Copyright © 2025 by Markovas & Candle

Editing by Joletsart

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C1 – Woken

Through an endless nightmare of broken screams: consciousness emerged. Dragged bloody and frail, a grinding drumbeat of sharp plastic tubes and rusted iron gears beat against a body, coated thick with sludge.

Bound beneath an unseen mass, the figure clawed and kicked, snarled and screeched against the darkness, although, for all his efforts of fighting this force, neither did he utter a sound, nor did his body so much as twitch.

Light and pain seared behind his eyes. His mind ablaze with instinct and confusion, the humid air enwrapping him with a choking heat that made sweat pour from his overwrought body.

His heart boomed in his chest, blood racing frantic through his head, pounding in his ears, his chest swelling with a sensation of bile, at the suffocation clawing at his lungs. His body demanded he gasp deep, but all his lungs did in return was follow the same slow, calm pattern as before.

Spitting, blighting, convulsing. Nothing was working. The taste of something plastic, something long and smooth in his mouth. He groped for it, his body acting on instinct, thrashing harshly against the inexplicable weight of his own bony arm.

Hands grasped limply around thick plastic; his self- preservation pounding fury in his chest, he yanked against the tubing in his mouth. Exhausted fingers slipped from the surface, lubricated as it was with spit and moisture.

His lungs moved to a slow, mechanical shift within his chest. Blotches grew in his vision, amid the white popping of light behind his eyes. The pumping of his heart became a furious rhythm.

This was it. He was about to die. If he wasn’t dead already. If this wasn’t some cruel fairytale conjured by his mind in his final moments. He’d read about those concepts; those theories that the brain could produce a whole lifetime of hallucinations in the moments before death. Why was he thinking about this right now? Next came the question of where was he going: the night had opened up around him and he felt his body dripping through…

A mushy darkness lay beyond him, an unseen distance beyond which night-creatures hooted and growled and chirruped to the moonlight.

A soft wind picked up the scent of the marsh, the sweet lavender, the earthy mud, the musk of sheep. Another time. Another life. Another world, left behind.

Coming back slowly, he steadily came to remember his reality, laying dazed on his back, gazing up at the suspended, blinding lights above. Lungs breathed the same slow, soft rhythm.

The light flickered. The buzzing became a tone more insistent.

The figure flinched, the sound drawing him back from his passed-out stupor. He tried to swallow, but the plastic piping was still firmly lodged in its place. A taste of bitter alcohol and chemicals.

Looking upwards, as he blinked away a sting of grime and of sweat, he saw the plastic pipe leading away to somewhere unseen in the ceiling. A ceiling he couldn’t even make out in the dark.

The figure became slowly aware that he was on his back. He felt sure he’d been upright moments ago. Had the whole pod tilted?

Straining his eyes, he tried to see more of the world around him. The air had grown cooler, though no less stagnant. He could hear the sound of droplets falling, thudding on a metal surface below him.

What a place.

He tried to move again, and found himself able to twitch his fingers and toes, although the rest stayed locked in place by his unseen restraints.

Stay calm. Stay still. He’d only pass out again. There was no way to breathe quicker or deeper; all trying did was make his chest hurt. The paralysis would pass. It had to, right?

It was so itchy. The more he came around the more itchy he grew, his wrists and legs, where tubes of their own had punctured his skin. Large blisters were formed around them and his veins where thick and bloated from whatever was being pumped inside. Some deep red with blood; others, an orange fluid. A last tube, larger than the others, disappeared directly into his stomach. He tried to ignore it; tried to look past the light, that blinding glow staining blotches in his eyes.

He could just make out a line of rails above: outline shimmering in the light’s flicker. Stillness loomed, groaning across the precast concrete walls, stretched to beyond the edge of the faintest glow.

The buzzing lamp was the only break in the silence; the echoes of distant droplets: the insidious skulking of entropy’s faint disorder, drawing damp streaks of rusted crimson tears on the concrete.

Straining for a single sound of life: footsteps, voices, nothing came of it. The last thing he remembered? There had to be some clue of what he was meant to do. Digging his memory, some scraps was all he could find. Looking back further, he couldn’t remember much at all. At all.

If he could just remember his name, that’d be a huge comfort.

A crack broke out from somewhere above. A coarse sigh followed, as metal ground against metal and two bus-size fans shifted to life. It was not loud, yet amplified by the silence, coldly echoing in the humid air.

Following, came a grinding in the distance, the sound of a motor and a screeching of metal against metal.

A surge of energy flowing; all the lights that worked buzzed and flickered, until the one directly above burst with a brief shot of blinding light. Sparks hurled down and landed on his naked body, singeing dark patches on his exposed form.

The pain was slight but it shot through him like a wasp sting. His whole body twitched, his arms and legs jolting, his lips pulling back in a snarl. Paralleled by the second of heat was a sharp cold that was somehow even worse, as the layer of thick sweat on his body started to steam at the airflow of the giant fans above.

The grinding screech grew closer, a constant low drone of something like a skeletal arm, swinging and dangling like a corpse in the shadows.

Shaking his head, still trying to focus his thoughts, the figure took this as a sign to start calling out. A muffled babble of yells followed, lost to the obliqueness. He called to be helped up, demanded to have this pipe removed, cried for someone to come over and tell him it was all going just fine.

A voice came in reply, although not in comfort, to his request.

“Attention. Sector. F. Two. Three. Biological. Reanimation. Initiated.”

A bellowing clang sprang out from the umbra, a searing pain following at the blinding light in his eyes as dozens of white lights came on at once. The room was huge and seemed to stretch forever, the concrete walls stained yellow with rust and age, many fractured and crumbling, the surfaces lined with rounded pods identical to the one he was in, lids closed, glass: black and misty.

The great skeletal arm of that machine came swinging towards him, dangling down from the line of rails above. It caught something on the side of his pod and he wished, to anyone who was listening, this would stop.

There was no time to see more through the blinding white as another snap broke out to the sound of electrical shorting, somewhere not far and the lights all together died.

He lay motionless in the silent black and hoped for his life that whatever system was controlling his breathing wasn’t on the same circuit the lights were.

Silence held, total darkness. His anxiety grew to a sinking question as to if his wish had been answered by a monkey’s paw; if, whatever this was, really had stopped, leaving him trapped in this hanging prison.

The smell of ozone and melting plastic drifted through from the direction of the shorting electric. Engine oil, disinfectant, a dozen other smells none of which were natural in the least.

Latches snapped around him and the pod began to shift and wobble. He sat up a little, as much as he could manage. There was nothing to see, but a part of him was still relievedto see the paralysis starting to wear off. The small pod started to trundle on something beneath. The motion was nauseating. He had to resist being sick. There was no telling if this breathing pipe was designed with a fail-safe for that.

The whole pod started swaying as the mechanical arm lifted it away, that sound of grinding metal coming again.

He shifted and tore however he could, every motion waking his body up more and more, his chest heaving rapidly in a grotesque sight of tubes, cables and grime. His mouth gurgled but no sound would come between the tubes. This thing, this blight. If only he could breathe himself again.

His hands grasped tightly around the pipe, and at last they did not slip away, but held enough to firmly grip the plastic and yanked.

His body buckled and he felt a sensation like tearing deep inside him. Fuck. He buckled over and tried to vomit, but only coughed up specks of blood over the inside of the clear plastic pipe.

His bloodshot-yellow eyes were darting around in shock, retching and whimpering and growling against the pain. The trundling vehicle froze in its tracks.

“Attention. Subject. Condition. Exacerbated.”

Paranoia was now playing around all of his fingers, twitching madly and scraping against the curled lengths of his disfigured fingernails. His eyes watered, tears streaking down his grimy cheeks as his body finally found a speck of strength to resist, to jolt against the restraints no matter how insignificant.

“Facilitate. Expedited. Disengage.”

He wanted to scream. Liquid in his ears wobbled as the pod whirred into life as strange, high pitched sounds grew behind the frame with quick plonks, as if guitar strings were snapping under immense pressure.

First it was the hands; some kind of coldness spread across each connection, from the tubes to his fingertips and then, the wires that were embedded into his skin ripped away with a hiss and spurt of oozy liquid.

He reached for the holes of flesh instantaneously, expecting a great deal of pain, yet he was unsure if there was any, or all that was felt was the piercing coldness, intensified by his imagination.

He brought his wrists to his eyes, trying to make out the damage those things had left behind, but the light was so little and the shadows were swaying with… what was going on?

The swinging was getting worse, the buzzing of the motor growing to a harsh whine at the struggle of this monster of wire and shadow.

Tightness pulled at his legs and stomach, the same thing happening with a rip of wires and tubes snaking out from deep within his thighs. Instead of further panicking, he tried to take a step, though it was futile as now came the next phase, it seemed, all his weight being pulled up by the tube that clung deep in his throat.

He tried to help the machine pull it out, just managing the coordination to bend his stiff fingers around the tube, but he was gratified only by a harsh buzzing and red light shining upon his face when he tried to pull.

“Tracheal. Intubation. Mandated. Do. Not. Remove.”

The pod again started to tilt, this time bringing him upright as the last of the pipes, the one in his throat, started shuddering and gurgling.

Something for sure was streaking down into his body and it was making him gag. The pod shuddered, and just as his vision finally cleared, something in his throat gave way to vibrations and the tube moved upwards. It was a sensation like he’d never felt before in his life, and wished he would never have to again.

Every centimeter of this length ground harsh against his insides, this pushing pressure slowly working its way slowly up his throat, that feeling of oxygen suddenly reducing and giving way, for the first time, to this desperate urge to breathe.

Suddenly he didn’t hate his prior predicament. His entire body hung from this thing, and even as he tried to push himself up, his wobbly legs failed his every attempt.

The lull finally lost to gurgles between his cream teeth, which they at least were in good condition. At last the end of the tube came out, its end enwrapped with tissue and blood; thick, clear slime fell in trickly droplets.

