The Cobra rose, and a smile spread across his face, the smile of a man who had gotten what he wanted. He opened his arms slightly and stepped toward us, as if expecting an embrace.

  But Baldur moved first. He placed his palm against the Cobra's chest and stopped him in his place: "Don't exaggerate" he said.

  The Cobra's eyes met Baldur's, then he laughed: "As you wish," he said, drawing his arms back to his sides. "I forgot you guys weren't that type."

  He turned halfway around: "You will get everything you need. Maps, names, routes, spies who will contact you when you arrive..."

  We exchanged a quick glance. Rona didn't object, but she didn't look comfortable either. The hesitation was clear in her face.

  Baldur said: "Since we're in this together... what should we call you now? Did you buy a name after you became an emperor?"

  The Cobra turned to him: "No... I didn't. The title 'Cobra King' is enough for me."

  "Why didn't you buy a name?" Rona asked. "You have enough money to buy a full name. Being called Cobra... it sounds childish."

  The Cobra said: "Owning a name... is worthless to me."

  He paused, then continued: "Owning a name would give the wrong impression, suggesting I'm a decent human being. That's not what I want."

  Then he said, as if closing the subject: "By the way, let's leave this conversation. When will you be ready to leave?"

  Rona replied: "I don't really care... I have no work to do."

  "Neither do I... nothing ties me to this place right now..."

  But I should probably write a letter to my wife.

  Rona turned to Baldur: "Baldur, don't you work at the police department? Can you leave without telling them?"

  "No, don't worry about that," Baldur replied with tension. It alarmed us.

  The Cobra said firmly:"I'll give you some time... enough time to prepare yourselves, to understand what you'll really face. When you're ready, one of my assistants will accompany you to the Kingdom of the Mutants."

  One of his assistants nodded from the back, standing like a shadow beside him. There was an air of experience and skill about his face. No words passed between him and the Cobra, only a look that confirmed his readiness for the mission.

  He continued: "When you reach the border... you'll find rebels who will take you into the kingdom. You'll also receive new identities and new names. Though I doubt anyone in that entire empire knows anything about you... caution is still necessary."

  He adjusted and brushed his cloak: "I'll leave now, and my contact with you will be through telegraph. My assistant will give you the specific stations... The messages are encrypted, of course. Among the rebels, there are those who know the code."

  Then he said: "But for sensitive matters; things that shouldn't leave a paper trail; we'll use the natural method. Pigeons. Those simple birds."

  He didn't wait for our reply. He turned and disappeared into the depths of the alley, leaving behind a bag containing some equipment. The assistant remained standing in his place. He didn't move, didn't speak, and didn't seem to be waiting for direct permission. His presence was silent, watchful, until Baldur gestured for him to sit. He sat quietly on the wooden crate.

  He didn't interrupt us or ask any questions. He remained still, his eyes moving between us carefully, as if afraid to say something at the wrong moment.

  I had taken out the paper and begun writing the letter, after I told him:"You can speak... if you have something you want to say."

  He hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a tone less steady than I expected:"Actually, sir... I'm a great admirer of yours."

  He paused, as if testing our reaction, then continued:"There are many rumors about you... about the time you worked with the Cobra. Stories told as if they were legends. I never thought I'd see you like this, face to face."

  I folded the letter and put it in my bag. I caught a glimpse of the mine documents. For a moment, I thought about sending them with the letter. But no; they would stay with me. Whatever the risks.

  Suddenly Baldur asked the assistant: "Tell us now, how exactly will we reach the Kingdom of the Mutants? What route will we take?"

  The assistant turned to us and began explaining quietly: "We have two paths to reach our destination. The first goes by sea, which is the safest option right now, but it will cost us between two to three weeks of sailing."

  He paused to let us absorb the first path, then continued: "The second path goes through the territories of the New Pangea Empire. It's the shortest route, no doubt, but it lacks safety. Surveillance there is strict and dangers are high."

  "What about checkpoints in New Pangea?" Baldur asked. "Does your man have a way to bypass them without raising suspicion?"

