The Age of Heroes was born from the Tyranny of Steele.

The Tyranny – which encompassed both the three-year Reign of Error and the subsequent decade of military dictatorship under marshal Steele – was the first form of government the fledging city of Dreadward had experienced. The erstwhile team of scientists and their military escort were ill-equipped, ill-trained and wholly ill-prepared to take custody over the millions of civilians, disoriented and reeling from the loss of everything they knew and loved, that rushed to the only major settlement still standing in the area. Cut off from their commanding officers, the group fell back upon the closest thing they had to an instruction manual – the regulations for taking and maintaining control over a potentially compromised region, leftover from the Third Extraordinary War. Local groups and associations were disbanded, respected leaders defamed or subtly apprehended, the streets patrolled by the military to maintain order.

Of course, there were protests and rallies – but they simply caused the Cabinet to double down, expanding their oppression to unwarranted searches and seizures and even political assassination. People tried to fight back, to rebel, but what could they do against an armed and trained military?

That's where the heroes came in.

The cowled – or rather, simply people who one day woke up with mysterious and unexplained abilities – were strangelings and outcasts on the fringes of society, misunderstood and distrusted, ostracized by the people who wished for normalcy and stability in those early years. The government, unable to explain their abilities and thus wary, persecuted them more strictly than anybody else, which naturally pushed the powered into joining the freedom fighters. Though initially met with suspicion due to their habit of wearing hoods and masks to protect their families against government reprisals, the cowled's unique abilities quickly made them the linchpins of any resistance cell, relied on to provide secrecy, coordination, firepower...

By the time the revolution was over, the heroes had become the very symbol of the people's hard-earned freedom.

And they did not hesitate to capitalize on that goodwill. The new government passed several laws that were highly lenient toward cowled activities, and the disjointed network of informants, supporters and former revolutionaries was forged into a powerful, unified Administration, starting what was colloquially known as the Age of Heroes.

For villains though, the renaissance came with the discovery of the Underworld.

***

“I could send a letter of verification.”

“I'm afraid the buyer is quite set on a face-to-face meeting,” I replied mildly.

“You could find a different buyer,” Doctor Blythe tried again.

“The meeting has already been scheduled. It would be most rude to cancel it now.”

And also somewhat offensive, which, in turn, would be rather fatal for both myself and the good doctor.

“You could schedule it to happen up here, under the light of the sun.”

The man's tenacity would have been much more admirable, if I didn't have to deal with his attempts to weasel out of the job for all of the fifteen minutes that we knew each other. Even my patience had its limits.

“We're trading in R-Tech,” I responded. dryly “The light of the sun has a bad habit of dropping heroes on the heads of the people who do that.”

I gave a friendly nod to a gaggle of kids that ran by, staring at my costume, and headed for the elevator. Though it lacked conveniently identifying signs, any experienced villain learned how to identify a Katabasis by instinct. The feeling was akin to a subtle chill down your spine – one I found pleasantly invigorating.

Judging by the way Doctor Blythe shivered in his jacket despite the warm September evening, he did not agree with my assessment.

“Please, I'm not the one you need!” as the elevator doors opened, the man grew desperate enough to appeal to my emotions. “I'm not a criminal or a cowled, I'm just a regular guy with a regular life. The Underworld would chew me up and spit me out. Can't you find somebody else?”

I sighed, actually feeling a moment of sympathy. It did not stop me from pushing him inside the elevator, of course, but I did feel it.

“The buyer requested independent verification of the quantum comms' working condition. There are only a few experts on communication technologies in the entire city, and you're the only one I could reach on such a short notice. Unless you could somehow contact our moon-living friends, there's nobody that's more qualified for the job than you are.”

Doctor Blythe looked at the closing elevator doors as though they were the hell's own gates, trapping him below for all eternity.

“At least, you'll be free from Sceptic soon,” I tried to cheer him up. “Focus on that.”

He shook his head.

“If I live through this...I'll still owe that smug bastard two more favors.”

I whistled, half-amused and half-intrigued.

“What did you do, go on a murder spree?”

Steven Blythe simply let out a heavy sigh.

I felt almost guilty taking advantage of the man who was so deep in debt, he might as well be Sisyphus reborn.

“Hey, it's not like I'm throwing you to the wolves, alright?” I clapped him on the shoulder awkwardly. “It's a simple job, in and out. You shouldn't even be in any real danger.”

I paused, realizing that I'd just issued a direct challenge to the Weavers.

“I'm literally going down to the Underworld,” Blythe replied dryly.

“Point,” I agreed. “But trust in me a little, as well. I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Now I'm really getting worried.”

Despite the words, Blythe did look a little less nervous.

He was actually not a bad-looking man, I noticed, but he tried way too hard to look respectable. Clean-shaven, well-groomed, with a button-down shirt and a corduroy jacket, he looked more like a professor going to the University to give a lecture than a villain's consultant travelling down into the Underworld. Though not old, in his thirties at the most, Doctor Blythe had the trappings of somebody a decade or two older, complete with an old-fashioned pen and an intricate pocket watch.