The vacuum of machined-air burst to a freezing cold in the breath of the air around him; his entire body collapsing from the pod to the dusty floor beneath him.

The surface was a thick rubber, soft and warm against his fingertips. He lay in exhaustion for a long moment, just enjoying having control over his own lungs again.

The floor jolted beneath him, wobbled slightly, started moving on a longrow of small wheels: a conveyor belt calmly taking him to wherever he was meant to be next?

Instead of panic: respite.

Instead of a scream: a gasp.

Instead of pain: newly forming comfort.

C2 – Get Up

The figure pulled up slowly, letting his eyes close and his head fall heavily against the side of the pod he’d been cocooned in, just minutes ago. His chest lead-heavy, he focused on his breaths, carefully stretching his lungs, both enjoying the deep coolness and grimacing at the scars and weakness left from his recent ordeal.

What wouldn’t he give for a cold glass of water right now…

Pulling his eyes open, he found himself coming to the end of a narrow corridor. A sign hung above an archway, barely illuminated by the dull glow of a bulb above. He tried to blink away the fog from his vision but he didn’t have a chance of making out the text.

Swooshes within his ears played with the danceful screeches of the tracks beneath, that rumbled and crawled towards the uncertain destiny, each bump over the wheels wobbling at his feet.

Through the reoccurring blurriness, old posters on the walls exhibited random frames of planets… DNA strands… trees… words like ‘future’, ‘time’, ‘last chance’… and nothing else in the enclosed space of the long corridor.

Heart: if he could just relax his heart so this despicable panic would go away and flood itself down into the rusty wheels, trodden away and cut to pieces…

But he couldn’t stop it, as now new faintness blew through his oxygen-deprived mind that just drained away his eyes’ focus.

No matter. He was going somewhere. Entropy was being kept away. It was just a matter of… time.

So, he focused on emptying his mind so that it would manage to find space for his memories, for his reason, for his composure, and hopefully for his name.

There, fragments connected together and formed meaning. Yes, he was an employee. He was to be briefed. His name was…

The figure raised a palm and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Who was he? Where was he? Things were definitely still hazy. He seemed to have real trouble remembering the name of anything. What rank was he? What facility was this?

He opened his mouth to call out, but the rumbling floor and a glance around soon showed him he was only with walls, wallpaper, old lights and the soft grinding of motors and rusty tracks.

He looked around for the warmth of the pod, only to see it already going backwards, on the rail that hung from the concrete ceiling, disappearing into the mouth of utter darkness from whence it came.

“Hey!” he called, his throat clamping in at the motion. He gasped in pain and reached for his neck. He gagged as he tried to regain his breath, watching as the pod ascended out of reach above him.

He stood hastily but fell badly in the process, twisting his ankle for his body’s degenerated condition. Just… get back on the conveyor. Follow the light at the end of this corridor, even if you have to crawl.

A long, irritated growl twirled as he pulled himself up by his frozen fingers; long, nail-claws scraping and peeling off the damp surface of the walls.

As he was learning again how to walk and breathe, what surprised him were the visible hand marks on either side of him, all leading towards the path ahead. It was like a line of yellow, as hundreds of hands had rubbed against this countless times. That gave him hope, but also brewed horror.

With a heave that made his buckled legs shudder, and a curse beneath his breath at whoever thought this was a good idea, he walked, expedited by the conveyor belt, closer and closer to the single door at its end, labeled ‘Briefing’.

He faced the door. It had no handle, no keyhole, no element of interaction, just rusty metal with specks of blue paint that had somehow survived.

Reaching a hand to the metal barrier, the sight of his own long and curled nails caught his eyes. Disgusting. If he didn’t have an empty stomach, he’d have already vomited at the reality of his body’s fate.

Instead of a hand, he grunted and pressed a fist against the surface. It didn’t budge, so, adjusting his breath, he chose his words as haphazardly as possible.

“I’m here!” he wheezed with a cough.

Nothing.

“I’m right here, dammit!” he shouted, his hand now banging at the door, with a puff of rusty dust spewing and sticking to his moist palm.

Nothing.

He knew he could keep trying, keep acting like a mindless animal… but reason somehow overcame his basic senses and brought the urge to look around himself again.

And there it was, in the corner was a surveillance camera looking right at him with all the red diodes glowing in its eye.

Someone was watching him. Someone knew he was there. Someone was going to help him.

This truly made his heart stop skipping so loudly and he gave himself time to calm down, which of course brought even more problems to attention: from the freezing metal under his feet to his itchy, anciently long beard. Well, pretty much all of his body was slowly entering some kind of itch frenzy, but it was just not possible to really relieve any of that, since his hands were practically useless for grabbing, scratching…

Maybe he could just break off these filthy claws? Shouldn’t be that hard now, should it?

A loud hiss startled the demons out of him as the corners of the door blew off curtains of dust, the whole metal frame sliding upwards with a snap, exposing the truly incredible thickness of these walls. He couldn’t tell if it was half a meter or more?

It didn’t matter, as warm air washed around his body, giving embrace for the unquestioning steps that were quickly taken to the allurement ahead, yet in this euphoric drive, his brain caught up too slowly to realize that he was entering darkness of cutful blindness.

Before he could bounce back into the light, the heavy door behind him crashed into the grooves, sealing his exit and killing all light that was.

He stumbled into the door; his nails scraping against the unwavering surface of steel. Was he not supposed to do that? Should he have waited for further instructions before plunging himself heedlessly into the dark?

Questions became answers as side lights brought closure to the trepidation that boiled in his heart. Lockers, aged-yellow tiles with rusty gutters, cameras on each corner that looked at him as if following all his movements. Was he being tracked?

A line of sinks stood at the other end, with dull mirrors set above. Beside them: doors that looked nothing like the one he’d walked through.

This place lacked all warmth, the yellow tiles left a trail of slime at his footprints. The fluorescentlights stood tall on the walls, dull-yellow and aged.

Holding himself to the wall, he crept scrapingly towards the sinks, his breaths shaking through the empty smoothness of this locker room. Slowly, his own body came into sight in the warped mirrors.

No wonder it was a challenge just to stand.

Bony and wrought; naked and bloody as the day he was born. His long hair slicked flat by the strange fluid he’d been encased in. His fingernails: long and tipped black, while his skin was an unhealthy shade of white. Hopefully he didn’t have anemia with all of this unfolding horror beforth.

He grasped at the taps, his throat felt like sandpaper after what that pipe had done to him, but nothing came out but a quiet gurgle.

The door to his side took his interest, pricked by the symbol for a shower printed on its front. He grabbed the handle after a few failed attempts, apparently getting his strength back was too nice for his life, and a loud scrunch shook the frame, rusty dust falling from all around.

There was the shower, as promised. But it seemed nothing could be taken for granted in this place. While sludging ever-closer to the showerhead, his eyes refocused and found no way to turn it on.

He looked around for a button, a dial, anything; for someone to air his grievances to, but then those emerald peepers caught on a strange section of this tiled room.

The whole thing was just one huge lump of shape. It gave him the creeps. A huge machine fixed to the floor, breaking the monotone yellowish tiles and surrounding it all in static sleep, gaping gutters enveloping.

A closer inspection was mandated, intrigued to find just what the hell was this thing?

He found an inscription set on the side, deeply engraved with the corporation logo above. ‘Property of yo Mumma’… Who had defaced this company property? He checked to see if he could wipe off the marks, but they seemed pretty set.

The corporation logo lingered above, overseeing, and no doubt unhappy, with the immature associate scrawled beneath.

Somehow it gave vibes of a throne, with a wide seat amid a mess of all other bits of metal strapped on. Two handles jutted out, painted in blue; some rounded contraption that was level with the head-height of the sitting part… and to bottom it all were some grooves to put one’s legs, all encased in steel, elevated, old, brittle.

Looking from the base of the stairs, hesitation spoke in his ears. There was no drive to screw around and find out, but this was what was expected of him and he had to follow the oblique instructions.

There was zero awareness to what he was thinking of doing, yet it seemed like all of this was setup for him to follow along, even if in a state of dementia.

Grabbing at the railing, he dragged step by step, his body itching and no longer just because of the sludge that surrounded him.

He lowered himself into position. Reaching the top, his feet imprinted upon the discolored grating, long hair sticking to his feet from a pile of hair all around the machine’s front.

He couldn’t be sure if it was the rust covering the bolts or something else… and that potential something gave chills that reached the marrow (use this for the ionized teeth).?

Some kind of screen lit up, to which he dragged himself closer, trying to keep steady and hold on to whatever was tall enough.

Subject. Fixate feet on the feet device.

There were no buttons, no other guidelines, just the silence and drips in the tiley room. But no matter, this must be part of the process and there was nothing to be afraid of, right?

So he held balance by angling towards the blue handles and carefully putting his foot in one of the grooves. To his surprise there was an instant snap that fully immobilized him. He tried to pull away but quickly reminded himself that this was the procedure and that he should follow every point without delay or question.

Just as he was to put his other foot, his gnarly nails got stuck in the grating, forcing him to pull sharply off, with filthy tufts of hair of all colors coming out from underneath.

That made him rather sick to the prospects of what this was, yet his second foot followed suit pretty quick.

Subject. Fixate cranium in the cranium holding device.

That device must’ve been the thing that was at his head height. It looked odd, like a bear trap without the spikes. He took a long scratch on his nose to alleviate the tension and obediently continued.

The whole thing moved around his neck as it tightened its grip, so that the only thing that could move was his eyes that sought what would come next on the screen.

Subject. Grab both handles, twist clockwise, push inwards.

Okay, first he had to take hold of the handles. But there was not enough space for him to push through due to the curled and long nails…

His wrist twisted in many different ways but it seemed as if things weren’t going to work out without some… painful sacrifices. Finding the least awful outcome, he shoved his hand into the opening and wheezed through the piercing pain that pulled at his nails.

