The steam cycle began at exactly 0400 hours.
It started with a low, subterranean rumble that vibrated through the soles of Zane's boots, shaking the rusted catwalk they were crouching on.
Then, a series of massive pneumatic valves slammed open overhead, and the world turned white.
Superheated steam erupted from the vents lining the tunnel walls, filling the drainage pipe with a blinding, scalding fog.
The temperature spiked instantly, turning the sewer into a pressure cooker.
"Now!" Wren screamed over the roar of the venting gas.
She grabbed Kael by the collar of his ruined suit and shoved him forward.
Zane followed close behind, shielding his face with his arm as the steam hissed against his skin.
It was hot enough to blister, but the dense, Essence-infused flesh of his body absorbed the heat with only a dull, stinging sensation.
They ran blindly through the whiteout. The visibility was zero, but Wren had memorized the map. She counted her steps, shouting directions over the deafening hiss.
"Left! Ten paces! Watch the drop!"
Zane grabbed Kael's belt and hauled him over a gap in the grating, the boy shrieking as his feet dangled over the rushing black water below.
"The filter!" Wren yelled, stopping abruptly. "It's right ahead! Kael, get your hand ready!"
Zane shoved Kael forward. Through the swirling steam, a massive, circular blast door loomed out of the fog.
It was made of reinforced steel, cleaner than anything else in the sewers, and studded with blinking red lights.
Two heavy auto-turrets hung from the ceiling on hydraulic arms, their sensors sweeping back and forth.
Currently, they were erratic, confused by the heat interference of the steam cycle, but their barrels were still tracking movement.
"The panel!" Zane roared, shoving Kael toward a small, glass-covered console next to the door. "Touch it!"
Kael was shaking so hard he could barely stand. He reached out with a trembling hand, his eyes fixed on the turrets above.
[...don't shoot... please don't shoot... it's me... it's family...]
His fear was a sharp, frantic static in Zane's mind.
Kael pressed his palm against the scanner.
A beam of red light swept over his hand.
BEEP.
"Identity Confirmed: Kael Aris. Access Granted."
The heavy hydraulic locks groaned and disengaged with a sound like a dying beast. The blast door hissed and began to slide open, revealing a dark, cool corridor beyond.
"Move!" Wren shouted, shoving Kael inside and diving after him.
Zane followed, slipping through the gap just as the steam cycle began to wind down.
The venting hiss faded, and the red lights on the auto-turrets stabilized, locking onto the empty space where they had just been standing.
The blast door slammed shut behind them, sealing out the heat and the noise.
They were in.
Zane took a deep breath. The air here was filtered, cool, and smelled of ozone and... antiseptic. It was a jarring change from the rot of the Sump.
They were in a long, concrete hallway lined with heavy conduits.
"The Iron-Heart basement," Wren whispered, her voice echoing slightly. "We're under the foundry floor."
She pulled Kael to his feet. "Where's the stash? Where does Rivet keep the money?"
Kael wiped sweat and grease from his face. "The vault is on the top level. In his office. But... we can't go up there yet. The lift is guarded."
"We'll handle the guards," Zane said, checking his UI.
ESSENCE: 94% STATUS: OPTIMAL
He had barely burned anything. The run had been physical, not magical.
"No," Kael whispered, looking down the corridor. "You don't understand. This isn't just the basement. This is the... holding area."
Zane frowned. The other use of Grief Sight flared to life, overlaying his vision with the emotional spectrum of the immediate area.
The corridor ahead wasn't empty. Behind the heavy steel doors lining the walls, he saw glows.
Dozens of them.
They were faint, pulsing with a deep, hopeless blue.
Despair.
"The Candidates," Zane realized, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "This is where he keeps them."
Wren looked at the doors, her expression hardening. "Not our problem, Stain. We're here for the head, not the livestock. If we open those doors, we trip the alarms. We leave them."
Zane walked to the nearest door. It had a small, reinforced viewing slit. He looked inside.
The cell was small, clean, and white.
A young man sat on a cot, staring at the wall.
He wasn't chained. He wasn't beaten.
He was just... waiting. His eyes were empty.
[...when does she come?... is it today?... just take me...]
The resignation was absolute.
It was the same flavour Zane had tasted from the plague victims, but cleaner. Sterile.
"They're being prepped," Zane whispered. "Fattened up for the slaughter."
He looked at the next door. A girl, maybe twelve.
[...I miss the sun... I miss the mud...]
Zane turned back to Wren and Kael. The cold stone in his gut felt heavy, not with power, but with a sudden, crushing weight of responsibility.
"We're letting them out," Zane said.
