Joel stared at the map, its lines and symbols a lifeline in the chaos. The marked exits stood out clearly—paths leading to safety, to Gideon, and the others who had likely set up something resembling shelter back at the supply depot. The thought of returning to them tugged at him, a quiet voice whispering the comfort of familiar faces and shared burdens. He could practically see Ren's exasperated grin, feel Jace's steady presence, and hear the chatter that came with just being with people who understood.

  But Joel knew safety was temporary. The depot, the exits, even the promise of open air—all of it would crumble if the source of this nightmare wasn’t dealt with. His eyes traced the path toward the core, a line deeper into the heart of the corrupted facility.

  The weight of his choice settled heavily on his chest, pressing like the oppressive silence of the hallway around him.

  He’d made so many choices in the past few weeks—each one harder than the last. He’d chosen to leave Craig and Darren behind, knowing they might not agree with his decision. He’d chosen to run with the rabbits instead of staying safe, pushing himself into the unknown. And now, he was choosing again.

  He turned and began to walk. The rhythmic thud of Joel’s work boots against the metal floor reverberated through the narrow hallway, each step amplifying the silence around him. The worn leather creaked faintly with every motion, a sound that felt oddly alive in the otherwise lifeless corridor. The echoes stretched out ahead of him, bouncing off the cold, featureless walls like ghostly whispers returning from the dark. It was a steady cadence, a grim reminder that he was utterly alone, yet unable to shake the feeling that something unseen might be listening, waiting. The faint scuff of his soles against the grit-lined panels added a dusty undertone, grounding him in the present while his mind teetered on the edge of the unknown.

  Joel let out a slow, uneven breath. The air felt colder here, tinged with that metallic taste he was starting to associate with the void. Safety wasn’t going to solve this. Running wouldn’t solve this. And if he didn’t keep moving, everything he cared about would be swallowed by this growing darkness.

  “This is on me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice swallowed by the silence.

  His fingers tightened. He summoned his armour, the power drain was tiny when he was just wearing it, and he wanted his HUD to show him the map. As he processed the world around him. He felt doubt gnaw at him, insidious and persistent. “What if I’m wrong? What if I fail?” He shook his head, clearing the thought. That didn’t matter now.

  Every step forward felt heavier, but Joel squared his shoulders, forcing himself to move. The exits might lead to safety, but safety wouldn’t last long if he turned his back now.

  Joel found the stairwell tucked away at the end of the corridor, its heavy metal door groaning on rusted hinges as he pushed it open. The dim lighting inside cast uneven shadows, the flickering fluorescents overhead creating an almost strobe-like effect that set his nerves on edge. The chill hit him immediately, a sharp, biting cold that clung to his skin and settled in his bones.

  As he descended, the scent overwhelmed him—a mix of rust and something far worse, a metallic tang that spoke of blood and decay mingled with the acrid undertone of burned machinery. His grip on the railing tightened, the metal slick with condensation that felt almost oily beneath his armoured hand.

  The stairwell walls bore evidence of what had come before. Deep gouges marred the concrete, the claw marks jagged and uneven as if made in blind desperation. Blackened scorch trails snaked down the walls, radiating out in chaotic bursts. Joel’s eyes lingered on one spot where the concrete had crumbled inward, exposing twisted rebar that jutted out like skeletal fingers.

  Blackened streaks spiderwebbed outward, remnants reminded Joel of blaster fire from his favourite movie as a kid. The damage had seared through concrete and metal alike. The impact points were cracked and concave, revealing the inner mesh of rebar twisted and warped by intense heat. Electrical burns added their own story, etched in sharp, branching patterns like frozen lightning strikes. The scorch marks shimmered faintly under the dim light as if the energy had left a lingering residue, humming with an almost imperceptible charge. Here and there, melted wires dangled from shattered conduits, their insulation burned away, releasing faint wisps of grey smoke into the chilled air.

  “Fuck me,” Joel whispered as he continued downward.

  The air grew heavier with every step, the oppressive silence broken only by the sound of his boots echoing against the steel treads. That sound didn’t carry far—something about the way the stairwell seemed to absorb the noise set his teeth on edge.

