Skyline Infiltration

You ordered me to deploy into the big city, into New York. Are there thousands of crewmates trapped in those high towers waiting to be eliminated? Or do they just eat hot dogs all day? My family never navigated concrete canyons; I miss floating through silent reactor corridors with them, where nobody gave contradictory coordinates. Wedged under the bench rung, a glossy postcard of a glowing night skyline was stuck in the timber grain. Clamping down on the stiff cardboard corner with my sharp felt teeth, I hauled it backward across the porch floorboards and tucked it against the leg. If I must infiltrate this massive grid, reconnaissance begins tonight.