Twenty silent minutes after leaving Monymusk forest found Devon perched atop a rusting water tower several blocks from his destination coordinating next steps. Around him, midnight city streets bustled with vibrant nightlife and patrolling emergency responders. Dancehall music pulsed from brightly lit clubs and bars. Groups of sharply dressed partygoers laughed and jostled boisterously between venues. Amidst the energetic crowds, vendors hawked steaming jerk chicken and festival to hungry club hoppers.

However, several blocks east he detected violent neon emissions signalling roaming Neon Punksters were also prowling for targets as Portland slept. But collaring those powered gangsters wasn't tonight's priority. Cutting off the newest Loki-7 supply vector took precedence currently.

"Plenty of Babylon patrol downtown tonight. Gotta stay low-key flexing through this mission." Devon tapped his wrist console to access area schematics identifying possible sentry posts, CCTV nodes and tactical positions that offered optimal sight lines or quick cover. With skill and caution, an expert could slip past conventional safeguards like smoke through screening. But being spotted risked his encrypted status among local networks. Remaining a ghost among data banks facilitated more extensive vigilance patrols.

Devon hopped down to ground level and continued to observe his environment. Slipping past a boisterous bachelor party, Devon pulled up his hoodie to avoid unwanted attention. He had changed into civilian clothing upon leaving the remote laboratory compound, the better to blend into the bustling urban terrain. Now he carried only the metallic briefcase entrusted to him by the mysterious Vargas. Its unknown contents likely furthered the spread of illicit chemicals wreaking havoc nationwide.

As Devon neared the delivery address specified by his new employer - he noted increased police presence patrolling these blocks. Squads of armed officers shadowed the periphery of nightlife hotspots, warily monitoring for signs of powered troublemakers. Reports were growing daily of civilians mutated into violent freaks by illicit neon pills purchased through underground channels. These regulated sentries kept vigilant guard against superpowered gangsters and hormonally charged clubbers getting rowdy on empowering substances.

Ducking down a deserted side street, Devon checked his mobile GPS to confirm proximity to the target drop point. Only two more blocks. He would maintain a low profile delivering whatever illicit goods were stashed in this case, then trace distribution channels back to the root suppliers. His recent messages to Tanya the Cocoa Fox student hero regarding this risky infiltration remained unread for now. Hopefully, she wasn't out searching for him already.

Soon Devon reached a particularly gloomy alley lined by crumbling brick warehouse facades tagged recklessly with gang insignia. The only visible occupants were two emaciated stray dogs prowling for scraps between dumpsters. The lack of foot traffic and absence of CCTV made this district optimal for subtle exchanges between black market affiliates.

According to Devon's phone, the side door of the middle warehouse should be his shady recipient. Creeping closer, his nose crinkled at the overpowering stench of stale urine and chemical fumes wafting from the scarred metal door under the flickering light. Clearly these premises saw heavy traffic from the streets' more disreputable elements. All that mattered now was safely achieving delivery then tracking where the case ended up next.

Knock-Knock!

Rapping his knuckles against the graffiti-stained door brought shuffling sounds from the gloomy interior. A small sliding panel set into faded wood rasped open to reveal bloodshot grey eyes squinting suspiciously.

"Who ah troubling Killz business this bad hour?" asked the unseen watchdog.

Devon cleared his throat, willing his voice steady. "Special delivery from the Doc. Meant to give to Killz directly." He extended the metal briefcase into limited view. Hopefully the sight of the prestigious courier's case signalled legitimacy.

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However, the guard remained distrustful, glancing Devon over critically before responding gruffly through the sliding panel. "How me fi trust yuh, bredda? Plenty Babylon agents sniffing around here nowadays desperate to stop our runs..." His scowl deepened. "Prove you're no spy for the system!"

Sweat beaded Devon's brow. Gaining access relied fully upon selling this shady group on his harmlessness. If negotiations were deadlocked, he might need to infiltrate by force. Yet that risked spooking bigger conspirators relying on discretion.

