Sprite quickly climbed out the rear window onto the old, rusty fire escape. The back alley was narrow, brick buildings on each side and trash cans next to nondescript metal doors, the drive too thin for even dumpsters.

Buried in cardboard, 300 feet at the end of the alleyway, Sprite had her yellow Rocket Rider 50 waiting for her. She considered taking it; the two wheeler was narrow enough to maneuver these alleys in the old neighborhood, but her darts didn’t need yet another high profile roadway getaway. Instead, she pulled open the horizontal cellar doors, entering the building’s basement.