covering half his face, however, a tiny, almost imperceptible scowl twitched at the edge of Tokita's lips. A subtle, dangerous shift in his expression.
And yet, the entire atmosphere in the narrow corridor instantly froze solid.
The guard holding Natsuki's left side swallowed hard, his throat making a dry, audible click. The arrogant, smirking expression on his face dissolved into pure, instinctual dread.
"Yeah..." the guard mumbled, his voice suddenly squeaky.
He hastily adjusted his grip, pulling Natsuki's weight higher against his torso. The other guard quickly followed suit, his hands trembling as they hoisted Natsuki up properly, ensuring his bloody, torn pant leg didn't graze the concrete floor again.
Kaito watched the two guards in complete bewilderment.
And then, he noticed something else.
The guard on the left—the one who had been talking so tough just a second ago—was sweating profusely. Cold, heavy beads of perspiration were pouring down his forehead, running along his jawline, and soaking into his collar.
Then Kaito's gaze drifted lower.
A dark, rapidly expanding wet patch had formed across the front of the guard's trousers.
Kaito stared, his mouth slightly open.
No way...
He instantly snapped his head away, biting down on his tongue as his lips twitched violently.
Did this bastard seriously just wet his pants?! From one sentence?!
Kaito pressed his lips into a razor-thin line, fighting with every ounce of his willpower not to burst into hysterical laughter. He couldn't laugh—not in front of an armed escort, not in an enemy fortress. But the absolute absurdity of the sight was almost impossible to ignore.
The guard caught Kaito looking out of the corner of his eye.
Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second. Kaito immediately looked toward the ceiling, whistling silently. The guard flushed deep red, turning his head away in complete humiliation.
Neither of them said another word.
They continued deeper into the subterranean maze.
As they progressed, the environment underwent a dramatic, sinister transformation.
The bright fluorescent strip lights grew sparse, replaced by flickering, low-wattage yellow bulbs encased in wire cages. The civilian population thinned out until there were no women or children left—only armed men with hardened, ruthless eyes.
The walls grew older, cracked, and streaked with dark grime. Thick rust crept across exposed water pipes overhead. The clean, organized residential sections of the compound were left far behind.
In their place was heavy, oppressive military infrastructure.
More barricades. More iron-reinforced doors. More automatic weapons.
The air grew progressively colder, staler, and quieter.
Eventually, they arrived at a massive, double-reinforced steel gate that blocked the entire tunnel. Four heavily armed guards stood watch on a concrete platform beside it.
The moment Tokita and Kaito approached, the guards snapped to attention. Multiple rifle barrels were instantly raised, the safety catches clicking off in unison.
And almost every single barrel was aimed squarely at Tokita's chest and head.
Kaito noticed instantly. What the hell...?
He looked at the guards, then back at Tokita.
They know I'm an ability user. I showed my power in the main hall. They know I can manipulate energy.
Tokita didn't use a single ability. They think he's just a regular sixteen-year-old kid.
So why the hell are every single one of their guns pointed at him?!
Kaito couldn't wrap his head around it. The primal fear Tokita radiated wasn't something you could measure with a scanner or read in a file. It was an instinctual alarm bell wired directly into human survival.
The lead guard stepped forward, his assault rifle locked onto Tokita's forehead. "You two."
He gestured with his chin toward a heavy iron door built into the side of the main gate. "Take your friend inside."
Kaito stared at the small iron door. "Inside where?"
"The cell block," the guard replied curtly.
Kaito looked down at Natsuki, whose face was turning a alarming shade of chalk-white. "Can at least one of you help us carry him? He's slipping in and out of consciousness."
"No."
Kaito raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You heard me, kid," the guard spat, not lowering his weapon an inch. "Take him in yourselves."
Kaito looked at the four guards standing around the perimeter. "Why can't one of you step in for ten seconds and help us set him on a cot?"
One of the guards instantly shook his head, taking a small step back. "Hell no."
Another guard let out a nervous, breathless laugh. "You think any of us are stepping past that gate?" He pointed a trembling finger toward the dark, yawning passageway beyond the iron door. "Not a chance in hell."
Kaito frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm not setting a single foot into that hellhole," the guard muttered under his breath.
