Priest took the lead, his gaze scanning every reflection, every silhouette that lingered too long. The neon haze of Kestris-9’s undercity turned glass and metal into distorted shapes, but he caught the telltale movement of a figure half a block back—hooded, moving when they moved, stopping when they did. Amateurs.
“We’ve got a tail,” he murmured.
Hunter barely turned her head. “One?”
“Two more on the rooftops,” Fang added, tapping her datapad as a drone pinged them with thermal scans which came back with red-hot blips. “They’re coordinated.”
Gravel exhaled through his nose. “Friends of Sloan, or someone else? Gorodos? Mustafa?”
“Don’t know,” Priest said.
They turned a corner, slipping into the flow of foot traffic walking down the metallic stair heading from a floating tram station. The croaking of levitating rails overhead provided cover for their movement as Priest veered left, leading them into a dimly lit service corridor. The others followed.
The moment they were out of sight, he spoke.
Gravel ordered, “Split up. Two blocks over, regroup at the old transit hub.”
The group scattered without hesitation, each one slipping into the shifting currents of Kestris-9’s undercity.
Priest stepped into the shadowed entrance of a maintenance tunnel in a measured pace. He didn’t check over his shoulder, and he didn’t feel the need to. If their tail was good, they’d be subtle.
Hunter wove through a dense street market, hands brushing over hanging fabrics and worn-out machine parts, using the crowd as cover. She snagged a scarf from a vendor’s stall in one smooth motion, wrapping it over her shoulders to distort her silhouette.
Fang, however, had other ideas. She ducked into a side street, pulled a small, palm-sized device from her belt, and flicked a switch. A barely perceptible hum sounded out as the device activated, sending out a pulse through the local net.
Within seconds, her datapad lit up with thermal signatures, comm frequencies, and predictive movement patterns overlaid onto the street map. Two of their pursuers were communicating on a scrambled line. But their encryption? That was high-end corpo grade.
Fang smirked. “Gotcha.”
Hunter’s voice crackled over comms. “Got what?”
Fang tapped a few controls, isolating their tail’s transmissions. “Liberated a multi-spectrum recon node from McPherson R&D. Turns out their ‘unbreakable’ firewall is just an overpaid intern copy-pasting bad code. Figured I’d put their failure to good use.”
There was a beat of silence.
Hunter, incredulous, whispered, “When did you get that?”
“Just happened to intercept a McPherson carrier ship on our way while you guys were receiving the mission.”
Hunter groaned. “Fang, tell me you didn’t.”
Fang gave her a rakish grin, eyes flicking between the incoming data streams. “Relax. It was just sitting there, practically begging to be liberated. Also, Hunter, the fog’s getting to my face. How do you adjust the tightness of this mask?”
“Can I borrow it later?”
Fang furrowed her brow. “So you can tear it apart to study the components just to not be able to reassemble the gear? No, thanks.”
Priest’s voice came through the comms, clipped and solemn. “Focus. What else can that thing tell us?”
Fang’s fingers flew across her datapad, rerouting the recon node’s passive scans. “Two groups. One’s definitely corporate—they’re running McPherson’s latest encrypted bands. Those might catch my signals; might not. The other? Freelancers, probably hired muscle.” She exhaled. “And they’re converging.”
Gravel, still nursing his drink at the bar, chuckled. “I love when people make my job easy.”
Hunter’s voice was tight. “They’re trying to box us in.”
Priest was already moving. “Fang.”
Fang pulled up a map overlay, her smirk returning. “I might have a back door.”
Hunter sighed. “Do I even want to know?”
Fang grinned. “I don’t recall a single mission failing because of me. Can’t say the same for your aim, though.”
Gravel shot her a look. “You want an honest answer, or the one that keeps our team dynamic intact?”
Fang winked. “Doesn’t matter. I already ran the numbers—this works.” She typed a command on her datapad. Somewhere in the distance, a low hum reverberated through the undercity streets—a signal relay scrambling local feeds, throwing up ghost pings on surveillance grids.
Priest didn’t stop moving. “Where’s this back door of yours?”
Fang turned down an alley, motioning for the others to follow. “Old subtram tunnels. They were decommissioned years ago, but someone forgot to wipe McPherson’s system logs. I found an access point.”
Hunter exhaled. “And you just . . . have this information?”
Fang grinned. “McPherson’s security is like a fancy lock with a broken latch—looks impressive, but anyone who knows where to push gets in.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Gravel checked over his shoulder. “Great. Love the plan. But in case it doesn’t work, anyone got a Plan B?”
Hunter did the fingergun. “Plan B is pew pew pew pew pew.” Priest and Gravel sighed in unison.
Fang reached a rusted panel embedded in the alley wall and pried it open, revealing a control pad covered in grime. “Give me a sec.” She tapped a sequence. With a deep mechanical groan, the panel slid aside. A maintenance tunnel, sloping downward, awaited them. There was almost no light.
Hunter peered inside. “That looks like a terrible idea.” She reached behind her back and tapped a specific spot on her backpack. A set of appendages unfurled, each tipped with a bright LED beaming into the tunnel ahead. Shadows stretched and shifted along the damp walls and the rusted pipes above.
“And she kept denying when I said she’s really into tentacles,” Gravel said.
Fang gestured with a clear overextension of her hand. “Gentlemen first?”
Priest stepped inside, gun drawn. “Move.”
Behind them, distant shouts echoed through the streets. Their pursuers were closing in.
Gravel clapped Fang on the shoulder. “Guess we’ll see if your stolen tech’s worth the trouble.”
Fang sneered playfully, stepping in after him. “Oh, it’s worth it.”
