Everyone gaped at the fresh corpse. Then the people in the cages turned to stare at Rip.

“Uh . . . sorry? I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

The woman did not look happy at all.

“Idiot! I almost had him open my door. I had everything under control.”

This statement confused Rip. He blinked, uncertain what to say. She had a clipped accent that sounded vaguely British.

“That must be an enhanced wrench, Worker,” the older man said while gripping the bars. He likewise had an accent that seemed British.

He had short gray hair and light gray eyes, giving his face a distinctive appearance.

“But I’m not so sure you’re really a Steam Worker, are you?”

The woman said, “Yeah. He’s not wearing a shirt . . .”

“No. My name is Sergeant Ripley Coulter, E-Squadron, United States Army Meta Corp. Where the heck am I?”

No one answered right away. All three stared at him with looks bordering on incredulous, mixed with curiosity.

The younger man broke his silence.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of the You Ess Army. But he do look like a soldier, Colonel.”

The older man nodded and said, “Carries himself like one, too.”

“Can you two please dissect him another time? Hey, Muscles. Grab the keys off that dip you just whacked and get us out of these cages. They’re suppressing us.”

Rip walked over and gingerly pulled the keys from the dead man’s hand.

[You have looted ordinary keys.]

“Yeah, yeah.”

The woman, who looked even more attractive up close, even with rumpled clothes and in need of a bath, raised a questioning eyebrow.

Rip blushed, quickly trying out keys in the lock. Fortunately, he found the right one quickly, and he pulled open her door, the rusty hinges squealing in protest.

She stepped out and patted him on the cheek with a warm hand.

“Thanks, Sergeant. If we get out of here, I’ll let you buy me a drink.”

She did not seem at all flustered, unlike the hysterical screaming woman from moments ago. Even the bloody body on the floor did not seem to faze her.

Slightly confused, Rip hurried and unlocked the Colonel’s cell door. He stepped out and shook Rip’s hand.

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

Rip nodded, looking into his eyes. He had to look up. The older man stood taller by a couple inches.

Then he moved to the last cell.

In contrast to the colonel, this guy stood shorter than Rip by several inches. He had a pleasant face, with light brown hair that was longer than the other two men’s combined.

“Introductions are in order,” the colonel said. “The young lady you rescued while she was trying to break us out is Lady Blair Brooke, one of the best spies in King Allo’s court.”

She smiled at him, dark blue eyes gleaming.

Rip furrowed his brows and said, “Spy?”

In response, she looked him up and down, as if examining a piece of meat.

“I spy someone quite delectable.”

Her mood seemed to change now that she was out of the cage, Rip thought.

“Yes. Carrying on. To my right is Robert Chance. He’s an infiltrator extraordinaire.”

“Please to meet ya, Sergeant.”

Chance gave him a careless salute and a smile combined with a smirk.

“Infiltrator? What kind of . . .”

“And I’m Baron Swathmoor, Colonel Thomas Bixby of His Majesty’s Royal Army, Third Cavalry, proudly serving the home front for Greater Umbria. Crown and country.”

He snapped his heels and gave a smart salute, elbow sticking out perpendicularly from his hand.

It was Rip’s turn to stare blankly for a moment.

“Umbria?”

“Greater Umbria, formed centuries past when Northumbria took over everything.”

Rip scratched his head and decided to stop asking single-worded questions.

“Okay. Are you all NPCs or something? Because if so, the programming is awesome, I gotta say.”

Chance and Blair exchanged glances, then looked back at Rip.

“Don’t worry, Colonel,” Blair said, slipping her arm inside the crook of Rip’s elbow. “I’ll get a few drinks in him and he’ll stop babbling nonsense.”

Bixby cleared his throat.

“Be that as it may, now that we’ve escaped let us continue on our mission. Sergeant Coulter, you might want to retrieve that wrench. If it is enhanced, it will no doubt continue proving useful. Chance, take the keys from the Sergeant and see if you can find my map of this place.”

“The socket mongers stored our stuff in this chest, Colonel. I think this here’s the key for it.”

While Chance opened a lockbox nearby, Blair took the opportunity to move closer to Rip.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she whispered.

“I’m not sure you really needed it.”

“I never pass up an opportunity to let someone else do all the work, Muscles.”

Rip looked down at the corpse and grimaced. The wrench stuck out from the dead man’s forehead, shining dully in the dim light.

“Guess I need to get that.”

“I’ll get it for you. It’s the least I could do.”

Blair reached down and grasped the wrench, pulling it free from the forehead with a sucking sound as brain tissue released its grip.

She wiped it off on the worker’s greasy overalls, smearing them red, then handed it back to Rip.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Thank you for killing him for me. That’s another thing you saved me from today, Muscle Man.”

She smiled at him sweetly and batted her eyelashes.

Chance handed the colonel a folded up piece of paper while strapping a backpack on. Then he handed a satchel to Blair.

“Your map, sir. And your equipment, Lady Brooke.”

Sounds drifted through the door Rip left open, like drums on metal plates.

Bixby said, “That might be trouble. Let’s see what’s going on out there.”

Together, all four approached the door. Chance cautiously stuck his head out, then snapped it back in.

“Sewer troopers, sir.”

Bixby frowned and said, “That figures. At least they didn’t see you.”

While he spoke, Rip leaned out for a look. A long string of men dressed in brown leather overcoats, wearing dark green helmets and gas masks, tromped down the narrow corridor two abreast.

Beady eyes behind the glass of the masks locked on Rip.

“Halt!”

He pulled back and slammed the door shut.

“I guess we better bar this thing. Is there another way out?”

Colonel Bixby looked annoyed.

Chance smirked.

Blair smiled but rolled her eyes.

Boots thrumming on metal plates sounded louder as the troopers picked up their pace.