Cyrus drove to the other end of the city. By the time he had gotten there, the sun had set and night had fallen. Cyrus pulled into the parking lot of a baseball field and parked. He would go the rest of the way on foot. He never drove a vehicle all the way to his home. Stolen cars were easily found, and could potentially lead to him. He got out, grabbed the satchel, and began walking.

He had parked a few miles away. He reached the alley in twenty minutes. Cyrus rounded a few corners before he came to a secluded spot in between a warehouse and an abandoned apartment building. He pulled a tool out of his pocket, used it to open a manhole cover, and began climbing down. Cyrus had lived on the streets for the first few years of his running days. While he was on the run, he came upon a manhole cover that was partially pried open. He ducked down into it to escape and immediately found his home. The small tunnel below the manhole opened up to an abandoned subway tunnel and platform. This part of the city had shut down their subways after the November riots. He crawled through the tunnel and leaped onto the platform and flipped a switch that turned on a few spotlights he rung. From this far down and this far away from the surface, no one would be able to see the light coming from below. He had everything he needed down here. Among some of the things he had stolen over the years, there were a few generators, a mini-fridge, a couple computers, a sleeping bag with a small inflatable mattress, some lawn chairs, a small television, and a variety of weapons he had stripped from officers and troops. On a table lay a couple Beretta M92s, an H&K MP5 equipped with a silencer, an H&K UMP, and an XM8 assault rifle. He rarely ever carried a weapon around besides his knife, but he couldn't think of living the way he did without any firearms at his hideout. Cyrus dropped the bag on the floor, reached into the fridge for a Gatorade, and turned on the television set. He switched to the news channel where they were talking about the explosion at the building he was at.

"...rocked the intersection of 144th and Anderson late this afternoon. In a statement released about an hour ago, officials told reporters in a press conference that a gas leak was to blame." The segment cut to the press conference. A man, dressed in a stark military uniform, stood behind a podium.

"We have determined that the explosion today was caused by an underground gas leak," he announced. "We have everything under control and are still investigating the cause of the leak. Thankfully, there are no fatalties. That is all." As soon as he was done talking, the reporters at the conference began shouting their questions, which were waved off as the man walked off the stage.

Cyrus knew there was no gas leak. As soon as he had that thought, his radio began blaring. He got up out of his chair and grabbed the handset.

"Six two four go secure" He said

....bzzzrt....

....bzzzrt....

"Channel secure good buddy. How you holdin' up?"

Cyrus grinned. Mal was a retired runner. Jumping from a rooftop, he landed awkwardly and tore his knee up bad. He escaped capture by climbing in a dumpster. Now, he works as a freelance operator. If he hears about something that might need to be investigated, or if there's a package to be delivered, Mal would let you know. On some runs, Cyrus has Mal talking in his ear. His slight southern accent was sometimes the difference between avoiding capture and getting caught.

"Not bad Mal. You been following the news?"

"Yeah. Tha's some bullshit 'bout that gas leak, lemme' tell ya, Cyrus," Mal said. "Word 'round the campfire is that a white van was parked outside the buildin' 'for it blew up."

"Huh. The guys I got the bag from said P.R.A.G. used the explosion as a diversion. Any idea who was driving the van?" Cyrus replied.

"Friend a mine was on a roof opposite, said an Asian guy got out. Said he had a tattoo on his left wrist. That was basically it. I figured it was one a 'dem crazy revolutionaries blowin' stuff up."

"You have any idea where this guy is seen to hang out? Anyone say anything about seeing him before?" Cyrus asked.

"Actually yeah. Just talked with muh buddy Merc little while ago. Few years back, he had a run-in with a slippery lil' Asian guy. Said he had a tattoo on his left wrist too. Might be the same guy, might not be." Cyrus had retrieved the satchel and began rummaging through it. Mal continued, "But either way, after they exchanged some punches, the Asian guy ran off. Merc tailed him to the bottom of an elevator shaft in a hospital on the northside of town. Probably his hideout. But that was years ago. Probably not there anymore."

"But even if he's not, the bottom of an elevator shaft doesn't neccessarily have much foot traffic," said Cyrus. "And he probably woudn't care to pack up all his things during the move. Maybe he left something that could tell me where he went."

"Yeah, man, you're probably right. Hey, if you wanna check it out, you know my frequency. Just gimme a holler an' I'll be your huckleberry.

"Thanks, Mal. You have any idea what P.R.A.G. could do with the majority of the city's financial records? I'm sifting through all this and I'm at a loss of what they would want it for.

"Jeez, Cy, I have no idea. Maybe you could ask our bomb totin' friend if you get the chance." Cyrus eyed the records in his hand.

"Yeah... maybe I'll do that."

"Sounds good big fella. Well I'mma get some sleep. You thinka goin' out, you know who to call."

"You bet, Mal. I'll be in contact. Night." Cyrus shut off the radio and put it on the table. He put the records back in the satchel and set it down. He exhaled deeply and thought of the day's events.

Why would P.R.A.G. want these records? What did this Asian guy have to do with it? Cyrus didn't know exactly. But he hoped the bottom of an elevator shaft could help fill him in.