Priest took the lead, his gaze scanning every reflection, every silhouette that lingered too long. He caught sight of a figure half a block back—hooded, moving when they moved, stopping when they did. They’re making it too typical, he thought.
“We’ve got a tail,” he murmured.
Hunter barely turned her head. “One?”
“Two more on the rooftops,” Fang added, tapping her datapad as a drone pinged them with thermal scans. “They’re coordinated.”
Gravel exhaled through his nose. “Friends of Sloan, or someone else? Gorodos? Mustafa?”
“Don’t know,” Priest said.
They turned a corner, slipping into the flow of foot traffic spilling out of a tram station. Priest cut left into a service corridor, the others following without hesitation. The moment they were out of sight, he spoke.
Gravel ordered, “Split up. Two blocks over, regroup at the old transit hub.”
The group scattered without hesitation, each one slipping into the shifting currents of Kestris-9’s undercity.
Priest moved with practiced ease, stepping into the shadowed entrance of a maintenance tunnel, his pace measured, unhurried. He didn’t check over his shoulder—he didn’t need to. If their tail was good, they’d be subtle.
Hunter wove through a dense street market, hands brushing over hanging fabrics and worn-out machine parts, using the crowd as cover. She snagged a scarf from a vendor’s stall in one smooth motion, wrapping it over her shoulders to distort her silhouette.
Fang, however, had other ideas. She ducked into a side street, pulled a small, palm-sized device from her belt, and flicked a switch. A barely perceptible hum filled the air as the device activated, sending out a pulse through the local net.
Within seconds, her datapad lit up with results—thermal signatures, comm frequencies, and predictive movement patterns overlaid onto the street map. Two of their pursuers were communicating on a scrambled line. But their encryption? That was corporate—high-end, proprietary.
Fang smirked. “Gotcha.”
Hunter’s voice crackled over comms. “Got what?”
Fang tapped a few controls, isolating their tail’s transmissions. “Liberated a multi-spectrum recon node from McPherson R&D. Turns out their 'unbreakable' firewall is just an overpaid intern copy-pasting bad code. Figured I’d put their failure to good use.”
There was a beat of silence.
Hunter, incredulous, whispered, “When did you get that?”
“Just happened to intercept a McPherson carrier ship on our way while you guys were receiving the mission.”
Hunter groaned. “Fang, tell me you didn’t.”
Fang smirked, eyes flicking between the incoming data streams. “Relax. It was just sitting there, practically begging to be liberated.”
Priest’s voice came through the comms, clipped and serious. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, focus. What else can that thing tell us?”
Fang’s fingers flew across her datapad, rerouting the recon node’s passive scans. “Two groups. One’s definitely corporate—they’re running McPherson’s latest encrypted bands. Those might catch my signals; might not. The other? Freelancers, probably hired muscle.” She exhaled. “And they’re converging.”
Gravel, still nursing his drink at the bar, chuckled. “I love when people make my job easy.”
Hunter’s voice was tight. “They’re trying to box us in.”
Priest was already moving. “Then we don’t let them.”
Fang pulled up a map overlay, her smirk returning. “I might have a back door.”
Hunter sighed. “Do I even want to know?”
Fang grinned. “I don’t recall a single mission failing because of me. Can’t say the same for your aim, though.”
Gravel shot her a look. “You want an honest answer, or the one that keeps our team dynamic intact?”
Fang winked. “Doesn’t matter. I already ran the numbers—this works.” She flicked a command on her datapad. Somewhere in the distance, a low hum reverberated through the undercity streets—a signal relay scrambling local feeds, throwing up ghost pings on surveillance grids.
Priest didn’t stop moving. “Where’s this back door of yours?”
Fang turned down an alley, motioning for the others to follow. “Old subtram tunnels. They were decommissioned years ago, but someone forgot to wipe McPherson’s system logs. I found an access point.”
Hunter exhaled. “And you just . . . have this information?”
Fang grinned. “McPherson’s security is like a fancy lock with a broken latch—looks impressive, but anyone who knows where to push gets in.”
Gravel, bringing up the rear, checked over his shoulder. “Great. Love the plan. But in case it doesn’t work, anyone got a Plan B?”
Hunter did the fingergun. “Plan B is pew pew pew pew pew.” Priest and Gravel sighed in unison.
Fang reached a rusted panel embedded in the alley wall and pried it open, revealing a control pad covered in grime. “Give me a sec.” She tapped a sequence, and with a deep mechanical groan, the panel slid aside, revealing a dark maintenance tunnel sloping downward.
