Gunnar knelt next to the child, wrapping the bandage around her wounded leg. “You need to be more careful,” he chided. “The Healers won’t come down here for another week, and by that point, this might have gotten infected.”

She dipped her head. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“This bandage is magic, you know,” he went on.

“Really?” she asked, looking up, her eyes gleaming. “Like, real magic?”

“Mhmm,” he said, fastening the end of the bandage into place. “Made by a real Apothecary. She said it’ll keep out infections and heal wounds nearly fifty percent faster than normal. I use these myself.”

“That’s…that’s awesome…”

“It is. You know what’s even more awesome?” he asked in a serious voice.

“What?” the little girl breathed, her eyes wide.

“Candy,” he answered, pulling a bag from his pocket. It was filled with sweets he’d gotten from a local shop. He offered her the bag, saying, “Just one, or there won’t be enough for everyone else.”

The girl’s brow furrowed as she studied the candies, and Gunnar heard her mumbling under her breath about orange or blue. In the end, she selected one of the blue ones and popped it into her mouth. From experience, he knew the hard candy would last for hours – largely because it was created by a real Cook and utilized a trickle of ethera – so the girl wouldn’t soon get through it.

“Now run along,” he said. “There are others who need my help. And be careful!”

“Yes, sir,” she responded before hurrying away. Her leg clearly felt better already.

A moment later, she was replaced by another adorably dirty child. This one was accompanied by her father, who looked downtrodden but strong enough. It was the same throughout Seattle’s Undercity.

Most of the populace worked menial jobs that had nothing to do with their archetypes. Some were Warriors who, for whatever reason, were unsuited for fighting. Others were Tradesmen who’d only been offered classes without any real demand. Still others were just lazy or had made bad choices that meant that no one up top would trust them with anything important.

Seattle took care of them, providing for their basic needs like food, water, and education for their children. Periodically, they even sent Healers down to ensure that everyone remained healthy.

Yet, sometimes, that wasn’t enough. Like the last child he’d seen, there were plenty of serious issues that could technically wait for a few days, but doing so would cause needless pain. Or, in some extreme cases, escalate to the point where the city’s Healers couldn’t do anything to stop it.

That was where Gunnar stepped in.

Sometimes, he brought medicine. Others, he came with food. Liquor for the downtrodden parents. Luxuries none of them could afford. Gunnar gave as much as he could, whether it was time or goods, but he couldn’t fill all the gaps. So, when he’d finally finished seeing everyone who’d turned out and headed for the bar, he still felt like there was a hole in his heart.

He wanted to do more.

He wished the city’s management would step in to create a better situation for everyone.

However, he knew that just wasn’t in the cards. Seattle, for all its faults, was a meritocracy. Those who were valuable were the ones who got ahead. Those who were not – they tended to fall into the cracks, only stopping when they landed in the Undercity. The city didn’t abandon them, though. They made certain those people – even the most useless ones – still had necessities.

It wasn’t enough, which became clear as he saw one child after another until there was no one left waiting for his assistance. Only then did he leave the building behind.

As Gunnar walked the subterranean streets, he couldn’t help but compare the Undercity to the gleaming metropolis far above. Up there, the buildings were architecturally interesting and glistening with ethera. It looked utopian – because it was, at least for those who were allowed to live and work topside.

The Undercity was the opposite. The structures were short and squat, made of bare concrete and often covered in graffiti. Trash piled in the alleys, waiting for the monthly sweep of the custodial service, and the city’s undesirables loitered on the corners, harassing anyone they deemed weak.

Some were criminals. Most were just apathetic people who’d never found their place in the wake of the world’s transformation. Gunnar only saw a small piece of the Undercity, but he knew there were areas rife with drug dens, brothels, and seedy casinos that catered to those sorts of people who couldn’t afford their vices but didn’t have the willpower – or reasons – to resist them.

And woven through it all were children.

The only solace was that Seattle’s leadership had gone to great effort to ensure that they were taken care of. They were fed. They were clothed. And they were educated in the same facilities as the offspring of the richest of the rich. It was the only place in Seattle where equality was the rule.

And Gunnar understood it, too. The world was full of hidden talents, and the city couldn’t afford to ignore any potential source of power. There were plenty of poor children who had the capacity to contribute positively to the city, and Seattle took great pains to nurture them all. They gave those children every opportunity to succeed.

To date, many had, ascending to the city proper with their families in tow. But so many remained relegated to the Undercity. Most accepted their fate and made the best of it. Some left the city altogether in the hopes of testing their mettle in the wider world. A few turned to crime.

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The evidence of that lawlessness was everywhere. Sure, Seattle policed the Undercity. Men and women with guns patrolled the streets and responded to reported offenses. But there were only enough to ensure that the city got what it needed from the less Undercity’s residents.

Everything else was fair game.

It was an exploitive system, but Gunnar wasn’t certain what he could really do about it. Sure, he could kill everyone in charge of Seattle, but what good would that do? Just more chaos. People would starve. They would likely die. No – what amounted to a caste system wasn’t perfect, but it was the best anyone could do.

For now.

Perhaps things would get better in the future. In the meantime, Gunnar had taken it upon himself to spend money and time helping those people he could.

He wasn’t ignorant of his reasons, either. He was a killer. An assassin who rarely questioned his targets. He didn’t doubt that he’d killed at least as many good people as bad ones. But at least he could say that he brought a little good into the world between assignments.

Those thoughts danced through his mind as he entered a tavern, then planted himself at the bar. He sat next to a man dressed all in black.

“Padre,” Gunnar said in greeting as he signaled the bartender.

