The Doctor’s wagon rattled through an oily alleyway.
Grit clinging to the windshield blurred the construction lights as we passed. The air remained unchanged—damp, with the biting tang of metal. As we drove further, the light sources began to thin out. We were entering a place where people simply didn't go.
Only the roar of the engine and the creaking of the tires threaded through the heavy darkness.
Eventually, a massive iron structure loomed before us. It was a latticed shutter, its surface choked with red rust and its corners marked by old scorch stains. No matter how you looked at it, the facility was long past its prime.
"……What is this place?" I asked.
"A modified elevator. Our little secret passage. Even the mafia types rarely poke around here. It’s a disposable route, but I’ve got a few of them scattered about."
The Doctor gave the wheel a light turn, slowing the wagon. Instead of an accelerator pedal, he worked a lever at his side. To accommodate his small stature, the driver’s seat had been overhauled to look more like a spaceship’s cockpit. Red lamps flickered, and every time his fingers danced across the controls, the wagon subtly adjusted its posture.
"……Feels like the entrance to a coffin," I muttered.
The Doctor cackled from the passenger side.
"Haha! Well said. Though they’re both similar in that once you’re inside, you’re going 'up,' right?"
While he made his jokes, the Bouncer hopped out of the back. He leaned over a control panel next to the iron gate, connecting a cord and entering a series of commands.
Clang.
The ancient mechanism groaned in protest as the shutter slowly dragged itself upward. A wave of dust-laden air pressed stiflingly against my face.
Beyond the gate lay a concrete box. It was three meters high and just wide enough to fit a single wagon. Old warning signs were embossed on the interior walls, though they had long since become illegible.
The Doctor hit the gas. The wagon creaked as it slid into the iron box, the metal body scraping against the walls and sending sparks flying into the dark. The Bouncer rushed in behind us. He slammed a button on the panel, and the shutter slammed shut, sealing us inside.
……Silence.
A heavy thud vibrated through the floor a moment later. The massive iron mass began its slow, sluggish ascent. Inside the cramped space, the flickering lamps swayed irregularly. The light reflected off the ceiling, intermittently illuminating our faces.
Through the gaps in the iron walls, I watched the lights of the lower levels recede into the distance.
"We’ll get off partway up. That’s where we’ll dismantle this guy," the Doctor said, resting his chin on the steering wheel while staring straight ahead. He looked almost joyful. His excited expression possessed an innocent quality, like a young boy anticipating a new toy. "I might be one step closer to my ideal today."
A dry smile escaped me. As usual, he had nothing but that on his mind.
I glanced back toward the rear of the wagon. One of the "believers" lay on the floor, his limbs bound and his mouth gagged with cloth. He was unconscious, his shallow breathing ticking at a constant, rhythmic pace.
Silver lines traced his skin—a bizarre pattern, as if his brainwaves had been physically dragged to the surface.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a lollipop. I crinkled the wrapper open and tossed the candy into my mouth. A small click echoed as it hit the tip of my tongue. The burst of sweetness slightly diluted the lingering taste of iron.
The elevator continued its slow climb. The light from the ceiling grew dim, replaced by a pale blue glow filtering in from far above. I took a shallow breath. The scent of dust remained, but it was still better than the air "below." We were still within the Subplate, yet I could feel the atmosphere shifting.
The only sounds inside the box were the low thrum of the engine and the steady beating of a heart. The Doctor caught my eye in the mirror, his gaze shining with a mischievous glint.
"So. What kind of interesting things do you think are packed inside him?"
"……Who knows."
I gave a slight shrug, and the Doctor chuckled to himself. He switched on the car radio; apparently, we had risen high enough to pick up a signal. Cheerful music cut through the static, filling the cabin.
Inside his pod, the boy remained adrift, unchanged.
We arrived even deeper into the Subplate, in a place I had never visited before.
The Doctor’s safehouse was a strange entity—a foreign object wearing the skin of a ruin. From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than a crumbling warehouse. But if you looked closely, you could see small sensors embedded in the cracks of the walls and a web of infrared beams crisscrossing the perimeter. An interception muzzle peeked inconspicuously from one of the exhaust vents.
It was remarkably elaborate for a hideout in the slums.
"You noticed? Sharp as always," the Doctor remarked, snorting with satisfaction as he hopped out of the wagon. He gave the Bouncer a nod to take over the vehicle. He wore his usual triumphant look. "I keep a fair amount of equipment here, so I had to set up some minimum security. It’s not quite the lab upstairs, but it’s a fine 'operating room' in its own right."
The Doctor led the way. The iron plates beneath our feet let out low, hollow groans with every step.
The moment we stepped through the entrance, the air changed completely—both the temperature and the scent. The nano-air conditioning was clearly running at full capacity; not a single speck of dust drifted in the air. It felt as though the dampness of the underground had been surgically excised from this space.
"Don't forget the disinfection shower," the Doctor said with a snap of his fingers.
A fine mist sprayed over me. It wasn't cold; it felt like a faint tingle of static electricity against my skin. Particle-like nanomachines crawled over my body, decomposing any adhering toxins. Once the process finished, a heavy door slid open with a hiss.
The interior was wider than I had anticipated. Soft white light fell from the ceiling, reflecting off the polished metallic floor. It was a space so pristine and well-organized that it was impossible to reconcile with the ruined exterior.
"……It’s cleaner than the place upstairs."
"Right? I don’t come here often, so there’s no time for it to get cluttered."
In the back of the lobby, a bank of monitors flickered with blue light. A kitchenette sat along one wall. By the time the Doctor returned with three bottles of mineral water, another door opened and the Bouncer entered, ducking his head to clear the frame.
"Doctor, I’ve moved them both to the lab. The pod is in place, and the man has been restrained. ……I haven't administered anesthesia yet. I wasn't sure how he’d react."
The Doctor tossed a water bottle to the giant, who accepted it with an apologetic bow.
"OK, good work. Let’s get to the treatment, then."
He tossed another bottle my way. I caught it easily with one hand; the chilled plastic felt pleasant against my palm. The label immediately began to sweat, fogging over in the cool air.
"Repairman, what about you? Do you have time?" the Doctor asked, twisting the cap off his bottle with his teeth.
I checked the terminal on my wrist. There was still no reply from Sebastian.
"Yeah. I was just getting curious myself."
"Good. Let’s go have a look, then."
With a smirk, the Doctor pushed the door open. A low, rhythmic mechanical hum drifted out from the lab beyond.
A Repairman and a Doctor—what we did was similar, yet our perspectives were worlds apart. I tightened my grip on the water bottle and stepped into the white light.