The tunnel went deeper than Raven expected.
Past the abandoned stations. Past the maintenance corridors. Down into sections that predated modern construction—original subway lines from decades ago, forgotten when the city expanded above.
Perfect place to hide.
"You're sure about this?" Azaelith asked, manifested beside him in the darkness.
"No." Raven's spiritual sight cut through the black, revealing energy signatures ahead. Faint. Deliberately suppressed. Someone who knew how to hide. "But standing still means dying. Moving forward means possibilities."
"Possibilities of getting killed by paranoid contractors."
"That too."
They reached a junction. Three tunnels branching off. Raven paused, extending his senses.
There—left tunnel. A single presence. Strong. Controlled. Tier 4 at minimum.
And something else. A second energy signature overlaid on the first. Twisted. Wrong. Corrupted.
"Cursed spirit," Azaelith breathed. "Whoever this is, they're carrying serious darkness."
Raven moved toward it.
The tunnel opened into what had once been a station platform. Long abandoned. Rails rusted. Walls covered in graffiti decades old. A single camping lantern provided dim light.
And sitting on a broken bench—
A man.
Forty-five, maybe older. Hard to tell. Gray threaded through dark hair. Face weathered by years and violence. Scars visible on exposed forearms—ritual marks, combat wounds, burn tissue. He wore tactical pants and a plain black shirt. No insignia. No identification.
But his eyes—
They were the eyes of someone who'd seen too much and survived anyway. Sharp. Calculating. Dead in the way only veterans get.
He looked up as Raven approached. No surprise. No fear.
"Stop there," he said. Voice like gravel. "Ten meters. That's close enough."
Raven stopped. Assessed.
The man's spiritual signature was immense. Tier 4, confirmed. Possibly higher. And the cursed spirit coiled around him like smoke—visible to Raven's sight as a serpentine thing with too many eyes, whispering in languages that hurt to hear.
"You're the one from the news," the man continued. Not a question. Statement. "Raven Altair. Cathedral terrorist. Demon contractor. Ten million reward."
"That's the narrative."
"Is it true?"
"Parts of it."
The man's hand moved slightly. Not toward a weapon. Toward his contract seal—barely visible at his collar. Ready to summon the cursed spirit fully if needed.
"Why shouldn't I turn you in?" he asked. "Ten million would buy a lot of hiding. Lot of safety."
"Because you're down here instead of up there. Which means you're running too." Raven kept his voice flat. Emotionless. "And people who are running don't trust the Organization with bounties."
A smile. Small. Humorless.
"Smart kid. But not smart enough." The man stood. Moved with predator grace despite his age. "You could be a plant. Bait. Tamers send in the big catch to flush out the small fish."
"I could be."
"So prove you're not."
Raven considered. "How?"
"Show me your contract. Full manifestation. Demon contractors can't fake that."
Dangerous request. Full manifestation meant calling Azaelith into complete physical form. Draining. Vulnerable. But also—proof.
"It's a trap," Azaelith warned.
"Maybe. But he's right. No other way to prove it."
Raven focused. Drew on the connection. Felt Azaelith's presence solidify—from translucent to opaque to fully real.
She materialized beside him. Red eyes blazing. Horns catching lantern light. Contract marking visible on her exposed skin—matching patterns to Raven's.
The man studied her. Then nodded slowly.
"Demon. Legitimate contract. You're either genuine or the most elaborate trap I've seen." He relaxed slightly. Just slightly. "I'm inclined toward genuine."
"And you are?" Raven asked.
"Roger." No last name offered. "Former Spirit Tamer. Tier 4. Twenty-three years of service." His expression darkened. "Until six months ago."
"What happened six months ago?"
"I saw what they really are. What they do in the dark." Roger's hand unconsciously touched a scar on his neck. "And I couldn't be part of it anymore."
Azaelith dematerialized back to translucent. Energy conservation.
