A column of dust dripped down the wall, scattering across the ground.

“You ready?”

“No.” Titus’s wide eyes gleamed in the dark.

“You’ll be fine.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then you’ll be dead, and it won’t fuckn’ matter anyway,” I said, grinning as I slapped him on the back before continuing up the line. I was just as scared as him, as any of them, but I couldn’t show it. Not then. I made my way up the column, tapping shoulders as I went. Twenty, all there. Good. I took my place at the front, running my hand along the jagged wall. I crouched down. In the dim glow of the tunnel, I caught the silhouettes of bobbing heads and the glints of eyes staring up at me. The silence took me back. Twenty young men lined up against a wall, adrenaline pumping as they waited for the signal to rush forward into the unknown, yet they were calm. Tension hung above them, stifling the air, yet they remained still.

“This is a terrible fucking idea,” the young man behind me grumbled. He didn’t want to be there. I knew that. He made as much evident in the tunnel before we cleared the broken shaft. But I needed him. He was the only group member who had ever been on the old transit lines - he had seen their inner workings and knew how to navigate them.

“Maybe,” I whispered. “But if we stick to the plan like we rehearsed, we’ll make it through this.”

Brutus - that was his name. I didn’t bother asking him until the blocked shaft turned out to be a dead end. If what James said was right, we were on borrowed time in those tunnels and needed to make it to the tower. Still, it would all be for nothing if we didn’t find food. I knew it was painful for him to relive those memories. Protracted silences and distant stares broke up planning sessions as he struggled to recall tunnel layouts. I had seen it before. Post-traumatic stress affects everyone differently. Some became more distant. Some violent, unable to shed the comfort of a bottle. Booze, pills - anything to drown the past in hopes for a better future. Brutus didn’t have that option. Not here. So, involuntary bouts of silence were his defense mechanism. One I struggled to overcome.

Planning is your best friend when carrying out an operation, no matter how small. It’s a hedge against the inevitability of everything going wrong—which, more often than not, did. Standing around a makeshift sand table, planning routes and contingencies, I drew up the plan painstakingly. We practiced breaches and exits. Stacking up on safehouse doors and tunnel bends, we rehearsed until the motions were as natural as scratching an itch.

Faint voices drifted down the tunnel. They were a murmur compared to the bustling activity earlier in the day. Before bringing the line up, I scouted the subway entrance with Brutus. James wasn’t lying. All activity seemed to cease around mid-day. I looked back over the group, anxiously waiting for the signal. I whispered to Brutus, “Hold here until I get back. Pass it down.” Brutus turned to the man next to him and whispered the same. The message was carried until the low hiss from the back was no longer audible.

“That was for them. You come with me,” I said, wrapping my knuckles on Brutus’s bent knee.

In a low crouch, we hugged the wall to where the tunnel sharply turned. The light from the other side grew stronger as we approached, as did the voices. They were gruff, filled with gravel, arguing over something indiscernible. With my body pressed against the wall, I leaned over, peaking around the corner. There were four of them. Only two spoke as the other two hunched over, covered in rags. A chain hung from their necks. Shadows of the leashes danced on the ground, fluttering in the flickering light. They’re using candles? Does the electricity still run down here? Must not.

I retreated, sliding back into the darkness. “There’s four of them. Two in chains,” I said.

Brutus put his hand on my back and shimmied around me to take a look. “Well, we’re where we’re supposed to be. Thats good.”

“You sure?” I asked. I knew if we weren’t, all the planning would be for nothing. Our rehearsed route hinged on the starting point.

“Yeah. They only take slaves to the market. They’re not allowed anywhere else.”

“Good.”

I envisioned the sand table in my head, tracing winding paths scrawled in the dirt. The heart of the market was only three tunnels down. Beyond that were the brothels. We would know we had gone too far when the stalls turned to dugouts layered with dingy bedding. There was only one way from the tram lines in or out of the market. They didn’t bother posting a guard on the other side. Why would they? This end of the sprawling network of dirt corridors led nowhere. Plus, they probably rightly figured there wouldn’t be anyone dumb enough to rob the place.

I shuffled down the hall back to the others, directing them with a wave to push up. We reformed just before the bend. I looked around the corner again. They’re too far to rush. We’ll lose the initiative if one gets away, and I don’t want to be caught chasing them through the market.

