Damp concrete and frothing sewage. The scurry of rats echoed through the darkness, and Danan crushed a cockroach crawling at his feet with the sole of his boot. Its soft innards caught in the grooves, and milky egg sacs encased in a thin membrane splattered outward, drawing other roaches to swarm and cannibalize. Glancing at the scene, Danan gripped his assault rifle and shifted his gaze to the sewer map projected on his goggles.

  Twisting left and right, the sewer system stretched like a vast underground labyrinth, accessible to the surface from countless points. Amid the foul-smelling sewage, decayed organs mingled with blackened blood floating on the dark water’s surface—a grotesque sight, likely the result of a lethal dose of coagulant used in some depraved game, now collecting black mold as it drifted. Navigating the hellish environment, Danan reached a dead-end alley and spotted a narrow passage across the way.

  “Lils,” he called.

  “The route’s correct. Something wrong?” she replied.

  “It’s a dead end.”

  “A dead end? That’s odd… Hold on, I’ll check again.”

  As the connection cut off, Danan surveyed his surroundings, brushing off a cockroach gnawing at his armor and swapping out his gas mask’s filter. The cartridge-style filter detached with a button press, replaced by a spare mounted on either side of the mask. Tossing the contaminated filter into the sewage, he tapped the armor of his mechanical arm.

  Normally—especially alone, without support—venturing through the sewers would be reckless. This was a maze, a dark abyss where invisible Minotaurs roamed. Lils’ communication, his multi-function goggles’ night vision, the toxin-filtering gas mask, and his arsenal were his Ariadne’s thread, warding off the monsters named Fear, Madness, and Terror, guiding him toward escape. Listening to the hum of insect wings and the squeaks of rats, Danan heard Lils’ voice again. “Hey, is there a metal grate in front of you?”

  “There is.” Gripping a rusted reddish-brown grate, he followed her instructions. “Break it and move forward.” Activating his mechanical arm, he tore the grate apart, slicing the remaining jagged edges with his high-frequency blade.

  “Okay, confirmed by sound. Danan, the nano-GPS signal’s close. You’re almost there.”

  “Got it.”

  Tossing the mangled grate into the sewage, Danan walked through the darkness, suddenly catching an overwhelmingly sweet scent. Despite the gas mask covering his nose and mouth with a filtered seal, the odor pierced his nostrils—a cloying stench like overripe fruit teetering on the edge of rot. A strange fragrance, as if Casablanca petals had been boiled down with a dash of sinsemilla. Suppressing the nausea rising from his gut, Danan leaned against the wall and saw a white shadow ahead.

  Who was it? No, no one could stand in a sewer like this without protection. A hallucination, then?

  The white shadow moved silently. Beckoning him to follow, it matched his pace, stopping before an iron ladder and dissolving into the air. Clutching his chest over his armor as his heart raced, Danan shook his head. “Right above you, Danan. What’s wrong? You were muttering to yourself,” Lils said, her tone skeptical.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Mutting? I didn’t say anything.”

  “What? No, you definitely did—something about ‘it’s not me’ or ‘not right.’ Did the pleasure district drive you crazy? Stop it, that’s creepy.”

  “…”

  Hearing the chill in Lils’ voice, Danan clamped his mouth shut, grabbed the ladder, and pushed open the heavy cover. A blaring cacophony hit his ears—shrill highs and gut-rumbling bass. The scene before him was a writhing mass of naked men and women dancing to a chaotic mash of music, a demonic sabbath. Wide-eyed, Danan scrambled out of the manhole and dove into nearby bushes to hide.

  His head throbbed. His eyes flickered under the assault of colorful beams. His throat burned as if molten iron had been forced down it, craving water. Yes… the clear water in the glass held by a nearby man—his body screamed for it.

  “Danan, activating Lumina. Commencing removal of airborne narcotics and hypnotic compounds. Initiating detoxification of bodily toxins,” Nephthys’ voice rang in his mind.

  Snapping back to himself, Danan knocked the glass from the hand of a man with dilated pupils, grabbed his neck with his mechanical arm, and dragged him into the bushes.

  “What were you trying to make me drink?”

  The man cackled, chugging the water from a flask. As his tongue lolled, Danan pressed a magnum to his temple. “What were you trying to make me drink? Answer.” But only a moan came in response. Snapping the man’s neck, Danan peered out, watching the crowd of mad dancers, oblivious to the missing man.

  “Nephthys, analyze the drug components and effects in the air.”

  “Understood.”

  “Lils, you there? I need detailed info on my current location.”

  “Got it. But who’s Nephthys? A partner?”

  A combat-support AI embedded in Lumina’s bugs. Muttering this, Danan moved through the bushes, noticing the music’s rising rhythm abruptly stop. “In a world without gods, there are people!” a half-naked man on a platform bellowed into a microphone. “Are those who live in such a world equal to gods? No! Only one preaches our laws and grants us life!” Danan glanced at him, ignoring the crowd’s frenzied cry of “Aeshma!” as he slipped past.

  No time to react to their antics. It was just a performance—a method to bewilder and inflame the crowd with intensity and silence, a non-violent means of control. Sliding behind a neon-lit palace pillar, Danan pressed himself against it, spotting the white shadow entering the building.

  Was it guiding him? As he moved to follow, a sharp gaze pierced him.

  The gaze was unnatural, colorless, transparent—like that of a newborn, innocent yet arrogantly proclaiming its purity. His heart clenched as if squeezed, and Danan instinctively aimed his rifle at the source.

  “Who are you?” a voice asked.

  A chill ran through him, his body frozen as if psychologically bound, forgetting even to breathe.

  “Suspicious, aren’t you? No one, no one was invited, so why is everyone here? Because someone called? Who? Me? Or all of them? Does it even matter, hmm… Black Man?”

  A peerless beauty in a thin black-and-white dress, a collar around her neck, adorned with gem-encrusted explosive shackles on her limbs. Lustrous, radiant, a fallen star sunk in darkness. Aeshma, the Empress of Debauchery, approached Danan, stroking his stubbled cheek as she passed.

  Alien. Not remotely human. In the undercity, where everyone was steeped in sin, she seemed untouched by evil—pristine. Yet the ripe, rotten fruit-like stench blending into the colorless air was a contradiction to her image.

  “Go wherever you want. Take what you desire. I act for you, you act for me, and everyone bares their desires for each other. Shouldn’t we all be honest with our desires, even if it’s just a fleeting dream?” she said.

  Danan bolted like a startled rabbit, fleeing her gaze into the palace. Aeshma watched him until he vanished, murmuring, “If only everyone lived freely like Damocles.”