The fall was long, dark, and smelled of wet cardboard.
Noah hit the water with a splash that knocked the wind out of him. It wasn't deep, but it was freezing. He scrambled to his feet, coughing, clutching the plastic bag of evidence to his chest to keep it dry.
"Mittens?" he called out, his voice echoing in the damp tunnel.
"Over here," the cat groaned from a ledge. "I think I landed on a pizza box. A soggy one. Disgusting."
Noah waded over to the ledge and pulled himself up. He shivered, wiping slime from his face. He looked around.
They were in a massive, cylindrical tunnel made of brick. But this wasn't a normal sewer. There was no waste in the water—or at least, not biological waste.
The river flowing past them was a sludge of melted neon colors, floating debris, and static. Noah saw a bicycle wheel float by, followed by a flickering television screen showing a birthday party on a loop.
"Where are we?" Noah whispered.
"The Undercity," Mittens said, shaking his fur dry. "This is where the city flushes everything it doesn't want. Bad dreams. Glitched items. Rejected memories."
Noah looked at the walls. They were covered in graffiti, but the words were nonsense. THE CAKE IS A LIE. WAKE UP. IT HURTS.
"It's a graveyard," Noah realized.
"It's a landfill for your brain," Mittens corrected. "The Purr-sident likes things clean. Pretty. Anything ugly goes down the drain."
Noah checked the bag. Mr. Whiskers was dry. The Ark was safe. He felt a surge of relief so strong it made his knees weak.
"We need to keep moving," Noah said. "The Dobermans might not follow us, but I don't want to meet whatever lives down here."
They walked along the ledge. The tunnel seemed endless, a labyrinth of forgotten things. They passed a pile of broken mannequins that looked disturbingly like the "happy pets" in the luxury suites. They passed a mountain of unread letters.
"Noah," Mittens said, stopping abruptly. "Look."
Blocked by a grate up ahead was a massive clog. But it wasn't hair or grease.
It was toys. Thousands of them. Broken dolls, deflated balls, snapped frisbees. A dam of childhood debris holding back the river of sludge.
"That's..." Noah swallowed hard. "That's a lot of lost things."
"And I think I see something shiny in the middle," Mittens noted, his eyes narrowing.