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.