In a gloomy recess towards the edge of the Metro Centre, half-hidden by sporadic shadows cast by the flickering overhead lamp that was on long list of things that needed to be amended, but it was menial in comparison to most others due to the low public frequentation, was a door. It was mad solid block of heavy bolted-iron, with no windows, slits, or means of seeing anyone knocking. Altogether a featureless and unassuming door, save for the metal disk that could be rotated upwards to reveal a keyhole. This was the residence of one: Edgar Oscar Constant. 

The remoteness of his house, in an area haunted by none but a stray traveller or clueless child, spoke volumes about the man that dwelled within. An aloof man, rarely seen in public. He preferred his own autonomous existence for as long as he was able before he finally deemed it necessary to help the community he was reluctantly part off, less they confiscate his abode and, more importantly, all the meticulously hand-scrawled notes that were kept inside which had consumed the better half of the last twelve years of his life. The guards had come to terms with his odd habits, recognising him as a useful asset, as any attentive dweller would have also. 

Currently, behind the locked door that was draped in shadows, Edgar was working by the light of an unshaded table lamp. It was one he had played with, so that a lower current ran through it; conserving energy and meaning it only spat of a meagre quantity of light ,so that his room was actually very dim, all besides the desk, which is all he needed to see. With a dextrous hand, the dwindling pencil held in a vice like grip as it flitted across the page of a well-used notebook, Edgar was able to transfer all his thoughts and ideas that may have come from the briefest moment of inspiration to paper, for future consideration, and potentially even the use of other lesser minds. 

The verge of a breakthrough drew ever nearer, Edgar writing at a terrifying speed, the words and symbols scratched down with the fanaticism and excitement of a man who knew their importance, and was in unbelieving awe, yet it rendered him emotionless in a trance-like state that had soon enveloped him.

And then the voice from the intercom, breaking the strange meditation, and caused a great fury to rise up from within Edgar, that he smacked a fist to the desk and swore at a God whom he did not believe in. The recovering from this outburst of anger was quick; he was a logical and reasonable man, and not one who was so prone the tedious tendencies, such as brooding moods and angry vendettas. 

He exhaled deeply, none the less, looking down at what he had written. Even when his time had been cut short, he had still made some progress; he knew now that he the Farads he needed on the capacitor for his latest project. It would of course require a visit to the surface, for which he doubted very much he would be able to find volunteers. 

Nevertheless, he got up, snatching his satchel off the springy mattress of his bunk, and shoving his notebook and pencil into it, stringing his gasmask around his neck so that it hung loose, swaying with his step. 

He opened the door, on the inside it had a valve that needed to be turned five times counter-clockwise to open; the lock on the outside was an addition made by Edgar, as it was the best he could do with the resources, a simple lock and key piece. He locked the door behind him, pocketing the key in his faded denim jeans, which he would has despised wearing before life down in the tunnels, but now it was the most practical thing, and practical things lasted a lot longer down here than pretty things. 

He strode through the dirty streets, caked in trodden-in muck and biological waste and refuse. Even in his sturdy leather boots, Edgar was sure not to tread in puddles that looked like they might be deceptively bigger than they first appeared. 

Even in the dark sheepskin coat the he wore, its cuff and collar showing off the oily-warm coat, Edgar bristled at the sheer number of people, throngs of them, all moving at varying speeds and velocities, their paths not quite predictable, yet somehow nobody seemed to be collided with one another. 

He was not sure how long he was dissolved in his work, but he felt the slight bags under his eyes, and they ached when an area was too greatly illuminated. As such, he was not entirely sure what state the station was in; he could sense an air of worry, and noticed the lack of guards at his posts, but then remembered what had been said over the intercom; he had forgotten briefly in his pondering and absent-mindedness of reality. 

The market area seemed to be thriving, as maggots thrive off a decaying carcass, blissfully ignorant of the threat behind the gates, and all too concerned with the what fraud they could pull on the next unsuspecting survivor. Edgar disliked the markets, far too many merchant were extortionate, and charged more than they needed to get by, trading goods away for easily half of the value they got.

[i]Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing,[/i] Edgar thought, shaking his head sadly, which is precisely when he caught glimpse of a peculiar and beguiling band. The anthropomorphic figures stood out, even in the swarming station, particularly a beast that must have been eight feet tall.

Edgar had always held a special fascination for the Elvira, questioning many in his youth, but over time he had become more and more of a recluse, journeying out only to improve a generator or fix a grid fault, and they had become an increasingly intermittent sight for him to behold. More impressive, however, than the towering colossus, was a peculiar form with large ears akin to a rabbit’s; Edgar had been given several corpses of Elvira that had been killed beyond the confines of Metro Centre at his specific asking, and had found out a considerable amount about them, though since vivisection was never an option, it was not as much as he liked. As such, he considered himself to be fairly adept in anthropomorphic physiology and anatomy, and there was something about the slender frame that screamed of a uniqueness that Edgar could not quite place, and that enthralled a deep hunger for answers within himself.

Despite the urge to approach them, he knew it would be a mistake, his common sense telling him that if they did not assault him for his brashness and perhaps rudeness, then they certainly would not be compliant. This opportunity though, he knew was too good to miss, and perhaps they would even journey to the surface, where he could accompany them and find a capacitor suitable; it was not uncommon, from his knowledge of Elvira, he knew that they visited the surface in more recent years. 

[i]Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes,[/i] Edgar thought, remembering the words of Lord Henry Wotton. He shrugged, the worst that could happen was likely a bloody nose and a few missing teeth, but the counter side of the coin was experience and understanding that only field work could obtain. 

Taking a deep breath, he strode towards the arousal of his attention, who was interacting with the group of Elvira, and after standing awkwardly at the edge of their attention, he took a step forward, and boldly stated, “I am, Edgar Oscar Constant proud servant of science, and curator of many a wonderful thing. It is with humblest intentions that offer my assistance to a spectacle that a great benevolence and serendipity bestowed upon me today, for the cost of only observing and learning more about your customs and ways.” 

He took a deep bow. This was directed at the smaller two anthropomorphs, and he hoped to the high heavens that not even they heard, even though that was almost an impossibility, for the moment the words were out of his mouth, he realised how much of a fool he must have looked, even to a passer-by, let alone an Elvira. That was the last time he let himself listen to classical literature for advice.