"He's telling the truth," she confirmed in Raven's mind. "I can feel the betrayal. The disillusionment. It's genuine."
Raven stepped closer. Nine meters now. "What did you see?"
"Later. First—" Roger's eyes narrowed. "You're weak. Tier 2. Maybe low Tier 3. But the news says you fought Director Aldric. Held your own against the Horror. That's Tier 4 minimum."
"Backlash. Ritual collapse nearly killed me. Fractured my connection." Raven saw no reason to lie. "I was Tier 4. Now I'm rebuilding."
"Can you recover?"
"Don't know. Maybe. With time."
Roger absorbed this. Then made a decision.
"You're looking for allies. Others like you. Illegal contractors."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because hiding alone is slow death. Building something—a resistance, a force, whatever—gives better survival odds." Raven met his eyes. "And because I'm going to make the Tamers regret hunting me."
Roger laughed. Harsh sound that echoed in the empty station.
"Revenge motivation. Classic." He walked closer. Five meters. "You know they'll kill you, right? Even with allies. Even with a resistance. The Organization has hundreds of Tamers. Thousands of contracted spirits. Resources you can't match."
"Probably."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Good question. Raven searched for the answer. Found it in the embers of what he'd once been.
"Because the alternative is lying down and dying. And something in me—some last piece—refuses to do that quietly."
Roger studied him for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Good enough." He extended his hand. "I'll help. Not because I like you. Not because I trust you. But because fuck the Organization. And if you're going to war with them, I want in."
Raven shook his hand. Firm grip. Calluses of a fighter.
"What's your story?" he asked. "Twenty-three years, then suddenly defect. What changed?"
Roger's expression went cold. Distant.
"I was assigned to Asset Containment. Special division. Handles illegal contractors who get caught." He pulled back his sleeve, revealing more scars. "Our job was extraction and rehabilitation. Bring them in. Break the illegal contract. Rehabilitate the contractor."
"Sounds reasonable."
"It would be. If that's what actually happened." Roger's jaw clenched. "Rehabilitation was a lie. What they actually did—do—is experiment. Test limits of contracts. See what breaks contractors mentally. Physically. Spiritually."
He met Raven's eyes.
"I watched them torture a fifteen-year-old kid. Possession contractor. Scared. Didn't even understand what he'd done wrong. They kept him in a cell. Starved him. Forced his possessed spirit to manifest over and over until it started consuming him from inside."
"Why?"
"Research. Understanding possession mechanics. Seeing if they could weaponize it." Roger's fists clenched. "The kid died after two weeks. Screaming. Begging. And my superiors wrote it up as 'valuable data obtained.'"
Silence.
Even Raven—empty as he was—felt something. Distant. Like echo of disgust.
"That's when I left," Roger continued. "Couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't pretend we were the good guys when we were doing shit worse than the contractors we hunted."
"Did you try to expose it?"
"Tried. Got labeled unstable. Stripped of authority. They were going to detain me—probably throw me in the same cells I'd guarded." He smiled bitterly. "So I ran. Been down here ever since. Using my cursed spirit to hide from detection."
Raven processed this. Added it to his understanding of the Organization.
"How many others?" he asked. "How many contractors did they experiment on?"
"Dozens. Maybe hundreds over the years. Anyone who gets caught and doesn't have powerful connections. Anyone disposable." Roger's eyes hardened. "They call it Asset Research Division. ARD. Most Tamers don't even know it exists."
"Aldric knew?"
"Aldric authorized it. Signed off on every experiment." Roger saw Raven's expression. "Your Director. The hero who died at the cathedral. He was one of the architects of ARD."
The information settled. Raven examined his feelings about it.
Found nothing. Aldric was dead. His sins died with him. Irrelevant now.
"The current leadership?" Raven asked.
"Acting Director Vanessa Thorne. She was ARD's second-in-command before promotion." Roger's smile was vicious. "She's worse than Aldric. More efficient. Less merciful."
