Steelheart by Brandon Sanderson

had numerous holes in the ceiling for fresh air, and blue-violet lights shone from spotlights around the rim. The center of the tall chamber was cluttered with rocks brought in from outside—real rocks, not ones that had been turned to steel. There was also wooden playground equipment, moderately well maintained, that had been scavenged from somewhere. In the daytime the place would fill with children—the ones too young to work, or the ones with families who could afford not to have them work. Old women and men would gather to knit socks or do other simple work.
    Megan raised her hand to still us. “Mobiles?” she whispered.
    Cody sniffed. “Do I look like some amateur?” he asked. “It’s on silent.”
    I hesitated, then took mine off the place on my shoulder and double-checked. Fortunately it was on silent. I took out the battery anyway, just in case. Megan moved quietly out of the tunnel and across the park toward the shadow of a large rock. Cody went next, then I followed, keeping low and moving as quietly as I could, passing large stones growing lichen.
    Up above a few cars rumbled by on the roadway that ran past the openings in the ceiling. Late-night commuters heading home. Sometimes they’d throw trash down on us. A surprising number of the rich still had ordinary jobs. Accountants, teachers, salesmen,computer technicians—though Steelheart’s datanet was open only to his most trusted. I’d never seen a real computer, just my mobile.
    It was a different world above, and jobs that had once been common were now held by only the privileged. The rest of us worked factories or sewed clothing in the park while watching children play.
    I reached the rock and crouched beside Cody and Megan, who were stealthily inspecting the two far walls of the chamber, where the dwellings were cut. Dozens of holes in the steel provided homes of various sizes. Metal fire escapes had been harvested from unused buildings above and set up here to give access to the holes.
    “So, which one is it?” Cody asked.
    I pointed. “See that door on the second level, far right? That’s it.”
    “Nice,” Cody said. “How’d y’all afford a place like this?” He asked it casually, but I could tell that he was suspicious. They all were. Well, I suppose that was to be expected.
    “I needed a room by myself for my research,” I said. “The factory where I worked saves all of your wages when you’re a kid, then gives them to you in four yearly chunks when you hit eighteen. It was enough to get me a year in my own room.”
    “Cool,” Cody said. I wondered if my explanation passed his test or not. “It doesn’t look like Enforcement has made it here yet. Maybe they couldn’t match you from the description.”
    I nodded slowly, though beside me Megan was looking around, her eyes narrowed.
    “What?” I asked.
    “It looks too easy. I don’t trust things that look too easy.”
    I scanned the far walls. There were a few empty trash bins and some motorbikes chained up beside a stairwell. Some chunks of metal had been etched by enterprising street artists. They weren’t supposed to do that, but the people encouraged them, quietly. It was one of the only forms of rebellion the common people ever engaged in.
    “Well, we can wait here staring until they
do
come,” Cody said, rubbing his face with a leathery finger, “or we can just go. Let’s be on with it.” He stood up.
    One of the large trash bins shimmered.
    “Wait!” I said, grabbing Cody and pulling him down, my heart leaping.
    “What?” he said, anxious, unslinging his rifle. It was of a very fine make, old but well maintained, with a large scope and a state-of-the-art suppressor on the front. I’d never been able to get my hands on one of those. The cheaper ones worked poorly, and I found it too hard to aim with them.
    “There,” I said, pointing at the trash bin. “Watch it.”
    He frowned but did what I asked. My mind raced, sorting through fragments of remembered