  The assistant answered honestly: "In New Pangea, we rely on camouflage and speed. We don't have complete guarantees, but we have knowledge of the gaps."

  My gaze moved between Rona and Baldur. The sea route gives us time to think, but it might mean we arrive too late. Crossing New Pangea is a gamble that could end with us behind bars before we reach the Kingdom of the Mutants... or worse.

  Rona said, thinking carefully: "Let's take the longer route."

  Baldur looked up at her in surprise:"The longer route? Why?"

  Rona didn't hesitate:"Because the invasion of Urok won't happen soon. Not before they're forced to open another front first... and that gives us time we shouldn't waste gambling."

  She continued, leaning against the wall:

  "Theoretically, invasion is nearly impossible in the coming weeks. The Kingdom of the Mutants is geographically trapped. Either they break through New Pangea to the north, or they sail out to meet Valerian's defenses from the west. Either way, they must open a war front before reaching us... unless there's a secret alliance we don't know about. Only then would we be in real danger."

  She turned toward us:"But I think we can rule out an alliance between the Mutants and New Pangea or Valerian right now. If there was that kind of coordination, the Cobra would be the first to know about it. And since he doesn't have any leads on this matter, the possibility is weak."

  I nodded, not completely convinced, but I found nothing to contradict her.

  The assistant said, watching our conversation:"The Cobra anticipated you'd choose the sea route, so he prepared a fishing boat some time ago. It's the perfect means to cross the harbor without raising suspicion among Valerian's guards."

  Then he lowered his voice: "All empires now stand on a fragile balance with the Kingdom of the Mutants. No declared war, but no alliance either... silence from all sides. No one wants problems with the Mutants right now."

  He raised the intensity of his voice: "If Valerian discovered that a group left their territory heading into the heart of the Mutants' kingdom as infiltrators, they would consider it a direct threat to that balance. It wouldn't matter to them who you are or what your intentions are. What would matter is that their name not be linked to an operation that could ignite a war that harms them... If we're discovered, Valerian won't hunt us for trial. They'll hunt us to erase any trace connecting them to us. We'll be a trace that must be eliminated."

  Then he added: "And there's another matter equally dangerous... our connection to the Cobra. No one; absolutely no one; should know about it. Not in Valerian, not even in front of the rebels we'll meet at the border."

  I said: "Why? Aren't the rebels his men?"

  He shook his head: "The rebels work with the Cobra, but only a small portion of them know about him, and even fewer can read the letters he sends... Most don't even realize there's an external force intervening in their affairs. Yes, some work directly for him in the front lines, but not directly and certainly not without compensation. This is how the Cobra operates with them. He invests heavily in this operation so it doesn't fail."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Baldur said in a dry tone: "In short... we don't know the Cobra, and the Cobra doesn't know us."

  The assistant nodded: "Exactly. You're an independent group that joined the resistance. You have your own reasons, your own motivations... Only the front-line resistance leaders will know the truth about who you are, who sent you, and why. As for the rest? They'll see you as any other volunteer who came to fight with them."

  So... if things go wrong, Valerian will hunt us to erase us. The Cobra won't admit to knowing us. The rebels won't fully trust us...

  How wonderful....

  For a while, no one spoke. Then the assistant broke the silence by opening his bag and pulling out pieces of clothing that reeked of sea and fish. They were old clothes, rough to the touch and wet, designed to look like they belonged to fishermen who had spent their lives on the waves.

  He said: "Changing your appearance is essential. These clothes will make you look like ordinary fishermen. No one takes a second look at a fisherman in a harbor."

  Rona looked at the clothes with undisguised disgust, then said firmly:

  "No... I will never wear these rags."

  Baldur replied: "Rona... I think these clothes are the least of our problems right now."

  The assistant continued, reorganizing the clothes:

  "To reach the harbor, we'll use the old sewage passages that lead directly to the dock where our ship awaits."

  The assistant said: "The Cobra's men are on the coast. They'll deliver it wherever you want. Safe and fast."

  I wanted to say something; maybe thanks, maybe a question about the timing; but my words turned inward. Instead, I just nodded.

  I looked at my bag, at the mine documents. The choice was clear: I should keep them with me for now.

