The city thinned the deeper Cain walked.
Buildings lost their windows. Lights faded to orange glows in cracked plastic casings. By the time he reached the drainage slope that dropped toward the metro ruins, even the rats moved quietly.
He stepped over broken wire fencing and into the underpass, each footfall echoing under the hollow belly of Ashvale. The air was colder here. Wet. Heavy with rust and oil. A thick scent of rot that never left the concrete.
The tunnel mouth came into view jagged archway, sprayed-over signs, half-swallowed by shadows. A lone battery lamp hung from a rebar hook above it, blinking once every four seconds. Dim. Dying.
Cain stopped just outside the threshold. Listened.
Nothing but water dripping. Metal creaks far off, probably pipes expanding. But no voices. No breathing.
He moved in.
The tunnel sloped down at a slight angle, enough to flood the edges where the rail lines had sunk into black puddles. Plastic bags clung to rusted track ties. Discarded syringes floated near the curb wall.
His grip on the pipe tightened. Not because of fear. Instinct.
Every step in this place could be an ambush.
Halfway down the passage, a single figure waited in the dark. Hooded. Still. One hand resting in a coat pocket.
Cain didn't stop walking.
The figure didn't move.
Ten feet out, the man spoke. Low. Direct.
"You came."
Cain didn't answer.
The man pulled something from a duffel bag at his feet and tossed it. The sack hit the floor between them with a wet thud. Cain didn't flinch.
Inside: a burner phone, a small roll of banded cash, and a folded piece of paper. Cain crouched to check it. Unfolded the paper.
A name. That's all.
Roach.
Nothing else.
The man said, "It's clean. No binder. Just a job."
Cain stood slowly. "Why me?"
"You're quiet."
Cain's eyes stayed locked on him. "You don't know me."
"I know enough."
They stared in silence.
Then the man added, "It's not personal."
Cain said nothing.
The man started to turn.
But paused.
He looked back, barely facing him now. Voice lower. "Didn't think you'd come in person."
Cain's jaw tensed.
That voice.
He'd heard it before. Not on the streets. Not down here. It was in his memory. Faint. Blurred under gunfire and static. Something close to the day he died.
The man was already walking.
The man vanished into the shadows past the bend. One corner, then gone.
Cain didn't chase.
He looked down at the bag again. The folded name. The burner phone. The clip of cash. He picked them up one by one. Stored them in his jacket.
Behind his eyes, the System blinked alive. Silent at first.
Then
[Freelance Contract Accepted: Target "Roach"]
[Reward: +24 Hours Upon Completion]
Cain looked back toward the exit. Fog rolled across the tunnel mouth like a veil. The same lamp flickered above, still dying slowly.
He walked toward it.
No hesitation. But slower now.
Whoever that man was he knew too much.
And Cain was sure of one thing:
That voice was tied to the day everything went wrong.
Ashvale's streets felt different on the walk back.
Cain kept to the side roads. Smog pooled low. Lights flickered. Somewhere behind a shuttered laundromat, two people were arguing loud enough to drown out footsteps, which made it easier to move.
He turned down a narrow walkway behind a strip of pawnshops. Broken display glass. Cheap knockoffs. Nothing here had a tag that wasn't already stolen. He stopped outside a shop with a faded sticker on the door, the same crowned rat insignia spray-tagged near the Guttercrew zone.
He stepped inside.
Behind a steel mesh window, a man counted crumpled bills. Cain waited.
The man didn't look up. "You're one of the new Runners?"
Cain nodded once.
"Then you got thirty seconds. Talk."
Cain pulled the folded note from his pocket. Unfolded it. Let the name do the talking.
The man's fingers stopped moving.
"Where'd you hear that name?"
Cain didn't answer.
The man clicked his tongue, shoved the bills aside. "Don't ask about Roach. Don't follow Roach. You see him, you cross the street."
"Why?" Cain asked.
The man gave a short, dry laugh. "'Cause if you know his name, you're already in trouble."
Cain didn't blink. "Then I guess I'm in."
He stepped out without another word.
Back in the alley, someone watched him from a balcony overhead, then ducked out of sight.
Cain turned the corner. Didn't follow. Just noted the angle.
Two enforcers blocked the mouth of the alley ahead. Same crest stitched on their jackets. Scarred knuckles. One smoked. The other didn't look like he needed to.
"You been asking questions," one said.
Cain stopped five paces out. "About a name."
"That's the same as asking for a burial."
Cain glanced between them. Didn't reach for the pipe.
"I'm not trying to climb," he said. "Just trying to finish something."
The one who wasn't smoking stepped forward. Close. "Finish too much, and someone finishes you."
Cain looked at him. Didn't move. "Is that a warning?"
A pause. Then a smile. "No. That's a forecast."
Cain stepped aside. Walked past without another word.
They didn't stop him.
But they didn't look away, either.
He made it four blocks before pulling the burner from his coat.
No messages. No missed calls. But one thing had changed:
[Signal Acquired]
A soft ping. Then a blinking dot on the screen. A nearby warehouse marked on the map.
Behind his eyes, the System flickered again not like before.
[Optional Contract: Target "Roach" | Reward: +24 Hours]
[Countdown Lock Override: Enabled]
Cain's feet slowed.
Override?
He stared at the dot.
The System had never used that word before.
Which meant someone else was pulling strings.
And Roach wasn't just a name.
He was bait.