The city never stopped breathing. It only changed the sound of its lungs.Up on the streets, the breath came rough—sirens, arguments, tires across wet asphalt. Down here it moved in rhythm: the low hum of current through buried wires, the pulse of rails cooling after use, the steady trickle of water finding cracks in stone.Aidan Wolfe listened to it all as he walked, lamp cutting a narrow cone of white through the dark. The tunnel stretched ahead in ribs of steel and concrete, old bones beneath a restless body. The air tasted of metal and dust; it clung to his tongue the way memory sometimes did—uninvited, metallic, stubborn.He liked nights when no one else was assigned to this section. It meant quiet work, no voices bouncing off the walls. He could hear what mattered: the faint click of tools in his belt, the grind of boots on ballast, the breath inside his mask.The relay panel sat fifty yards ahead, a dull blink of red on black. Broken again. He crouched beside it, the movement e

The morning had ended before Aidan even noticed it had begun.He’d meant to rest a few hours after his last shift, but when he closed his eyes, the hum of the tunnels followed him up through sleep. Even his dreams carried that rhythm — metallic, steady, endless.By noon, the apartment felt smaller than usual. The radiator clanked like it had opinions, and sunlight fell through the blinds in harsh lines. He sat at the table, coffee untouched, staring at a city that looked too awake.He checked the clock again. Six hours until he had to be back underground. He could try to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. It never came when he asked.So he got up, washed the single mug he’d used, and gathered his tools.The entrance to the service line was locked to the public, but he still used his badge even on off-hours. The guards didn’t question him anymore. They knew him as the quiet one who preferred working alone.Inside, the air changed instantly. Cooler, heavier. It hit the back of his throat like

The storm had been waiting all week.By the time it arrived, the sky tore open without warning, rain hammering the streets in thick, slanted sheets. Even the tunnels could feel it. Water bled through every seam, dripping from cables and running along the rails in thin, silver rivers.Aidan had been below ground since midnight. Ortega’s call came just after the first lightning strike: “Flood sensors on the north line are tripping. You’re closest. Go.”Now he waded through ankle-deep water, lamp beam fractured by mist. The air smelled of copper and ozone. Every sound bounced off the curved walls—the splash of his boots, the hiss of leaking steam, the distant crack of thunder filtered through tons of concrete.He checked the gauges along the wall: rising, but not yet dangerous. The pumps were fighting to keep up. Still, if they failed, the line could drown before morning.He keyed the radio. “Sector N-2, water level climbing to five inches. Request backup pump.”Static answered first, th

The depot at night was a maze of echoes.Metal doors clanged. Radios murmured half-sentences. Pipes hissed softly along the ceiling. The air was full but not crowded — like the city itself was clearing its throat before speaking.Aidan stood by the lockers, waiting for Ortega to finish the briefing. The others milled around — Rico balancing a wrench on one finger, Marlowe tapping a pen against a clipboard, two new recruits whispering about the smell of oil and rust.“North track’s still unstable,” Ortega said. “We’ll split teams. Wolfe, take the lead on C-line and run the diagnostics. I want clean numbers by dawn.”The words landed with quiet weight. No fanfare. No question.Aidan nodded once. “Understood.”Rico gave him a grin. “Look at that, boss man. Didn’t even need a speech.”Aidan slung his tool bag over his shoulder. “Then don’t make one for me.”The crew laughed — a short, honest sound that bounced off the concrete walls like something fragile learning how to live.The walk to

The day began with a low gray sky, soft rain misting over the streets. Aidan didn’t notice it at first — his focus was already belowground, where the hum of the city never stopped, even in the drizzle. He walked to the depot quietly, coat soaked at the shoulders, shoes splashing through shallow puddles, but the world above barely registered.Inside, the depot smelled warmer than the morning air outside, though tinged with the metallic scent of tools and oil. Rico and Kendra were already there, each absorbed in a small task, their movements careful, precise. Ortega lingered near the whiteboard, silent until Aidan approached.“C-line,” Ortega said. “We’ve got a new reading. Anomalous. In the midsection near the junction tunnels.”Aidan tilted his head. “Anomalous how?”“Fluctuations,” Ortega said. “Meters spike, then drop. Pressure readings shift without warning. And the hum… it’s uneven.” He gestured to a small tablet displaying graphs. “It’s like the city is screaming in pulses.”Aida