The
shape of the boot was difficult to make out, but I saw it. Whether
due to the effects of my earlier experience with the nitrogen or my
current limited air, I didn't panic.
Maybe
there was someone, waiting unseen and ready to pounce; someone with a
rebreather or air tank, waiting for me to investigate.
I
quickly ruled out this possibility as I eyed the dust around the
boot. The trail of my previous tracks skirted by, something I'd
missed on my first pass-through, and I didn't see any other signs of
human feet having tread where mine hadn't. Steeling my nerves, I made
up my mind to get closer.
All
senses were on overdrive as my brain continued to seek out any
evidence of a trap. I crept slowly, trying not to make any noise as I
got my first full glimpse of the person the boot was connected to.
All Outerall suits, regardless of Corporate affiliation or
Department, have a contact point near the collar meant for emergency
communication and diagnostics if hand signals weren't viable.
I
didn't need to use the diagnostic to confirm the state of the person
in question: they were dead. Straight-up dead.
For one, the body
was missing a leg, both arms, and ninety-nine percent of its
moisture; It could've been a prop from a holo featuring ancient
mummified skeletons, and I would've believed you. For another, the
contact point was gone, along with a majority of the faded orange
Overall still meagerly covering the desiccated corpse.
I
had to fight to not get overexcited: Orange meant Maintenance.
Maintenance meant a different configuration. Different configuration
meant parts I might be able to utilize.
From
where I stood, and by the appearance of the shredded suit, most of
the components and systems along the back and lower parts of the body
had been...shorn off somehow. Through a number of openings, I could
see tiny nicks and cracks along the ribs, vertebrae, and skull. None
of the cuts appeared to be recent. The dust within the edges of the
tattered remains was thick, matching the surrounding flooring.
It's
been here for a while. Good.
I
relaxed just a touch as I turned over the body. It felt like it
weighed nothing as the leathery skin stretched and deteriorated,
causing my stomach to roll as I surveyed the remains of the decaying
suit. I swiftly confirmed the Ident-chip, wicking system, and
underlying electronics had all been removed. By what, or whom, I
still wasn't quite sure, but what still remained made my heart leap
in happiness.
A
locking collar.
The
air was getting thin, as my chest began to burn. I was overcome with
an urge to breathe harder as I grabbed the tattered upper portions of
the suit's remains, hastily extracting it from the body before making
my way back to the opening doorway.
I finally made it back,
having taken extra care not to disturb the drones as I replenished my
air and took the time to examine the spoils of my dive.
I
almost whooped in happiness at the state of the locking collar. While
there were minor blemishes tarnishing the metallic ring, it was
wholly undamaged and serviceable. Even better? Stowed safely within
the collar was an old but usable soft hood. Having not been deployed,
the hood had still been packed, safely ensconced beneath the metal
ring of the locking collar, which had protected it from harm.
With
the hood, I had more range. How much more I couldn't say for certain.
It turned my once Herculean task into something a bit more...mortally
achievable.
There
was a soft clink as I worked to remove the collar. I set the collar
aside as I worked to unravel the source of the noise and found a
palm-sized metallic plate on what would've been the right breast of
the Overall. A nameplate.
Laser-etched
onto the face were the following words:
MAINTENANCE.
[Branch,
P.T.] CC05.
CIDENT#45-17-1138.
The
last few digits of the ID caught me by surprise. I pondered for a bit
as I realized who the body belonged to; it was the owner of the code.
The code I used to enter the tunnels so many years ago. The code,
which was even now saving my life.
The
presence of his body within the tunnels of an entirely different
block was a mystery, as was the fact his codes were still working
despite the proof of his untimely demise within. The length of time
needed for his body to be in the state it was?
Wow.
I
began connecting the collar to my own suit.
"Well,
Mr. Branch," I said quietly as I readjusted the ring, checking
the placement with my gloves to ensure it was positioned correctly,
"Looks like I need to thank you. You've done a lot for me, and I
didn't even know you, so...thanks." The collar clicked as it
sealed perfectly into position. I was feeling good all the way up to
when I reached back to pull out the hood and seal it around my head,
trapping the air inside the suit like a bubble.
