Chapter 10: The Rat King's Gambit
The tunnels didn't just carry water; they carried secrets, and right now, they were carrying the sound of tactical boots.
"They're here," Kaelen hissed, clicking his safety off. "The Senator's 'Janitors.' They don't leave survivors, Elias. Not even cops."
Elias looked at the ledger in his hand. $500,000$. His father's soul had been sold for the price of a suburban house. He tucked the book into his Kevlar vest. "How many?"
"Six. Grade-A mercenaries. They're using thermal," Kaelen said. He pulled a small canister from his belt—white phosphorus. "When I throw this, don't look. Just run toward the ventilation shaft at Sector 4."
"I'm not leaving the evidence," Elias snapped.
"The evidence is in your head, Memory Man! Move!"
The first flash was blinding. A searing white light turned the darkness into a midday nightmare. Screams echoed as the magnesium burned through the mercenaries' night-vision goggles.
Elias sprinted. His boots splashed through ankle-deep sludge. Behind him, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of suppressed submachine guns chewed into the brickwork.
He reached the shaft, grabbing the rusted rungs. Above him, he could hear the city—the muffled hum of morning traffic. He looked back. Kaelen was gone, vanished into a side-pipe like smoke.
Elias climbed, his lungs burning. He emerged through a heavy grate in an alleyway three blocks from the precinct. He was covered in soot, smelling of sulfur and old blood. He had twenty minutes to turn himself into a "Detective" again.