Deyvorn stared at the military-grade radio until the static began to sound less like noise and more like a taunt. He jammed it into his vest pocket, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird."Clearance code," he muttered, glancing back at the abandoned apartment. "My life is officially moving in the wrong direction. I should’ve just stayed in retail."He looked at the package—the one that had brought him into this hellhole. He didn't want to know what was inside, but curiosity was a dangerous addiction in a world that had forgotten how to pay its employees. He hauled his makeshift cart back toward the stairwell, the squeaky wheel echoing through the silence of the fourteenth floor like a persistent cough."Alright, Deyvorn. Plan B," he whispered to himself, descending the concrete stairs with agonizing caution. "Find the north extraction point. Find a person who isn't trying to chew my face off. Ask them for a signature. Then find a buffet."Getting out of the building

The grinding roar faded into a low, rhythmic vibration that made Deyvorn’s teeth ache. He slumped against the damp, moss-slicked wall of the maintenance tunnel, his chest heaving. The cart sat crookedly in the muck, one of its reinforced wheels having sheared off in the fall."Fantastic," he wheezed, wiping a smear of black grime from his forehead. "Just perfect. I’m underground, in a hole, with a broken axle. Maybe I can trade a spare tire for a funeral plot. Anyone want to buy a slightly used courier?"He tapped the GPS on his wrist. It flickered weakly, the blue light stuttering like a dying firefly."Don't you dare," he hissed at the device. "Don't you even think about flatlining on me now. I’ve got a quarterly bonus to think about. You know how many calories are in a peach? I can’t afford to be hungry in the afterlife."The GPS chirped—a low, distorted sound—and then settled into a steady pulse. It was pointing deeper into the tunnel, toward a faint, flickering amber glow in the

The subterranean air felt like a heavy, wet wool blanket draped over Deyvorn’s shoulders. He and Tazvik scrambled toward the rusted maw of the Sector 4 subway station, their footsteps echoing like gunshots against the damp tile walls."Faster, Tazvik! If those shadows I saw back there are half as hungry as I think they are, we’re essentially fast food for a private security squad," Deyvorn urged, panting. He tugged on the cart’s handle, his knuckles white.Tazvik stumbled, his thin frame struggling to keep pace. "I’m moving, boy! My legs haven't seen this much action since the sky turned gray. Just... give me a second to find my rhythm.""We don't have seconds, we have milliseconds before they zero in on the sound of this squeaky wheel," Deyvorn muttered, glancing back at the tunnel they had just exited. The red glow of his spent flare still shimmered in the fog, but silhouettes were already beginning to dance on the walls—sharp, angular shapes that didn't look like scavengers. They m

The silence at the center of the crater was so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against Deyvorn’s eardrums. He stood at the edge of the desolation, the map in his trembling hands glowing with a soft, pulsing blue light that seemed entirely out of place against the blackened, jagged earth."So, this is it?" Tazvik whispered, his voice cracking as he leaned heavily on a piece of twisted rebar. "The grand destination? A hole in the ground?"Deyvorn exhaled, his breath hitching as the cold air bit into his lungs. "It’s not just a hole. Look at the ground. It’s too smooth. The debris is pushed away, not fallen. Someone cleared this, and they did it recently.""You think they’re hiding something?" Tazvik asked, shielding his eyes from the faint blue shimmer of the map."I think the company doesn't do anything by accident," Deyvorn replied, his jaw tight. "They don't pay me to walk into dead ends. They pay me to deliver. If the destination is a pile of dirt, then the delivery po

Zervik’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the crisp click of his loafers on the wet concrete seemed far too loud in the confined space of the transit terminal."Survival is a harsh term for what you're offering, Zervik," Deyvorn said, his voice dropping an octave as his thumb slid over the hidden catch of his heavy-duty utility knife. "You want the map, the cart, and whatever else is under this canvas, and you think a mild threat is going to make me hand it over?""It’s not a mild threat, Deyvorn," Zervik sighed, taking another unhurried step forward while adjusting the cuffs of his immaculate jacket. "It’s a projection. Right now, three tactical units are descending the ventilation shafts two blocks east. They aren't programmed to negotiate, and they certainly don't care about our old breakroom coffee chats. Hand over the map, and I’ll make sure your transit pass is wiped clean. You can walk out of here a free man.""A free corporate lapdog," Tazvik muttered, leaning heavily o