Yeah.
It...it wasn't good. Phew.
Between
the skinsuit still being wet, the muskiness of the scarf wrapped
around my neck, and a dead guy's stained and crumpled soft hood?
I
unsealed the hood, breathing heavily from the open doorway as I took
off the scarf in a futile effort to cut the smell, even a little. It
might have worked, but I couldn't tell. There were almost comical
wisps of steam coming off of the soiled garment, looking like ripe
smell lines in a classical cartoon holo as I wrapped the scarf around
the suit's locking collar in order to free my hands. At this point, I
was pretty convinced I'd need to get my nasal passages lead-lined the
next time I visited a MedDoc. Perhaps it was even time to replace my
sense of smell entirely...damn the cost.
I
took a number of quick cleansing breaths, displacing the air by
fluffing the hood open and closed a few times, before locking down
and closing the doorway.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
I
jumped as I realized there were now three drones facing me from the
tunnel, all three sets of eight eyes locked around my neck as they
chittered excitedly, mechanical arms vibrating like rattles as their
eyes turned a deeper shade of red.
They
were close...far, far too close.
I
yelped as one of them leapt, snagging my scarf and succeeding in
dragging me onto the floor in a single move. The soft hood's seal
held as the air was forced out of my lungs, and I hit the ground. I
was face-up as the drone dragged me across the corridor and away from
the door like a spider towing a juicy insect into a webbed lair.
The
scarf was locked tight like a noose under the locking collar as I
struggled, gloved fingers trying to find a way under the loop in
order to loosen it enough to escape.
I
redoubled my efforts as I felt a rapid series of tiny vibrations, the
tap, tap, tap, tapping of magnetic feet as the side drones converged.
Two sets of utility arms darted toward me from either side as I
untangled myself with a sudden jerk. The sudden freedom caused the
scarf to accelerate as it slid along. The arms retracted as I heaved,
leaning sharply to the right, barely avoiding the rush of pursuing
drones as they buzzed after it aggressively.
I
was now behind them.
The
two side drones caught up to the first, tearing and ripping into the
steaming cloth with the same breathtaking efficiency demonstrated on
the conduits earlier. The first one stopped to join once it realized
the frenzy had started, and they acted as one. The drone on the left
was using a tiny cutting saw to shear sections of the scarf into
ribbons while the other two stabbed through the material and into the
ground with ruthless abandon. The red-cast corridor was occasionally
illuminated by strobing snapshots of horrifying violence as they fell
on their prey; their sharpened probes sent off sparks with every
brutal impact, showing all the grace of prison shivs being used to
shank someone. It would've been an impressive display of
synchronicity if it weren't so utterly terrifying.
I
was trapped against the door, the three drones between me and the
tunnel as I stood up slowly. The trio stopped; their movements jerky
and halting as I froze, mid-rise. My face paled at the sight of their
bodies now turning slowly in unison to track me.
The
scarf was now a distant memory, the mangled pile of unrecognizably
shredded fibers forgotten like a lifeless victim. The remnants grew
cold and were discarded in the chilly air, and I didn't dare breathe
as the arms of the drones began to rattle again. Three sets of eight
eyes darted from place to place, individually and in sets, as they
evaluated the surroundings for threats or targets. Curiously, they
seemed unable to track me if I stood motionless like I was now. After
a few tense minutes, it was clear the drones were no longer finding
anything to focus on.
My
thighs and knees were beginning to burn with exertion as I struggled
not to move. My optics silently warned me of the nitrogen imbalance
in the air again, the alert set to a minimal mode so it would no
longer block my view. As if on cue from the alert, the three drones
skittered off down the tunnel, seemingly happy to move onto their
next task as if nothing had occurred. At the very least, I knew what
had caused the smallish cuts on the bones.
I
waited a few more minutes before attempting to open the door and
reset my air levels, quickly shutting the entry before the drones
returned.
