New York City had seen better days. There were talks of restoring the city, cleaning it of the filth and grime but those died a choking death after the swarm. Many places still bore the scars of the attack. Buildings carried deep gouges where alien claws once were. Most of New York was in some state of ruin or ghetto, and the stench was overwhelming. Sewer water overflowed the streets at night.

That was if you were poor. If you were rich, you didn’t live in those areas. A section of the city was pristine, modern, gleaming even. It was also gated behind a great wall, metal pillars linking chain fences that Mateo knew from experience could close off into shutters at a moments notice. Everything within a mile radius of the Supreme United Nations’ Headquarters was sectioned off after the attacks, the land seized by the SUN.

That was the governing arm of the SUN, which spread across the world like a cancer since its reformation in the 50s. They hadn’t taken the extreme measures of acquiring land from the States or Soviets until after the 80s proved the threat real to the world. It was enough to make Mateo sick.

“I’ll never understand why they haven’t seized the whole world,” he muttered. “They control the media and have a global monopoly on research and development of new technology. There’s nothing we could do to stop them.”

David held a bemused smile. “They can’t risk breaking the status quo, dad. Think about it. Right now, they’re the most powerful force on the planet and due to how the agreements work, no one can do a damn thing about it. They could take a shot and claim dominion, but that’d be a fight. They’d rather chip away until they’re given everything on a silver platter.” He started laughing. It was pleasant, like musical notes. “They’re the good guys, after all.”

“They are the damn quo,” Mateo spat on the ground. “They dictate society and how we live by it. I’m glad Puerto Rico is getting statehood soon. Maybe we can escape being beneath their heel.”

David hummed. “Probably not. They’ll just get bigger boots.”

The two stalked the streets, Mateo feeling eyes on them everywhere. He hated being in SUN cities, even if they didn’t control the whole area. Their surveillance was absolute. But like any government, they were incompetent. They could slip out without being noticed and harassed, like he’d done many times before.

“Our contact is up ahead,” he said, pointing to an ordinary looking building off the side of the street.

They were deep in the ghettos, kids running around and adults yelling after them. It made him feel a pang of sympathy. Mateo raised his boys somewhere like it. He suspected these places were alike the world over. It didn’t matter if they lived in poverty, people would find a way to thrive regardless. Arguing, laughing, loving, living, no matter how much they struggled.

The world started to slow down, like he was in a nightmare. It was innocent at first. Two kids were across the street, calling out in their direction. A young girl appeared, shouting at them, running. She crossed in front of the father and son, no older than five. His head turned to see a car coming, barreling down the street. She was going to get hit. The car rushed past and the girl was gone. Mateo felt his heart pound in his chest, a scream clawing its way out. He couldn’t stop her. He didn’t need to. His shout strangled in his throat, David hoisting her up by the back of her shirt collar.

He brought her around to face him. “That wasn’t very safe.”

The girl cried. Shouting broke through Mateo’s shock, a haggard looking couple rushing by. They seemed equally overjoyed and distraught. David grinned at them, putting the girl back down.

“No harm done.”

The couple collected their daughter, professing deep gratitude mixed with heavy annoyance. That was how it was to be a parent, Mateo knew. Joy and heartache all at once. He glanced at his son.

“How did you do that?”

David shrugged. “Good reflexes.” He nodded to the building. “That’s the one right?”

Mateo sighed. “Yeah. Remember, these are Mr. Smith’s people. Keep on your best behavior.”

“When am I not?”

“I’ll start at puberty and work my way up.”

“Ah, you can never make an old man happy,” he said.

Two large men emerged from the doorway ahead of their arrival. They were expected. The two were dressed in street clothes but Mateo knew bodyguards when he saw them. To his surprise they were ushered in immediately without any frisking. The building was a repurposed apartment complex, concrete interior exposed for all to see as the cheap wooden walls were stripped away. It looked as dilapidated on the inside as it was on the outside, but Mateo spotted something unusual.

“Looks like they’ve had some reinforcing,” David said. “This building’s sturdier than it looks.”

He was right. Metal struts ran along the pillars and reinforced the ceiling, supporting the concrete and even replacing it in places. Cables and cords ran along the walls, worked in between the walls, revealing that there was heavy remodeling afoot.

“I don’t know who your plus one is,” a new voice spoke up. “But he’s got a sharp eye. Could get him in trouble.”

“He’s my son.”

The older man snorted. “He don’t look much like you.”

David laughed. “I would hope not. I take after my mother, God rest her soul.”

The newcomer was quite the sight. A tattered denim jacket hung over his wide, muscular frame. His hair was long and grey, pulled back with a bandana, almost hiding the swastika tattoo. No easy feat given it covered the left side of his neck. Bright green eyes stared at the two over a pair of shades before a fingerless gloved hand pushed them back up. Mateo grimaced.

David moved forward, offering his hand. “Name’s David. How are you?”

The man wasn’t any taller, in fact he came up short a few inches, but he felt so much larger than his boy. The biker took David’s hand without hesitation, Mateo wincing as he watched the force behind the ‘shake’. David’s placid grin never faltered.

“Quint. You’ve got a good grip, David,” the biker nodded. He backed off a step. “We need you to find someone. Young teen.”

This wasn’t the first time Mateo helped one of Mr. Smith’s groups. They didn’t tend to share much and got bristly when questioned about anything. So, he did his own research coming in. The man before them was Quincy Hazel. Wanted by the FBI, he was a former Hells Angel and an avowed Neo Nazi. Or was. In the last decade, his priorities shifted and in the past few years he vanished entirely until resurfacing in New York City. There it was rumored he founded a new kind of gang.