  "Ready?" he asked us.

  And We all nodded.

  We then began walking toward the mouth of the sewers. The opening was narrow, roughly waist height, surrounded by old stones covered in green algae. The smell of stagnant water poured out directly; a smell mixing mold and dampness.

  "Here," said the assistant.

  He began to descend first. Then we followed him; Baldur first, then Rona (who complained again), then me.

  The deeper we went, the weaker the light became. The lamps the assistant brought; fat candles sealed in bottles that the Cobra had left behind; were our only light.

  As we walked through the sewers, the smell tormented our minds and there were sounds too. Disturbing sounds surrounded us, like knocking, some like scratching.

  Baldur asked: "What's the source of these sounds?"

  "You'll find out soon enough," the assistant replied.

  We continued walking. The passages were narrow, the air heavy. Each breath was like drinking polluted water. Many times, I had to stop and place my hand on the wall, trying to prevent myself from vomiting.

  Then I saw Baldur suddenly stop: "My God..."

  At first, I didn't understand what he saw. The darkness was thick around us, and the place was so cramped that we could barely avoid hitting the walls on either side. But when the assistant raised the lamp higher, shapes began to appear...

  Streets. Huts. And Life.

  It wasn't just a large underground hall. It was a city. A complete city built from scrap metals, plastic, decaying wood. Everything was made from garbage, recycled in ways I never thought possible.

  The streets, if they could be called that, were narrow passages between huts that could collapse almost under their own weight.

  Some weak lights from fat candles seeped through the cracks. Whispers... I suddenly felt like all the eyes were on us.

  "I must warn you," the assistant said: "Some people will try to rob you; your identity, your clothes, anything valuable in the world above has value here too."

  He paused, then added more seriously: "Some climb up sometimes... slipping through narrow alleys, hunting tourists or people who get lost in the back streets. The goal isn't just money but identity. An identity means a new life above. Life for them or their children."

  He looked at us directly: "So be careful and don't get too close."

  Something pressed on my chest suddenly. That woman... the strange woman I saw in that alley before the meeting. Her pale face, the way she looked at me. I had felt danger from her then.

  Now... everything was starting to make sense. Was she trying to kidnap me? Or kill me and steal my identity?

  Rona cut off my thoughts with a question to the assistant: "How many people live here?"

  "More than you can imagine, Miss Rona," he answered.

  In front of us was an old man, his body so thin it appeared skeletal. He was sitting in front of his hut, scrubbing old metal knives. He didn't raise his head. He didn't look at us. Maybe he was blind, or maybe he was just too tired to care about our presence.

  Beside him was a small child, collecting what fell from the old man onto the ground, placing it in a large box.

  I looked at the child again. He wasn't much older than my daughter. But he was here, in the darkness, collecting scrap.

  Baldur said in shock: "There are children here? Children living in this place?"

  The assistant said sharply: "This is not the time for shock. You haven't seen anything yet."

  "We need to leave this place. Before word of our presence spreads."

  We resumed our journey, faster this time, until we reached what looked like the city center. There was a fairly large square, surrounded by somewhat larger huts. Some contained small shops.

  What caught our attention specifically was the mushroom displayed on old, weathered wooden shelves. Different types of mushrooms; some red, some black, some pale white. It didn't smell good, but it was acceptable compared to the environment these people lived in.

  "That's their food," the assistant said. "And water. And sometimes... some animals."

  "What animals?" I asked.

  "Crocodiles mostly."

  I looked at the assistant. He spoke about crocodiles as if it were an ordinary meal.

  This is crazy.

  The passage began to widen in front of us. The sounds began to rise, then turned into cheers. There I saw the arena.

  It was circular, dug into the ground, surrounded by raw wood. People had crowded around it. A large man stood in the middle, wearing an old leather jacket. Another man, thin and torn, stood before him.

  The fight ended before it really began.

  The assistant said, looking at us: "This is one of the few things that amuse the people here."

  Rona asked: "How do you know so much about this place?"

  "Because I'm from here. Born here. Raised here. Worked here. When the Cobra took me... it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. These people here are prisoners, without name, without identity."