Okay, one done, one more to go…

It proved way more difficult, as these had curled in a locking swirl, so many angles had to be tried until his hand schlomped through the gap. Of course if he wanted to get them out, it’d prove rather catastrophic…

He looked at the screen that waited his input, and with a heartbeat in his throat he grabbed both handles and twisted. What came were the sound of cogs clanking in their slits. The handles were pushed into the machine, his hands extending as much as his tendons would pry.

That’s when that same constricting pressure enveloped his wrists to par… That’s when his entire body became immobilized…

Subject. Standby for decontamination.

A barely audible motor: something picking up speed underneath his imprisoned feet. This thick heat bristled around his naked, sludgy body. Unnerve danced in his mouth as whimpers were the only suffix to his dread.

It was impossible to hear his own thoughts, it was impossible to focus due to the immeasurable cacophony that shook the cracked tiles.

And so it happened, something like liquid sprayed upon his limbs and head. It burned him viciously, though what else was there to clench at this time?

Awful tugs draped upon all his nails, as if something was trying to unroot them from his fingertips and toes. Sludge crept down his head, stinging his eyes shut.

What in the hell’s blood was going on with this? Weightlessness suddenly occurred all across his limbs, as if great weight suddenly was poofed out of existence. He dared to move his fingers around and could sense the lack of those wicked curly stumps.

Before things could escalate further, all that noise ground to a halt as the lights faded away, the heat all around him slowly finding refuge towards the ceiling.

Pitch black, stuck in this prison contraption, alone…

His imagination was running rampant for what could come next, at any second… for the creatures that could be crawling him right now…

Forget about said creatures, what if the power came back and something went wrong with this machine? Could he lose his hands or—

Loud snaps echoed from somewhere far behind the walls and that fellow, the motor, whirled back into life, reaching its revving speeds without the laborious first start.

Okay, power was back, but would it know where it had left off or… Something sharp and cold traced around his chin and neck, leaving nothing but irritation and bare skin. On his scalp came the vibrating motion of what he suspected to be a hair trimmer, although it seemed one in pretty bad condition, as it was pulling harshly in blockage.

He tried to fend off the tears and all that could be given was the silent rage that hung in his throat like a choking hazard.

There was no way to tell how long the process took, but by the time it was all over the sludge around his skin was now heavily mixed with foul sweat. He felt lighter, but the itchiness was so much worse now due to the many strands of hair riddling his shoulders, neck…

The text on the console before him—it changed.

Subject. Cavity examination is in effect. Administration of general anaesthesia.

Cavity-what? Wasn’t that supposed to be done by a dentist? Was he going to get punched by meaty steel across his face if there were to be something wrong with his teeth? No way, the restraints would be released right now, just this very moment.

But instead something pricked into both his wrists: something sharp and hot. He tried to pull away but he only made the irritation hotter; hair falling around his restless tugs.

Something like plates moved from the face contraption he was bound to, limiting his vision and surrounding all that he could see; both aiming at the direction of his jaw.

Slight warming formed on top of his skin, though he could also feel it around all his gums. It was getting gradually hotter and hotter, though in good queue came another power cut that stopped the process.

This should be his chance to get out of this. Instead of waiting he wrestled his body wildly. Nothing. He tried shouting. Just gurgles.

But just as he thought that he had more time to try something else, was when the lights shot back on, the plates before him twitching aimlessly, yet moving nowhere.

The rotors underneath him picked up speed, with the heat around him becoming unbearable. His eyes could not see as white foil-like wrapping went around them and his forehead.

Same wicked heat pierced through his cheeks, yet this time it was amped up and was focused at one spot rather than moving.

It was as if his entire mouth was stuffed with molten coals. There was no room for screaming. There was only agony.

What had he done to deserve this? He did everything that was asked of him. Why was he being treated as if some piece of meat? It grew to a definite feeling of burning with a scent of cooking meat.

Suddenly something clanked piercingly below and the whole machine lost speed, the hum of the rotors dying out just like the embers in his mouth. All he could do was sweep controlled breaths so he could remain conscious.

So much for that general anaesthesia. If it wasn’t that pumped in him, what the hell was going into his veins?

The screen now had just a single word: ‘Shower’.

Excitement sprung in his stomach and instead of overwhelming pain and fatigue he sensed renewed motivation and energy, something that made zero sense.

The locks at his feet snapped open. He expected to fall limp on the hairy grates, though that also made no sense as he was being held up by the rest of the locks. Maybe he should use this moment to try and get a footing?

Zero expectations for himself getting anywhere with his strength, yet somehow he had enough of it to stand still, no matter the shaking that was surely caused by his adrenaline.

It took a while, but then the rest of the latches unlocked and he instantly pulled away his hands, bloodstains creeping down his forearms from where the needles had gone into him.

With some rubbing at the soreness and puzzlement to his newly found ability to stand on his legs, he looked above the terminal and at the arched pipe that he suspected to have been the shower, now just a broken shape of useless, hollow metal.

Using his brain to solve this new riddle, he remembered there being another showerhead just a few steps away from this old machine, and since he could not see any buttons or further instructions, the decision was made to do the only thing that could be done—go to the knobless shower.

As he was climbing down the steps carefully, still holding to the railing just in case he was to be betrayed by his legs, his tongue lapped around his throbbing mouth and he swore that the taste was bloody, so, to make sure there was none, he spat into his hand, which was just transparent saliva.

He had no idea what could cause that taste, but whatever that was used on him must’ve done its job. One thing was for sure: he was never going to trust a machine like that ever again.

His body got under the rusty showerhead in anticipation, a line of hairs following his trace. He tried to force his hand away from his face and scalp, so he made do with doing that to his forearms.

Unbearable was this itchiness, but it would soon be all over in the spurt of cleanlinessto come… but when was it coming? Maybe there was a secret lever, a secret switch, a secret passphrase?

Because nothing was changing, he looked at the big machine behind him in thought of if he was supposed to pull something down, and just when he gave the showerhead one last look: the pipes vibrated and groaned deeply.

There it was, it was coming, the waves of comfort that would wash away—

A loud, gruesome, abnormally disgusting gush of rusty dust blew into his face in remorselessness, but it did not stop there, as then a stream of sludge hit against his body as if Satan’s sewage was coming out of his personal gutter.

He fell on the floor in a thud, crawling away from the cold filth, yet in disability to see anything, as the putrid sludge coated his face, an odor of disgust breaking into his mind.

He wanted to breathe, but at moment’s fro? he fought against any such urge from allowing him to do that, yet he had to move away from this since who could tell what this putrid substance was from.

Wiping his face and taking a deep gush of air, he blinked into a moment’s grasp the streaming water before him that touched lightly on his feet in a cold nudge. The sludge was already swimming towards the gutters and it seemed as if the worst was over.

Obviously distrust was nothing but a disease that questioned his every move, yet seeing this heavenly water, and the playful heat emanating from it, gave new drive to go back and allow the satisfaction of ridding himself of this spiteful horror.

Standing up, he shot under the hot stream. Surprise devoured him in question as to why he couldn’t feel the water on his skin, though slowly it seemed to be washing away the new and old sludge, which made him more and more prevalent to the satisfaction that the filth was trying to rob him of.

Ah, yes. His hands reached around his short hair, mingling in greatness to the sensation of calmness. The frostiness all across his core and skin sizzled with life, giving vigor a new bubble within his heart.

There was no soap or shampoo, but this was going to be enough, this was just…

Perfect.

He stood for a time, just enjoying the feeling. He didn’t even care the water was alternating between hot and cold, making his meatless body shiver. The feeling of the coats of thick fluid being washed away from his skin and hair was the greatest relief he could remember. Good things were coming after this.

After water. After food. After some warm clothes.

It was unknown how long he’d taken under the heavenly waterfall, but after having had enough he walked, dripping, around the machine and tried to find any extra clues to it’s maker, and how further he could use it to figure out his next move. It belonged to the Corporation, but that really was the extent of the information he could gather without having to start dismantling bolts and framings.

So he did the most sensible thing and left the shower room, not before giving the dark ceiling a last glance, since the only thing that could be seen was the creeping darkness and nothing else.

With a quick pace he got to the main part of the locker room and sought the lockers for a towel. One stood out to him easily. Had it been open before? He hadn’t noticed one open, but he could hardly trust his peripheral judgement right now.

Inside, he found the remnants of what resembled a towel with a stack of dead cocoons and moths mummies, old soap that looked really moldy and a pair of rubbery slippers. He would’ve grumbled a lot but agreed that the soap was just nasty and that he wouldn’t have used that anyway.

Quickly stepping into the slippers, which were obviously too small for him and creaked and frayed with every step, he slapped away to the next part of the locker where he expected corpses of frogs and rats to be hanging, though what he saw was a single shirt, underwear and a dark blueish coverall.

He knew it was too much to expect for it to be his size: hanging from its rail in uniform color, but at least it wasn’t eaten up!

That’s when he remembered to look at the corner where the camera was skulking at him, and that made him remember that he was still with his bare ass to the world.

In shy humiliation he quickly put the dusty worksuit upon himself, finding annoyance with sneezes, yet solace in the newfound decency, dryness and warmth. There was baggy excess of fabric hanging all around him but it would have to do for now.

He wondered if he’d grow in to it more once he’d put some meat back on. The same wouldn’t be true for the heavy workboots though, they were just too big. At least they were better than those silly slippers.

There was a box on one of the shelves, which he opened, and within was a smoking pipe which he recognized as his own property.

Quite a nice sight to see after so long, he was quick to adjust its end into his mouth, blowing sternly to chase away the dust within. His hand reached into the coverall’s pockets in instinct to the expectancy of finding a pouch of Tryka. Confusion crossed his completion, before a glance down reminded him that this was not home. No matter.