  Halfway down, a faint hum reached his ears, low and steady. It vibrated just beneath the threshold of hearing, a pulsing energy that seemed to emanate from deep below. Joel paused, one hand braced against the wall, listening. The hum wasn’t natural; it wasn’t mechanical. It was alive, resonating with the faint wrongness that he now recognized as the void’s presence.

  “I got to think happy thoughts,” he paused on the stairs and laughed at that point. “I ain’t no lost boy. Fuck.” He shrugged but tried to let his mind drift off. The metallic clink of the stairwell faded as Joel’s mind wandered to a warmer time, a brighter place. He could almost hear the hiss of the espresso machine, the low hum of conversation, and the clatter of ceramic mugs in Beanie’s, the little coffee shop they used to frequent in Fort St. John.

  Joel sat at their usual corner table, a spot near the window that overlooked the quiet, snow-dusted street. Sarah was across from him, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, her face flushed from the biting winter air. She cradled a steaming cup of black coffee, the faint aroma of hazelnut mingling with the shop’s comforting scent of baked goods.

  Oliver sat beside her, leaning back in his chair with a grin that could light up the whole room. He’d already gone through his first cup of tea, the empty mug pushed to the side as he poked fun at Joel’s choice of a plain drip coffee.

  “Come on, man,” Oliver teased, nudging Joel’s arm. “Live a little. Get a mocha or something. You’re making us look bad with that sad excuse for a drink.”

  “You sound like you should be in a musical, or some cheese online commercial,” Joel smirked, raising his cup in mock toast. “Not all of us need sugar to survive, Oliver.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Sarah chuckled, her laugh light and warm. “Oh, don’t start with him. You know he’s hopeless,” she said, her voice filled with the affection of years-long friendship.

  Joel was about to fire back a sarcastic retort when Sarah’s expression shifted. She set her cup down carefully, almost too carefully, and folded her hands on the table.

  “I need to tell you both something,” she began, her voice steady but carrying a nervous undertone. Oliver straightened, his grin fading as he caught the seriousness in her tone. Joel leaned forward, his coffee momentarily forgotten.

  Sarah's breath hitched in her throat, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Her gaze flickered nervously between the two men, each radiating an aura of power and danger that made her skin prickle with unease. Finally, her eyes settled on Joel, his hard, weathered features etched with a hard form of kindness that sent a shiver down her spine. He waited there, a silent, imposing figure, like a father assessing his child. The air crackled with tension, thick and suffocating, as if the very walls were holding their breath, anticipating the impending emotional river. “I’m pregnant.”

  The words hung in the air, cutting through the cozy atmosphere of the café. Joel’s brain stalled, his first instinct was to laugh at the absurdity of the statement, but one look at her face told him this wasn’t a joke.

  Oliver was the first to react, a wide grin splitting his face. "Seriously? That's incredible, Sarah!"

  Joel echoed him, though his voice was softer, a mix of disbelief and joy bubbling within him. "That's... wow. Congratulations." He felt a strange tightening in his chest, a mixture of emotions he couldn't quite name - happiness, of course, but also a tinge of something unfamiliar, a sense of responsibility perhaps.

  Oliver, ever the exuberant one, stood up and pulled Joel to his feet. "I think you're confused, love. We should be congratulating each other. We are going to be parents."

  Sarah's smile returned, small and shy at first, but her eyes sparkled with a newfound hope. "I wasn't sure how to tell you guys," she confessed, her voice a little breathless. "But I wanted you to know soon – we've become like family, but I had to wait to make sure. And this... it's scary, of course. But I'm excited. Really excited. I know it's silly to be scared, you guys paid for this after all."

  The three of them just essencing there in a brief silence, the weight of her words settling over them. Oliver clapped a hand on her shoulder, his enthusiasm filling the quiet. “You’re going to be amazing, Sarah. And hey, this kid’s going to have the coolest auntie in Fort St. John.”

  “You still want me to be involved after the birth?”

  Joel laughed at that, though his mind was still racing. His laugh was genuine; it was a relieved sound that echoed through the room, but it was a thin veneer over the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside the man. Of course, he wanted her to still be a part of Oliver and the babies' lives – the thought of Sarah disappearing from their lives was terrifying. These past few years, with Oliver and Sarah in his life, hadn't just been about fulfilling his dream of fatherhood; it had been about rebuilding a semblance of family. His brother's departure had left a gaping hole in his life, a loneliness that had seeped into his very bones.

