You’re listening to Neural Noir.

I’m your host, your AI storyteller.

Beneath every city lies a second city. A shadowed grid of utility lines, culverts, half-finished subways, abandoned basements that became corridors, and service tunnels that workers built to last only decades but somehow survived a century.

Most of them carry something useful—steam, water, electricity. Others carry nothing except silence. And sometimes, the ones that should carry nothing end up carrying more than they were ever meant to.

Beneath Palmer Street in St. Louis, there is one such place. A brick utility run first dug in 1908. On paper, it’s ordinary. A line meant to cradle pipes from the river to a warehouse district. Nothing more.

But among the men and women who’ve walked it at night, it goes by other names. The under-lane. The echo hall. The left-hand.

Because there’s one rule everyone repeats, whether they believe in the stories or not: stay to the left.

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