A third guard nodded in grim agreement. "That's the prison section. We don't cross the threshold unless the captain himself orders a full sweep."
Kaito looked at the dark portal, then back at the terrified guards. "So you're actually afraid of your own prisoners?"
Silence met his question. Nobody denied it. That was answer enough.
Kaito glanced sideways at Tokita.
Tokita didn't argue. He simply held out his arms toward the two guards holding Natsuki. "Hand him over."
The two men who had dragged Natsuki didn't hesitate for a second. They practically shoved Natsuki forward, eager to get rid of him.
Tokita grabbed Natsuki beneath his right shoulder. Kaito quickly stepped in, taking his left side. Together, they supported the full weight of their unconscious friend.
Natsuki let out a low, pained groan as his weight shifted. "Ah... shit..."
"Easy, man..." Kaito murmured, tightening his grip on Natsuki's belt.
"We've got you," Tokita added softly, his tone completely steady.
The iron door began to unlock. A deep, heavy metallic grinding echoed down the corridor as the heavy deadbolts disengaged.
Beyond the door lay absolute shadow.
Tokita and Kaito took a step forward, crossing the threshold into the dark.
The moment their boots hit the stone floor on the other side, the atmosphere shifted drastically.
It felt like stepping into an entirely different dimension—a nightmarish world completely detached from the cleaner residential quarters where Aoi, Nezuko, and Mira were being kept.
The prison block was a monument to human misery.
There were no high windows. No ventilation shafts providing fresh air. No natural light. No clean surfaces.
Only bare concrete walls dripping with moisture, iron-barred cells, narrow catwalks, and heavy steel doors extending into the darkness.
The air was suffocatingly thick. It reeked of stale sweat, rust, damp mold, dried blood, and an underlying stench of decay that clung to the back of the throat.
And prisoners were everywhere.
Dozens of men were crammed into open bays and barred cells. Some sat slumped against the cold walls like hollow shells. Others lay flat on filthy, threadbare mattresses. A few were whispering in dark corners.
Most of them looked completely broken. Starved. Exhausted. Defeated.
There were a few tough, scar-covered men who looked like dangerous raiders, but they were the minority. The vast majority were simply people who had given up on the idea of survival, staring blindly into space.
Some stared at the floor. Some stared at the concrete ceiling. Some didn't even bother to raise their heads when the door creaked open.
Until they noticed Natsuki's blood-soaked leg.
Slowly, a heavy, eerie silence spread across the entire block.
One prisoner looked up from his cot. Then another. Then five more. Within seconds, dozens of unblinking eyes were tracking the movement of the three newcomers.
Tokita felt the weight of their gazes. Kaito felt it too. Neither acknowledged the crowd. They just kept moving forward, supporting Natsuki between them.
Behind them, the heavy iron gate slammed shut with a deafening reverberation.
BOOM!
Tokita glanced back over his shoulder through the iron viewslot.
A guard stood on the other side, a wicked, taunting grin plastered across his face. "Welcome to hell, you bastards."
The heavy deadbolt clicked into place. The guard turned his back and began walking away.
As he walked, Tokita heard the muted voices of two guards conversing on the platform outside.
"Keep a tight watch on cell six," one guard cautioned, his voice low.
"Why?" the second guard asked. "They're just three kids."
"Those three are dangerous," the first guard insisted, his tone dead serious. "Especially the red-haired one."
The second guard scoffed in disbelief. "The red-haired kid? He looks like he weighs a hundred and twenty pounds."
"Just watch him," the first guard snapped. "Trust me."
"Yeah, yeah... got it." The second guard glanced through the viewport, his eyes locking onto Tokita for a second. "We'll keep the cameras on them."
Tokita heard every single word.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips. So they're afraid of me...
He knew he tended to draw unwanted attention, but in his mind, he was just standing there. Yet, he was beginning to accept a cold truth: his mere presence was enough to instill quiet panic in people who lived by the gun.
Kaito leaned his head slightly toward Tokita. "You hear that?"
"Yeah."
"They're keeping their eyes glued to you."
Tokita gave a tiny, nonchalant shrug. "I noticed."
They continued down the narrow central aisle of the prison block. The scattered prisoners silently parted, shuffling back into the shadows of their cells as the trio passed.