Wren stepped in front of him, her spear blocking his path. "No. We stick to the plan. We kill Rivet, we take the money, we leave. You start playing hero, and the whole facility goes on lockdown. We'll be trapped."
"They're kids, Wren," Zane said, his voice low and dangerous. "They're people Rivet snatched from the streets."
"They're dead weight!" Wren hissed. "You open those doors, and what? You lead a parade of traumatized Sump-rats through a fortress full of killers? You can't save everyone, Zane. You're a Reaper, remember?"
"I remember," Zane said. He looked at Kael. "Does opening the cells trigger an alarm?"
Kael hesitated, looking between the angry girl and the shadow-wreathed monster.
"Silent alarm," Kael admitted. "It alerts the control room. But... if you disable the local hub first..."
He pointed to a junction box at the end of the hall.
"Disable it," Zane ordered.
Wren slammed the butt of her spear against the ground. "You are an idiot. A soft, sentimental idiot. This is going to get us killed."
"Maybe," Zane said, walking past her toward the junction box. "But I'm not leaving them for Her. Whoever this Pale Lady is, she doesn't get to eat today."
Wren cursed fluently for ten seconds, but she followed him. "Fine. You disable the hub. I'll watch the lift. But if the guards come down, I'm using these kids as meat shields."
Zane reached the junction box.
He didn't know how to hack it, but he knew how to break things. He placed his hand on the metal casing and channelled a spike of Essence. Not despair, but rot. The power of entropy.
The metal rusted and crumbled under his touch. The wires inside sparked and withered, turning to grey dust.
The lights in the corridor flickered and died, replaced by the red glow of the emergency track lighting.
"Hub's down," Zane said.
He went to the first door and ripped the locking mechanism out of the wall with his bare hand. The metal tore like wet cardboard.
The door swung open.
The young man inside looked up, blinking in the red light. He didn't move. He didn't run. He just stared.
"Get up," Zane said. "You're free."
The man didn't move, his hands were shaking frantically. [...trick?... test?...]
Zane grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him into the hall. "Run. The drainage pipe is open. Go."
He moved to the next door. And the next.
Within minutes, the hallway was filled with twenty confused, terrified people.
They were clean, well-fed, but completely broken.
"They're not running," Wren observed, watching the huddle of Candidates with disgust. "They're sheep. They're waiting for orders."
Zane looked at them.
They were paralyzed by the sudden freedom. They needed a push.
He took a breath and activated his Whispers, projecting his voice into their heads.
He didn't use despair. He used the reverse.
[...RUN. LIVE. THE CAGE IS OPEN.]
It was a command fuelled by the power of a death god.
The irony only worked if he spoke, but he could control with this skill…, mostly.
The Candidates flinched as if slapped. The glazing faded from their eyes, replaced by sudden, frantic panic.
"Go!" Zane shouted verbally. "The pipe! Now!"
The herd moved.
They scrambled over each other, rushing toward the blast door Zane had jammed open.
"Happy?" Wren asked as the last Candidate disappeared into the steam-filled pipe.
"Ecstatic," Zane muttered. "Now let's kill the—"
DING.
The sound of the elevator arrival bell cut him off.
At the far end of the hall, the heavy brass doors of the freight elevator slid open.
Zane and Wren spun around, weapons ready.
It wasn't a squad of guards.
It was one man.
He was huge, wider than Slag, wearing a custom-fitted suit of heavy, scrap-plate armor painted a dull, rusty red.
His face was a roadmap of scars, and his eyes were intelligent, cold, and amused.
He held a massive, rotary-cannon style weapon—a heavy rivet gun modified for combat—slung casually over one shoulder.
Rivet.
He stepped out of the elevator, looking at the empty cells, then at the destroyed junction box, and finally at Zane and Wren.
Kael whimpered and tried to hide behind Zane.
"Hello, nephew," Rivet said, his voice like grinding gears. "I see you brought friends."
He looked at Zane. He didn't look scared.
Infact, he looked... impressed.
"The Sump-Demon. I have been expecting you," Rivet mused. "You killed Gart. You killed Slag. You blew up my Processing Plant. And now you're stealing my tithe."
He lowered the massive rivet gun, the barrels beginning to spin with a high-pitched whine.
"You're a very expensive pest," Rivet said. "But I have to admit... you're efficient."
Zane stepped in front of Wren and Kael, the shadows coiling around him, his battery pulsing.
"I'm here to close your account, Rivet right?" Zane said.
Rivet laughed. "Yes and… Bold. But you made a mistake, Demon. You let the livestock go."
He nodded toward the open blast door where the Candidates had fled.
"You cleared the line of fire."
Rivet pulled the trigger.
The gun roared.