Hunter peered inside. “That looks like a terrible idea.”
Fang gestured grandly. “Gentlemen first?”
Priest didn’t hesitate—he stepped inside, gun drawn. “Move.”
Behind them, distant shouts echoed through the streets. Their pursuers were closing in.
Gravel clapped Fang on the shoulder. “Guess we’ll see if your stolen tech’s worth the trouble.”
Fang smirked, stepping in after him. “Oh, it’s worth it.”
The panel slid shut behind them, sealing them in darkness.
A faint hum filled the narrow passage as Fang activated the recon node. A thin, translucent display flickered to life, casting dim blue light over their faces. It mapped the tunnels ahead, lines shifting as it interpreted the subterranean pathways beneath Kestris-9.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Hunter peered at the screen. “I’m still not over the fact that you somehow lifted this from McPherson and we’re just now hearing about it.”
Fang tapped a command, and a secondary feed overlaid security patrol routes. “I don’t tell you everything.”
Priest’s voice was dry. “That’s an understatement.”
Gravel rubbed his hands together. “Alright, let’s move before our friends outside decide they’d rather take the direct approach.”
They started forward, the air heavy with the scent of metal and damp concrete. The tunnels were old—older than most of the city above. Reinforced bulkheads, rusted pipes, and patches of ancient graffiti marked their path. Some of it was just scrawl, but a few symbols stood out—gang tags, resistance markers, remnants of factions long buried beneath the corporate grip on Kestris.
Priest took point, his movements controlled and precise. “Two exits ahead. One leads to a transit relay, the other to a drainage hatch in sector fourteen.”
Fang studied the recon display. “Drainage puts us closer to Vanje’s safehouse, but it’s a tighter squeeze.”
Hunter made a face. “And transit?”
“More open. Easier to move,” Priest said. “Also easier to be seen.”
Gravel stretched his arms. “Guess it’s a question of whether we’d rather be rats or targets.”
Hunter sighed. “Every plan B we have sucks.”
Fang smirked. “You’re just jealous of my genius.”
As Priest led the way, his visor flickered to life, its HUD overlaying data in crisp, red-tinted readouts.
Status: STEALTH MODE ACTIVE
Threat Proximity: MEDIUM (Tracking: 3 hostile signals, estimated range: 50m)
Route Viability: 77% - Moderate risk
Environmental Analysis: Low visibility, air quality: suboptimal
His eyes flicked to the threat markers—three signatures moving in sync above them, keeping pace. He subvocalized a command, and the visor zoomed in on the motion signatures, tagging them as UNKNOWN: POSSIBLE PURSUERS.
“They’re still tracking,” he murmured.
Fang glanced over. “How close?”
“Fifty meters. Holding position, probably trying to confirm our exit point.”
Gravel whispered, “Can you please change your settings to imperial measurements next time? You know, just to be synchronous with everyone else in the crew?”
“No. I prefer it like this,” Priest replied.
Hunter grimaced. “Focus, team. We cut through transit, we’ll be in the open.”
Priest’s visor chimed—ALTERNATE ROUTE CALCULATED. RECOMMENDATION: DRAINAGE HATCH - SECTOR 14.
He exhaled. “We take the drainage hatch. It’s tighter, but we’ll lose them in the tunnels.”
Gravel groaned. “Great. Can’t wait to crawl through Kestris’s finest sewage infrastructure.”
Fang tapped a few controls on the recon node, redirecting their path. “Relax. Worst case, you come out smelling like the rest of this city.”
Hunter sighed. “I hate Plan B.”
“Except when it’s ‘pew pew pew’, huh?” Replied Gravel.
Priest’s visor flashed a final update. THREAT PROXIMITY: CLOSING. RECOMMENDED ACTION: MOVE NOW.
He moved. “No time for debate. Let’s go.”
They slipped into motion, sticking to the edges of the alley as Priest led the way. His visor tracked their movements against the shifting data feed—three pursuers now thirty meters back, picking up speed.
Fang knelt by the drainage hatch, prying up the rusted cover with a compact tool. “This thing’s ancient,” she muttered. “Hope none of you are claustrophobic.”
Hunter peered down into the darkness below. “Claustrophobic, no. Worried about whatever’s living down there? Absolutely.”
“Less talking, more moving,” Priest ordered. His visor pinged again—THREAT PROXIMITY: 20 METERS.