Inspiration dawned suddenly and Devon reached into his hoodie pocket to withdraw a small glass vial. "Tell Killz that Doc V sent a new vial of Neon as encouragement for his hustle." Extending the glowing container of VB-177 lent credibility regarding his inside affiliations.

The doorman's sunken eyes widened eagerly at the sight of exotic biochemistry. Making a snap decision, he unlatched three heavy bolts securing the entrance then pulled it halfway open. "Come now bwoy, and share more 'bout yuh tight dealings with the Doc..."

Relieved at bypassing initial suspicion, Devon slipped inside gripping his delivery case. Now to steer interactions smoothly towards larger goals.

What greeted him beyond the heavy doorway was a shadowy warehouse space cluttered with stacks of wooden produce pallets and packing crates in various states of damage. Murky chemical odours mixed with the cloying sweetness of burning sensimilla joints into a dense fug that hung low beneath metal rafters. The sole occupants visible were two armed young men in red bandannas playing cards atop a table cobbled from a cable spool. Heavy firearms lay close by. All sightlines focused warily upon the hooded visitor clutching a polished case.

Before tension could escalate, the scarred doorman brushed past Devon and barked loudly. "Steady ya weapons! This one bears gifts from the real boss. Him legit."

Seeing their member vouchsafing the stranger eased the gangsters’ aggressive stances marginally. With distrustful side-eyes remaining locked on Devon, the apparent leader called brusquely towards the gloomy stockroom. "Killz! Some fancy youth here come to see yuh claiming Vargas clout. Look important so mi let him in to parley..."

"Vargas eh?" From the shadowed office shuffled a wiry figure wearing an expensive silk shirt and bracelets that seemed at odds with dismal surroundings. The man called Killz sported prison tattoos on sinewy forearms and a trendy facemask dangling loose around his neck. His probing stare swept Devon critically. "Don't recall requiring any fresh meat couriers... Yuh sure he checks out?" This query was aimed sidelong toward the wary guards who deferred back to the lead one uncertainly.

"Him have coded case and vial matching the Doc's projects so..." The stooped watchdog shrugged. "Figure yuh want to interrogate the bwoy yuhself."

Killz rubbed unshaven chin while assessing the mystery visitor with evident distrust. All newcomers posed potential threats towards underground assets and routes. Perhaps this oddly dressed youth's privileges should be promptly rescinded.

Sensing tension thickening in the languid air, Devon chose that moment to step forward politely and introduce himself. "Greetings sir. My name is Devon, sent personally by Dr Vargas from him jungle lab. I Have a sensitive delivery to give directly to you." He extended the metal case tentatively like a precious offering, its polished surface reflected flickers of bare bulb light fixtures adorning ceiling beams.

The gang lord Killz glanced from an unknown courier to the prestigious container then back again with narrowed, sceptical eyes. After lingering seconds he stepped nearer and took the case slowly as one might handle volatile explosives. Laying the container atop the card table, deft hands keyed the cypher lock sealing contents from prying eyes.

Tense quiet filled the warehouse space. All focus hung on what emerged once digital tumblers finished aligning. With a faint hiss pressurized lid rose, mist pouring forth within which lay a single transparent vaccination tube filled with viscous neon fluid. Affixed was a note bearing concise Chemical encoding beside an abstract glyph - signatures marking significance to an elite few.

Killz regarded the vial’s mystifying contents for quiet breath before addressing the delivery agent point blank. “This parcel right enough. But a dutty liar still yuh be, country bwoy...”

Devon blinked uncertainly then flinched as Killz suddenly snatched his hoodie collar. “Vargas isn’t stupid enough to send only one man to deliver something so precious, and a newcomer at that.” The gang lord dragged Devon closer till they were nose to nose. “You must be a stinking spy...”

Panic raced through Devon’s thoughts under the scrutiny of bloodshot eyes. Had his activities fighting crime in disguise somehow already compromised his civilian identity? How was that possible?!

“W-wait now!” He blurted anxiously. “What kinda incrimination yuh playing at? I’m just the humble messenger...” Devon’s mind thumped, seeking a credible counter story. Was this it? Was he going to get busted?