Brutus nudged me with his elbow. I leaned into his ear. “They’re still there.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “So? We can take them.”

“They’re too far. They’ll give us away before we even get into the market.”

Brutus took another glance around the corner. He raised his palm toward me before stepping out into the light. My heart jumped, turning my mouth a sour metallic. I tried to reach for him, but he was clear of the wall before I could grab hold.

“Please, food. I’m so…” Brutus moaned, his aching voice bouncing off the walls.

“Who the fuck is this?” one of the men said. A chain rattled, stopping with a sudden clink.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” Brutus continued. He dropped to his knees and lurched forward with both arms out. He was so close I could touch him, but too far to pull back to safety.

Footsteps approached. I listened, only hearing one set. Fuck. The other isn’t taking the bait. Then, another chain was pulled taught, bellowing like a bowstring.

“He’s a little old,” the other man said, his voice lighter in pitch.

“No, he’s just our type.”

“Food…” Brutus said, his tone weakening. Under his outstretched arm, I saw him mouth Wait. The footsteps grew louder. Brutus leaned up, his hands resting on his knees. “Now,” he yelled, springing up and out of sight. I reached back and grabbed the nearest member of our raiding party, throwing him into the breach before following. Brutus was on top of one of them, hammering heavy fists into his face, blood splattering with every blow. The man with the lighter voice stumbled over his slave as he tried to pull back. I raced forward, bulldozing the servant out of the way before gripping his tunic. The man fell back, ripped down to the ground where one of our own smothered his mouth and nose. I held his writhing arms while another his legs. He thrashed. His eyes, at first filled with rage, glassed over with fear as his chest convulsed for oxygen.

It was all over within the span of two minutes. One of the men lay disfigured while the other suffocated, his face wearing a grotesque scowl. Brutus had to be pulled off the other man. His hands were cut, lacerated by teeth and bone. It was tough to tell where his victim’s blood ended and his began. Standing over the body, his chest heaved. It took another raider to restrain him. I grabbed two others and ushered them down the hall. Whatever Brutus had pent up all these years, he’d released it. In that moment, it served us well, but I knew what came next would require thoughtful patience, so I left him in the rear.

We carefully tread down the hall. Murmurs and low whispers cut through the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. We should be there by now. We had passed our fourth tunnel offshoot, yet still no market. Our hushed tones grew louder as I halted the column. Picking my way through the raiders, I found Brutus near the back.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I asked. His glazed eyes turned from me as though he didn’t register what I said. “Brutus,” I persisted without an answer. “Fuck.” He’s gone.

I made my way to the front and checked around the corner. “Alright, the tunnel straightens…” I said, turning. Titu’s gleaming smile took me off guard. Pulling him in closer, I finished, “We’ll stack up right before the first entrance. Follow me. Don’t just run past the tunnel.” He nodded and passed the message along.

I rose and glided toward an entrance crudely dug into the now smooth concrete. The ceiling transitioned from low-cut stone to vaulted cement, arching above us, catching stray light from the dancing flames of candles lining the edges. We were out of the service tunnels and in a main line route, the tracks long gone. Still, the ground was pocked by scars where the heavy anchors fastened the steel rails.

I threw my shoulder into the wall as I had done for each previous offshoot and waited for the rest of the party to stack up. A foul odor poured out of the hole. I could smell it even as I approached; now, it was nearly unbearable. A jagged stench of sweat and feces permeated the air, clinging to every surface. I swallowed, plugging my nasal cavity with the back of my tongue.

“What is–” Titus began before doubling over and dry heaving. The column pushed back like a slinky. Those in front tripped over each other until the rear caught on and pulled away.

“I have no idea,” I said as I tried to gather myself. The stench was disorientating. “Hey,” I mustered, swallowing hard before continuing. “Stack up, let’s go.”

I felt a hand tap my shoulder. Darting forward, I bound halfway across the entrance with Titus on my heels. Bounding in groups reduced the likelihood an entire unit could be wiped out by incoming rounds, especially given such a narrow avenue of fire. Theoretically, it works great. That is unless the lead person stops. Titus careened into my back, shoving me the rest of the way across the entrance, still frames of a mass of huddled bodies shaking, swaying in unison playing in my head.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were going to stop,” Titus replied as he pulled himself off me.

