“Everyone step back,” Bixby said, pulling out a rifle with a folding skeleton stock from the lockbox. “They can’t all fit through the door at once. It’ll be a bottleneck.”

Rip suddenly realized Chance and Blair had guns, too. They pulled them out of their knapsacks, unfolding their stocks. He watched as Chance slammed home a round drum full of ammo.

“Are those Tommy guns?”

Chance ignored him, aiming for the door. He spread his feet apart for balance.

Blair glanced at him and sighed.

“Get behind us, Muscles. It’ll be safer that way.”

Rip decided not to argue. He stepped between them and took up a position behind both.

“Steady!” Bixby said. “Don’t fire until they open the door.”

The footsteps grew louder, the rapping sounds on metal quickly becoming unbearable.

The door crashed open and the first sewer trooper rushed in carrying a broomhandle pistol with a wooden buttstock.

The three opened fire, knocking him back through the door.

Other troopers tried firing from the hall, but they were packed together too tightly.

“For the home front!” Bixby yelled before squeezing his trigger and burping a long line of bullets through the door.

Rip ducked as a stray bullet whizzed over his head like a supersonic mosquito. Ricochets pinged off the metal walls, and he kept waiting for someone to get hit.

But the doorway soon clogged with corpses, blood dripping out from under gas masks and trench coats.

Soon, no more crowded the door.

“Ammo check?”

“I’m out, Colonel,” Bixby said, pulling the drum off his gun. “And those broom handles use different magazines.”

“Maybe we can scavenge some bullets. They use the same caliber we do. How about you, Lady Brooke?”

“I’ve got one drum left,” she said, pulling it out of her canvas knapsack.

“Right. Let’s reload. I’d like us to have two full drums each. See if you can find any explosives on these fellows, although I suppose they would have tried to use them.”

He glanced over at Rip and said, “And let’s make sure Sergeant Coulter gets a gun. I’m sure he’ll need it if he is to accompany us.”

“Uh, sure,” Rip said. He bent down and grabbed the first gun he saw, near a dead trooper.

[You have looted an ordinary revolver: .38 caliber, six-shooter, four bullets remaining.]

“An ordinary revolver. Are there enhanced ones?”

“Certainly,” Bixby said, walking past him. “Although I doubt these gents have any on them. They’re not elites.”

“And a good thing, too,” Chance said, pulling off a belt under a dead man’s trench coat, several ammo mags dangling from it. “We wouldn’t have been able to take on so many elites. At least, not easily.”

He unhooked one of the magazines and began emptying its bullets, flicking them out with his thumb. He caught them in his other hand, pocketed them, and moved on to the next mag.

“Here, you should take a broomhandle,” Blair said, handing him one of the bigger pistols.

[You have looted an ordinary broomhandle submachine gun: .45 caliber, removable box magazine with 20 round capacity, 20 bullets remaining.]

“Hm. Heavy.”

“And load up on magazines. Here, take this belt and strap it around those really broad shoulders or something.”

Minutes later, everyone was reloaded and ready to go.

Bixby approached Rip and said, “Sergeant, we’re here on an errand of utmost importance to the Crown. One of His Majesty’s top boffins was abducted from his flat in Ethinium last week. Our sources tell us he was ferried under duress to this very steam vault. We were in the process of making our way deeper into the vault when we were apprehended.”

“I see.”

Chance handed the Colonel a freshly loaded drum and a six shooter he had taken from one of the troopers. The colonel pocketed both. He wore loose tan dungarees and a matching jacket with lots of pockets.

“Would you join us in our mission, Sergeant? We could certainly use another hand exploring these tunnels. You’ve proven useful so far, freeing us from those cages. A fourth would be well met, I believe.”

[You have been invited to join a team, Bixby’s Bandits. Do you accept?]

“Bixby’s Bandits?”

Chance and Blair both gave him a startled look. Bixby raised an eyebrow.

“Why, yes. Have you heard of us? I don’t recollect telling you the name of our group.”

Rip ripped his attention away from the implant’s prompt.

“Uh, no. I . . . I got the name from my implant . . .”

He paused, noticing their blank looks.

“Never mind. Yes, I would like to join to your team.”

[You have joined Bixby’s Bandits. You are now sharing a team mission: Rescue Dr. Henson Oggolopoli.]

Rip read the message and frowned. He decided to remain silent, though. It would not do for him to reveal he knew the name of the man they were here to rescue. Not if they were surprised he knew the name of the team before they told him.

Obviously, these people don’t have neural implants. If they even are people.

Rip still suspected this might be an elaborate new game, although he had never heard of one this realistic. Everything looked and felt completely real. Even in the NeuralNet, players knew they were online. Here, it felt like he was living out the game.

The colonel slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Right, then! Let us depart. We were trying to get down to Level 13 before that passing patrol of Steam Workers apprehended us. They had some fairly advanced guards in the patrol.”

“They surprised us, and locked us up in here after disarming everybody,” Blair said beside him.

Rip found her at his side. He had not heard her approach.

Chance added, “Yeah, and they were all corrupt. Nothing’s worse than a corrupt Steam Worker, lemme tall ya, mate.”

Rip nodded.

Again, he decided silence would be the most prudent course of action.

“Right then. Be careful and remain on guard. We don’t want to be surprised again. Sergeant, you have that wrench? An enhanced item is quite beneficial to have.”

“If nothing else, mate, you can always sell it in Ethinium when we get topside again.”

“Topside. So, I take it we’re underground?”

Rip regretted the question as soon as he said it. All three gave him strange looks.

“We can also get you to a head shrink if you need one, mate,” Chance said, patting him on the arm. “You likely took a bop to the noggin down here.”

Blair pulled near to his arm in a protective gesture.

“He’s fine, Chance. Give him a while to get adjusted.”

Bixby headed for the door, stepping over bodies. He poked his head out and looked up and down the long corridor. Then he looked over his shoulder at the three behind him.

“Don’t forget those keys, Mr. Chance.”

“I have them, sir.”

“Right then. Let us venture forth.”