"Stick to the plan," Etzli uttered through clenched teeth. "We don't engage. We lose them in the maze."
Paras pressed closer to Etzli as they hurried along the crowded apartment corridor. "Do you want me to promise I won't kill anyone?"
"That would be great, yeah," Etzli said.
The place was a wreck, hastily built and barely maintained. The cheap doors did little to muffle the sounds of babies crying, music screeching, people arguing with their screens.
Residents, exhausted but wary, lingered in the halls. They watched Etzli and Paras with narrowed eyes, suspicious of strangers.
Paras huffed, "I promise not to kill anyone."
"Thank you."
"Unless I have to."
Etzli sighed.
They turned a corner, hit a dead-end, then back-tracked and shot off in a new direction. Any forward progress was a halting process of trial and error. Corridors ended suddenly, or curved off at odd angles. There was no planning or reason to it, as if the building had been designed by a maniac.