They didn't stop running until the sound of clicking and the dry crunch of bones had faded completely into the darkness below.
The slope of the tunnel had turned into a spiral staircase carved directly into the rock. It was steep, uneven, and slick with moisture.
"Okay," Rook wheezed, collapsing onto a step about halfway up. He shined his flashlight down into the black void they had just climbed out of. "I think… I think we lost them."
Lyric leaned against the rough stone wall, chest heaving. The air here was thinner, but it smelled less like ancient death and more like stale drain water.
"Check the grenades," Lyric said between breaths.
Rook patted his belt. "I got one left. Just one. If we run into another family of hair-spiders, we're out of loud noises."
Valerius was sitting on a step a few feet above them, head between his knees. He was clutching the canvas coat tight around himself.
"Val?" Lyric asked, climbing up to him. "You still with us?"
Valerius looked up. His nose had stopped bleeding, but he looked drained, his skin gray in the flashlight beam.
"I'm fine," Valerius muttered. "Just… rebooting. The feedback loop took a lot of glucose. I feel like I haven't eaten in a week."
"Here," Rook said, tossing a ration bar up to him. "Chalk flavor. My favorite."
Valerius caught it and tore the wrapper with his teeth, eating it quickly. "How far to the surface?"
"If my mental map of the pre-war city is right," Rook said, checking his datapad (which was still showing 'No Signal' but had offline maps), "this staircase leads to the foundation of the Old Sector. We should be right under the Low-Light District."
"Low-Light," Lyric repeated. "That's a slum, right?"
"It's where the workers live," Rook corrected. "Crowded. Noisy. Perfect for hiding."
"Let's go," Lyric said, pulling Valerius up. "We can rest when we see the sky."
They climbed for another twenty minutes. The stone steps eventually turned into rusted iron rungs set into a concrete shaft.
At the very top, a heavy metal grate blocked the way.
Lyric climbed up to it and pushed. It didn't budge.
"Sealed," Lyric called down. "And there's a padlock on the other side. I can see light through the cracks."
"Daylight?" Rook asked hopefully.
"Streetlight," Lyric said. "It's orange."
"Can you erase it?" Valerius asked from below.
"I can," Lyric said, finding a foothold on the ladder. "But if I erase the grate, it's going to crash down the shaft. It'll make a lot of noise."
"We don't have a choice," Valerius said. "Do it."
Lyric reached up. The grate was cold and wet. Rain. It was raining on the surface.
Lyric placed a palm against one of the thick iron bars.
Erase.
Instead of erasing the whole grate, Lyric focused on the structure of the metal. They erased a three-inch section of the bar near the hinge. Then another. Then another.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
The grate groaned, no longer held in place on the left side.
"Watch your heads!" Lyric hissed.
Lyric pushed the grate upward. It swung heavily on the remaining hinge, screeching against the concrete, and flopped open onto the surface.
Rainwater instantly poured down the shaft, splashing Lyric's face.
"We're out," Lyric said, pulling themselves up and over the lip.
They emerged in an alleyway.
It wasn't like the desolate, terrifying alley in the Dumps. This was a city alley. It was paved with asphalt. Dumpsters overflowed with actual trash—takeout containers, broken umbrellas. High above, neon signs reflected in the puddles.
Lyric helped Valerius out of the hole, then Rook. Rook immediately shoved the heavy grate back into place and kicked a pile of wet cardboard over it to hide the entrance.
"We made it," Rook whispered, wiping rain from his goggles. "Surface level."
Lyric stood up and took a deep breath.
The air smelled of ozone, fried noodles, and exhaust fumes.
And then, the headache hit.
It was like a hammer to the temple.
"Ah!" Lyric staggered back, gripping their head.
"The static?" Valerius asked, grabbing Lyric's elbow to steady them.
"It's loud," Lyric gasped, eyes watering. "Underground, the rock blocked it. Here… it's everywhere. Millions of people. Millions of memories."
The ambient noise of the city wasn't just sound; it was emotional radiation. Lyric could feel the frustration of a driver stuck in traffic three blocks away. The exhaustion of a line cook. The fear of a child in the dark.
"Focus on me," Valerius said, his voice sharp. "Filter it out. You're an antenna receiving too many channels. Tune it to one."
"I'm trying," Lyric gritted out. "It's just… a lot."
"We need to get off the street," Rook said, looking around nervously. "This is the Low-Light District, but there are still cameras. And if the Guild is at war, they'll have patrols."
"Where do we go?" Lyric asked, forcing the noise down to a dull roar.
"There's a safe house nearby?" Rook suggested.
"No," Valerius interrupted. "No hiding. We need a terminal. We need to find a Memory Café. A public one."
"Are you crazy?" Rook hissed. "Public means cameras. Public means ID scans."
"Public means broadcast," Valerius said. "The Guild controls the private networks. But the public cafés use the civilian mesh. It's harder to censor in real-time. If I upload the data there, it hits the news feeds before they can scrub it."
"There's a café two blocks over," Rook said reluctantly. " 'The Recall Lounge'. It's a dive. 24 hours."
"Lead the way," Valerius said. "And stay casual. We're just three friends looking for a late-night fix."
They walked through the rain. Lyric kept their head down, collar turned up (though Valerius still wore the coat, Lyric had found a plastic poncho in a dumpster for cover).
The streets were busy for 4:00 AM. People shuffled along the sidewalks, huddled under glowing umbrellas. Almost everyone had a port behind their ear. Some looked dazed, high on happy memories. Others looked withdrawal-sick, shaking and pale.
"Look at them," Valerius murmured. "Junkies. The Guild turned memory into a drug."
