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Although Henry had given the first set of Sparrow drones to someone else, building a second set wasn't particularly difficult.
In fact, he even incorporated several improvements based on Alexei's suggestions.
As soon as they were finished, Henry put the Sparrows to work.
Their first target was the troublesome brat who was always causing problems for him and Katie.
What he discovered was a story he had never anticipated.
---
Beneath New York City, inside its sprawling sewer system, another set of rules governed life.
All kinds of people—and not-quite-people—struggled to survive there.
America's welfare system might be generous. The unemployed and homeless could receive assistance.
But that only applied to those officially recognized as people by the government.
And somehow, on this land of democracy and freedom, there existed individuals who weren't even counted as that.
They lived in the sewers.
The child left East Forty-Ninth Street, a wealthy neighborhood, and walked several miles before climbing down through a sewer entrance whose manhole cover had long since disappeared.
Naturally, visibility underground was terrible.
Many sections were completely dark.
Without Sparrow's night vision and thermal imaging systems, Henry would have lost the trail immediately.
Yet the boy moved through the darkness with remarkable familiarity.
He effortlessly avoided every obstacle and every hazard that might have tripped him.
As he traveled, his behavior resembled that of a carefree child raised in a loving family.
Like a youngster gleefully jumping into puddles while wearing a raincoat on a rainy day.
To adults, such things might seem meaningless.
To him, they were enough to provoke delighted giggles.
Had this not been a sewer—
Had those puddles not been filled with filthy wastewater—
Had he not been completely alone—
It might almost have been a beautiful scene.
---
Eventually, the boy entered a larger section of the tunnel.
Signs of human activity began to appear.
Dim lights illuminated parts of the area.
Crude graffiti covered the walls, though most of it appeared meaningless.
Upon spotting a particular symbol, the child hurried through a broken section of iron fencing and entered another district.
"Old man! I finished today's work! Hurry up and pay me!"
The boy shouted toward a shack constructed from cardboard boxes.
"And you still owe me for being a witness and calling the cops on that guy!"
"Damn brat."
A limping elderly Black man emerged from the cardboard shelter, cursing.
"I've told you already. That job got canceled a long time ago. Nobody's paying for that anymore."
"But you said if I did a good enough job, maybe the boss would give me a bonus!"
The boy protested.
"I've done all this work and missed chances to earn money elsewhere. If you don't pay me, I won't have anything to eat!"
"Then starve to death."
The old man snorted.
"It'll make your life easier."
"Now get lost and stop bothering me."
"You're exactly like another idiot I know. Always making up things nobody ever said and trying to force people to accept your version of reality."
"Nobody up on the streets—or down here—is buying it."
With that, the old man turned and headed back into his cardboard home.
The boy stubbornly grabbed him.
The response was immediate.
The old man spun around and kicked him hard.
The kick sent the child flying backward.
It was difficult to believe the man was missing the use of one leg.
The boy crashed to the ground.
The kick had landed squarely in his soft abdomen.
For several moments he could only wheeze and gasp for breath.
The old man didn't even spare him a second glance.
He simply disappeared back into his shelter.
Around them, rustling sounds emerged from other corners of the sewer.
Clearly, many people had been watching.
The boy understood one thing:
If he lost consciousness in a place like this, he might never wake up again.
So he forced himself to stand and staggered away.
---
After wandering for who knew how long, squeezing through passages that only a child could fit through, the troublesome youngster finally arrived at a narrow side tunnel.
No water flowed through this section.
It was relatively dry.
Someone had clearly taken care of the place, and it was surprisingly clean.
The only illumination came from weak beams of light reflected by carefully positioned metal sheets.
Waiting there was a Black girl with dirty braids.
She smiled warmly when she saw him.
"Putz, you're back."
"Sorry, Skye."
The boy grinned despite his failure.
"I couldn't get any money out of Old Willie. That old bastard refuses to admit anything."
"It's okay."
Skye smiled back.
"I still have some food."
"I already ate. You can have this."
She produced a small piece of bread, barely larger than a clenched fist, and handed it to him.
The boy's eyes lit up.
"Where did you find something this amazing?"
"Just eat it."
"Don't worry about where it came from."
---
The moment he accepted the bread and prepared to take a bite, he noticed Skye staring at him.
Immediately, he asked,
"Want half?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"I already ate. That's why there's only a little left."
"Then I'm eating it."
"Go ahead."
After a pause, she added,
"Once you're done, get some rest."
"And maybe listen to me for once."
"Stop obsessing over that guy on East Forty-Ninth Street."
"I heard all the bounties related to him have already been canceled."
"No matter what you do now, Old Willie isn't going to pay you another cent."
Putz looked dejected.
"But that job paid more than anything else we can do."
"Maybe if I pull off something big, we'll finally earn enough to stop worrying about food."
"Maybe we could go back aboveground and live normal lives."
"But you've come back empty-handed for days now."
"Yeah..."
He lowered his head.
"I guess you're right."
Then he looked at her.
"You should get some sleep too."
"You still look weak."
"Has that cold not gone away yet?"
"The medicine I stole didn't help?"
"It helped."
She nodded.
"I took it."
"I'm much better now."
"But how quickly can anyone recover in a place like this?"
"True."
The boy nodded.
---
Using old newspapers as blankets, the two children lay side by side, sharing body heat.
After adjusting one of the reflective metal sheets, they effectively "turned off the lights."
Darkness settled around them.
A while later, a small voice broke the silence.
"I'm still hungry, Skye."
"Tomorrow, if I feel stronger, let's go to Hell's Kitchen."
"Maybe we can figure something out there."
"We'll have to play hide-and-seek with the Irish Mob."
"But that's still easier than dealing with the Bowery King's beggars."
"Guess that's our only option."
The tunnel fell quiet again.
Then Skye spoke softly.
"Putz..."
"Tell me about that foster family again."
"The one that treated you really well."
"I've told you that story a hundred times."
"I know."
"I still want to hear it."
The boy sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
And so, in his still-childish voice, he began recounting fragments of ordinary life.
Tiny, insignificant moments.
The kind most people wouldn't even remember.
Yet to these two children, such stories shone brighter than treasures.
The day ended wrapped in those simple dreams.
---
The following morning was far less pleasant.
The makeshift shelter the two children had built was suddenly torn apart.
Their attackers weren't merely destroying their home.
Someone grabbed Putz by the ankle and began dragging him away.
His terrified screams echoed through the semi-enclosed sewer tunnels.
One child was dragged out.
The other soon suffered the same fate.
Only after they were hauled into a wider open area did they finally see who was responsible.
Another group of children.
Only this group was much larger.
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