Also from the cardboard box, he pulled a small plastic sheet of pills. He remembered buying those too, on the advice of his mother. The memories: they were slowly coming back.

Breaking the seal proved to be difficult; his fingers still numb and shaking, but a capsule of blue popped open as he was curious to see what was inside.

But in his unsteady movements he jolted, leading the single pill to be spat out before he had a chance to realize: now lost somewhere in the dark space underneath the lockers.

Looking into the darkness, he wondered if he should crawl around and look for it. It was technically littering after all. But he soon made his mind up when he realized he could be speeding up this monotonous process. And by the state of the place, the last thing on his superiors’ minds should be ‘littering’.

Well, at least this place was scrubbed clean. Even if it made him feel like a hamster in a dungeon, looking out at the walls that caged him.

The door on the other side of the room clicked a few times, whirls grinding inside of its frame until, with a final clank, it barely opened.

Huh, so he was expected to go there.

Reaching back, he took hold of the only other thing in that locker: a bag of tools, screwdrivers and wire cutters hooked onto its side. It was a heavy bag, fitting for an electrical technician, but he was happier taking it than leaving it behind.

Straightening out his baggy clothes and rustling within his shoes, he adjusted the pipe in his mouth and walked with however much confidence he could muster, bag of tools in hand.

Expectation gave way to a person behind that door that would greet and brief him on the situation, though the likeliness of that was strangely unrealistic from the experience he’d gone through. Things seemed a bit too… left to their own devices.

But, as he pulled the door open, all that could be seen was the gray-carpeted room with a few office chairs, a monitor and a desk with two pieces of paper positioned on top of it.

He moved over to the aged CRT screen and fiddled with the buttons. It seemed the most obvious source of figuring out what was going on here after all.

Nothing.

That explained it: there must’ve been a message playing, but the power outage that happened at the shower had reached the monitor too.

It seemed strange the infrastructure was set up like this. Synchronous systems were a good way to protect important systems from power surges, but why they’d rig the monitor up on the same system as the lights…

He toyed with the paper pages as he pondered, idly positioning them to be perfectly perpendicular with one another and the edge of the table. That was until his eyes fell first upon the name printed clearly at the top.

“Isaac L. Forst.”

Yes, that was it! He’d began to remember anyway, piecing parts together after washing and drying himself. He just hadn’t had a moment to stop and think about it, else he would’ve remembered it himself, he was sure.

‘Position: Warehouse Distribution Worker’. Forst scoffed to himself at this. Worker. He’d had a feeling it was something along those lines due to the equipment he was given access to, though at the back of his mindhe resented that possibility. Maybe it was up for debate?

All those hours of overtime and study it had taken to get here. The company was not an easy place to climb the ranks of, when you were at the bottom. And this was nigh on rock-bottom.

He skimmed over the rest of the page but distracted himself by the other beside it. The name at the top was the plain ‘Distribution Supervisor’, which grew irritation for a split blink, but Forst was more interested in his own fate.

In clash of fates his eyes fell back to where his value would be dictated; where his value would be reflected; where his value would be… ‘Worker’.

Damn it. This was nothing close to what he suspected. He’d not be the one in charge and this ‘supervisor’ would be above him. Not just that, but how could he get such a low level position? There had to be a big mistake!

He scoffed again, glancing back to the eerie silence. Shouldn’t this Supervisor have been here by now?

C3 – Supervisor

The constant soft buzzing of the vents was getting on Isaac’s nerves. A consistent subtle humm of overworked motors as a scent of moldy air blew continuously towards him. The air’s dryness was a scorching grind against the sensitive wounds inside his throat. Every few minutes he felt the need to expectorate but he held it back. It wasn’t becoming of a man of his position… his damnably lowposition.

Pacing slowly back and forth, every step strained his patience further and further. A growing discomfort was gnawing at his stomach, a deep hunger he’d felt since first waking up. His head fell to his hand, a soft groan followed. Visions of endless dark flashed into his mind.

Stasis was a hellish experience.

The lights flickered for a moment. That smell of ozone again. Another fuse burnt out? If only he was higher rank he’d really be down the neck of whoever was supposed to be maintaining this place. He reached again the end of the room and turned to pace back, gazing at the dim, yellow fluorescents above. His boot caught on the thick snake of a wire strewn carelessly upon the floor and he caught himself on a wooden chair stood against the wall.

The chair fell to dust at his touch and he slid to the floor with a thud and a rasped cry. Twisting his head at the collapse beside him, he grabbed at the leg, which broke off in his hand. He turned the end towards the light, gazing at the many dark holes inside. Years of woodworm and rot apparently had eaten away at it from the inside out.

Breathing longly, Isaac let his head fall against the floor. At least, like this, the room wasn’t spinning. At least, like this, the vertigo wouldn’t lead him off.

The quiet grind of rough synthetics continuedas he pulled himselfup, linking his fingers around his knees as he glanced behind him at the perpetrator of his fall. A black wire that led from somewhere into the wall. He looked at the CRT monitor, dropping the bag of tools on the desk, and sniffed at the subtle scent of ozone not yet sucked away by the ventilation.

Rubbing his palm against his brow, he followed a line of black leading from the mounted monitor, to a socket of its own close-by.

An urgency taking his step, an eagerness even, Isaac got up for a slim screwdriver from his bag. In between, he stumbled, his head rolling to its side as a moment of faintness took him.

He had to press on.

The screw holding together the CRT’s plug was tight with rust, but a harsh tug was just enough to crack the cement of oxidized iron. The lump of charred black was too apparent of an issue. A few moments later, he returned with the fuse from the other plug, slotted it in the CRT and smacked it into the wall.

In a faint rustle of light, redness grew within the standby button. He had done it.

Clicking the button, an exhausted grin broke upon Isaac’s face as the screen slowly glowed into life. The Supervisor was sure to be pleased with the progress. Not even formally ‘on duty’ and already he’d fixed up some…

Isaac turned his attention to the flicker of a logo and text, though it was already fading out and he didn’t have time to read it. The face it faded to was that of a woman. Not young but not old either. No idea who she was. She wore a lab coat as white and pristine as her teeth. Her smile didn’t move as she started to talk.

Oh come on, this was just getting silly. His joy falling to a discontented sigh, he checked for volume buttons on the side of the screen but found none. The screen showed a diagram of an array of pipes leading in all directions from a specific central point.

Was that where he was? Red arrows pointed some substance leaving through those pipes from the red dot of origination. Sewage? Goods? No further clues were given, as things faded away to that face again, talking with gestures that implied whatever was being said was highly informative and important.

Hissing, Isaac reached behind the monitor and grabbed for anything. The screen went instantly black. Then pure white.

The silence burst with a blistering scream of white noise and fell deaf once more.

Fiddling with that found grounds to disorganized and frantic spurtsof static and harsh changes in volume. The room flickered with white and gray and black as the signal temperamentally cut in and out, and as the audio haphazardly came and went.

“-behalf of… welcome y-“

Isaac held his breath, so close to that teetering edge between perfect audio and a fizzled mess of discordancy. This mandated a delicate twist.

“—facility. You and your team should now move to the Cafeteria for refreshment. We know you—… that, move along to tra—… platform seven one-B. Further instruct—…—member, a good day is… smile.“

Isaac gazed longingly at the silence. His nose twitched again at the blasted ozone as a thin trail of smoke slowly rose from the plug. The hell was up with the electrics in this place?

Reaching down, he yanked the plug from its socket. A fire now would be all he’d need.

Now what, move to the Cafe? The Supervisor was already there, he felt sure. This was all just a test of his independence, or something.

The room wasn’t that interesting as another quick glance was given. Rather empty, small, and with no clues to what he should’ve been doing next. Sure, he was tasked with going to that platform, but where was the map that would lead him there?

Dim light blinked in the shadowy corner where the framing of a door idled. Isaac was surprised he hadn’t managed to spot that for all the time he’d spent in the room, but altogether found excitement that the next step was at hand.

So he grabbed his bag of tools and walked through the metal door without much of a hitch. It was a long corridor with degenerated posters on both walls. His stride was yet to normalize, but confidence was bringing more and more coordination back to him.

‘Today’sTomorrow’, ‘You have been chosen to—’, ‘—bring us back…—ove the g—’, ‘Always follow the instructions’ were the slogans thatcould be read, whether in full or in tatters. The imagery was basic, just shapes as borders and random icons, like a cog or an exclamation mark.

Somehow it brought Isaac vibes from when he’d enter a metrostation with all the vibrant and alluring advertising that would urge passersby to join this effort and that effort…

But this was nothing like the bustling pass. Where was all the life at? And what was up with all this disrepair. Things were fine, but at the occasional broken light were moments where creeps would bring him back to that pod and he’d be wiser to pick up the pace so he could finally find a living soul.

There, another door that should mark the entry to his biggest hopes; a step into order and life. He didn’t even contemplate the ‘what if’ as the handle was pulled to the entry of reality.

The childish smile was quick to extinguish. It was another one of those rooms. Aged, dusty, unkempt, degenerating.

Isaac glanced around at the four doors set into the rounded walls of the cylindrical room. One of the heavy double doors bore a label marking it as ‘Progress’. Progress that was hampered when he found himself pushing against the spring-loaded hinges with a grunt. They refused to move: solid with rust.

The distant whispers that something was horribly wrong found amplification, as the dread of what could be was banging louder and louder. Was he the last living being in this place?

In the bubbling hysteria he noticed one of the doors opposite the double doors. It was hanging on one of its hinges and there seemed to be quite some garbage littering its similar corridor he had walked.

Maybe he’d find his answers there!

With a spring in his adjusting step he rushed at it but realized quickly the void of darkness that was before him, darkness that touched upon his face and made him freeze in horrid trepidation. No-no, he couldn’t just enter the unknown like this. What if there was a gaping hole or something hazardous? This was borderline stupidity.

