Chapter 170 Perfect.

Chapter 170: 170 Perfect.

I absolutely did not want to go down into this part of the sewers.

Not just for the obvious, highly unsanitary reasons, but because I really didn’t want to infringe on any of the under-dwellers’ established territories.

Because of a certain neutral-ground bar located in the upper municipal tunnels—McLaren’s, of course—the Metropolis sewer system was strictly divided into Go and No-Go zones.

This was a heavily bolded No-Go.

The mutants had very specific, highly territorial borders down here. The absolute last thing I needed today was to accidentally cross some ill-defined line in the muck and find myself fighting a gang of Renaissance-themed martial artist turtles or a horde of hyper-intelligent rat-people.

Catching the bubonic plague would be bad enough, but those guys were also just extremely annoying in hand-to-hand combat.

And then, there was the much worse alternative: accidentally running across one of the dedicated sewer heroes.

There weren’t a ton of them, but the sewers and abandoned subway lines had their own vigilantes, just like the surface did.

In all honesty, given the square footage, they probably had more capes per capita down here than Metropolis proper.

Which was exactly why, along with the mutants, you had to deal with doomsday cults, mole-men, and dimensional weirdos setting up shop in the dark.

Sadly, most portals to hell weren’t conveniently located in luxury hotel lobbies built by neurotic architects, which, although terrible for tourism, at least had decent valet parking.

And to be fair, most Metropolis architects were pretty wonky to begin with. Dealing with all those non-Euclidean angles and occult load-bearing equations gave them some pretty funny ideas. That was how we ended up with the R’lyeh Building back in the twenties.

If you stood in the wrong corner of its art-deco lobby, you’d just clip out of reality and end up in another dimension. The city finally tore the place down eventually—though not because one too many janitors vanished into the void. It had apparently ’clashed with the neighborhood’s updated cultural aesthetic.’

The one time the NIMBYs actually got it right.

But no matter. This wasn’t going to be a simple smash-and-grab like dealing with the Neons. Unlike surface gangers, the sewer denizens made it damn near impossible to slip into their territory without tripping their organic alarms. The most pragmatic thing to do was to openly negotiate with them.

Fortunately, I had a very strong feeling the Mind hadn’t been making any friends down here. Rogue mad scientists weren’t exactly known for their diplomatic tact or environmental consciousness.

And by the looks of Rhea’s scans, he’d set up shop right on the edge of the Dredges’ territory. If I played my cards right, I might just walk out of this without having to fight a small army of irradiated mutants.

But that was just my optimistic opinion.

"I ask you to reconsider, sir," Glacia said, her voice crisp and disapproving in the damp alleyway air.

"No can do," I replied.

I held my hand out toward the heavy cast-iron manhole cover. The dense metal immediately vibrated in answer to my magnetic pull, lifting off the wet asphalt and hovering in the air like a rusty alien saucer.

"It’s way too confined down there for a squad, and we absolutely do not want to piss off the Dredges by looking like we’re launching an organized invasion. So, it’s just me for now. You two will wait up here and track my telemetry," I instructed, shooting a pointed look at Psyren. "If I can take the Mind alive, I’ll bring him up to the surface for interrogation."

"I still think we should go with you," Psyren huffed, crossing her arms.

"Really? Into the sewers?" I asked, raising an eyebrow behind my visor.

Psyren awkwardly shifted her weight from one ripped fishnet-clad leg to the other, grimacing at the smell wafting out of the open hole.

"I mean. Doesn’t mean I’d like it," she muttered.

Heh. I couldn’t help but smile at that. The syndicate sentiment was certainly appreciated.

"Not to worry," I said, tapping the side of my helmet. "I’ll be in constant, encrypted contact with Rhea. If I need the heavy artillery, she’ll send you both down to back me up. How’s that?"

"Begrudgingly acceptable, sir," Glacia said stiffly, her posture rigid.

Psyren sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes to the overcast sky. "Fiiiiine," she groaned, throwing her arms up before pressing her back against the damp brick wall and sliding into a sulchy slouch. "But you gotta promise to come out okay, boss. I’m not taking orders from the ice queen if you die."

"I’ll be fine," I assured them.

I stepped off the edge, my magnetic fields catching me as I descended smoothly into the open shaft. The heavy iron lid slid cleanly shut right over my head, sealing me in the dark.

"You sure about this?" Rhea’s voice crackled instantly in my earpiece, crystal clear over the secure comms.

"We’ll see how the locals feel about visitors," I said, blinking as I activated the HUD in my helmet.

Instantly, the pitch-black gloom of the tunnel was illuminated by a bluish glow, perfectly outlining the stone walls, the rushing water, and the path ahead in sharp wireframe geometry.

Hmm. Nice work. Rhea really had done a phenomenal job upgrading my optical gear.

I floated silently forward, hovering a few inches above the rushing muck, craning my head around to scan the environment.

There was a slim chance I might bypass the Dredges completely, but I certainly wasn’t counting on it. Being a professional bad guy meant you always prepared for the worst-case scenario.

And sadly, evading the local wildlife soon became a foregone conclusion.

Almost the exact second I spotted the first crude, luminescent territorial symbols daubed in glowing algae on the tunnel walls, I could feel the eyes on me.

I didn’t need to see them. I just let my magnetic senses passively expand outward into the dark, feeling the environment around me.

And immediately, I felt the unmistakable, jittery jangle of cheap metal moving parallel to my position.

A lot of guns.

Not good guns, mind you. I could feel the rusted firing pins, the mismatched steel springs, and the degraded lead ammunition.

It was exactly the kind of cheap, disposable heat dumped down storm drains by mobsters or street gangers looking to lose something hot. But they were guns all the same.

Looked like diplomatic negotiation might be off the table. I could tell by their movement patterns that the Dredges were actively shadowing me. Flanking me. Herding me deeper into their turf.

Well, that was fine. Let’s set the stage and see who walked off it.

I played along, letting them guide my path. The sewers twisted and turned, plunging deeper into the municipal grid, until I finally floated out into the central maintenance hub for a massive network of arterial storm drains.

The room was vast, built like a subterranean cathedral dome. Massive concrete pipes jutted into the open space from every wall, the low, deafening thunder of rushing water booming as it poured down into the dark, raising a thick, clinging mist in the air.

Most importantly, the entire floor of the hub was constructed from intersecting, heavy-duty metal grating, connected by four large tunnel mouths.

It was a magnificent spot for an ambush.

Perfect.