I move carefully, blade in hand, every step deliberate. The Geodome is massive, a labyrinth of steel and machinery, its structure built around two vertical shafts with stairwells and freight elevators. Somewhere below, the turbines hum, sending a steady tremor through the floor. The noise has started again, a faint vibration, just enough to remind me how deep I am. As I reach the stairs, something feels off. The air is different. Cleaner. Not thick with rust, oil, and damp stone like the rest of the lower city. I slow down. The stairwell ahead is swallowed in darkness - the torches that should be burning are out. I move on, careful, nearly blind in the shadows. The cold metal of the railing under my fingertips guides me down, step by step. As I reach the lower level, a flicker of light catches my eye. I flatten myself against one of the thick steel pillars that hold up the ceiling. Three guards move past - the same special ones I saw outside, clad in red, gold, and black. The longswords on their backs catch the light as they walk. Two of them carry torches, but their glow is strange, cold and bright instead of warm like an open flame.

  I follow, keeping to the shadows, slipping from pillar to pillar along the circular walkway that wraps around the turbine shaft. They stop at an iron door - maintenance, by the look of it. A grated window is set into the top. One of them raps his knuckles against the metal, another mutters something cruel and spits through the grate. Then they move on, disappearing down another corridor. I wait until they’re gone before stepping closer. A faint, ragged sound seeps through the door. Breathing, labored and uneven. I crouch, peering in through the grate. A man sits inside, slumped in the corner, barefoot and chained to the floor. His clothes are torn, his hands covered in cuts and bruises. But despite his battered state, the tattoo on his neck stands out - a helmet below two crossed swords. Darkwatch.

  I exhale, muttering, "Hell of a place to take a nap, Garin…" The man stirs at the sound of my voice. His head lifts, eyes sluggish and unfocused.

  "Who are you?" His voice is hoarse.

  "The executioner? Did you come to sacrifice me too?"

  "No." I hesitate.

  "I'm a friend. Syra sent me." That gets his attention. The candlelight inside his cell flickers, casting my face in uneven shadow.

  "She sent you to bail me out?" He lets out a dry, bitter laugh.

  "Syra doesn’t send strangers to do her dirty work."

  "The others failed."

  "Their minds are weak," he mutters. I study him.

  "And yours isn’t?" His lips curl into a faint grin.

  "I’m the only one who could resist it." I narrow my eyes.

  "Resist what?"

  "Oh..." His grin widens.

  "You don’t even know why I’m here, do you? You don’t know who they are." I keep my voice steady.

  "Then tell me."

  "How about you get me out first?" He lifts his shackled hands slightly.

  "You help me, you help Syra. And that means I help you."

  I let out a slow breath, considering.

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  "Fair enough." I stand and turn away. His chains clink as he shifts.

  "What are you doing? Where are you going?" I glance back, meeting his gaze.

  "Quiet. If you want to get out of here, you have to trust me." A pause. Then he lowers his hands.

  "Fair enough. Do what you gotta do." I scan the hall again, listening for footsteps. Garin is in bad shape. Climbing is out of the question, maybe even walking. The vents won’t work. That leaves the door. I crouch again, running my fingers along the iron frame, checking the lock. Standard five-pin mechanism - the kind they use in the upper district. Nobles love to feel secure. Picking it is easy. The problem is the latch. The rusted hinges. Once that door swings open, the noise will carry. I straighten, glancing at Garin.

  "I need a distraction. I’ll be back." He exhales sharply, shifting his weight.

  "Take your time. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

  I press myself against the wall, listening. The corridor is silent - no boots, no voices, just the distant, muffled rasp of Garin’s breathing behind the iron door. Still, I wait a few moments longer, scanning the ceiling where thick pipes snake along the walls. I reach up and press my fingers against one, just to instantly recoil. It’s blistering hot, despite the air here being uncharacteristically fresh. Steam. The pipes must be carrying scalding vapor through the structure, a vital part of whatever keeps this place running. My eyes follow the pipes, tracing their path as they disappear into Garin’s cramped cell and extend out the other side, running toward the second vertical shaft. That’s my lead. Keeping low, I move along the circular walkway, slipping into the stairwell that descends deeper into the structure. Two levels down, I spot a cluster of pressure valves mounted on the wall, each one attached to a thick, reinforced pipe. A small plaque beside them catches my eye.

  "Always keep pressure valves at noon for optimal flow. Do not increase individual valve pressure without permission of maintenance crew staff."

  A grin creeps onto my face. I brace my hand against the cold metal railing, then reach for the nearest valve. At first, it doesn’t budge, but as I apply more force, it suddenly gives way and spins effortlessly. I do the same with the other two, setting them loose before making my way back up to Garin’s cell.

  "I'm back." Garin’s tired eyes flicker up at me, then at the still-locked door.

  "That's it?"

  "Not quite. See those valves above your head?" His gaze shifts upward, scanning the pipes running along the ceiling.

  "I need you to turn all three of them counterclockwise. As far as they’ll go."

  Garin exhales sharply again, pushing himself up against the wall with a grimace. He steadies himself, then grips the first valve. The strain is evident in his face as he forces it to turn. A deep hiss fills the room, steam surging through the system. He moves to the second. Another rush of pressure. Before he touches the last one, he hesitates, casting me a wary glance.

  "You sure about this?"

  Not in the slightest. But I nod. With a heavy clank, the third valve snaps into position. The pipes groan, the sound of steam howling through them like an untamed beast.

  For a moment, nothing. Then -

  A deep, distant boom shakes the structure. The sound rolls through the corridors, followed by a sharp crack as metal gives way. Suddenly, the entire level erupts into chaos - pipes bursting along the walls, valves hissing violently as superheated vapor floods the walkways. I don’t waste time. My pick is already in the lock, fingers working carefully despite the rising noise. Pin by pin, I work through the mechanism, ignoring the deafening screech of steel and the blinding clouds of steam filling the air. Finally, a faint click. The latch groans as I push the door open. I step inside. The stench is overwhelming - damp rot, blood, and filth. Garin watches me, his expression torn between gratitude and sheer horror.

  “You were supposed to get me out, not bring this whole place down with you!” I drop to one knee, picking the lock on his restraints, the rusted chains finally giving way. As soon as he’s free, I haul him up, throwing his arm over my shoulder. The corridor is nearly unrecognizable. Steam rolls across the floor in thick waves, turning everything into a ghostly haze. The heat is suffocating, sweat already clinging to my skin. We move as fast as Garin’s condition allows, his steps weak, stumbling. I adjust my grip, guiding him toward the first vertical shaft - But he suddenly pulls me in the opposite direction.

  "I know a better way!" He’s nearly shouting to be heard over the chaos. "I overheard the guards talking - there’s a broken skylight. It’ll take us right up to the cliffs!" I hesitate for a split second, glancing down toward the lower levels. More voices. Shouting. More than I expected. I look back at Garin. His expression is empty, void of anything but determination. Whatever he’s thinking, he’s already committed to it.

  With no better option, I follow.