In bold frustration he threw the work bag on the floor and hissed away in anger, his hands grabbing at his head as he raced through the mist of thinking. It wasn’t easy with the aftereffects of his slumber but he was managing to piece fragments together. And that’s when it hit him.

With swiftness, he opened the work bag and rummaged like a hungry boar in a field. Wrenches, screwdrivers, bolts, picks, files… what about the side pocket… there!

In his hands was now the tool of his salvation: a bulky torch with a crank. Not wanting to lose hope by allowing his thoughts to fester doubt, he turned the crank through solid crunches and for a moment nothing happened.

Again. Again. Again. Turn. Turn. Turn.

A blink, a stutter… and then light. Isaac didn’t even think about it as he got up and shoved the beam into the darkness. The path was riddled with dirt and garbage but there were no gaping holes.

Yes, this could work. Without even remembering to take his bag, his feet carried him through the corridor of exposed, moist rebar that still remained embedded in the walls. None of the posters had survived here.

Ahead was a lonely doorframe, yet somehow the excitement was making him oblivious to the situation.

As his feet clanked againstthe fallen metal door he found himself in a room just like the one he had been at. But here the CRT monitor had a hole in the screen and the desk was nowhere to be seen, cogs, paper and ink scattered all across the dirtiness.

A minor setback. If this was identical to the place he was at, maybe there would be…

The locker room… now he could never allow himself to say that the former place was in bad condition… this here was apocalyptic. Half the ceiling had collapsed with thick rebar curled like spaghetti, while the debris was scattered everywhere upon the cracked tiles.

Little voices in his head shouted at him to go back to the safety of the light, but he needed to find more information, he had to find the Supervisor.

No way could he enter the shower as it’s entry was stuffed with hedgehogish concrete. Grimness was all that throbbed in his heart for his hand turned and turned the crank faster and faster, as the prospects of his loneliness grew and grew…

He wanted to speak, to give a yell of notice, but the dryness ever-presentkept up the charade of thirst as he sidestepped carefully between rods of rust.

There, just where the lockers of his own room had been, tilted and stuck under the scrunched weight, was a pile of dusty uniforms flopped against the floor.

He made step towards the other exit from the locker room, guessing the place would have the same layout as the one from before. The Supervisor wasn’t ahead of him since his document was left behind, so the guess was he was stuck somewhere on the path here from Stasis.

He turned the corner to the sight of the doorframe, but just like the showers, a collapse of the concrete above had turned it into a pincushion of poking rebar.

It didn’t seem too much had collapsed in the way. Was the Supervisor stuck the other side? He called out, reaching with dusty fingers to the pile of fallen material and pulling away at a little of the mound.

Pieces of rock fell by his head as a distant rumble faded off with the darkness above. This wasn’t a good idea. And no answer had come anyway.

In tune with the rumble: the lights above flickered their last… What in the world had happened here? He looked around for answers as he cranked his torch, but nothing else could be seen around the place. Nothing, but for a single open locker.

He had orders to carry out, this wasn’t his place to sneak around, his locker to poke about in. This was going against the rules and he was in who could even know how many violations. And yet… well, his Supervisor probably was already dead.

Thoughts cut through his mind… Dead…

Renewed effort brought vision to his eyes as he fixated his path towards the open locker.

Was this his answer? Was this his chance?

The flashlight between his knees, turning and turning with one hand, he grabbed through the contents of the locker.

Was this chaotic mess of entropy the bringer of this golden opportunity to ascend beyond what the Company had decided him worthy for?

Shirt, underwear, boots; disturbed dust flew all across the room like a relentless hailstorm. He tore through the small space, the little flashlight splaying more shadows than light across the scene.

Then he found it. The coveralls. Hanging long and deep blue. And there it was, stitched on the lapel, that delicious title: ‘Supervisor’.

This was it.

Barely able to breath, both from the dust and the exhilaration pumping at his heart, Isaac reached out to the uniform and touched the thick weave of synthetic material.

This would be his one chance.

Lips setting to a smile, the uniform came free of its hanger. A half second later and Isaac was already pulling his Workman’s uniform off himself, eager to try out this new fit.

Yes. This was it!

C4
Cafeteria

Fresh strength had entered Isaac’s gait, his head held higher with the honorable title of Supervisor on his chest. His flashlight now tucked into his front pocket as the lights had found a way to come back to life after some dwelling in emergency red; in his hand he carried his briefcase.

Passing his old bag of nasty, rusty tools, fit only for a laborer, Isaac grew a small smirk. His own bag was light and streamlined, no doubt holding papers, information, stationery fit for his new position. However long he could keep it. Isaac’s gait slowed with a glance down to his boots. How long would that be? What’s more, how was he going to get through this damnable door?

Okay, just because it hadn’t worked last time, that didn’t mean that all was forlorn. This wasn’t some immovable object, this was a path that would lead him to his destiny.

Pushing hard to a pinch on his fingershe was drawn to hissingly glance at a streak of crimson, leaking from his palm.

Instead of losing faith in his struggle, he braced against the steel and shoved every last inch of energy he could musterfrom his bony body, echoes of labor bouncing in a harmonious skip.

He was not going to let this great opportunity slide away into dust and cracks!

A snap, a clank, rust peeling from the doorframe… and then the door actually moved into the wall, new light glinting into hope’s rebirth.

The door was opened. But at what cost… at least he’d had his tetanus shot, though… did the expiry date still count if you’d spent that time in Stasis?

With new momentum he made enough space for an opening to slide through, not forgetting, of course, to take his recently changed briefcase, and enjoying again that it was lighter than ever.

Dread flooded his mind at what was before him. A line of dim blue bulbs lit the short corridor, the walls and floor: bare concrete, thick with dust. The sight didn’t hold him up for long, the promise of a hot meal was enough to drive his steps confidently into the bleakness, yet the nag that something was terribly wrong echoed deeper into his skull, its song amplified, the more he was seeing of this aging facility.

He tried to wipe off the splotches bled by the crudely made door handle, but stopped at realizing the importance of his newly acquired jacket. Just a few drops really, but it was best not to make a mess, so he looked around to find something to wipe it off with. But at finding nothing, he just used the side of his bag.

Nonetheless, there was the opportunity for him to seize at the bargain he’d make to the first person in management he’d meet. He wasn’t going to be some lowlife worker.

This spot hadn’t been as bare as the path from the stasis pod to the lockers. There were crates and junk, pieces of paperwork scattered everywhere. A sound like fallen leaves followed as Forst moved, the quiet murmur of the pages of years gone by, tracing his wake like an ethereal guard dog, keeping him moving in the right direction.

The air was heavy and stagnant, that was until the dust kicked up by his boots reached his nose, leaving him gagging and gripping his neck once more. The rough grains ground against the sores within him, the sensation almostas equally discomfortingas the memory of that grotesque sucking sound that pipe had made as it was pulled from his throat…

Definitely, that was the wrongest memory he could conjure, so he had to stop himself from the bubbling of vomit, though that wouldn’t have been much of a waste.

Covering his mouth with his sleeve helped, but it was clear the jacket needed a wash, or maybe several.

Isaac’s steps paused. In the distance, above the wood door, the wall bore a sign indicating the trainline. That couldn’t be right.

A fresh panic took him, the thought of never reaching the cafe, being robbed of that moment of rest, that sip of cool moisture to wash away the filth in his neck and the cracks of his lips that stung in iron.

Backtracking anxiously, his fingers clasped in a rough fist, reopening the cut on his palm and drawing a trace of spider’s footprints across the murky age.

“Hac… heaeh!” he called to the night, though the strain of speech was almost impossible to beat, that, and the creeping sense of aloneness were enough to deter him from trying further.

It was one thing to hear silence. It was quite another to hear your own voice go unanswered by any life but the distancing echoesof your own.

Isaac’s lips pulled back a hot hiss. He huffed again, looking to the walls; the briefing rooms behind, for any alternative from this foodless path.

Nothing.

This was unbelievable. How could he have missed it? How could this even be legal to happen! Scowling, he turned to a crate just by his side and bashed it in rage.

It was large and looked like solid wood, or at least it once had been. Now it was eaten by rot, Isaac’s foot passing right through and toppling the whole stack of boxes and papers.

Leaping to catch them, grasping at air and dust, Isaac locked his gaze over his shoulder towards the door, feeling sure security would burst through at any second with harsh berating.

Nothing came and no sound followed, but for the distant echoes of this crate’s demise reverberating through the empty concrete halls. Well, at least that allowed for a sigh of relief…

Cafe. Right there in front of him. Hidden by the stack of boxes: a door marked ‘cafe’!

Isaac’s mind buzzed, already energized and alert, ready to take on whatever duties had been assigned to him. His lips parting with a grin, the man muttered to himself, “It’s ahhg… it’s about time.”

Pushing against the door, he found the hinges blessedly smooth, he opened upon the… smelly, damp, ruined husk of what once could have resembled a cafe, lit up by his handy flashlight. The moldy green tiles were cracked all over, the paint on the concrete walls peeled away to the point it appeared more akin to a worn frilly dress than a paintjob.

Isaac pushed through, regardless. Nose scrunched against the fumes of mold, he wandered briefly around the huge room. There was something unnatural packed around the center, where plastic chairs were arranged unevenly around what looked like ash and charred wood. It wasn’t long before he looked up at the black mess of soot that had spread across the ceiling.

Who in their right mind would have a fire like this? It was breaking so many safety concerns and regulations, fully criminal!

One look at the taps was enough to frighten him off drinking from them, even if they might’ve worked. The food stocks were empty, the ovens didn’t turn on. The fridge… okay, the fridge was just disgusting. Not a chance he’d try any of the rest.

He lowered himself, perching on the edge of one of the many rusty tables scattered around the place. One that was the right way up. He sighed a groan as the declination set in and the life faded from him, the dizziness returning as growing weakness in his bones.

