I walk over to the entryway to the subterranean scandal and remove the manhole cover. A pungent stink belches forth from the exposed orifice in the asphalt. Waste, death and crime assault my nostrils with astounding force. Its a aroma that can be described most aptly as filth.
I use the flash light built into the tips of my gloves' index fingers and scan the bottom of the hole for potential ambushes. Seeing nothing but bile-green water and rats, I descend the iron ladder into the liquid scum and vermin. I step in, ankle deep in feces and urine, and draw my gun. I hold it with both hands, right finger on the trigger, left shining its flashlight. I scan once more around and see nothing suspicious. I realize now that I have a problem. I am unsure of which way the first two men had gone in the tunnel.
"If I were filth, which way would I go?" I ask myself quietly. I glance down at the sewage flowing around my feet and see its flowing to my right. "I suppose I'd follow the rest of the filth."
I begin walking down the tunnel with the direction of the stream. Every step seems to echo endlessly in either direction, and the squeaking rats seem to surround me at all times. After a long time, the exact duration of which I'm not sure, I begin to hear barking and voices from further down the tunnel. I flick off my finger light and proceed slowly, hugging the slimy gray wall. The barking is louder now and I see lights coming from an opening ahead. I make way to the corner, and the roar of human yells, canine barks, and bestial growls is deafening now.
I peer slowly around the corner and see an unnaturally large guard blocking the entrance. No way I'll be able to take this behemoth down one-on-one. I holster my gun and reach inside my right glove and click something. I straighten my jacket, and strut around the corner and walk confidently straight at the rhinoceros of a man.
"Hey, who the he--" He begins to try to stop me but I slam my right palm into his sternum, which sends him flying into the wall, and limply, he crumples into the scum. Glove-taser.
Before anyone can notice, I dart inside and find a shadowed corner to observe from, unnoticed. The room is the size of a small school cafeteria, with a domed ceiling and a floor that descends to what I assume is the area where the dogs are fighting. There are over a hundred shady looking individuals crowded in the center, blocking my view, but that's where most of the barking is coming from. Most. Where are the rest of the dogs? I scan the perimeter of the room and see an iron door directly across from me, and another plus-sized individual guarding it. And just like that, I have a plan.