Nobody approaches the underpass with a heightened sense of purpose, the three heads lowering to the ground, sniffing intently for any residual scents or clues. The smell of oil and rust is heavy in the air, but beyond that, a cocktail of human scents reveals traces of recent activity. A particular scent stands out due to its chemical tang—a scent that often accompanies tech modifications or recently manufactured electronics. It lingers stubbornly in the air, leading Nobody to conclude that whatever was exchanged here was likely of a technological nature, possibly even wetware. With this information, they could surmise that there is an underground market for such items occurring right beneath the hustle and bustle of the bridge's daily commerce.

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With the business completed, Zeb carefully picks up the sterile case that contains the sub-dermal weapon nodes. He inspects the small modules within the case for a moment, perhaps considering the power they would soon add to his arsenal. He closes the case with a soft click, securing the nodes, and then he tucks the case under his arm. Now augmented with the potential for concealed combat prowess, Zeb contemplates his next move.

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As Nobody curls up into a comfortable position amongst the remnants of the tent, the slight hum of machinery and electronics from the bridge above lulls the dog into a deep sleep. In the dreamscape, Nobody finds itself soaring high above the bridge, a sense of freedom overtaking the sensation of confinement. The dream vividly simulates the experience of controlling a high-powered drone, navigating it skillfully between cables and structures, the wind flowing seamlessly around its mechanical body. The dream is a dance of precise maneuvers, and Nobody experiences the thrill of technology at its canine command.

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Nobody looks around and spots several makeshift shelters dotting the area. Among them is an old, deserted tent tucked away behind some crates near a closed shop stand. The tent is worn, the fabric partially torn, and it's clear that it's been unused for some time. Dust and debris have gathered at its entrance.

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Ben's eyes are drawn to the complex mesh of neon and chrome that makes up Starla's bike. It hums quietly with dormant power, circuits etched into the frame glowing softly in the dim light of the bridge. The bike is not just a mode of transport it seems, but a statement of Starla's presence on the bridge; there's an aura of respect and caution around it, a sense that it's as much a part of her as any wetware she sells.

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Zeb grabs the hovering drone, aligning it to capture the frame. Starla, with a smirk and a hint of sarcasm in her expression, sidles over to Zeb. He sets the drone's timer, and as it beeps down, they both strike a pose against the vibrant chaos of the bridge's twilight scene. The drone's shutter clicks a perfect snapshot of the moment: two formidable figures with the wild tapestry of the bridge stretching behind them, a memento of their precarious journey stitched with the neon and shadow of the cityscape. The drone dutifully returns to Zeb's side, storing the image in its digital archives.

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The bridge slowly returns to its bustling state as merchants and squatters repair what was damaged during the tremors. Zeb, map in hand, contemplates his next move—the entrance to the underground is near, but the recent seismic event may have altered the landscape or exposed new paths. With a deep breath, he steps through the throng of people, his eyes sharp and his mind racing. The underbelly of the city awaits, full of risks and rewards, and Zeb is determined to navigate it successfully.

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Muller steps forward, curiosity piqued by the mention of Ratz and the quest for an untergrund map. Zeb's reputation for handling difficult situations on the bridge has preceded him, lending weight to his words. Muller gives Zeb a long, searching look, trying to gauge the level of sincerity and perhaps danger Zeb might bring. Muller's eyes then settle on the piece of paper clutched in Zeb's hand, which undoubtedly holds some clue of Ratz's confidence in Zeb. Muller nods slowly, acknowledging the complexity of what Zeb is asking for and seeming to make a decision about how much to reveal.

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As Zeb and Starla continue, the environment grows denser with tech scrap and makeshift shelters. Finally, they arrive at their destination: a cluttered area teeming with salvaged electronics and machinery parts, Muller's known territory. The place is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of oil and metal. Zeb scans the area with his Senzo device, looking for signs of Muller amongst the piles of technological detritus, ready to confront the individual he has been seeking.

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Zeb stands tall, the electrified hum of the stun baton punctuating the tension. His glare sweeps the area, challenging any remaining combatants. The clear threat in his stance and the outcome of the two guards at his feet send an unmistakable message. The nearby figures, witnessing the swiftness and severity of Zeb's actions, back away hastily, not willing to test his resolve. The immediate vicinity falls into a wary calm, with only the injured guards' whimpers breaking the silence. Starla gives Zeb an approving nod, impressed by his effective show of force.

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