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“So here's the plan,” Tommy smacks his palms together in what he hopes is a Big Man way. Who is he kidding? Any movement he makes is a Big Man Move because he is the biggest man ever. How could he ever have thought otherwise? That’s so dumb of him. “I call the biggest room.”
“No,” Ranboob, the bitch, denies Tommy’s demand like it was a request. The tall fucker towers in the hallway, looking like he much rather would be anywhere else. “I don’t like the look of this place.”
“I think this place is neat,” Tubbo looks around the building. Its dilapidated, windows broken into. It was once a nice, not-so humble abode once owned by the rich when suburbs were in style. The previous legal owner of the estate left most of their things here, maybe they were looking to return to the place, or rich enough to not care about material goods. Most of the valuable stuff has already been looted and pawned off at the sleaziest shops that would take it. What's left in the mansion are items that are too heavy for any sane person to carry, or just not worth it.
It's also covered head to toe in drawings, some crude, some children's drawings. Some graffiti could be classified as classical art, if not for the humor of twelfth graders.
All in all, a perfect hideout. A headquarters, a place to lay low while the enforcers storm their old place. They won’t find anything, but there has to be some credit where credit is due.
Tubbo shifts the large bag of his inventions up over his shoulder, “And I call the biggest room.”
“No you can’t,” Tommy refuses, “Cause I dibs it first.”
“Where else am I supposed to put my shit?” Tubbo asks, eyebrow quirked and ready to call Tommy out. “I mean, its not like my bombs are the sole reason we get our job done.”
Tommy cannot refute that, and he is extremely displeased by the very notion. Big Men don’t get embarrassed, shut the fuck up inner thoughts.
“Why don’t we put Tubbo’s inventions in the room that is the best defended and most easily accessible,” Ranboob suggests, ever the peacemaker. Its a stupid idea, considering that Tubbo just snatched the biggest room right from Tommy’s grasp. Tommy tells him so.
“It's just a suggestion!” Ranboo defends himself, hands in the air as if those weren’t his most impressive weapons. They’re wrapped in bandages, old dried blood, and some new, soaking through the knuckles.
“Well, take your ‘suggestions’ and shove them up your ass,” Tommy stabs a finger directly into Ranboo’s chest, to show his displeasure.
“Oh cool!” Tubbo interrupts whatever Ranboo was about to say next. He had wandered off sometime in the few moments that Tommy was asserting his Big Man dominance over the tall boy. “An elevator,” He says, standing next to the lever that he is currently pulling.
The platform that the smallest member of their trio was standing on suddenly shoots down. Tommy and Ranboo take a step forward in panic, as if they could reach Tubbo in time. Luckily, it only moved down an inch before slowly lowering. Tubbo waved as if he did not just cause a massive heart attack to his friends.
As he slowly lowered into the ground. His chest was now ground level, as Ranboo jumped down onto the platform, followed closely by Tommy. Their boots made hard stomps on the metal elevator.
“We’re going to die,” Ranboo mutters, wringing his hands.
“What with that face?” Tubbo elbows Ranboo in the gut, “Have a little adventure! We might find something cool.”
“Or we find an entrance to the underground,” Tommy says. They did, and Tommy points to the view that is slowly coming into view.
The underground, the underbelly of the paradise above. A parody of what once was. Back in the day, this was where the rich people lived, worked and thrived. But all these technologies became obsolete, and the neighbourhoods became overrun with criminal activity so vast that the enforcers just gave up on keeping it under control. They built the Upper in response, so they can pretend that the underground doesn’t exist.
“Oh no,” Ranboo breathes, shakily.
“Oh fuck,” Tommy swears.
“Oh boy!” Tubbo proclaims excitedly. His friends stare at Tubbo, who has stars in his eyes and ideas running through his head. Tommy shares a Look with Ranboo, and the platform stops. The boys step off the platform, and are immediately intermixed within the crowd.
It's a miracle that they aren’t separated at all when they start to walk around. Ranboo sticks out like a sore thumb, quite obviously uncomfortable being here. Prissy boy grew up on the edges of the Upper, but despite that he can fight as dirty as the rest of them.