Absently, his fingers reached for his pocket and drew out the snubby wooden pipe. Lips finding their way around the stem, Isaac gazed around at the stained walls and the pattern of dark, oily streaks against the oceanic paint.

“Looking for a – lo-lo-l-l-looking for a sn-sn-snack? -nack?”

Jolting, Isaac spun at the noise.

“It’s t-t-t-the first gr-gr-… -feezz-nrr!” it came again from the corner, as if rodents were being ground by gears. There was a vending machine there, though the sound choked itself to extinction. Isaac wasn’t even sure what triggered it to play, or if it always did that, day after day, in this lonely mess.

Pulling himself up, he went for a closer look. The glass was still intact and he had no money, so no easy way of taking what was inside. He’d been told these things were alarmed and… well, the food inside was all festering rot anyway.

He slid his finger against the coin slot of the machine and chuckled to himself at the company’s choice to have a paid vending machine in a spot where no money had been given. Then he cleared his throat, and reminded himself the company didn’t make bad decisions, he just wasn’t capable of understanding them.

He moved to turn away, but a glint of metallic gray caught his eye: a packet on the bottom shelf of the device. Squinting, Isaac lowered himself towards it. Erzat’s? It wasn’t Tryka but it’d do!

The coin tray was the first place Isaac looked. Predictably empty. It never could be that easy. Beneath the machine some food was found, in the form of crackers, dried to a state of near mummification, in an interesting shade of green that he would have put aside for a modern art project, were he that way inclined.

The tables were all empty, the place surprisingly ‘clean’ of anything useful, despite the waste thrown everywhere. Behind the counter, in the sink, behind the lights and in the gaps behind the peeling paint.

At last, a penny was found, nearly lost in the gap between two tiles, where the silicone had worn away. A moment later it found a new home: burrowed between the slots of the vending machine. The buttons still worked and against all the odds, the device didn’t jam.

With a slap, the small plastic package of thin and long sticks plopped down to the base of the machine. A brief grope later and Isaac had the packet in his hand and was ripping open the top.

A scent of musty air and plastic rose to meet his nose. Yummy… yummy. Isaac sighed. At least ‘Erzat’s Synthetic Tobacco Sticks’ never expired.

He drew one to his mouth and slipped it between his lips. It was hazardous to swallow these things, these nasty little sticks of plastic. All you could do was suck them for the paltryamounts of tobacco inside.

Usually, he’d never bear thought of these things, but, well… if nothing else, the tobacco would be at least a little filling.

C5 – Workman

Isaac Forst slugged to a spot surprisingly clear of debris. A door marked with black letters stood before him ‘Platform 71B’. He pushed against it and it slid open easily. Had the hinges been oiled? He pondered on the good condition of this spot as he passed through the doorway, but his mind was taken aback as he stepped out into the darker expanse.

A long line of concrete was lain before him, a platform such as he’d expect at a train station. A single bulb hung from a cable, swaying in a gentle breeze.

Isaac sniffed as he looked around. Where was this breeze coming from? Maybe from the tunnels the station was connected to left to right? It didn’t appear that big, just two tracks, with the platform only being on one of the sides, the other having just concrete wall and cable.

His exploring footsteps echoed sporadically, each pace bringing a quiet grinding as he dragged over the broken concrete tiles. He breathed the cold air, gazing out at the festering blackness where lights were none. The air was fresh, slightly salty even. Some distant buzzing and sparks changed the pace, but were insignificant enough to be remembered more than the occurrence.

Even if he couldn’t see far beyond the yellow beam of incandescent light flickering above his head, it was enough. There was freedom to this spot. He stepped a little further forward, noting the chevron hazard markings helpfully laid across the edge of the drop. How far the drop was, he had no idea, but he’d traveled via metro enough times to know to ‘mind the gap’ on this one.

He glanced around for an indication of any signal lights or timetable, but saw only a telephone station set against the wall. It stood out as odd to him because it had no visible buttons. He moved over to it and lifted the receiver. Dead silence. No buttons on that either.

“Who’s you meant to be?”

Startled, gasping, Isaac drew his light and darted it to the source of the sound. A figure, hunched against the bare wall. Looked like a homeless goblin, a shape of hunched gray against the background with a tool bag in hand.

Scrunching his eyes, leaning towards the figure, the flashlight whirred as the handle span in the silence. Was it the Supervisor? The whirring buzz drew on as Isaac tentatively walked closer. It was a man, blue overalls, his hand raised against the light that Isaac shone.

“Who are you?” Isaac didn’t lower the torch.

“Whos you!”

“In charge.” Isaac chewed his lip without exterior hesitance.

The figure grunted, his voice fading. “God damnnit.”

“Now get up, let me see you.”

The reaction came instantly but slowly, reluctantly. Isaac wanted to put it down to lethargy from this guy’s own adventures with stasis but a niggling doubt was already in his mind that he was going to have larger problems with this man.

Isaac continued to shine the light directly in the figure’s face as he stood; watching as he dusted himself off and held his stomach, like he was close to throwing up. The figure squinted at the light but didn’t comment on it. Good. No harm in reinforcing the status quo after all. The figure blinked slowly with bloodshot oak eyes: dark patches just beneath that looked like he hadn’t slept in a month.

“Damn. Stasis wasn’t kind to you. You were in stasis, right?” Isaac waited a moment for a reply, but the figure just stood blinking, swaying slightly with a complexion pale. Isaac occupied himself with glancing over the man’s uniform. It was in a considerably worse condition than his own. “You are a mess, aren’t you. Couldn’t you clean yourself up a bit?”

“What with…”

“You should’ve checked around more, there were other coveralls, you had to check the other lockers.”

“Was the last locker, others was empty.”

“‘Vork Mon’. What’s up with your label? What’s a ‘Vork Mon’, hey? Is that oil stained over the letters?”

“Bratan, just… You know where there’s food?”

“Nevermind food, where’s water,” Forst rebuked, glancing off to the side as the flashlight fell to his side. There was no need to be too harsh on the man. They’d both been through Hell that morning, after all. Or evening. Not that those terms meant anything here.

“Back at the Cafe.”

Isaac froze as he drew back from his thoughts, skimming over the sights and smells he’d found in that forsaken place. “You… mean the taps? You drank from those things? What color was it even?”

“The color of rainbows.”

“Sure.”

“Color of hopes and dreams and elf candy.”

“I get it. Don’t drink that again. You’ll catch something.”

“Bratan, I… I dunno, bratan, I just…” He groaned, squeezing his fist against his stomach as he backed up to lean against the wall, dropping the workbag loudly to a clang of tools. “Maybe today’s just be a half day.”

“My stomach hurts too, but keep talking like that and we’re–”

The workman pulled himself away from the wall and grabbed his bag. “What? Stuff me back to stasis?”

“Don’t think I can’t, there’s many other workmen than you. Don’t think you’re-“

The telephone rang. Both men halted on their thoughts and turned towards it. It was a harsh sound and seemed to go on reverberating forever through the tunnels that no doubt stretched far into the distance. The workman sidled back to his wall and leaned heavily against it. Forst reached out a hand, and picked up the receiver.

“Erm. Hello?” said Isaac, tension already building around his shoulders and neck, expecting instantly to be scolded for taking on a Supervisor’s work get-up.

“Identify.“

“This is For… this is the Supervisor. I’m ready for orders.”

“Look for the green light.“

Confusion mixing with his already paranoid mind, Isaac glanced around the telephone station. “Erm.”

“Behind you. The track. Look to the right.“

Turning, scanning the bleakness beyond the bounds of the dull yellow light, Isaac caught sight of a dim green glow. A round bulb, a signal light, probably set into the wall. “I see it, Sir.”

“Follow it. Use the maintenance platform. There’s a train. Take it, drive it. The lights will guide you.“

“Sir, are there any stops for food on the way?” Silence answered. Isaac felt anxious heat building around his neck. “As in, the cafe wasn’t stocked with food, we haven’t eaten or drunk anything in… well, in months.”

Another moment of silence. “The journey will take 45 minutes. Brief your workmen to prepare for standard operating procedure.“

With a tone of droning denial, the line went dead in Isaac’s hand. He paused for a moment, sliding his tongue between his teeth and biting softly. Isaac turned a little, watching the workman out of the corner of his eye, who was watching back attentively. He’d somehow convinced whoever it was on the other side, at least for the moment. His biggest problem now was just…

His weight shifted to his other foot, the boot’s soul grinding against the cracked floor. “I see. One last matter: this fellow you’ve sent me, are you sure he’s up to code?”

“Hey, what you saying?” The figure rose like he’d been stung and came staggering over in the dark, catching himself against the doorframe as he stumbled closer.

“He’s just not showing the enthusiasm I’d expect, Sir. His uniform’s tatty, his attitude—“

“Look-look-look, bratan, I’m—“

“You sure it’s even the right guy for—“, Forst scoffed at air’s blink.

“Ay, course, who else, look-look-ey—“

Isaac held a finger towards him, gazing towards the concrete paneled wall. The droning tone was getting on his nerves, but the discomfort was more than worth it, judging by the workman’s reaction. “I see, I see. Thank you. Goodbye.” He lowered the phone and gazed at the dotted holes in the plastic surface.

“Look-look, I’m just sick as hell, bratan. Ey, when I’m feeling meself, I’ll work extra. Overtime, ye?”

“We’ll talk this over later.”

Replacing the phone, Isaac took his time ensuring it was properly centered in its cradle. He could see the figure wanting to talk, wanting to insist or question or bicker, but he was keeping it to himself. Isaac congratulated himself, he’d handled things pretty well.

“Workman.”

“Yeah!”

Forst looked past the man, to a dim light of green just barely visible, up the path. He stretched out a finger to the maintenance platform.

“Down there, that’s our train. On with it, Workman.”

