God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.

The city hadn't stopped bleeding.

Cain could hear it in the pipes groaning beneath the pavement, in the low thrum of power lines still crackling despite the blackout hours earlier. City Z wasn't asleep—it never was. It only waited, like an animal crouched in tall grass, patient enough to outlive the ones trying to tame it.

Susan limped at his side, coat stiff with blood. She refused to let him carry her weight, even when each step left her jaw clenched tight against pain. Hunter followed further back, his presence quieter than shadow.

"Steve?" Cain asked.

Static hissed before the reply came. "Your names are still flagged. The feeds are dirty, but someone's filtering patterns. The mask. The bodies. Cain—you're not invisible anymore."

Cain's lips tightened. He had never wanted invisibility. What he wanted was silence. To work in the arteries of the city, unseen and unchallenged. That luxury was gone now.

They cut through District Twelve, where the graffiti never faded even after the city tried to scrub it away. The walls still screamed with slogans from riots decades past. Some names were still legible—faces long dead but unwilling to leave. Cain brushed his hand against the concrete as he passed. Cold. Rough. Unforgiving. Just like the city.

"You're quiet," Susan muttered, breaking his thoughts.

"I'm listening," Cain said.

"For what?"

"The city." His voice was even, steady, but Susan only shook her head.

They reached the old rail line. Rusted tracks stretched into darkness, swallowed by weeds and collapsed arches. Cain signaled, and Hunter slipped ahead, vanishing into the debris. The air grew colder the deeper they went, carrying the damp stink of metal and mildew.

Steve's voice buzzed in their ears again. "Grid chatter's shifting. They're not just looking—they're moving. Someone's pushing squads toward the east tunnels."

Susan frowned. "East tunnels lead here."

Cain drew his blade, the steel whispering against its sheath. "Then they'll find us."

Hunter returned, eyes sharp. "Two squads. Maybe three. Moving careful."

Cain looked past them, down the tracks swallowed by shadow. He remembered the last time he'd walked these tunnels—riot fires, boots pounding overhead, the city alive with screams. Nothing had changed.

"They'll choke this place," Susan said.

Cain shook his head. "No. They'll think they've choked it."

He moved. Quick, decisive. The others followed. They slipped into an alcove where the wall had cracked open years ago, revealing a service stair that wound into darkness. The air was damp, stinking of rust. Each step was a whisper swallowed by the city's hollow lungs.

At the bottom, Cain found what he was listening for.

The pipes ran like veins through the concrete, thick with condensation, humming faintly with pressure. Cain laid his palm against them. The vibration carried messages: shifts in water, in heat, in power. All of it mapped the heartbeat of the city.

"Can you hear it?" he asked.

Susan leaned against the wall, sweat streaking her face. "All I hear is rust."

"Then you're not listening."

Hunter said nothing, but Cain saw the way his eyes narrowed, how his head tilted as if straining for something beneath the silence. He almost smiled. Hunter was closer than Susan realized.

"Where does it lead?" she asked.

Cain stepped back, blade angled low. "Everywhere."

The footsteps above grew louder—soldiers, heavy and deliberate. Cain tracked them without looking. He already knew their rhythm. Too disciplined to be mercenaries. Too clean to be gangs. These were grid operatives. The kind that never asked questions.

"They'll find us in minutes," Susan warned.

Cain's grip tightened on the hilt. "Then we make them regret it."

Hunter vanished again, slipping into the dark like smoke. Susan steadied herself, drawing her pistol even as her hands shook. Cain stayed where he was, one hand on the pipes, the other ready at his sword.

The first squad dropped into the tunnel mouth. Their flashlights cut through the dark, beams slicing across damp stone. Their boots hit metal with hollow clangs. They swept the area with mechanical precision.

Cain waited. Not yet.

The second squad followed, tighter formation, weapons raised. Their lights crossed paths, chasing shadows.

Cain exhaled slowly. The city exhaled with him—the pipes shuddered, pressure building. He let the rhythm settle, then whispered, "Now."

Hunter struck first, silent as a guillotine. One soldier crumpled before his partner could blink. Susan fired once, the sound snapping through the tunnel, sending echoes racing. The squad faltered.

Cain stepped forward. His blade caught the weak light, then carved through it in a storm of sparks. His strikes were not fast—they were inevitable. Steel cut through rifles, armor, bone. His movements didn't waste effort. Every cut had weight, every step intent.

The tunnel filled with screams, static, the reek of blood mixing with damp stone.

The second squad broke formation, fear bleeding through training. Cain advanced, relentless. One tried to run—Hunter's bolt caught him in the throat. Another raised a weapon—Susan's shot tore through his visor.

It ended as quickly as it began. Silence pressed back in, thick and suffocating.

Cain wiped the blade once on a fallen soldier's vest, then sheathed it. His pulse hadn't risen. His breath hadn't quickened.

Steve's voice cracked back in, urgent. "You've set off alarms everywhere. More squads incoming. Cain, you can't hold this line forever."

Cain glanced at the bodies cooling on the floor. "I don't plan to."

Susan stared at him, chest heaving. "Then what?"

Cain placed his hand against the pipe again. The city hummed beneath his palm, steady and patient. "We use the city itself. We turn its veins against them."

Hunter returned to his side, face expressionless. "That'll take time."

"Then we buy it," Cain said.

Susan let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Always the optimist."

Cain's eyes narrowed. "Not optimism. Design."

Above, more boots thundered across the steel. The city groaned, as if bracing for the weight of another storm.

Cain listened, blade ready again. The hunt hadn't ended. It was only folding deeper into the marrow of the city.

And Cain—Cain was already there, waiting.