Tommy, on the other hand, grew up on the edges of the Under, and feels a little more at home. He has never experienced the harshness of the real Underground, unlike Tubbo.
Tubbo grew up here, and he toddles around with the bag on his back like he owns the place. He is at ease, and gives bright grins that are just a touch too insane to be friendly. He knows his way around, guiding his two companions through shortcuts and streets that seem maze-like. They almost avoid confrontation. Almost.
“A couple kids?” A male voice says, and they turn around. A man in a green hoodie is standing there, next to another man in a dirty white crop top with a flame symbol. There's a modified axe on the back of the green man, his fingers inching closer and closer to grab it. An unsettling white mask covers the entirety of his face, a smile finger painted on. Blood is still smeared on it.
The man in the white crop top smacks his fists together, knuckle dusters creating a spark and saving his fingers. They block the way that they came from.
Tommy looks behind him, to see a dark cloak lined with red blocking their way forward. There are two high towering walls beside them in this alley. There is no escape.
Smiling mask rolls his head around, stretching it, “I wonder what's in that bag. Hand it over.”
“What?” Tommy immediately responds.
Tubbo pulls his sack closer to his shoulder, protecting it, “No.”
Ranboo refuses to say the next line, which is ‘Fuck you’ because prissy boy doesn’t swear for some reason. It's a shame, because the interaction would’ve been perfect. They had a system, and Ranboo ruined it. He does this everytime. The bastard.
“That wasn’t a request,” Tall, dark and scary chastises, his voice much higher than his figure gives. Tommy would’ve expected something gnarly and ghastly, like an emo punk band kid judging by the outfit.
In response, Tubbo unclips something from his belt and in the next second throws it at the two people. As it goes in the air, Tubbo pulls out a small, handmade hand gun and points it at the emo guy and starts pulling the trigger.
The bomb attempts to go off, but it only realeases a yellow gas. Ranboo jumps into the fray, punching the black haired crop top guy in the face, using the smoke as cover. Tommy starts to faintly glow in a yellow light, and he dodges as an axe comes swinging over his head.
Green guy’s mask is extremely creepy, looking directly at Tommy who was standing a few feet away, using his unnatural speed to skip away from the blow. Smiley lifts his axe back up, but in the arc a foot smashes into the side of his face. Tommy’s foot is grabbed, and thrown into the wall.
Ranboo is punched right in the gut, and the offender gets a fist in the face for his troubles, with the young man using the momentum to press the fact into the wall.
Emo boy band dodges the bullets by turning into mist for a second and reappearing on a crate, lunging at Tubbo. Tubbo doesn’t get the chance to dodge, flying across the alleyway, past the other two fighting. He rolls for a moment, landing on his feet and smirks directly at the vampire look alike. He holds up a trigger, the button pressed. An explosion is emitted directly from the belt, this one throwing the cloaked figure backwards and into a pile of metal crap. It falls, pinning the groaning man underneath.
Ranboo knocks out his opponent with a bloody fist directly to the forehead, before turning around to where the smiling man had Tommy pinned to the wall. The axe was raised, ready to do the unthinkable. Green hoodie doesn’t get the chance to kill Tommy, as Ranboo grabs the fabric at the shoulders and lifts him up and throws him away.
Ranboo grabs Tommy, who is coughing as air rushes back into his lungs. They run past, going the direction they were originally going. Tubbo quickly follows them, pulling the pins on two grenades and throwing them in the direction of the man who is regaining his feet. They don’t stick around to see what happens
Smoke fills the alley way, tendrils following the boys as they escape. Tubbo regains the lead, this time now guiding his friends at full speed, ignoring the moments where they smash into walls in their haste to lose anyone following them. If they were following them.
They stop at one of the lower piers, water purid and oily, emitting gas that makes Ranboo’s lungs start to seize.
“Never,” Ranboo gasps, “Never doing that again.”
“Good job!” Tubbo smiles, “You’ve survived your first underground battle!”
“So not worth it,” Tommy refuses to agree with Ranboo if he could help it, but at this point in time, he does agree. Tommy is leaning against a wall.
“Come on,” Tubbo starts walking again, and the tallest boy of the group starts to whine but follows, “Let's go to Las Nevadas, I know someone there.”