The second job just required them to talk to the leader or someone else of importance from the new gang that had moved in. The client wanted to know their intentions toward the scarpo town of Parker. Liking wanting to know if this gang was going to pray on the people of the town, or if they had other activities in mind.

  Of course, there was no guarantee that they would get a straight answer. However, all they could do was go in fully armed and ask their question. Anything beyond that was beyond them. Hopefully, the client understood that as well.

  Due to the recent reveal that the various gangs were looking for him, Trace decided to wear the rebreather mask to help hide his identity.

  The more established gangs in Denver were usually willing to work with and talk to edgers. The newer gangs tended to be a toss of the dice. Some of them saw how the larger groups worked and followed their example. While others wanted to be different, they wanted to be seen as more in control of their territory. They were typically the gangs that were eliminated the fastest.

  As a result, they had no idea what they were walking into. This gang was an unknown at the moment, as was the way they would react to Trace and Monroe’s presence and question.

  Luckily for them, it seemed the members of this gang had all come from other larger gangs. When they showed up and identified themselves, runners were sent back to the house they were making into their headquarters.

  After that, all they had to do was wait around for a while.

  They weren’t allowed further inside the territory, as one of the leaders decided to come back with the runner and meet them.

  Monroe and Trace hopped out of the semi to meet the tatted-up, mohawk sporting man. He looked ridiculous with his mix of curly-edged sunglasses and the silly neon-pink mohawk. Not that either of them was going to say anything to him about it.

  A few minutes later, they were back in the semi and on their way. The man may have looked ridiculous, but he had been much more professional with them than either had been expecting. He had danced around the topic a bit, but eventually replied that they were working to expand their area of control outside of Denver. The eventual goal was to create a gang-controlled scarpo town of their own.

  It was an interesting idea, and they didn’t plan on attacking Parker. Instead, they were going to concentrate on other pursuits, such as guns, drugs, and perhaps the occasional raid on passing unprotected gonk-brained shippers.

  That was all they needed to know. In truth, a lot of gangs had legitimate businesses that they ran. For this group, it would be the scarpo town. It was an ambitious project for a new gang, but it had been done before by more established groups in the past. It somewhat went against the point of being a scarpo town, but that wasn’t for them to worry about.

  It was an easy job, and the pay reflected it. Monroe started driving them toward the third job, hopeful that they had completed the first two quickly enough that it was still ongoing.

  Trace, meanwhile, sent the report off to Stick-Point, and also let him know they were heading to the next job site.

  A couple of minutes later, the job broker replied with a short message, saying that he understood. They had finished both jobs rather quickly, and the third had only just begun. He also wanted to speak with them both when they returned.

  “We’re good to go. He says that the other teams have only just begun working on the site. We worked quick.” Trace hesitated before deciding to just say it. “He also mentioned that he wants to speak with us in person when we get back.”

  Monroe gripped the steering wheel tightly, making it creak beneath his fake hand. “What did you send him? I don’t think we did anything wrong with how we handled either of those jobs. Do you?”

  “If I had to guess, it’s nothing we did, but something Phyllis said. Remember what she was threatening to do to his family?”

  It took a second for the man to mentally replay everything and hit on that particular conversation. “Err, no, I must have been gone during that particular conversation.”

  “Oh, well, it was colorful and very informative. She wanted to send them to the underfloors.”

  “Wait, so those actually exist? I always thought the underfloors were a myth. Something cooked up by people desperate to pin one more conspiracy on the corporations.”

  “This is nice,” Trace grinned. “I know something you don’t for once, and yes, the underfloors are real. Though I can understand why you might think otherwise. They’re practically nothing more than a Denver legend by this point, and only those of us who grew up on the streets know the truth.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Monroe glanced at him in confusion. “What? Why would that make any difference?”

  “Where do you think all the test subjects the corps use come from? The streets. Most die, but those that survive have stories to tell. I knew kids who would even throw themselves at the agents, volunteering for the position when the time came. At least inside the corpo facilities, they would be given clean clothes, be warm, and fed. Even if there was a high chance of death with some of the experiments.”

  He took an angry shuddering breath, watching as destroyed ruins rolled on by. “Anyway, suffice it to say that enough of them have heard conversations about the underfloors that we know they are real. Though inaccessible, at least from what I understand.” He finished with a snicker.

  Monroe sensed he didn’t want to talk about the subject anymore and let it drop. He was simply amazed that the underfloors were real. They were supposed to have miles and miles of tunnels, creating an underground city of sorts. It had grown out of a project connected to the old Denver International Airport back in the day that had taken on a life of its own. The myth, or legend, was that it was supposed to be a bomb shelter for the entire city. There were dozens of floors buried underground for the project.

