O’Keefe turns and heads into an alley cluttered with garbage and junk. Devil rats peer at him from dark corners. A pair of troll-sized legs protrudes from under the rusted remains of a stripped-down refrigerator. O’Keefe slides one hand through the pocket of his black duster to the butt of the Luger SPv3 holstered at his hip. The weight of the parabellum is as reassuring as the Kelmar Tech utility vest covering his chest. When real trouble comes, and it is already on the way, he will be ready.