Some stared at Kaito's sharp, alert eyes. Some stared at Tokita's unreadable expression. Others stared in morbid fascination at the trail of blood Natsuki was leaving behind.
But no one made a move. No one dared get close.
Finally, an armed guard standing on an upper catwalk pointed down with his baton toward an open cell door at the end of the hall.
"Stop right there."
Tokita and Kaito halted.
"That one's yours," the guard called down, pointing at the dark doorway.
Inside was a cramped, rectangular concrete cell containing three rusted metal bunk beds—six bare sleeping spots in total. A cracked porcelain sink sat in the corner. Nothing else. No windows. No chairs. No blankets. No privacy.
Kaito looked inside the dark box. "This is it?"
The guard on the catwalk burst into a loud, mocking laugh. "Be glad you got a room with a sink, kid! You're lucky!"
He turned and walked away down the catwalk.
Kaito's eyebrows knit together in confusion. The guard hadn't even bothered to slam the iron cell door shut or turn the key. He just left it standing wide open, walking away without a care in the world.
"Enjoy your stay, freshmen!" the guard shouted over his shoulder, his laughter echoing hollowly off the stone walls.
Kaito glared after him. "'Freshmen'?"
Tokita ignored the guard entirely.
Together, he and Kaito carefully navigated the narrow space between the bunk beds, easing Natsuki down onto one of the bottom mattresses.
The moment Natsuki's back hit the thin foam pad, his jaw clenched, and a sharp gasp tore from his throat. "Ah... goddammit..."
Kaito immediately dropped to his knees beside the bed. "Natsuki! Stay still!"
Natsuki's face was completely drained of color, his skin clammy and cold to the touch. Blood had completely saturated his pants around the gunshot wound, pooling onto the rubber mattress.
Kaito's expression turned deadly serious as he examined the damage. "This is bad. Really bad."
He looked up at Tokita, his eyes tight with anxiety. "He's losing way too much blood. If he doesn't get proper medical attention fast..." He swallowed hard. "The tissue is going to die. We might have to amputate his leg to stop the infection."
Tokita stood silently over the bed, watching his friend.
"And if the bullet hit an artery and the bleeding doesn't stop..." Kaito looked back down at Natsuki's pale face. "...he's going to die in this cell."
Tokita finally spoke, his voice calm, firm, and absolute. "That's not going to happen."
Kaito looked up at him, exasperated. "How, Tokita?! Look around us!"
Tokita glanced around the bare concrete cell.
"We don't have Mira here," Kaito pressed on, his voice laced with frustration. "We don't have bandages. We don't have surgical tools. We don't have anything!"
"No," Kaito admitted bitterly. "And judging by how desperately those guards wanted Mira, they don't have a doctor down here either."
Tokita's expression hardened slightly. "They definitely don't."
Kaito nodded. "Exactly. The math doesn't add up." He looked back down at Natsuki's heavy breathing. "So what the hell are we supposed to do?"
Tokita stared at Natsuki for a long moment.
And then, slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of Tokita's lips.
"We might not have Mira."
Tokita turned his gaze toward Kaito, his dark eyes glinting beneath his bangs. "But you've got me."
Kaito blinked, staring at him in complete disbelief. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Tokita's smile widened slightly, a quiet confidence washing over him. "I'm not as specialized as Mira or the others when it comes to using raw abilities."
Kaito stared at him skeptically. "That is not reassuring at all, Tokita."
Tokita let out a low, soft chuckle. "I'm more of a jack of all trades."
Kaito's brow furrowed into deep ridges. "A jack of all trades?"
Tokita nodded gently. "Something like that."
"What the hell does that even mean?!" Kaito demanded, growing increasingly confused.
Tokita looked down at Natsuki's bleeding leg, then brought his gaze back to Kaito.
"I could sit here and try to explain it to you," Tokita said softly, a mysterious, razor-sharp grin spreading across his face. "But it'd be a lot faster if I just showed you."
Kaito stared at Tokita. For the first time since entering the prison compound, the sheer tension on his face shifted into pure, stunned curiosity.
"Tokita..." Kaito whispered, his eyes wide. "What the hell are you planning to do?"