  However, that was years and years ago. There were no reports of it ever being used during the wars, and people gradually just began to believe it was an urban myth.

  Now he was being told differently.

  Trace let his mind go blank as they drove. This was a topic that brought up bad memories for him and was yet another reason why he had distanced himself from others growing up. Who wanted to get close to others, only to then watch them throw themselves at some corpo agent who gleefully signed their death warrant? Even back then, he would have rather starved than do that.

  Ahead of them, the remains of a massive store rose up. The old parking lot had held up remarkably well over the years. While the multi-storied, almost warehouse-looking store had, until recently, been in one piece as well. Now, there was a gaping hole that was several hundred yards across.

  Monroe backed up the trailer, so it was near one of the open doors of the store and put it in park. “That is a very big hole.” He muttered needlessly.

  Trace nodded and pulled out his rope and hook. The scout rifle and assault rifle would stay in the semi, as he doubted there would be enough space down below to utilize either effectively. Instead, he opted for the shotgun, loading up his courier bag with extra shells.

  Monroe attached a sling to his oversized assault rifle and slipped it over his back. He had a small thigh pouch he strapped to his left leg and a multi-pouch affair that hugged his rear. It wasn’t as good as a full backpack, but everyone had their preferences.

  From one of the closed closets, he pulled out a couple of lengths of rope and draped them across his shoulder. “Ready?” The big man asked, after going over his own equipment a second time.

  “I am. Do you have light though?” With his new eyes, Trace didn’t really need one, but that wasn’t an advantage that Monroe had.

  A big meaty hand patted a pouch on his rear. “Yep, good looking out. I think we’re ready.” Both grabbed a couple of sodas for later and hopped out of the tall vehicle.

  While they had been getting ready, a few edgers had surrounded the semi, inspecting it, while they waited for the new arrivals to come out.

  “You Tune and Flash-Fry?” A dirt-covered woman asked as Trace appeared.

  He nodded.

  “Good, I received a message from my job broker earlier that we would be getting some more reinforcements soon. Come on, let's show you what we’re dealing with.” She spun on her heel and led them through the broken glass doors of the ancient store.

  The floor of the place was mostly smooth concrete, with cracks running through it, all of them originating from the hole. Dozens of ropes had been tied off to nearby pillars, or anchors that had been shot into the concrete.

  Up close, the hole looked even bigger. There were edgers rappelling down each of the quadrants of the circular hole, making their way to the bottom.

  “Did you make it down?” Trace asked their guide as he peered over the edge.

  She shook her head. “I ran out of rope, maybe a quarter of the way down. Everyone is busy creating relay points at the moment. We have no idea where the opening, if any, might be, which is why we have so many groups going down.”

  “Understandable. Well, Flash-Fry and I both have ropes, so how about instead of us trying to find our own way down, you just tell us which area you want us to help relay down?” Trace glanced at Monroe to make sure he was alright with that.

  He nodded in agreement.

  She shrugged, the action dislodging some mud and dirt from her face and arms. “If you want to help my group, that’s fine with me. We were one of the first ones here, but our progress has been limited due to a lack of ropes. We didn’t expect it to be nearly this deep.” She pointed out one of the nearby ropes anchored securely to the floor.

  “Alright, I guess, I’ll head down next,” Trace removed the hook from his first length of rope and handed it to Monroe. “Do you have any wall anchors I can use?”

  “Sort of.” One of her teammates handed him a pouch with a whole mess of different anchors, including more floor anchors. “Like I said, we weren’t exactly planning on this being a climbing mission. The report we received indicated that the hole was large but only a hundred feet deep. The large part is certainly true, but the depth…” She shook her head. “Some of the other teams have already gone four rope lengths deep. We only had the two.”

  Trace had brought two lengths of rope, and Monroe was carrying the same, but he also had two more in the truck if they needed them.

  “I’ll do the best I can, I guess. I’ll see you a bit.” Trace grabbed the rope and swung himself over the ledge into the waiting darkness below.

  “Wait, doesn’t he need a light?” The woman’s teammate asked as he began rappelling down.

  Trace was using the prodigious grip strength of his cyberware arm to hold himself steady as he rappelled down. For whatever reason, in the heat of the moment, he had felt like showing off and hadn’t even bothered to put on any safety equipment, or so much as wrap the rope around his waist. He had faith in his arm and hand, but he still regretted not taking the extra safety measures.

  After he upped the gain in his eyes, the half-measure before he actually switched to night vision or blackout modes. He began to truly be able to see how deep the hole was. Not only that, but he also began to see movement at the far bottom.

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