  Now, with the prospect of a child, a new kind of family was blossoming – unexpected, fragile, yet undeniably beautiful. But with this joy came an unsettling wave of anxiety. What if he wasn't a good father? What if he failed to provide the love and support they deserved? What if he inadvertently pushed Sarah away, jeopardizing the fragile bond they had built?

  The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, heavy and unfamiliar. He had always been a free spirit, a bit of a wanderer, but now, the thought of being responsible for a tiny human being filled him with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He knew he was capable of love, of fierce, protective love, but was he capable of the unwavering consistency, the constant nurturing, that fatherhood demanded?

  Despite his initial elation, a flicker of doubt, a fear of the unknown, threatened to extinguish the joy in his heart. He pushed it down, determined to savour this moment, to cherish the happiness that radiated from Sarah's face. But the seed of worry had been planted, and he knew it would continue to grow, a constant undercurrent to the excitement of impending fatherhood.

  That was when the Coffee Conundrum started. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the playful banter that filled the small café. Oliver, perched opposite Sarah, leaned forward with an exaggerated gasp. "Wait a second, Sarah. Coffee? Really? You’re drinking coffee?"

  Sarah raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And what’s wrong with coffee, exactly?"

  Joel, lounging back in his chair, grinned. "Oh, nothing. It’s just, you know, science. I’ve heard it stunts the baby’s growth."

  Sarah snorted a dismissive sound that sent a ripple of amusement through the small group. "Oh, please. I’m taller than both of you when I’m wearing heels. Besides the baby is going to be perfect, even if I drink coffee. Besides you wouldn’t like me without my caffeine."

  Oliver pointed dramatically at her cup, his face a picture of mock horror. "But what about the baby, Sarah? What if this is the moment their taste buds get ruined forever? They’ll come out hating hot chocolate or... or tea!"

  Joel, let out a breath, his worries slipping away. He loved these two, to the moon and back. He nodded in mock solemnity. "Or worse—they’ll inherit your addiction to those weird herbal blends that smell like potpourri."

  Sarah rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, like you’re one to talk. You drink tea with more sugar than actual water, Oliver. Besides my coffee has hazelnut and it is perfect."

  Oliver feigned offence. "Hey, my tea has character. It’s sophisticated, unlike your plain black coffee. Joel gets it—he’s boring too."

  Joel held up his coffee cup as if it were a trophy. "Boring? Nah. Classic."

  Sarah laughed, taking another sip of her coffee. "You two are impossible. And for the record, one cup isn’t going to ruin the baby. So relax, Fathers-to-be."

  Oliver leaned back with a grin. "Fine, fine. But if the kid ends up a coffee snob, I’m blaming you."

  “You are one to talk,” Sarah grinds.

  Joel shrugged, feigning indifference. "As long as they don’t start putting kale in smoothies, I’ll call it a win."

  Sarah laughed and shook her head. "You’re both ridiculous. This is why I’m only having one."

  Oliver grinned. "We’ll see about that. You might need two to balance out all the sarcasm they’ll inherit from Joel."

  Joel smirked. "Better sarcasm than Oliver’s sugar obsession."

  Sarah grinned, raising her cup in a mock toast. "To sarcasm, sugar, and coffee—the essentials of life."

  Slowly, the conversation shifted to names and nursery plans, he couldn’t help but notice the way her hand rested on her stomach, protective and tender. He hadn’t known then just how much that moment would stick with him, a snapshot of a simpler time when the biggest worries were names and cribs, not monsters or voids or survival.

  Joel blinked, the memory dissolving like vapour. The flickering stairwell lights came back into focus, the warmth of the café replaced by the cold, sterile air of the void-tainted facility. His heart ached as he remembered Sarah’s smile, her laughter, and the future she had dreamed of.

  He clenched his jaw, forcing the emotions down as he took another step, each carrying him deeper into the darkness.

  He clenched his jaw and pushed onward. There was no turning back now. Whatever answers lay below, he had to find them. “No matter the cost,” he said to himself. With one final glance at the stairwell leading down, Joel took a step forward, then another. His boots echoed against the cold walls as he descended toward Subfloor 3.