“Not you,” I said. As soon as he gave me room, I jumped up and raised a hand to halt the next group. But it was too late. They were already moving, their eyes catching the same scene as mine. They stopped and stared. Soon, others peeked around the corner. I ran out and grabbed the group, pulling them out of sight.

“Holy shit,” one of them said.

Beyond the entrance, the narrow shaft opened into an expansive room. Broken and decaying tiles lined the walls and pillars. Candlelight flickered against every weathered surface, dimly lighting chains draping from the ceiling. At the other end stood equally decaying bodies, emaciated to the point where sharp bones hid other horrors in shadow. I froze. The collective gaze of a thousand or more eyes drilled into me. A raised finger preceded an agonizing plea, followed by a symphony of tormented cries. Chains rattled, violently reverberating upward as they fought against their victims.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I nearly toppled over again as I was pulled away. Holding me with both hands was Brutus. His eyes were heavy and dull. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“Why are they chained up–”

“The whole fucking depths heard that. We have to get out of here.”

I pulled away, wrestling back control of my shirt. “We can’t just leave.”

“If we don’t leave,” Brutus said as tears welled up along the edges of his eyes. “We’ll become just like them.

“We need food. And we sure as hell can’t leave them like that,” I replied, my voice barely carrying over the cries.

“I’m not going back. I can’t,” he said, pulling away. After taking another look down the tunnel, Brutus took off at a dead sprint back the way we came, drawing a few of the raiders with him. The rest stayed steady, looking to me for their next move.

“You five,” I said, marking men randomly, “See what you can do to unchain them. The rest of you, follow me. Stack up on every entrance, just like we planned.”

“Are we even in the right place?” someone asked from the back.

“We’re close enough.”

A grumbling grew among the men. I couldn’t hear them, but I watched as they turned to one another, whispering under the shrieks still spilling out of the hole.

“Look. I can’t force you to come with me. But I’m not leaving here without food.” My nerves were frayed. Time wasn’t on our side. I needed a stick, not a carrot. There wasn’t time for inspiration, just action. “If you reach the surface without an armful of supplies, don’t bother coming back.”

I turned, praying I would hear a mass of footsteps following. After a few paces, I glanced over my shoulder. Only a few had stayed behind. The rest fell in line at a slow trot.

I halted at two more entrances. They were filled with more chains. More slaves. I tried to remain quiet as I passed, but mustering a group of fifteen undisciplined men was near impossible without making a racket. Wailing echos crashed off the walls as we pushed forward. Brutus was right. Everyone down here will hear this. Doubt crept into my mind. It was faint at first, but as we entered another corridor lined with rough-hewn dugouts, every fiber in my still rational mind told me to turn back. The holes were too numerous to stack and bound. I slowed my pace, cautiously stepping past. The first few were obscured by dingy sheets draped to the ground where their once bright color gathered dust. The next cavity was open. Hands chained to the wall, a young woman’s bare back faced me. The light ridges of her scars contrasted against her dirt-stained skin. She peered back, her hollow eyes rising just above her bony shoulder. Lowering the crook of her back, the young woman widened her stance and let her chin sink to her chest.

I lingered only for a moment, pushing down a deep pity before moving on. The rest of the holes contained a variety of young women and boys, all chained in a similar fashion, their bare flesh marked with filth and the sins of desire. Junction after junction passed, revealing the true depths of depravity. I had nearly given up hope - nearly stopped and turned the column around when I stumbled into the market.

I stopped, losing my footing on the loose pebbles lining the ground as I slid through the mouth of a towering complex. Four stories of blasted rock connected a sprawling bizarre of open-faced shacks. Subway tunnels, stacked atop one another, had been drilled through to create a single great hall. The walls were hollowed, hosting an inlay of carts and stands. The smells were overpowering.

Smoke from cooked meats wafted in the air, creating a marine layer in the upper reaches. Aromas of spices and incents undercut the savory smells. Movement flickered in the upper levels, but for the most part, the halls were silent. I jumped back, keeping a mental picture of the scene as I took cover. As the rest stacked up, a few stragglers filtered into the dimly lit hall. The market was immense - far larger than anything Brutus had described. I had expected a single long corridor with known entry and egress points.

Further down was another entrance and another beyond that. I waved Titus up, pulling him close. “Take five guys and stack up at the far entrance. Make sure you bound across on your way.” He nodded and turned to grab five raiders. Once they had departed, I selected the next man up. “Take five and stack up at the next entrance.”