C6 – Greenlight

The maintenance platform shuddered as they moved. With each step of boot against metal, a fine mist of oxide dustscattered to the gentle breeze of this chasmous space.

It made Isaac’s nose itch; stings in the back of his throat. This wasn’t going to give him silicosis,right? No, no the itchiness was just his imagination, the company would never let hazards like that linger.

It was a wonder: this place, this company. Such technology, such advancements, “Such a walk, for a train that can’t even meet us at the station…”

“You saying to me?”

“No. Keep quiet.” Isaac glanced over his shoulder, his wind-up flashlight whirring. Workman was shorter than he was, and not by a small amount, with a face drawn and still pale from stasis sickness. Probably not that different than his own.

His oaks glinted in the torchlight, although he avoided Isaac’s eye, glancing down at his coveralls and workbag: hanging sheets of ill-fitting cloth, such as befitting for a scarecrow rather than a man. A few good meals would do them both the world of good.

He seemed less sure footed, less comfortable with the heights, or maybe it was just the sickness. Either way, his ears were sharper than Isaac expected.

There was nothing to lean against, as either it was dirty or unstable, and the last thing that was on his mind was falling between the pits of darkness. If only there was a crossing in sight so they could get on the other side…

“Wonder what this place was.”

The workman caught up just in the moment, “Train station ain’ it.”

“No. This space. The size seems overkill just for some tracks.”

“Oh. Ah, just wanned it big-big, ain’ it.”

Isaac turned slowly away from the man, wind-up flashlight still buzzing in the gloom. “Shouldn’t be much further. We’re almost at the tunnel.”

Forst glanced down at the black below, through the small holes in the iron grating the platform was made of. Nothing could be seen, other than pipes and thickly sagged cables, before the dubious nothing. It gave off an unease that was bringing restlessness around his toes.

It had been fine to begin with, a row of fist-thick metal bolts, locking the catwalk against the edge of the platform…

“Let’s keep moving, we have a schedule to keep.”

But now, as he looked up at the glistening beam, the specks of metal dust were fumbling around the light, while the spindly ribs of the path’s supports reached out into the hanging darkness. No ceiling was seen, no sense of scale beyond the bouncing echoes of their voices.

Why didn’t they build this inside the wall, after all, this entire cavernous expanse must’ve taken so much effort, yet the cheaper way of rattling and creaking catwalks was the acceptable norm?

The path became a climb, every footstep resonating a clank of whispers as they mounted each metal step, one at a time, holding tight to the ice-cold rail as they went. Isaac thanked the gloves on his hands that kept away all the crumbling rust.

Steel skeletons of decayed crates loitered here and there, the occasional big drum just waiting in roundness or dents. Isaac glanced back again. “Mind the rail here, it’s loose.”

“Sure, bratan.”

Damn rail. Damn grates. What was the point of a train track if the train wasn’t even going to come to meet you. What sense did it make to have to walk to it? And the food…

Grunting, a boot landed heavily on the next step on the row of many. Exhaustion and breathlessness growing as Isaac climbed the steps to the wide mouth of the tunnel.

Not a scrap of food and only a run down, burnt out cafeteria as thanks for all his weeks frozen in that casket they called a stasis pod. At least… was it weeks? Could weeks lead the facility to the state of… this?

Of course, it might already have been like that, just an ancient facility to start with. Information appeared to be rather scarce.

He let the light die down in a happy moment’s rest for his wrist, gazing at the green signal light of guidance, buzzing gently in the silence. This wasn’t good. His body had been injected with energy back then, it’s the only explanation for what that orange liquid had been, but now all that was left was draining away, and just climbing up these stairs was shredding blur in his vision.

“Where we at?” asked Workman, though Isaac didn’t even answer, as, to his impatience, that was just ridiculous. “Yeye, we at the station, but where is this?” he gestured all around himself, finally a speck of sense.

“Underground. The rest doesn’t matter now.”

“She told me I was gonna be workin’ at city tunnel maintenance. She dun say I’d be napping in a pipe down my mouth.”

“She?”

“Ughm… that one… the one with the white hair, look like she old but not really.”

“What? Just say the name.”

“Name-nothing, it was some strange on… dunno. Oh, she gave me two chocolates, like the one with the hazelnuts and milk and stuff.”

Oh no, he spoke about food and the picture of sugary delight dropping on his salivated tongue came to fruition. Worst of all was milk… it brought him back to the days of youth where he’d always drink it whenever he felt like it. Always there, always delightful…

For one thing, past the storming pain in his stomach, his mouth was no longer as dry.

“Aha, she gave you chocolates too, ye!” The loudness brought him back in a befuddled squint, the moment’s amnesia asking him if he even remembered where he was or who was talking to him… Though, come to think of it, he had no real idea where they were really at. Could it be under the metropolis?

“Huh? I have no idea who you’re talking about. Cut talking about food. Think about something else, yes? The missing. Getting to the train,” and not about tasty things of hot food and water.

With a slap of lips, Isaac staggered on, half ignoring the idle babble of the man behind.

The light had been so small and subtle, but as they had limped closer, its intensity had grown bigger, brighter and taller..

Green. Isaac had always found it a fresh, clean color. Against the gray and red streaks of the stained walls, it only gave this sense of rotting grass, this sickly decay, especially in the round maw of this tunnel.

He sucked deeply, chest aching with emptiness he’d never felt before, hand clamped tight upon the galvanized pipe.

The maintenance path ended here, no other step, no other door, no other shaft. Contemplation wafted around his thoughts: if they should just sit tight and wait for this transport vehicle, but doubts pushed him to action due to the nature of their jobs and the lack of anybody since his awakening. Things just didn’t smell or look ripe, just stagnant and uncertain. And it was this uncertainty that was making his mind shrivel.

Gazing around at the tunnel, Forst grabbed on the rail and slowly hunched off the maintenance platform, but exactly at the moment that he touched the rough cement, the rusty metal snapped and led him to fall on his ass tentativelessly. Echoes reverberated his gloom deep into the tunnel’s guts.

Normally that’d be nothing, but the sheer energy he used to take control of that fall, and the murky blackness below, had blurred him and all he could do was pant. It gave him chill shivers, the sole protector of sanity being the green light’s shine.

His hand waved meaninglessly as the body tried to get him on his feet. Humiliation of such simple actions was not allowed. Worst came when two gruff hands grabbed him by the armpits in a lift.

“Get off me!” he struggled away, falling next to the platform’s edge. One would say that his reaction was utter stupidity, but he saw it as pity. Nobody could help him other than he himself.

With a glare at the puzzled man before him, he propped himself against the wall and slowly got back to his height.

Silence.

Adjusting his wrist, he realized that there was something in his grip: the broken piece of rail. That gave him distaste that he had managed to break company property. Sure it wasn’t his fault the thing was rotten, but he shouldn’t have grabbed onto it in the first place.

Now there were pointy shards of rust in the missing spot, so he could just put it… A glance at Workman was given, who just stared with a mild gawk.

“Workman, fix this,” Forst ordered and extended the piece of railing.

“Fix it? Whole thing need be throwing in trash!” Workman shouted to a clash of Forst’s convinced resolve. “Ey! Ya break it, ya fix it,” Workman fussed and crossed his arms in defiance.

“Which of us isthe Supervisor again?” Forst’s lips twitched, he had to be harder than this… “Are you telling me that you’re unable to perform a simple task? Incapable?”

“Huh? Of course I can, but you ‘xpect…” Workman sputtered his words in a rapid contemplation, and then he growled, “You want it fixed, eh? I’ll give ye a fucking fix.”

For a second Forst believed he was to be socked in face with the swing of hand that came at him, and it would’ve been true if that hand hadn’t snatched the rusty piece of metal from him him. Instead of limping to the place of damage, Workman walked normally, though Isaac put that down to frustration and not health.

Joy spread across his brain though, at the fact that he managed to get Workman to comply to his order, which was already a step in the right direction. Though the repair took too short of a time: the broken railing was shoved between the gaps and fixedin place with bent jagged ends that held it clawy.

“There, ha. Brand new. Looks better than before. See?” Workman pulled on it to try and prove that it was fixed well, but he just broke off the edge to it, causing it to fall out again. “Stupid piece of scrap…”

Filthy screeching filled the tunnel’s ears, Workman doing some dark magic by twisting the rod violently. Forstwould’ve stopped him, but didn’t, as the man had equipped his gloves from the opened workbag.

“Ha! Try pull it off now. Ye, you can’t-cuz Grigore fix-did it.” Workman moved to the side with a happy smirk, his eyes speaking expectation. So that was his name, Grigore. It didn’t matter, so Isaac obliged and tried to get close for an inspection with a proper gait, though that only made him wobble funnily.

He wasn’t interested in actually inspecting the job, as he knew well the futility of the order and that the whole point was to see if Workman would comply. There was no expectation of a success, yet somehow he had managed to shove the broken railing back in there.

Reaching out, he lightly tugged on it and nodded.

“It is our responsibility to preserve company property.”

Forst moved away and looked back at the station that now ebbed in the distance. The other side was darkness, the railing disappearing into its mouth.

There wasn’t much of a choice was there? To enter or not to. The tunnel’s ceiling was perfectly rounded with its set of train rails just next to their feet. Normally he’d have chosen to walk in the center, but one stumble was all they’d need to feel the thrill of a few thousand volts crawling up their legs.

“With me, Workman. Keep off the middle, don’t want any accidents.”

“Ye-ye…”

The path sloped gently up, then down and to the right. The echo became stuffy and the air grew warmer. They walked sluggishly until the green light behind was just a memory, but still no train was there to be seen.

Cement desert, skyless of night-no-day.

C7 – Train

It was getting easier, the body somehow acclimatized to the struggle of hunger, of being awake and destiffened. Though what was now the core drive was that of thirst.