The man next to him grunted. “Back again, eh? Didn’t get enough misery last time you were here?”

“I notice you haven’t left either.”

“I have a calling.”

“So do I,” Gunnar argued before ordering a beer. A moment later, the bartender pushed a frothing mug in front of him.

“Your calling is death. Mine is guiding the flock. We’re not the same.”

“You won’t here an argument otherwise. Not from me,” Gunnar replied, taking a sip. When the brown liquid hit his tongue, he had to suppress a grimace. It truly was foul. But it was probably the best they could produce in the Undercity.

“Why do you keep coming back?” asked the priest, never tearing his eyes away from his own beer.

Gunnar shrugged. “Maybe I’m trying to balance the scales.”

“Or atone for your sins.”

“Are you trying to convert me, padre? With everything that’s happened, I think we’ve moved way past the belief in an invisible and omnipotent man in the sky.”

“Perhaps for some. But that’s the thing about faith,” the priest said, finally glancing at Gunnar. The man was missing one eye, and a long scar marred his face. “We don’t just abandon it when something new presents itself. We figure out how our faith fits into the new world. Who’s to say that god isn’t still up there presiding over all of this? I believe that is the case.”

“I don’t.”

And he never really had. Even when he’d gone to church every single Sunday when he wasn’t on one mission or another, he’d never truly believed. He wanted to. Desperately. The idea that someone could forgive him for everything he’d done – that was attractive to a man who spent his days killing other people. But that always felt too easy.

So, he’d adopted other coping strategies – chiefly, looking at what he did as just a job. That served to separate him from the morality of it all, though sometimes, the gap narrowed to the point where he couldn’t maintain that illusion.

“He believes in you. In your capacity to be a good man.”

“Any god who presides over an entire universe doesn’t know who I am. And even if he did, he wouldn’t care about me. That’d be like me caring about an individual ant that lives on the other side of the world,” Gunnar reasoned. “I’m not worth that kind of attention. None of us are.”

“I don’t –”

“Excuse me, father, but I’m going to have to interrupt you,” came a new voice. Gunnar had felt the woman on the other side of the bar, if only because she was strong enough to stand out. Like him, she was ascended, which meant that she was a potential enemy worthy of his notice. And when she’d approached, his hand had crept to the ethereal pistol in the holster at his hip.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be needed, but Gunnar wasn’t willing to bet his life on it.

“May we speak?” the woman asked, directing her question at Gunnar.

He sighed. He didn’t recognize her, but he didn’t need to. The only reason someone like her would be in the Undercity was to recruit him for another mission. He didn’t work exclusively for Seattle, but he’d done their bidding often enough that he could recognize the patterns.

The woman herself was pretty, if in an unassuming way. Jaw-length black hair, subtle makeup, and a figure that was muscular without being overly bulky. It all said combatant – an assumption supported by the way she moved. Lithe but authoritative.

Probably a Ranger archetype, though he didn’t rule out the possibility that she was a Warrior. If it came down to a fight, the distinction would be necessary to determine his response. Hopefully, it wouldn’t end that way, though. He didn’t want to kill anyone – not without getting paid, at least.

“Sure,” he said, sliding off the stool. He was taller than her, though not by much. “Too much to ask your name?”

“Better if you don’t. Come.”

With that, she headed toward a booth in the corner. Meanwhile, Gunnar turned to the priest and said, “Sorry, padre. Guess we’ll have to finish our conversation some other time.”

“Go with god,” the man said, already turning back to his mug of beer. It remained untouched. There was probably a story there.

Gunnar soon found himself sliding into the booth across from the mystery woman. When he settled in, he asked, “What’s the job?”

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she slid a folded piece of paper across the wooden table. When it reached its destination in front of him, she tapped it with a short-nailed finger. More evidence that she was a combatant.

Gunnar took the note, then unfolded it. Upon reading the name, he showed no expression. However, his heart beat a little faster.

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s a simple word. There’s no way I’m taking this contract. It’s a death sentence.”

“We can pay triple your normal fee.”

“Can’t spend money if I’m dead.”

“And we will provide a prototype rifle. Three times more powerful than your current weapon.”

“Still no,” he said, though with that kind of firepower, the job might actually prove feasible. However, the repercussions for failure were too dire to consider. Not just for him, either. He would be dead, but the rest of the world would pay the price as well. There was plenty of proof of that.

She didn’t blink at his answer, though.

“We’ll assist the Undercity. Establish a permanent infirmary down here. Provide more variety of food. Increase guard patrols. We have an entire plan,” she revealed, retrieving a folder from a satchel on the seat next to her. She slid it across the table. “It’s all there. We call it the Undercity Improvement Plan. It’s all ready to go the second you take the mission. You don’t even need to be successful. We’ll make this happen so long as you take the job.”

Gunnar opened the folder and saw that everything the woman claimed was true. And what’s more, he knew the people she represented could come through with their promises. After all, they were the ones in charge.

Still, he considered refusing. In fact, it was more than a consideration. The assignment was likely suicidal, which was probably why they’d come to him.

But the good they’d promised was too enticing to pass up. Even if he died – well, he was just one person. And arguably, the world would be better off without him in it. The same could probably be said of the target, who was an unquestioned monster. A strong one, but a monster nonetheless.

His life for the good of thousands of people. Gunnar was okay with that trade.

“I need locations. Time to plan. Equipment.”

“All will be provided,” she said. “Does this mean you accept the assignment?”

“I do,” he said, looking at the smaller piece of paper bearing the name of his target. “I’ll kill Elijah Hart for you.”