"Don't preach, just walk," Rook muttered.
They passed a massive holographic billboard. It showed the face of a smiling woman holding a blue vial.
FORGET YOUR TROUBLES.
FORGET YOUR DEBT.
THE GUILD REMEMBERS FOR YOU.
And then, the image flickered.
The smiling woman vanished. The screen turned red. A new text appeared, scrolling urgently.
SECURITY ALERT: UNDERGROUND SECTOR QUARANTINED.
TERRORIST ACTIVITY DETECTED.
REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY. REWARD: 10 YEARS OF JOY.
"Terrorist activity," Lyric read the sign. "That's us."
"They're spinning the narrative," Valerius said. "Blaming us for the blackout. We have to hurry."
They reached The Recall Lounge. It was a storefront with blacked-out windows. A neon sign in the shape of a brain buzzed above the door.
"Okay," Rook said, stopping outside. "Here's the play. We go in. I distract the attendant. Val, you hit the terminal. Lyric… you stand by the door and look tough."
"I can do that," Lyric said.
"Do you have credits?" Valerius asked. "Terminals aren't free."
Rook pulled a crumpled card from his pocket. "I got a burner card. Maybe 50 credits on it. Enough for ten minutes of access."
"Ten minutes is all I need," Valerius said.
They pushed the door open.
A bell chimed.
The café was dim, smelling of stale coffee and ozone. Rows of booths lined the walls. Inside each booth, a person sat with a wire plugged into their head, eyes closed, lost in a memory simulation.
The attendant was a bored teenager with purple hair, reading a tablet behind the counter.
She looked up. Her eyes scanned them—dirty, wet, looking like they just crawled out of a sewer (which they had).
"We have a bathroom policy," she droned. "Customers only."
"We're paying," Rook said, slapping the card on the counter with a charming smile. "Table for three. The one in the back. We need the high-bandwidth terminal."
The girl eyed the card, then swiped it.
"Approved," she said, tossing the card back. "Booth 6. Keep the noise down. People are sleeping."
They hurried to the back booth. It was secluded, shadowed by a flickering light.
In the center of the table was a console with a jack and a screen.
Valerius slid into the seat. He pulled the glass shard from his pocket—the one he had used to short the grid.
"I need a physical connection," Valerius whispered. "Rook, give me your laser cutter."
"What? Why?"
"I need to strip the data cable. I can't plug my brain into a USB port, Rook. I have to splice it."
Rook handed over the cutter. Valerius went to work under the table, slicing the casing of the terminal's input wire.
"Lyric, watch the front," Valerius ordered.
Lyric stood by the edge of the booth, pretending to read a menu. The static in the room was intense—so many people reliving intense emotions nearby. It made Lyric's teeth ache.
"I'm in," Valerius whispered. "Signal is live."
On the screen, code began to scroll.
"Okay," Valerius muttered, his eyes darting across the text. "Bypassing the local firewall… accessing the Civilian Mesh… targeting the News Aggregators."
"Hurry," Rook hissed. "The attendant is looking at us."
Lyric glanced at the counter. The purple-haired girl was staring. She tapped something on her tablet. Then she picked up a phone.
"She's making a call," Lyric said.
"I'm at 40%," Valerius said, sweat beading on his forehead. He was holding the exposed wires against the glass shard in his hand, his arm trembling. "The upload speed is throttled."
"We need a distraction," Rook said. "Something to make her hang up."
Lyric looked around the room.
"I got it," Lyric said.
Lyric walked over to the fuse box on the wall near the bathroom. It was locked.
Lyric placed a hand on the lock. Erase.
The panel swung open.
Lyric looked at the breakers. Main Lights. Server Rack. Coffee Machine.
Lyric reached for the Server Rack switch.
"Hey!" the attendant shouted, dropping the phone. "What are you doing?"
Lyric flipped the switch.
Zzzzt.
The screens in every booth went black.
Instantly, the café erupted in chaos. The "junkies"—rudely awakened from their purchased dreams—started screaming.
"My wedding! You cut off my wedding!"
"I was flying! Turn it back on!"
The customers stumbled out of their booths, angry and confused.
"System error!" the attendant yelled, frantically tapping her tablet. "Everyone calm down!"
"60%," Valerius said, typing one-handed. "Keep it chaotic."
"I think they're doing a good job of that themselves," Rook said as a man threw a cup of coffee at the counter.
The door to the café burst open.
It wasn't a customer.
Two men in gray raincoats walked in. They didn't look at the screaming junkies. They looked straight at the back of the room. Straight at Booth 6.
They moved with a terrifying, synchronized grace.
"Silents," Lyric whispered. "How did they find us so fast?"
"The credit card," Valerius groaned. "They tracked Rook's burner card."
"You said it was a burner!" Lyric hissed at Rook.
"It was! I burned it… last month!" Rook stammered.
The Silents pulled batons from their coats. The tips crackled with blue energy.
"Unit 7," the first Silent said. His voice cut through the noise of the café. "Surrender the asset."
Lyric drew the ceramic sword.
"Val, how long?" Lyric yelled.
"80%!" Valerius shouted. "Don't let them touch the table! If the connection breaks, the data corrupts!"
Lyric stepped out of the booth, blocking the aisle.
"Rook, guard Valerius," Lyric ordered.
Lyric raised the sword. The Silents advanced, ignoring the panicking civilians who scrambled out of their way.
"You are obsolete," the Silent said, spinning the baton.
"Maybe," Lyric said, muscle memory taking over, the stance settling low and wide. "But I'm still the one holding the sword."