BLOODCAPE

The stink hit first.

Sulfur. Oil. Wet metal. Blood that had dried weeks ago but still clung to the stone walls. Hernan pulled his scarf up higher across his face as they descended the narrow corridor, its walls pulsing with faint red lights that led downward in a spiral. Every step echoed wrong — just enough delay to make it feel like something else was following.

Aya kept pace beside him, eyes sharp, ponytail tucked under her hood. No jokes this time. In this place, humor got you marked.

Behind them, Renz drifted like smoke — new recruit, dark goggles, no sound to his steps. Too smooth. Too quiet. Too... perfect.

"Tunnel map ends here," Nico whispered through Hernan’s earpiece. Static crawled at the edges. "No feeds below. You’re blind from here on."

"Copy," Hernan said softly, tapping the side of his neck to cut the line. "Aya. Cut left at the split. Stay on auction floor visuals. Priority’s intel, not fireworks."

"Understood," she replied. No backtalk. Good.

They reached a fork — a jagged tear in the wall where decades-old concrete met newer, alien-infused plating. Someone had rebuilt this place from subway bones and off-world scrap. A whole economy breathed under here — where ex-heroes sold biotech on credit and Vaskari blades were auctioned like vintage wine.

Aya slipped into the left tunnel and vanished, holo-disguise flickering into a pale-skinned, white-haired Fethari hybrid — common enough to pass unnoticed.

Hernan and Renz moved forward.

"You know your part?" Hernan murmured, not looking back.