Gravel swung his legs over the edge first. “If I get eaten by a mutant rat, tell people I died a hero.”
Fang rolled her eyes and dropped in after him. Hunter followed, landing with a splash.
Priest took one last glance at his HUD. The pursuers had split up—two maintaining their approach, one moving to cut them off. Tactical recommendation: IMMEDIATE DESCENT.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
With a sharp exhale, he slid down into the tunnels, sealing the hatch above them just as heavy boots pounded onto the pavement above.
The tunnels stretched ahead in a maze of rusted pipes and stagnant water, the air thick with the scent of decay.
THREAT PROXIMITY: 10 METERS.
“They’re not giving up,” Fang muttered, pulling up her recon node’s display. “One of them’s trying to track heat signatures. We need to throw them off.”
Gravel splashed ahead, grinning. “I got an idea.” He unclipped a small device from his belt—a thermal decoy. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it clattering down a side tunnel.
Hunter cocked her head. “You guys are never gonna tell me where you got your shiny toys, yet I always share mine with you.”
Gravel smirked. “Oh, you know. Just happened to intercept a McPherson shipment on our way here.”
Fang snorted. “Hey! I’ve heard that one before!”
Priest’s visor updated—Pursuers redirecting. Threat status: Diminishing.
“They took the bait,” he said. “We keep moving.”
They pushed forward, winding through the tunnels until Fang’s datapad beeped. “We’re here.”
The tunnel ended at a rusted maintenance door. Priest gave a short knock—three beats, then one.
A second passed. Then another.
Finally, the lock disengaged with a heavy clunk. The door creaked open, revealing Vanje’s gaunt face in the dim light.
He exhaled, shaking his head. “You people really know how to make an entrance.”
“A lot more confident now you’re in your own turf, huh?” Said Gravel.
Vanje shut the door behind them, locking it with a heavy bolt before turning back, arms crossed. “And you brought company all the way over here.”
Fang waved her datapad. “Oh, please. You looked at the file, which means you’re already involved.”
Vanje clicked his tongue, rubbing his temple. “You realize the kind of heat this brings, right? Whoever locked this thing down wasn’t just paranoid. They were smart. Like me. That’s the worst combination.”
Hunter leaned against the wall, arms crossed, mimicking Vanje. “You said impossible before. What changed?”
Vanje let out a sharp laugh. “Nothing. It’s still impossible.” He jerked his chin at the datapad. “But now I’m curious. And curiosity is a terrible habit.”
Gravel spread his hands. “So? You in?”
Vanje sighed, rubbing his face. “I’m in. But I need time. And resources.” He gestured toward an old workbench covered in scrap tech and outdated terminals. “Cracking this isn’t about brute force. It’s about finesse. I’ll need to piggyback off a high-level corporate relay to even start unraveling the encryption.”
Fang’s eyes narrowed. “And let me guess. You have a lead on one?”
Vanje smirked. “I might.”
Priest crossed his arms, visor dimming as he studied him. “What’s the catch?”
Vanje sat down, stretching out his legs. “Oh, there’s always a catch.” He steepled his fingers. “You’re gonna have to break into a corporate data vault. Republic. McPherson. Gilneas. Austjsocs. Your choice.”
Silence.
Gravel let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t those some fun options.”
Vanje shrugged. “Welcome to my world.” He leaned forward, tapping the datapad. “The vault is where they keep their deepest secrets. And we don’t need everything—just the right key to get past the first few layers.”
Priest’s visor flickered with data overlays as he considered. “McPherson’s vault is the most locked-down, but they move data more often. Higher risk, but also higher chance of finding an exploitable gap.”
Fang smirked. “And, you know, I already helped myself to some of their tech.”
Hunter exhaled. “Of course you did.”
Gravel rubbed his chin. “Gilneas and Austjsocs are heavy on automation. Fewer boots on the ground, but I heard their AIs are a nightmare.”
Vanje nodded. “You heard right. And Republic? Well, you’d be robbing the government. Which—call me crazy—seems like the worst idea.”
Hunter glanced at the others. “So. Who’s feeling suicidal?”
Gravel grinned. “I vote McPherson.”
“Right after we just did business with them?” Asked Fang.
“Might as well do it again,” replied Gravel.
Priest’s visor chimed—RISK ANALYSIS: HIGH. SUCCESS PROBABILITY: UNKNOWN.
He sighed. “McPherson it is.”