Tris followed Bissell down a dark hallway and into a cavernous alleyway with a roof of hanging clothes. They spoke no words: Tris was still in shock, his adrenal boosters had maxed out, he could barely think of a sentence yet alone utter one. After what felt like an hour but was only minutes, Bissell entered a steel door. They entered what appeared to be a supply closet, and Bissell turned to Tris.

“You have something for my master.”

“I do?”

“In your pocket.”

Tris’s instincts overrode his confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have been given the job of delivering something to a specific address in the East District. We thought you might need help, so we waited for you throughout the District.”

“Huh?” Tris’s face contorted. He knew he was already giving away too much. “You know the address?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me.”

Bissell leaned in close and whispered the address. 

“This job just keeps getting weirder,” Tris thought out loud. “Ok, let’s go.”

Bissell grinned and continued walking. They walked through the dumpling restaurant they had entered via the alley. It opened to one of the ancient staircases that rose into the upper floors of the East District, to its ill-defined transition into the jungle. They climbed.