They called him Wisdom not because he was particularly wise, but if you also fled from an angry surface mob with nothing but a dozen teeth clutched in your fist, you’d better believe you’d get some odd nicknames.

Wisdom was everyone’s cousin. He was the best friend you turn to for gossip, the brother who wraps his arm around you when you’re down, and the ornery old man who chases you off his lawn in good nature. If anyone could tell them what to do, it would be Wisdom.

He ran the Samovar, a bar that was probably the most respectable thing in the underground. But to get there, they’d have to travel to the Black Market in the heart of the underground.

Singe City had been born from literal ashes and flame. The Heartland Wars were devastating – over a billion dead, countries and landmasses wiped off the map. It would’ve been named World War III, but some poets had gotten it in their heads to weave these wars into song and legend so future generations wouldn’t repeat our mistake. They say they chose the name to remind us of the lives we lost – there were more donated hearts than recipients to receive them.

A new Geneva Convention was held, and new decrees were carved in stone. Among the new rules was the stipulation that a new city must be created, a multicultural refuge of peace, free from danger and hate. Thus, as world leaders shook hands on the still-flaming battlegrounds in the heart of USA, architects were already hard at work designing the city that would rise there: Singe City.

No more police – they were now watchmen, guardians of the peace. No more guns – non-lethal weapons ruled the city. No more cars – teleportation pads were a thing, after all. Knives passed through flesh. Drugs were safe and non-addictive. All and none of the gods existed. The people who lived there were intolerant of intolerance; any small infraction meant prison, and any serious crime could get you banished from the city. Everyone was safe, because the unsafe among them were gone.

The crown jewel of the city was its glass clocktower. Covered in solar panels and perpetually tick-ticking, it was, quite literally, the center of the world. It powered Singe City, stored its most precious documents, housed its most important officials. From the top, you could see everything, and everything was beautiful.

The city of glass and steel was brilliant, and perfect, and safe. If only the people didn’t corrupt it.

Because underneath the war-torn grounds lay bunkers and trenches from during the wars. Those exiled from the city for their crimes set up shop down there, and soon, an entire underground city had come into existence. It was, quite literally, a criminal underground.

Here, they had a different set of rules. Gangs ruled territories better than any congressman ever could. Illegal cybernetics and pleasure houses flooded the streets. Mercs ran rampant, bound only by blood oaths and morals. No rules except the unspoken ones. The streets made of dirt and rock all spiralled toward the Black Market, a literal market where vendors come to peddle their wares. You could find anything you could ever want in those little stalls, from street meat to laser blasters.

And all of it was powered by the great clocktower itself. No one had noticed or cared when the people of the underground constructed the pendulum. It swung back and forth in time to the ticking on the surface, and its swings were better than a waterfall at powering an entire underground city.

The underground could’ve risen up and taken over the surface, but life was good down here. People were free. Why ruin it all with bureaucracy?

The trio relied on that detachment between the surface and the underground as they made their way to the market. No one should’ve recognized them – aside from being a group of three rather than four, Jayden had lost her distinctive gold streak and her confident air, Airin didn’t have a ridiculous amount of paint cans strapped to her every limb, and Brandy still hadn’t wiped away most of the blood clotting in her clothes and hair. If anyone who knew the news wanted to try to recognize them as the former Team Underground, they could certainly try.

They ignored all the vendors calling out to them as they passed the Black Market. They could come here again anytime. Today, they were headed straight for a little bar bound for fortune and glory.

As soon as the trio strode up to the door of The Samovar, Jayden balked.

“What’s wrong?” Brandy groaned.

Jayden stood in the doorway. She looked at her foot, toeing the line between the streets and the bar. “We’re – underage,” she said lamely.

Brandy was about to say something when Airin signed “don’t care,” grabbed Jayden by the ruffled collar and dragged her in.

A bell above the door chimed as the three entered. Jayden lifted her feet in disgust. The ground was covered in spilled alcohol, peanut shells, and what she really, really hoped was just juice. Brandy, meanwhile, plunked herself down on a bar stool and ordered a beer.

“Gimme a moment!” Wisdom called from the back room. They heard steps, then a glass shattering, then a “oops!” followed immediately by more glasses shattering.

It still only took Wisdom a moment to come back to the front. The hulking, bald man with a dozen tattoos should intimidate anyone with a brain, but if you look closer, you’d see the lines of poetry snaking around his wrists, and if you back up, you couldn’t miss his bright orange apron that read “I’m sorry for saying sorry so much.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he began saying, and then looked up. He broke into a dazzling grin. “Hey! If it isn’t m’ worst customers!”

Brandy laughed and leaned against the counter. “What, you gon’ try to chase us out again, old man?”

“You know I’ve got the strength for it,” he replied.

“And yet,” sighed Brandy, “none of the guts.”

Wisdom patted his beer belly. “I have guts just fine. They’re busy gettin’ dru –”

“Heeeeeeyyyyyyy, Wisdom,” Jayden cut in, flashing the weirdest smile possible. “Long time no see. Isn’t – I mean, I’m not – Uh – We’re underage?” Her teeth were impossibly white.

Wisdom narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. Black hair in a ponytail, blouse and blazer, stuttering to death… Nope! Don’t know you at all!” He declared. “The person I know definitely didn’t care about a silly thing called the ‘law’ or ‘rules!’” He slowly slid a pack of cigarettes across the table.

Jayden just stared at it. “We’re – we’re still underage.”

“Ouch,” Wisdom said, putting the cigarettes away. “What got into her? Prison?”

He looked over at Airin, who had fallen asleep with her head in her arms on the counter. Her speed had taken a lot out of her, and it had finally come crashing back.

Brandy shrugged. “We need your help,” she said.

“Sure. Shoot.”

She explained the situation. Wisdom listened intently, pausing only to give shots to a group of bickering family members.

“Hmm,” he said when she were done explaining. He looked at the three scrawny kids in front of him, bedraggled and covered in blood. “...well, did you do it?”

“No! Of course not!” Jayden blurted out. People shot her looks.

“Probably prison,” agreed Brandy.

Wisdom rubbed the short wisps on his chin. “You’re gonna need a plan, and some muscle. No offence, but I always liked that red-head best.”

Brandy spun on her bar stool. “I can’t believe you would betray me like that. But yeah, we should find Roux. We’re kinda physically handicapped without her.”

“Team dynamics,” Wisdom said, tapping his shiny head. “Everyone has their place and use.”

“Wait, why do we need a team?” Jayden asked frantically. “We didn’t do it. You guys have alibis, right? We can – we can get people to testify. What do they have on us? We can dispute it in cou –”

The others ignored her. Her cheeks flared bright red.

“Tsk. Well, when did you last see her?” she asked Brandy.

Brandy shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I was the one stomping out of your lives like a pompous poodle. Not sorry, by the way.”

“Haven’t seen ‘er either. Sorry,” Wisdom added, heading off to tend to other customers. He nearly tripped over a patron’s cane. Not that it would’ve been too horrible; he already broke most of the glasses.

“Well, she’s doing a splendid job of ignoring us,” Brandy said. “She hasn’t left any messages at the hideout or contacted us.”

Jayden tsked. “She probably just wanted to disappear. I did.”

They fell silent. Then, slowly, a plan started to form in Brandy’s mind, one that would clear their names and leave them all in the black for a very, very long time. The barest inklings of that same plan tickled the edges of Jayden’s brain, but she clamped them down.

“Well then,” Brandy began, rubbing her hands together in anticipation, “how do we find someone who doesn’t want to be found?”