“What’s the signal?”

“Just watch me and go when I do.”

He nodded before grabbing his squad and bounding to the next hole. If at least three entrances connected this tunnel to the market, there was no telling how many more were on this level. Then there were the upper floors. I had only caught a glimpse but saw enough to recognize chipped tile that would’ve stood over a subway platform. If that was the case, each level had its own connecting corridors, and I counted at least four lines above us.

Distant cries drifted in from both sides. The stir we caused had a chain effect, setting off more unseen caverns of slaves. We have to move now. I pulled from my waistband a crude knife and wrapped my finger around the cloth grip fastened to a sharpened piece of sheet metal. The rest did the same. My heart raced, sending a metallic pang through my tastebuds. I tried to spit, to rid my mouth of the sour saliva, but only a lone strand spittled out and caught my chin. I wiped it as I rocked back and forth from the ball of my foot to the heel. A moment later, I was running at a dead sprint. Crude hovels streaked past my periphery as I trained my eyes on an open stand where a wisp of smoke drifted upward.

Before I could reach its shelf holding a display of browned meat skewered with long rods, two raiders overtook my pace, snatching up the food. A lone man stepped out, his eyes seething as he watched the others make off with his goods. He tried to call out, but his words tumbled as a shiv was buried into the back of his skull to the hilt. The portly man dropped. His attacker placed the heel of his foot on his limp neck and yanked the blade free before continuing onto the next stand. Soon, every alley was being picked over. Shouts, cut short by a raider’s knife, punctuated the chaos.

In and out. In and out. I kept telling myself. I reached an empty table but noticed the door to the shack beyond it was cracked open. I vaulted over the face of the stand but didn’t quite clear it, catching my pants on a jagged edge. I stabilized myself with one leg while the other was snagged. Pulling with both hands to get free, my eyes caught a faint outline inlaid into the metal. The paint was long gone, but an imprint remained. How the fuck did this get here? I unconsciously mumbled. The metallic sheet was stamped with a triangular insignia, ISP scrawled along its base. Below that were sunken ridges spelling VICTORIA.

I leaned in for a closer look with my foot still dangling in the air. “That’s not possible. It has to be a replica,” I said, running my fingers along the surface as though it would validate its authenticity. When I reached the second to last letter, two meaty hands grabbed hold of my shirt, yanking me to the ground. My pant leg ripped and released, taking some skin with it. I landed with a thud. Two wide flared nostrils gaped down at me. Beady eyes set under a heavy brow glared, looking me up and down.

Before he could make his next move, I jammed the point of my knife into his calf. He let out a short grunt before slamming the toe of his boot into my arm. The knife dislodged, scattering a fan of blood on the floor. I lost control of it as it sailed across the alley. I was nearly to my feet when his thick arms wrapped around my chest, pile-driving me back into the dirt face first. Writhing and kicking, I couldn’t free his grip. Hands slick with blood, I tried to pry his fingers loose. A cut above my eye opened up, releasing a pool around my head. I pulled my knees to my chest and bucked. His body released enough separation to allow my hips to turn. With one foot anchored around his leg, I spun, throwing my shoulder into his ribs. The brute fell off. He landed flat on his back, leaving an opening for me to climb on top. Mounting him in a guard position, I dug my forearm into his throat while the other pressed down with all my weight. Now, he was squirming and kicking but couldn’t overcome my size. His beady eyes widened, surrounding his dark pupils with white. His pasty lips, blotched with blood and mucus, sputtered as the last convulsion left his chest.

I pulled away. I was utterly drained. My hands shook, and my feet refused to answer my brain’s commands. The shack door creaked open. A mousey face poked out, looking down at the lifeless body and then at me. She could only have been five years old. Her little lip quivered. The door slammed shut, followed by the sound of a latch.

I dragged myself off the ground, catching an eye on the stamped metal again when the hall erupted. A short burst crackled in the air at first. Then, a torrent of gunfire washed over the market. Brown blouses were fleeing for the exits. The upper levels flashed like cameras at a concert. I lept over the table and ran toward the entrance.

