The Basement lived up to its name in the worst possible way. We descended three flights of concrete stairs that smelled like sweat, beer, and something darker I tried not to think about. The walls were covered in layers of graffiti, tags from gangs that probably didn't even exist anymore. Each step took us deeper underground, and the sound of shouting and bass-heavy music grew louder.
Ifizi moved ahead of me like he owned the place, and maybe he did. People stepped aside when they saw him coming, their eyes tracking him with a mixture of fear and respect. Nobody looked at me twice, which suited me fine. I was still trying to process everything he had told me back at the apartment.
The rebirths were real. Some kind of experimental procedure that changed people at a fundamental level, maki