"Ironic," Azaelith noted in Raven's mind. "You losing mercy. Her never having it."
"So the Organization experiments on contractors. Tortures them. All in the name of research and protection." Raven stated it flatly. "And the public doesn't know."
"Public doesn't want to know. Easier to believe Tamers are heroes. That illegal contractors are monsters." Roger's expression softened slightly. "But you're proof they're wrong. You're not a monster. Not yet anyway."
"I'm close."
"I can see that. The emptiness. The dead eyes." Roger tilted his head. "How much humanity you got left?"
"One emotion. Mercy. Barely."
"When it goes?"
"Then I'll be efficient. Ruthless. Everything they fear."
Roger nodded. "Good. We'll need that. But try to hold onto it as long as possible. Because once it's gone..." He trailed off. "It doesn't come back. Trust me."
He turned, walking toward a side tunnel.
"Come on. I'll show you the setup. Then we plan next moves."
Raven followed. Azaelith beside him.
"Do you trust him?" she asked silently.
"No. But I don't need to trust him. Just work with him."
"And if he betrays you?"
"Then I kill him."
Simple. Pragmatic. Empty.
The tunnel led to a smaller chamber. Supplies stacked along walls—food, water, medical gear. A makeshift bed. Radio equipment for monitoring Tamer frequencies.
"You've been preparing," Raven observed.
"For six months. Building resources. Waiting." Roger pulled out a map—hand-drawn, marking subway sections. "I've identified seventeen potential hiding spots for illegal contractors across the city. Been slowly making contact. Testing loyalty."
"How many responded?"
"Five. All possession-type contractors. All weak—Tier 1, maybe low Tier 2. Scared. Desperate. But willing to fight if given direction."
He looked at Raven.
"You could be that direction. The cathedral incident made you infamous. Illegal contractors know your name. Fear you. Respect you." Roger's eyes gleamed. "You could unite them. Build something real."
"A resistance."
"An army."
Raven studied the map. Seventeen locations. Five confirmed contractors. More potentially waiting.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
"Catch is Tamers are hunting all of us. Actively. They've deployed Shadowhound Protocol." Roger's expression went grim. "You know what that is?"
"No."
"Nois. Tamer Assassin. Tier 4. Specializes in hunting illegal contractors." Roger's hand unconsciously went to his neck scar again. "He's the one who gave me this. Three months ago. Almost killed me."
"You escaped."
"Barely. And he's been hunting me since." Roger met Raven's eyes. "But now you're the priority target. Ten million bounty. Public enemy number one. He'll come for you first."
"How long do I have?"
"Hours. Maybe less. Nois doesn't sleep. Doesn't stop. He'll track you by energy signature, by reports, by pure instinct." Roger's voice dropped. "And when he finds you, he won't arrest you. Won't negotiate. He'll just kill you. Slowly. Because that's what he enjoys."
Raven absorbed this. Filed it away.
"Then we move fast. Contact the five contractors. Consolidate. Build defensible position."
"Agreed. But first—" Roger pulled out a burner phone. "I need to make a call. Warn the others about Nois being active."
He dialed. Waited. Frowned.
"No answer. That's not good. Viktor always answers."
"Viktor?"
"One of the five. Possession contractor. Paranoid as hell but reliable." Roger tried another number. No answer. Then another.
Five calls. Five failures.
His expression darkened. "Something's wrong."
"Raven," Azaelith's voice urgent. "I'm sensing—"
The lights went out.
Camping lantern died. Darkness absolute.
Roger's cursed spirit manifested instantly—green-black energy illuminating the chamber. Serpentine form coiling protectively around him.
Raven ignited Demon Flame. Red-black fire casting dancing shadows.
And from the tunnel entrance—
A voice, Soft and Amused. Wrong.
"Found you."
A figure stepped into the chamber. Lean. Pale. Eyes like black ice catching the flame light.
Nois smiled.
"Hello, Raven Altair. I've been looking forward to meeting you."