I
had a theory on why they were coming, but I didn't want to trigger
them again, not yet. I was shaking, this time not from the cold but
from the adrenaline of nearly being processed into a pile of shredded
protipacks on a platter. My stomach growled despite the temporary
weakness I felt at the mere thought of food.
I
slowed my breathing to calm myself, thankful for the extra air the
soft hood afforded me, despite the scent, as I focused on the
positives of the ordeal. Now...I had information.
It
was becoming obvious; the drones only started coming closer once I
kept the door open long enough for the warnings to go away. The first
trip had been a fluke. The trigger seemed to be the ratio of anything
except the nitrogen gas now present deeper within the tunnels, and it
had been a wonder I'd made it as far as I had without running afoul
unexpectedly.
More
than once I'd stepped by the drones as they'd monitored me while the
nitrogen gas mix was present. It felt safe to assume, provided I kept
my distance where applicable, I wouldn't risk aggression so long as I
avoided another hidden trigger I might not be aware of.
Judging
by how the drones had reacted once the trigger conditions were met, I
had to assume their primary hunting senses were between electrical,
scent, pheromone, heat, or motion. It was easy to rule out most of
these options because of one absolute fact during the attack: they'd
ignored me.
When
I'd taken my scarf off, I'd wrapped it around the locking collar to
free my hands. They'd gone straight for it, having been remarkably
fixated on my neck when they'd first appeared. After the drone had
borne me to the ground and I'd managed to untangle, they'd gone after
it instead of attacking me.
I
could argue there could've been enough...residue to have left enough
medium clinging to the outside of my suit to follow by scent, or
pheromones, yet they'd stayed solely focused on the scarf itself,
particularly once it had been dragged away. In a similar vein, while
Mr. Branch's suit had been torn to ribbons and the electrical
components removed or destroyed, it didn't look targeted, just
brutally efficient. I looked over at the pile of stray fibers and
remembered the marks on Branch's corpse.
That
left two: heat and movement. The most likely and the most effective
when paired together with cold ambient temps like down here.
I
tried to imagine what Branch's last moments must've been like. The
sheer terror of suddenly being attacked in the dark and what he
would've done. What I would've done.
I
would've ran.
Based
on my new understanding, running wouldn't have worked. It meant they
would've gone into a frenzy, the motion drawing them toward him as he
tried to flee. Worse? With every cut, he would've bled more heat into
the frosty air, showing up like a fusion core in a dark void, all the
while drawing more and more of the drones from sub-tunnels he
wouldn't have been able to crawl through to escape if he wanted to.
The main corridors would've been drowned in the tap, tap, tapping of
those magnetic legs just like I'd heard as they hunted. Legs
following him as far as it took until the heat stopped showing, and
he finally stopped moving. No
way out.
I
stared down the tunnel, which was now absent of the red glow of the
drones and their creepily watching eyes. My mind began to play
tricks, imagining spiders lurking in the far-off corners to snatch
and drag me away into the darkness, like the drone had begun to do
when the scarf had looped around my collar.
Would
it have tried to squeeze me through one of those smaller tunnels
until I couldn't move?
The
nitrogen warning reappeared on my interface. I shook off the thought.
I
had a problem, or so I had once been told, of imagining worse things
in lieu of facing the issues immediately before me. I wasn't a child
anymore, but even then I'd known the monsters were real. The
imagination meant I made it even worse on myself if I couldn't get
control of it.
Here?
Now? I could do something about it. I
could do something.
Toggling
the door open, I nodded to myself before readying up for another trek
into the depths; the plan had not changed.
The
Plan:
1.
Find another doorway to work with the code. Avoid being
drone-shanked. (Thanks, Mr. Branch.)
2. Try to trick the Goons
into thinking I was going somewhere I wasn't.
3. Something
something...lose 'em. I'll figure it out.
4. Success!
Better fear and action
than doubt and quandary. Go
time, Price.
I
sealed my hood and closed the door before stepping forward down the tunnel.