Obviously, he hadn’t. He was a ground leader to be sure, but this new organization was nothing more than another facet of Mr. Smith’s network, stretching out across the world. Quint was more than likely aware of this. He certainly knew who kept his people fed and his weapons armed. This group went by the Gunners. Their names were usually kept simple, made it easier to keep them all straight. The worst one Mateo ever worked with was a crew in Somalia.

“This little Arabian shit,” Quint gestured to a young man with Iranian features who was standing next to a group of other similarly dressed gang members, “Was supposed to bring him in. Instead, he couldn’t help but scare him off and now we don’t know where the fucker has gone to ground.”

Mateo nodded. “Can’t go to the police. Where’s everything you have on him?”

Quint grunted to the youth. The boy couldn’t have been older than sixteen and kept lowering his eyes as he stumbled forward.

“I’m Rog, sir,” the boy started.

“We don’t need your name, shithead!”

Rog winced. “We don’t keep written records. Can’t have the pigs get them.”

Mateo’s mouth was pressed into a firm, thin line. He glanced over at David who was absently admiring the walls of the building, humming to himself. It sounded like something from a western.

“So, uh,” the boy continued. “We, well. Okay.”

Quint snorted before stomping off, snapping at the nearest gathering. People dispersed, the only ones remaining in the main entrance being Rog and the guards at the door. Rog relaxed slightly, but only slightly.

“His name is Rick Damon, a white boy. A runaway, he got into a fight with his parents a week back and has been homeless since,” Rog said. “I was told to bring him in two weeks ago and I…didn’t do a good job convincing him.”

David grinned. “You brought some friends and said, hey, wouldn’t it be smart to join up with us? Then you roughed him up and left him to stew. Right?”

Rog hung his head. “I didn’t know the Boss wanted the bitch. God knows why but I don’t ask questions. Now we must get him. There’s been some reports of him hanging out near a mechanic shop, owned by some old negro. Think his name is Blackwell. We’ve been by a few times but didn’t see anything.”

“And you couldn’t do much more than that without risk, right?”

Rog agreed. “We work at night mostly. Gotta keep our heads down, that’s what Quint says. Pigs get real uppity ‘round these parts. Think they got penis envy because the SUN are right next door.”

Mateo turned to leave. His son lingered.

“Who was your boss, again?”

Rog’s confusion was immediate. “Why would I know? Quint’s the one in charge.”

“Thanks,” he said, waving off the kid.

The two passed by the guards, doors opened for them. Another man, smaller in stature, skulked by them. He was wearing a suit, a drab one at that, and looked every bit like someone who didn’t want to be seen. Mateo kept his eyes forward, but he knew the man from somewhere. The face was as familiar as such a nondescript person could be.

It was only when they were out the door the name came to him. SUN Agent Tom Holden, Operative Blackwater. They met once in the desert of Australia when Mateo was tracking down a nest of lizard people. Mateo could only hope that his memory was the better of the two.

Walking along the broken concrete of long dilapidated sidewalks, the two silently approached the car shop. When the crowds thinned out, David chuckled.

“You know, most men your age fancy retirement. Maybe take up golf. Here you are, consorting with Nazis and criminals.”

Mateo shrugged. “It’s a life.”

“Child trafficking for Nazis? That’s a life?”

“I’m just looking for a missing kid. Doesn’t need to be more than that.”

He laughed. “This isn’t what I would have expected from you, old man.”

“What would you rather I do? Leave the world to the vultures? I want to discover the truth, David. I want to find out what it is the government doesn’t want us to know,” Mateo bit back. “If that means that I must work with shady people, I will. I have worked with worse.”

“When one is born on their knee, there is no end to the compromise they will cede,” David said. “I’m sure that’s a quote from someone. Maybe not.”

“Boy, look. What would you have me do?”

“That is a stupid question,” David laughed again. “I want you to be a doddering old fool, raising your darling granddaughter and living a quiet life.” He poked his father’s chest. “I know about your health.”

Mateo couldn’t meet his eye. “I need to know.”

David patted him on the shoulder. Weary, bloodshot brown eyes met warm, chocolate ones. Ones that reminded Mateo so much of his wife. He felt weak staring into them, a deep sadness that burned in his chest threatening to consume him.

“Let’s learn.”

The plan was dangerous. Normally Mateo would set to work and do whatever it was Mr. Smith brought him here for, then he’d go off on his own jaunts. Kept his benefactor happy and gave him what he needed. But David was right. This didn’t feel right. Seeing the SUN goon was proof enough of that.

They doubled back, heading in a roundabout path. There they waited, even as rainfall poured. The water stunk, faintly acrid and bitter. Soon, Holden emerged in a trench coat. His collar drawn up and hat pushed down, he looked more conspicuous than before. He was singularly focused on his path, which made it easier for the duo to keep up with him at a distance. The two kept far enough, taking branching paths.

Finally, going deeper and deeper into the damaged and forsaken sections of the city, the Agent seemed to arrive. It was unremarkable if Mateo was being honest. A broken down, ramshackle arcade that was long closed. Many buildings like this existed near the center of the invasion. What was surprising was that men in hazmat suits awaited Holden.

“What is going on?” Mateo couldn’t help but voice his confusion.

David pointed a bony finger towards the street. A huge truck appeared from the other side, the ground starting to shake. It was heavily armored, a carrier transport. The kind that was as wide as the street, just as tall, and capable of holding a tank inside. It was coming backwards, flood lights atop flashing across the broken streets and shattered windows. The two ducked into an alley, Mateo withdrawing his camera.

“Those bastards,” he hissed.

He could feel the panic take hold. The cold sweat, the tightening of his chest, the quickening of his pulse. Men emerged from within the building. Pushing trolleys loaded with eggs. Purple, glistening, fully grown. Megulon eggs.