  Rona asked: "Does the Council know about this? The existence of an entire city beneath their ground?"

  "The Imperial Council knows about them, accepts them roughly, as long as they stay here. Below. The people here don't have a problem being here at least, they live. They eat. They breathe, Their other option is the wilderness... And the Imperial Council benefits enormously from them. The poor collect scrap from the sewers old metals, plastic, anything that can be recycled. They clean it, improve it, rebuild it. Then it's sold to the government for a pittance. The government sells it to the surface dwellers or to other nations at a higher price. Meanwhile, they clean the sewers. They maintain the city's infrastructure."

  "So," Baldur said, "they're slaves?"

  "No," the assistant said. "Slaves at least have legal existence. These people don't exist at all."

  He continued: "And the Emperor advertises to the world that his kingdom is perfect. No poor, clean, organized. All his people have identities and names while all the poor and real city dwellers are beneath it."

  A heavy silence filled the air.

  Rona looked at us, her face clearly screaming: "I knew something bigger was happening here."

  But we didn't need her words. We knew exactly what was going on... The Cobra wanted us to see this.

  All of this the journey through the sewers, the hidden city, the tragic story; was no accident. The Cobra wanted us to understand something. To see the bigger picture. But what exactly? What was his purpose?

  It was impossible that his only goal from the Mutants' empire was information... I had known him long enough to know he didn't waste time with roundabout talk unless it served a bigger purpose. Most likely, he also knew the invasion wouldn't happen soon, but he lied to us to rush our approval, or maybe...

  Well, that doesn't matter now. We'll find out soon enough when we get there.

  We began to see the exit... The path was longer than the one we entered through, but it seemed less cramped. The assistant led us through other passages, away from the square, toward the beach finally.

  "There," the assistant said. "The harbor is ahead."

  We finally emerged from the sewers. We were on the seashore, far from the main city. The air was clear, the wind cold and refreshing. We were covered with a little mud and water from the sewers.

  We rested for a bit before the assistant asked us to change our clothes after he took them out of his bag.

  Baldur and I changed quickly, unlike Rona, who disappeared around a rock and took a long time coming out, making us think about going to check on her. But she eventually came out, her hair tied tightly in a knot, wrapped in a piece of cloth she'd torn from her original clothes.

  But around her wrists and hands, she still wore those black gloves.

  We arrived at the harbour. It was busy; workers carrying fish, boats being unloaded, normal chaos. But no one looked at us.

  We were just fishermen. Our smell was enough to keep people away.

  The assistant pointed toward an old fishing boat on the dock:"There. The ship."

  But suddenly a man stood in front of us.

  Formal clothes. An elegant coat. A badge on his chest saying 'Harbor Master.'

  His gaze was different from the workers around us. It was sharp. Watchful.

  He said: "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

  My heart began to beat rapidly. I feared he'd discover our secret or that we'd be a source of suspicion so quickly.

  The assistant remained calm... The harbor master looked at us one by one.

  Then... he extended his hand: "If you have anything you want to deposit with me or send... I'll take it. As for everything you need, I've already put it on the ship."

  I didn't understand what he was talking about at first, but the silence of the assistant in this situation and the harbor master's calm tone made me understand.

  This was the man.

  The person the assistant had mentioned. The harbor worker who works for the Cobra.

  I slowly took the letter from my pocket.

  I handed it to him.

  Then he took it from me quickly without attracting attention. He didn't open it or check it.

  He said: "As long as there's an address on the letter, I'll make sure it reaches safely... As for the rest, is there anything else you want to hand over?"

  No one spoke, so the man moved his body out of the way, clearing the path for us to board the ship.

  The assistant began preparing everything, including the bags he had with him.

  I looked back. The harbor master was still standing on the dock, the letter still in his hand, watching us as we moved away.

  I asked myself: How did this man reach this position? When? How many years did it take the Cobra to get him here?

  No, maybe the more important question was: How many people has the Cobra placed in sensitive positions?

  In governments? In police departments? In the military?

  The ship set sail, and one question echoed in my mind:

  How far has the Cobra's influence reached since that incident?