INTO THE DEPTHS

  Will hunched over his duffle bag, muttering under his breath as he checked his gear. The bag’s contents spilled over the edge as he fished around, pulling items out and laying them on the bed: wire cutters, wrenches, screwdrivers, and a small collection of customized tools. He ticked off each item on a mental list, then double-checked, his fingers jittering with nervous energy.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had forgotten something. Letting out a slow breath, he turned his attention back to the bag. The major items were in place, but Derbent wasn’t just any destination. The settlement’s reputation preceded it—volatile, dangerous, a place where even the smallest mistake could cost everything. He had to be sure everything was ready.

  Crouching down again, he resumed his meticulous checking, this time digging deeper into the side compartments. His fingers brushed against something cold and unyielding, and he froze. Slowly, he pulled out a 3D-printed pistol.

  His breath caught. Remy had made one for each of them—a precaution, he’d said. Insurance for the unexpected. The pistol felt heavier than it should, its dark frame glinting faintly under the light.

  Will stared at it, the weight in his hand mirrored by the heaviness in his chest. Training was one thing; this was something else entirely. This was real. For the first time, they were heading into truly hostile territory, a place where anything could happen and the consequences could be... final.

  He sighed and set the pistol down on the small table beside him, his hands lingering on the cool surface before dropping to rest on the table’s edge. His head bowed as the questions he’d been avoiding pressed in on him. The training wheels were off. Were they ready? Was he ready? For all the preparation, he didn’t feel like it.

  A sharp knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Alarmed, he yanked the duffle bag over the pistol, hiding it from view.

  “Will?”

  The door creaked open, and when he turned, Ellie stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her face etched with worry.

  “Ellie? What’s wrong?” Will asked.

  “You’re leaving again,” she said quietly, her voice thick with accusation.

  Will sighed, motioning her into the room. Ellie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He patted her head gently, her hair soft beneath his fingers. “It’ll just be for a little while,” he murmured.

  “That’s what you said last time,” Ellie mumbled into his shirt.

  Will scratched his chin, looking sheepish. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “You’re always busy now,” Ellie said, her voice muffled but no less sharp. “You’re never home.”

  The ache in his chest deepened. “I’ve been away a lot, haven’t I? Tell you what—this time, I’ll... try to come back sooner.”

  “You’d better,” Ellie said fiercely, pulling back to wipe her eyes.

  Will smiled faintly. “Hey, can you grab my coat for me while I finish packing?”

  Ellie nodded, her steps brisk as she left the room. The door clicked shut behind her, and Will’s smile faded. Try to make it back sooner? His words rang hollow.

  His gaze fell to the wall, where a small locket hung on a nail. He reached for it, fingers brushing against the worn metal, and flipped it open. Inside was a picture of his mom and Ellie, both smiling brightly. For a moment, he let himself linger on the image, drawing strength from it, before snapping the locket shut and slipping it around his neck. His breathing steadied.

  He slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and stuffed the 3D-printed pistol into his pocket. When he stepped into the cramped living room, Ellie was waiting for him with his coat in her hands. On the table, she had set out a tin of Spam.

  “You should eat before you go,” she insisted, her hands on her hips.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Will didn’t have the heart to refuse. The little imp seemed to sense that something was afoot. The Spam was her way of delaying his departure, and he let her. Finally, the time came. Will ruffled Ellie’s hair one last time, offering her a final round of reassurances before stepping out the front door.

  Will broke into a run as soon as he was out of the apartment. His breath came in short bursts as he glanced at his slate. Barely enough time. His feet pounded against the uneven metal pathways as he made his way out of Undercity, soon finding himself in the service tunnels.

  The stale air thickened around him, and Will slipped on his rebreather. The device hissed to life as it clipped onto the lower half of his face, and filtered air filled his lungs as he ran.

  With every step, he sent a pulse of psions to his feet. His field was like a coiled spring, storing energy in his muscles before releasing it in one quick burst, propelling him forward. Will zipped ahead, trying to keep tight control over the technique he had borrowed from the Bishop. All his encounters with the Spider hadn’t been without merit; he had picked up a trick or two by mimicking the field control methods it used.