Either he was an aficionado of pre-war history or...

“Oxford or Cambridge?” I asked.

“Hm?” the man briefly looked up from where he was gripping the handrails.

“Oxford or Cambridge?” I repeated.

Steven Blythe grimaced.

“Neither,” he replied sourly. “But, answering your actual question, yes. I am a Patchman.”

I nodded, silently accepting the rebuke.

Though I may not have worded things the best way, I was not attempting to look down on him. If anything, I was genuinely impressed by Doctor Blythe. It could not have been easy to gain a University degree in communication technologies when he's had to relearn everything he knew about both modern communication and modern technology. Unfortunately, I found it hard to compliment the man in a way that wouldn't be taken for condescension.

Of course, if Doctor Blythe came from an era in which religion was a much more dominant force, his fears of the Underworld were rather understandable.

Ding.

“You might want to stand back,” I said, following my own advice.

“Why - ”

Pallid, corpse-like hands surged into the elevator, filling the gateway and almost obscuring the fields of snowy-white grass that lay beyond. The extremities were unnaturally long and thin, flexible in a way that belayed a lot more bones than human arms had, but the fingers were surprisingly strong. Grabbers numbered in the dozens, maybe even hundreds, and they grabbed at anything they could reach.

“Hel-” Blythe choked out, trying to pry the hands off his throat while still holding on to the handrail.

I pulled out a handful of salt from one of my overcoat's pockets and sprinkled it at the doorway. The hands immediately surged after the miniature crystals, even going so far as to release their prior prey.

The elevator doors gently closed.

“Bloody hell!” Doctor Blythe snarled, his eyes wide open and searching the corners of the cabin. “What the ruddy hell was that?”

In moments of stress, the doctor's british accent was unmistakable.

“The Grasping Steppes,” I explained. “The grabbers go after anything that's moving, regardless of its size, so they're fairly easy to fend off with a packet of salt or sugar.”

“Fairly... easy...” he sputtered. “Is this madness normal around here?”

I tilted my head to the side, considering.

“Eh. Katabasis always makes two or three stops before reaching its destination, though they're not always the same ones.”

“Two or three?” Blythe croaked. “You mean we'll have to go through more of that?”

I blinked.

“Oh, no. The grabbers only live on the upper levels. Next up is the Whispering Corridor.”

I turned toward the back wall of the elevator and put in some earphones.

“Any particular advice?” the doctor asked, eyeing me warily.

“Close your eyes and pretend the world outside of the cabin doesn't exist?” I shrugged.

Ding.

I set my earphones to 'Villains Gonna Villain'. I was not a huge fan of the band, but their music was loud, discordant and senseless – perfect for smothering the voices in one's head.

~ I remember you ~

I set the volume to max and started loudly humming under my breath. It did not stop me from hearing the voice, but it helped drown it out in an ocean of other noises.

A little known fact, but on most elevators the Close Doors button doesn't actually do anything except grant a semblance of control. A placebo, if you would. Accessibility standards demanded that the doors stay open for twenty seconds to account for passengers with disabilities, and the Katabasis – whether as part of its camouflage or a homage to its predecessor – seemed to follow the same rules.

Blythe said something, but I couldn't hear him through the noise.

The woman in white said something, and I quite firmly told myself that I heard nothing.

The music blared loudly enough that it was almost physically painful.

Then the twenty seconds were out, and the elevator doors closed. I let out a breath and pulled the earphones from my ears, turning down the music and placing them back into the Rig.

“I hate you,” Blythe said after a few seconds of silence.

I let out a snort.

“I absolutely, seriously hate you,” he reiterated. “Even if I were to die a thousand times and be reborn as a cactus, my hatred would remain undiminished until the day I finally find a way to pay you back.”

“A cactus?” I asked bemused.

“It comes with inbuilt weaponry.”

I outright laughed at that.

“Oh, piss off,” the Doctor huffed

There was another moment of comfortable silence, before Blythe broke it once more.

“What I heard back there...” he hesitated, then started again. “What she said...”

“Was nothing worth listening to,” I shook my head. “We call it Eurydice.”

It took him a second to catch the reference.

“Orpheus' wife? Because she comes from the Underworld?”

“That,” I nodded. “And because you really, really don't want to look at her.”

“What happens if you do?” Blythe sounded almost afraid to hear the answer.

“If she doesn't succeed in luring you out, you have a solid chance of escaping with nothing but a few new nightmares,” I replied somberly. “The first time, at least. But... she will remember you. It's a good rule of thumb when it comes to these things – if you can see them, they can see you. And they never, never forget.”

Blythe shuddered.

“And your people willingly suffer through this every time you go to the Underworld?” his voice was incredulous. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you lot?”

My smile was somewhat rueful.

“Many consider it to be a part of the appeal.”

“Madness,” Blythe shook his head. “Utter madness.”

I spread open my arms to the perfectly timed elevator Ding.

“Welcome to the Underworld!”