The door opened again an hour later.
Not slammed this time. Opened.
Light from upstairs spilled down the stairwell—warm, yellow, dirty. Music thumped overhead, muffled but alive. The smell of alcohol followed it down.
Dungle came alone.
He stopped halfway down the steps, looking at them like he was deciding which parts were useful.
"Up," he said. "I don't like explaining things while people are sitting on my floor."
Gray stood slowly. Mara followed, stiff and wary.
Dungle gestured them toward a battered table dragged into the center of the basement. Someone had bolted it to the floor at some point, then given up halfway through.
Beside the table, Dungle dropped something heavier.
A map.
Paper laminated in yellowing plastic, edges curled and burned. Handwritten annotations crowded the margins—names crossed out, routes circled and re-circled, arrows drawn and redrawn until the ink bled through.
Mara leaned forward despite herself. "Is that… the city?"
"Parts of it," Dungle said. "The parts people don't brag about."
Gray stiffened as he recognized the markings.
Mara didn't. She frowned. "I don't recognize any of these places."
"That's because you've never left your quadrant," Dungle said bluntly. "You live in Canteros East. Transit markets. Shared housing. Repair work. That's your world."
Mara bristled. "You don't know me."
Dungle smiled thinly. "I know your address type."
Gray cut in, voice low. "Show us the route."
Dungle obliged.
He tapped the map.
"This is Canteros Central," he said, tracing a thick, well-maintained line. "Government buildings. Compliance centers. Clean transit. Tech "utopia". You breathe wrong there, a drone notices."
His finger slid outward.
"Industrial belt. Old factories, power redistribution yards. Loud, ugly, mostly ignored."
Then further down.
"And this," he said, pressing his thumb over a shaded area where the map was torn and taped back together, "is South Underline."
Mara squinted. "There's nothing there."
"Officially," Dungle agreed. "Unofficially? It's where closed routes lead to when the city decides it doesn't want to answer questions."
Gray exhaled slowly. "You asshole. You're sending us to that place?"
"You got a problem?" Dungle said shaking the remote in his hand.
Mara shook her head. "Why would anyone even build routes leading there?"
"They didn't," Dungle said. "They accumulated over time."
He reached into his coat and flicked his wrist.
A hologram sputtered to life above the table.
It was unstable—edges tearing, resolution misaligned, colors bleeding. The image jittered like it was struggling to stay coherent.
A cargo silhouette hovered there. Rectangular. Dense. Wrapped in layered shielding that glitched between eras—brass fixtures phasing in and out of newer composite plating. Cloth-wrapped wiring ghosted over fiber lines, never quite syncing. At the center of it, a red core shined brightly.
The image hummed faintly.
Mara felt the keepsong twitch against her chest.
Gray noticed immediately.
"What is that," Mara asked. "What does it do?"
Dungle didn't answer her.
"This," he said, tapping the hologram, which distorted violently under his finger, "This is a cargo shipment we were supposed to be in charge of transporting. It's been imported. From outside the city. High paying clients."
"So what's the issue?" Gray said.
"The issue, is that the cargo never reached us. Client bastard's runnin' out of patience. Says he'll terminate and report all of us to compliance if it isn't delivered to him within the next week. Filthy, these money headed rats." Dungle grunted.
"Who is this client of yours?" Gray asked.
"None of your business boy. Your job is to retrieve the cargo and deliver it to me in exchange for...well, freedom."
Dungle's gaze flicked to Mara. "You don't need to know what it is, curiosity is not part of the job description."
"I do if it's something illegal-"
"Gray is this girl stupid? Where did you even find her?"
He raised the remote.
Pain detonated.
Mara cried out as electricity tore through her spine, sharper than before, longer. She collapsed fully this time, hands clawing uselessly at the concrete as her vision tunneled. Blood started to flow from her eyes.
Gray swore, stepping forward. "Dungle Stop! You're going to—"
The pain cut off.
Mara lay there, gasping, muscles twitching, teeth chattering uncontrollably.
"Don't ask questions you're not equipped to survive the answers to," Dungle said calmly.
Gray knelt beside her. "Mara. Hey. Look at me."
She couldn't. Tears and blood streamed down her face, unbidden, humiliation and agony mixing hot in her chest.
Dungle continued as if nothing had happened.
"This cargo was supposed to move from an old storage node to a private buyer. Power reroute collapsed the line. The cargo never reached the surface."
Mara forced her head up, voice shaking. "So it's just… stuck there?"
"Not stuck," Dungle corrected. "Waiting."
He slid a finger along a thin red line drawn through South Underline.
"The thing about this place is it wouldn't be a hub for all sorts of hidden shit if it was easily accessible. This corridor opens when the city reroutes power from the lower substations for system and audio recalibrations. Forty minutes. Maybe less."
"And you've already tried," Gray said.
"Yes," Dungle replied. "My people went in."
"And?" Gray asked tightly.
"They came back breathing," Dungle said. "But wrong. Forgetful. Couldn't remember the route. Couldn't explain what they saw."
Mara hugged herself, shaking.
"We're replacements?" she whispered.
"Expendable doesn't mean useless," Dungle replied.
"Why do you think we'll do any better than your men?" Mara shot back.
Gray looked at her—really looked.
Her hands wouldn't stop trembling.
"For starters, I don't intend on losing any more of my people. And your buddy over here as a special gift for these kinds of jobs. Isn't that right Gray? Not like you have a choice now anyway."
The remote clicked softly in Dungle's hand.
Gray's jaw clenched.
"Enough," he said. "We'll do it."
Mara snapped her head up. "Gray—"
"I said we'll do it," he repeated, louder now. "You get what you want. She doesn't get hurt again."
Dungle smiled. "That's the spirit. It's like I have the source code to you now Gray. You really care about someone except yourself for once huh?"
Mara was stunned at those words. She didn't speak up.
"Fuck off." Gray said, staring straight at him, "The chips come out as soon as this is done."
Dungle nodded once. "Debt cleared. Chips removed. I'm not that evil."
Mara laughed weakly. "Are you serious...?"
"I'm kind to useful ones," Dungle said. "Make yourself useful."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Oh," he added. "That corridor? It doesn't forgive hesitation. People who stop moving tend to stay. Try to wrap this up before the next lullaby cycle. The city 'changes' after it."
The door shut.
The music upstairs swelled again.
Mara sagged against the table, exhausted, furious.
"I didn't agree to this," she whispered.
Gray didn't look away from the map. "I know."
"You're choosing this."
"I'm choosing you not screaming again."
The keepsong chimed once—sharp, uneasy.
Mara finally collapsed onto to the floor unconscious. She didn't have the strength to stay up anymore.
"Mara!-"
Gray dragged her across the room and made her body lean against the wall.
"Goddammit, why should i be the one to do any of this?" Gray muttered, punching the wall, posing a question to thin air as though someone was listening.