Three hours after the catastrophic crimson alarms had been silenced, the subterranean expanse of Sector Zero remained a damp, echoing purgatory of industrial noise. Down here, far removed from the pristine, climate-controlled executive suites of Floor Twenty-Four, the air was thick with the scent of oxidized copper and heavy diesel fumes.
I was kneeling on the cold concrete floor, a wire-bristle brush in my right hand, methodically scrubbing a thick layer of hardened sludge from the base of a heavy pneumatic freight lift. My faded flannel shirt was now thoroughly soaked with sweat and stained with dark streaks of grease.
Supervisor Hayes stood a safe twenty feet away, holding his clipboard like a physical shield. He watched me with wide, paranoid eyes. The rumors filtering down from the