Sparks splashed on the concrete floor as rounds missed their mark. A heavy cloud of dust hung in the air from all the traffic. I was empty-handed, but the others would have grabbed enough with any luck. I rounded an alley lined with stalls. The holes we came out of were just in the distance, their arches hanging above black circles. A man, naked as the day he was born, stepped through the nearest entrance. He looked out on the market, seemingly unfazed by the heavy incoming fire. Then, another stepped through. And another. After two more steps, the floodgates opened. A torrent of barren, decrepit bodies gushed from the holes. The slaves. Fuck. They washed over the stalls, pulling them apart in search of food. My hearing cut out. The gunfire, mixed with shrieking screams, blotted out my eardrums.

A river of slaves flowed past me. They opened up a lane as they ran, allowing me to slip through. They were dropping in every direction. A bulb of bloody mist clung to the suspended dirt as bullet after bullet met soft flesh. The river pouring from the entrance had diminished to fits and spurts. The hallway beyond was mostly clear, save for a few limping stragglers. Ten or so of my guys were stacked on the wall.

“Where’s everyone else?” I yelled to the nearest man.

Holding his bounty tightly, he replied, “Still in there. Some of them didn’t make it. Those guns, they just came out of nowhere and started cutting people down.”

I gripped his shoulder and nodded. His voice grew more frantic with each syllable. Hunkering down, I waited for others to make it out. Images of the stamped metal sheet replayed in my mind, drawing more and more questions.

Gunfire intensified in the next room. A small group emerged from the market, dragging a wounded young man behind them. Titus. His head was slumped down, bouncing off the ground when they dropped his arms. I quickly picked him up. I was the only one that didn’t have supplies.

“We have to get the fuck out of here,” one of the men yelled.

“They’re right behind us. Go, go, go,” another said as he bolted past the group.

I slung Titus’s limp body over my shoulders and followed. We ran, retracing our path through the winding corridors. The group we left to free the slaves was running toward us. Some paused to help carry food while others ran past to pick up dropped supplies. Titus grew heavy as we stepped over the two bodies of the men we fought off earlier. We’re almost there.

Gunshots echoed off the walls. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but their report grew more distant the further we ran. Soon, the corridors became familiar, and we descended the long sloping gradient into our camp. Ariel was among the first to greet us. Upon seeing her, I doubled over, releasing my grip on Titus to allow another to pull him off. My legs and back burned. My stomach ached with hunger from the exertion. Ariel handed me a water canister and tried to help me to my feet. It was no use. I wobbled momentarily before collapsing to the ground.

It was only then that I noticed Titus’s vacant stare. His slack jaw hung to the side as his neck awkwardly pinned his forehead to the ground. I reached out, shaking his shoulder. The spring in his neck released, dropping his gaunt cheek to the dirt. “Titus,” I said with a raspy parched voice. I shook him again. “Titus.”

“Jack, come on, get up. Lets get you top side,” Ariel said as she tried to take my arm.

“Titus,” I said louder, pulling his shirt. His head rolled up on itself as his shoulder slid across the ground. I knew he was gone, but I couldn’t admit it. Not then. I leaned over, shaking him so hard that his heels swayed.

“Jack, please,” Ariel pleaded. “Take him,” she said to the others.

“Where?” one replied.

Frantic, she replied, “Anywhere. Just get him out of here.”

A small group that had remained behind during the raid scooped up Titus’s body and carried him off. A limp hand dragging across the gravel was the last I saw of him. Ariel managed to get me up with the help of another. Taking one arm each, they shuffled me to the safe house entrance. When we arrived, the raiders were fast at work, passing up their bounty. They formed a line, handing supplies up the hole to be stored for later.

Women and children lined the hall, gorging on skewers of meat handed out by the raiders. One reached out with a stick. I took it. Seared whitish pink flesh pealed in slivers from the bed rod. I went to bite, but Ariel slapped it out of my hand before I could.

I looked at her, my hungry eyes doing the talking.

“You don’t want to eat that.”

I looked around before replying, “Why?”

“Jack, there’s no animals in the city. Any meat brought in had been through a chain of plants and only given out as processed protein.”

My senses were beginning to return, but I couldn’t piece together what she was trying to say. “They have meat at the capital. Plus, that’s meat. It’s right there. I can see it. I can smell it.”

“There’s no animals here. And they didn’t get that from a capital food shipment,” Ariel replied with soft but squinted eyes.

Those weren’t slaves. They were livestock. “Jesus, we have to stop–” I began, but Ariel put a hand over my mouth. I pulled away, nearly stumbling backward as I did. “No. No, they can’t.”

“They have to,” she said with a defeated voice.