The panel slid shut behind them.
With a tap on her pad, Fang activated the recon node. A thin, translucent display cast blue light over their faces. It mapped the tunnels ahead, lines shifting as it interpreted the subterranean pathways beneath Kestris-9.
Hunter peered at the screen. “I’m still not over the fact that you somehow lifted this from McPherson and we’re just now hearing about it.”
Fang tapped a command, and a secondary feed overlaid security patrol routes. “I don’t tell you everything.”
Priest’s voice was dry. “That’s an understatement.”
Gravel rubbed his hands together. “Alright, let’s move before our friends outside decide they’d rather take the direct approach.”
They started forward, the air heavy with the scent of metal and damp concrete. The tunnels were old—older than most of the city above. Reinforced bulkheads, rusted pipes, and patches of ancient graffiti marked their path. Some of it was just scrawl, but a few symbols stood out—gang tags and resistance markers in local languages that only Priest could understand.
Priest took point, his movements controlled and precise. “Two exits ahead. One leads to a transit relay, the other to a drainage hatch in sector fourteen.”
Fang studied the recon display. “Drainage puts us closer to Vanje’s safehouse, but it’s a tighter squeeze.”
Hunter made a face. “And transit?”
“More open. Easier to move,” Priest said. “Also easier to be seen.”
Gravel stretched his arms. “Guess it’s a question of whether we’d rather be rats or targets.”
Hunter sighed. “Every plan B we have sucks.”
Fang smirked. “You’re just jealous of my genius.”
As Priest led the way, his visor flickered to life, its HUD overlaying data in crisp, red-tinted readouts.
Status: STEALTH MODE ACTIVE
Threat Proximity: MEDIUM (Tracking: 3 hostile signals, estimated range: 50m)
Route Viability: 77% - Moderate risk
Environmental Analysis: Low visibility, air quality: suboptimal
His eyes flicked to the threat markers—three signatures moving in sync above them, keeping pace. He subvocalized a command, and the visor zoomed in on the motion signatures, tagging them as UNKNOWN: POSSIBLE PURSUERS.
“They’re still tracking,” he murmured.
Fang glanced over. “How close?”
“Fifty meters. Holding position, probably trying to confirm our exit point.”
Gravel whispered, “Can you please change your settings to imperial measurements next time? You know, just to be synchronous with everyone else in the crew?”
“No. I prefer it like this,” Priest replied.
Hunter grimaced. “Focus, team. We cut through transit, we’ll be in the open.”
Priest’s visor chimed—ALTERNATE ROUTE CALCULATED. RECOMMENDATION: DRAINAGE HATCH - SECTOR 14.
He exhaled. “We take the drainage hatch. It’s tighter, but we’ll lose them in the tunnels.”
Gravel groaned. “Great. Can’t wait to crawl through Kestris’s finest sewage infrastructure.”
Fang tapped a few controls on the recon node, redirecting their path. “Relax. Worst case, you come out smelling like the rest of this city.”
Hunter sighed. “I hate Plan B.”
“Except when it’s ‘pew pew pew’, huh?” Replied Gravel.
Priest’s visor flashed a final update. THREAT PROXIMITY: CLOSING. RECOMMENDED ACTION: MOVE NOW.
He moved. “No time for debate. Let’s go.”
They slipped into motion, sticking to the edges of the alley as Priest led the way. His visor tracked their movements against the shifting data feed—three pursuers now thirty meters back, picking up speed.
Fang knelt by the drainage hatch, prying up the rusted cover with a compact tool. “This thing’s ancient,” she muttered. “Hope none of your claustrophobic acts up.”
Hunter peered down into the darkness below. “Uh . . . Depends on how shitty this place smells.”
“Don’t get too jumpy, Hunter,” Gravel said. “If you find it hard to breathe, just say the word.”
“Less talking, more moving,” Priest ordered. His visor pinged again—THREAT PROXIMITY: 20 METERS.
Gravel swung his legs over the edge first. “If I get eaten by a mutant rat, tell people I died a hero.”
Fang rolled her eyes and dropped in after him. Hunter followed, landing with a splash. The appendages swayed as she landed.
Priest took one last glance at his HUD. The pursuers had split up—two maintaining their approach, one moving to cut them off. Tactical recommendation: IMMEDIATE DESCENT.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
With a sharp exhale, he slid down into the tunnels, sealing the hatch above them just as heavy boots pounded onto the pavement above.
The tunnels stretched ahead in a maze of rusted pipes and stagnant water, the air thick with the scent of decay.
THREAT PROXIMITY: 10 METERS.
“They’re not giving up,” Fang muttered, pulling up her recon node’s display. “One of them’s trying to track heat signatures. We need to throw them off.”
Gravel splashed ahead, grinning. “I got an idea.” He unclipped a small device from his belt—a thermal decoy. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it clattering down a side tunnel.
Hunter cocked her head. “You guys are never gonna tell me where you got your shiny toys, yet I always share mine with you.”
Gravel smirked. “Oh, you know. Just happened to intercept a McPherson shipment on our way here.”
Fang snorted. “Hey! I’ve heard that one before!”
Priest’s visor updated—Pursuers redirecting. Threat status: Diminishing.
“They took the bait,” he said. “We keep moving.”
They pushed forward, winding through the tunnels until Fang’s datapad beeped. “We’re here.”
The tunnel ended at a rusted maintenance door. Priest gave a short knock. Three beats, then one.
A second passed. Then another.
Finally, the lock disengaged with a heavy clunk. The door creaked open. Vanje’s gaunt face appeared in the dim light.
Metric or Imperial?