  Dr. Leibowitz’s dire warnings still weighed heavily on him. Understand the Spider before it understands you—his advice could not have been clearer. The mindscape was abstract and elusive, but patterns were patterns. If he could interpret the Spider’s moves, he might see through its deceptions. Knowledge was a weapon, and in this battle, the one with more information would hold the upper hand.

  Will skidded to a stop as he exited the service tunnel. Dodging past crowds of maintenance workers, he made his way to the transport hub. The walkway was congested, and Will squeezed his way through to a sprawling distribution center. Its cavernous space was filled with the rumble of engines and a cacophony of voices. Massive trucks lined the area, their trailers loaded with goods as workers scurried to secure the shipments. With the airships grounded, most goods had to be moved by road. Will slowed his pace, his eyes scanning the number plates of the passing vehicles.

  “Oy! Will!” a familiar voice rang out.

  Will turned toward a moving truck. Its trailer doors were open, and Remy stood there, grinning, his hand extended.

  Without hesitation, Will sprinted forward, dodging workers and crates alike. The truck was picking up speed, but Will surged ahead. He caught up with the truck and grabbed Remy’s extended arm.

  “Up you go,” Remy grunted, hauling Will into the trailer with a firm tug. The trailer’s metal floor groaned as Will clambered in. He took a moment to steady himself before helping Remy slam the doors shut.

  As the echo of the clanging doors settled, a head poked out from behind a stack of crates. “You’re late,” Becca said, her voice flat, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry.

  “Sorry,” Will panted, wiping sweat from his brow. “Had to settle some things at home.”

  Becca waved him over, and Will stepped around the crates, his boots thudding softly against the floor. He found a small corner cleared of clutter, a rolled-up rug propped against the wall serving as a makeshift backrest. Remy plopped down first, sprawling with an exaggerated groan. Will settled beside him, his movements more cautious as the truck jolted beneath them.

  Raising a walkie-talkie to his ear, Remy called out, “Hey, Big Joe. You can speed up now; everyone’s aboard.”

  A low grunt crackled through the radio. “Aye. Strap in, and don’t forget—wallets ready by the end.”

  “You’ll get your credits,” said Remy.

  “Not Tower credits. Infils,” the driver shot back gruffly.

  Remy groaned. “Who even uses Infils anymore?”

  Another dissatisfied grunt came through the speaker, and Remy relented. “Fine, fine. Infils it is. Over and out.”

  “Aye,” came the grumbled reply before the radio clicked off.

  Remy tossed the walkie-talkie onto a nearby crate and clicked his tongue. “I picked him because he was cheap, not for his charm.”

  Will swayed slightly as the truck jolted over a bump. His eyes darted to the crates lining the walls, their contents rattling ominously. Despite the noise, none shifted—whoever had loaded them had done a good job securing everything.

  Becca shifted beside him, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she kept a wary eye on the cargo. “How long are we going to be stuck in here?”

  Remy shrugged, leaning back against the rug. “Couple of hours. These trucks travel slow.”

  Becca sighed. “Great.”

  Will turned to Remy, his voice low. “Any news from Derbent?”

  Remy hesitated, his usual mirth faltering. “Not good. The military’s cracking down hard—riots, gang violence, looters. There are also rumors of several prominent members of the settlement disappearing.”

  Will absently thumbed the locket beneath his shirt, its edges cool against his skin. “It’s a powder keg,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah,” Remy agreed grimly. “There are whole districts in Derbent even the military avoids. Crowley’s not deep in those areas, but he’s far enough down the pit to make me nervous.”

  Becca crossed her arms, her expression mirroring Will’s unease. “This feels like a mistake.”

  Will rubbed his chest, the tension settling like a weight behind his ribs. There were so many unknowns. They had Crowley’s location, but beyond that, they’d be at the mercy of whatever chaos awaited them on the ground.

  “Either way, we’ll be ready for what comes,” Will said finally. “Both of you rest up. I’ll take first watch.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Remy said through a yawn, stretching out on the floor with his hands behind his head. Becca shifted, trying to find a comfortable position for her head. She gave up and leaned closer to Will.

  “Will,” she whispered, her voice soft enough not to disturb Remy. “What do you think we’re going to find there?”

  Will stilled, Crowley’s file vivid in his memory. Reports of charred corpses and wailing children flashed before his eyes.

  Will looked grim. “Something ugly.”

  +10 Chapters

  Review, Rate or Recommend.