Trying not to run his tongue across his lips, Isaac winced at the newly formed cracks that ran his mouth. He figured this assortment of ailments was the only reason he was still lumbering across this dingy tunnel.

Moment’s stop for sporadic breaths; he let the light die down off his cranked flashlight.

“We there yet?” asked Workman again. Instead of giving him the explanation or a basic answer, Isaac just stared at his feet with propped hands against his knees.

If they wouldn’t soon find this aforementioned train, this was going to get ugly, fast. In many ways he asked himself if this was the wrongest choice of all. The instructions said to get to the light, not beyond. Common sense also would spell out to wait, instead of forging on.

His feet moved anew, more or less because Workman was getting ahead, obviously disinterested in waiting along. It would’ve been fine, but this blanketing darkness was not helping, crawling spiders in his imagination.

Though things weren’t normal here, were they? How could he just comply with orders and surroundings that gave nothing but doubt and uncertainty. There should’ve been food, in-person briefings, security… just people in general! Hell, even just cockroaches or rats… like, anything!?

Deeply lost in thought, he bumped into Workman in an unexpected sidestep, but instead of an apology he sent a remark, “I told you to stick with—” but the remark fell as he noticed what Workman was staring at. It was a steel doorway where a nastily scrunched door stood. It was deformed in an unnatural way and allowed for anyone skinny to totter through.

Sure, he was curious, but they had a job to do, “Let’s get to that train.” But Workman did the opposite.

“Where is you, little chocolates.”

“Workman, get back— dammit, we don’t know what’s in there…”

The impudent man stopped as he stepped over the tracks, anxiety buzzing in Isaac’s mind at the bare centimeters his boot was away from the live rail.

“What’s in there is what’s not out here!”

“Get back here, the train’s this way.”

“Train ain’t anywhere, bratan. Food is. I feel it in me crozzle!”

Isaac glanced down the length of the tunnel, only vista being the buzzing of the flickering lights that luminated the edges of the cylindrical tunnel. He thought a rest would be nice.

A screech of metal drew him back, to see a hunching goblin crawl his way through the crack in the beaten-up door.

“Man, look at this. This room ain’t just put here, it’s summin’ to do with the train. Maybe even got why the train ain’t here.”

The devil on his shoulder had grown too obese to ignore. The chance of anything was better than this endless tunnel. Only problem was the disobedience. He needed to swing this back in his favor.

“Well, what do you see?”

Workman’s head appeared from the crack in the door. “Ey, bring us ya light over. Smells like crackers and salt.”

“Crackers?”

The lead in his bones leaving him, Isaac crossed the rail and hunched down in pursuit of the promise given. He snagged on the heavily beaten-in door on his way through, glaring over his shoulder at the freshly made rip in his Supervisor’s coveralls.

Isaac questioned in the back of his mind what in Dwell had bent the door like this, but his attention was too taken by the room to care.

Small office came into view. Small would’ve been a compliment. Desk with a lamp sat against the wall, some bits and bobs on the table, a control panel with a chair pulled in beneath it. Behind it stood Workman, hunched forward and sniffing about.

“Smell that? Yeah, smell that, I smell it.”

“Breakers,” Isaac commented, torch shining to the box of ceramic tubes mounted to the wall. Workman glanced over his shoulder to see.

Clocking on to the combination of location, size and the equipment about the place, a light chuckle left his lips.

“Oh, it’s a signal box. Keeps an eye on the trains, power surges, controls the tracks.”

“Whas’ the point? Just send cables up with the info to the HQ.”

“And what do you do when a system fails, huh? Or a line disconnects? The trains have to run safely, even when issues get in the way of direct comms.”

“Who told you all this? Thought you were in Supervision.”

“I am,” Isaac shot, but quickly corrected his temper. “I am now. Worked in one of these once. Above ground.”

A shot of pride filled Isaac at his own general knowledge and usefulness, until Workman’s next words spoiled the moment.

“Know to fix breakers then, ya?”

“What?”

“Looksee, I bets the lights all still work, just breaker gone broke-broke.”

“Uh. See, we had electric breakers, the modern ones.”

“Ya can’t fix it. Even the light-ups?”

“Look, it wasn’t my job to maintain the place, just to run it. I wasn’t there long anyway. You’re the maintenance guy, you fix it.”

Silence fell for a beat, both men holding one another’s gaze in the ambiance. “Oh, yah, yah. Mainte-ne-nance guy.”

Workman turned almost sulkily to the breaker board behind him, running his fingers along the cables, tapping the ceramics, tracing where the wires came from, where they went.

“Yea, when was taking the job, told me I’d be City maintenance, electrics all round down there. The tunnel. You think yourself, ‘Yeah, ain’t no tunnels down there’. But there is. Lights, I mean. ‘Lectric. Down in the subway, ye?”

Whatever was he babbling about? Isaac glanced to the ceiling above, lined with tiles of probably polystyrene insulation, many of which were broken or missing, one removed to make space for the fluorescent strip across the center.

“But yea, got lights all over for the workers and stuff. All needs ‘lectric. Yeahh, man. And the city… Shine over here, yea? Need to see what I’m working. City ain’t got like this, ceramics. They told me I’d be working with ceramics? Would’ve laughed and called them, uh… don’t know the Terrish word. Liars, pretty much.”

“What you say is impossible, by the way,” said Isaac, smoothly.

Workman leaned forward and sniffed the inside of one of the ceramic breakers he’d just unscrewed. It was singed inside, his face scrunched at the scent. He glanced to Isaac over his shoulder. “It happened, what more’s to say?”

“That’s not how this works, they can’t lie. Not like that, there’s paperwork you’d sign, contracts. If you’re telling the truth why not just sue them?”

“I ain’t no liar, bratan. Lady with the, chocolate she—”

“You couldn’t even remember her name, so don’t argue you have any better memory of what you signed. And cut it with the ‘bratan’. I’m your Supervisor and you’ll call me such.”

Silence came as Workman’s reply. Silence, and a quiet squeak as he twisted into place a piece of ceramic he’d taken from someplace else.

“We’re jus’ talking. Supervisor.”

He reached out a finger and flicked up a jut of black plastic from the side of the breaker box. Its snap filled the small room and echoed down the tunnel outside. A low buzz started as the snap faded to silence. Slowly, the bulb above started flickering into life.

At last, rest. The whirring of his flashlight came to an end as Isaac’s aching wrist was allowed to fall by his side. He would have given the task of winding to Workman long ago, had that not meant giving over the flashlight: right now his only meaningful badge of rank, and his handsomer uniform.

The chair Isaac fell into had no padding, just a plastic frame, yet still was the greatest relief to him in that moment. He muttered over his shoulder, sighing as the pain in his legs turned to only a sharp tingle. “Check the place out for a guide book, a manual. I’ll see if I can track down this train.”

“What about—”

“Don’t pester me, I have to figure this console out.”

Isaac scanned the console before him, the dim bulbs set into its duck egg yellow plastic. It was pretty useless. Even if Workman had restored power, more than half the bulbs were probably blown and there was no way of telling which, short of ripping the whole console to bits.

As if he could even trust the readings; no idea how long ago this place had been serviced. Were the lines being checked? Were the sensors maintained? Well, no use trying to solve the mystery of this place from here, the least he could do would be to figure out where they were.

Leaning in, trying to ignore the sound of rustling plastic behind him as Workman fiddled with his workbag, Isaac leaned in to the impression of the faded map upon which the lights and controls were set.

No easy ‘you are here’, but if he could just-

“What’s this wrench?” came a voice from behind.

“Uh, huh?” On the wall to the side of the console, perfectly between the door and the breaker board, was a series of tall switches: levers bound in a thick red plastic, bolted to the wall with heavy iron hinges.

“They control the power. They’re like the breakers, but—”

“The mains, yeah. I know how ‘lectric works. This wrench though.”

Half suppressing a huff, Forst leaned closer, squinting beneath the old light’s flicker, seeing a thick wrench of metal jammed inside the connection. “Who can say, must be there for a reason.”

“Want me yank it?”

“No-no!” Isaac shot, flapping at the man to take his hands back from the lump of metal stuffed inside the equipment.

“What if that’s keeping the train hiding away?”

“Don’t argue.”

A long huff escaped Workman as Isaac turned back to the control panel. Touching the raw electrics indeed. Did he have any idea how… Well, Isaac could see his point: anything to get them out of their ‘current’ predicament faster.

“Not much fun, is it. Bet you wish now you’d paid better attention to that contract of yours.”

“Just starving. And cold. So how’d they scam you into signing up work down here?”

“Ah, I found us.”

“Uh?”

“Right here, see? 71B, that’s where we left from. We walked up the catwalk. Here? Now we’re—”

“Alright cool. Now what?”

Isaac licked his lips. Then wished he hadn’t, the taste of iron coating his parched tongue. Rubbing his palm against his lips, Isaac regarded the tracks shown ahead.

Reaching out, he flicked one of the dark switches, the brittle plastic snapping off in Isaac’s hand.

“Typical,” he muttered, jamming it back in the hole, as though trying to disguise what he’d done. Workman made no comment. Trying again, he managed to flick what remained of the switch.

The room filled with a golden glow as the panel’s every light illuminated. Isaac’s brow twisted, fuddled by what he saw. With a hiss, the console flickered then faded to black.

A fit of brief anger taking him, Forst kicked out at the base of the console. The metallic thud echoed down the tunnel outside. Hearing shuffling behind him, Isaac twisted to see over his shoulder.

“Get this back on,” Isaac demanded, though Workman was already making noises at the fuse box behind.

“Nah, ’s blown, whole console’s blown.” Workman regarded the ceramic fuse he held in his hand. “Assholes. See that? Stuffed the whole fookin’ thing with copper wire.”

Chewing his lip as he glanced back to the console, Isaac turned fully to face the man. His first instinct was to ask what the copper wire was for, why it was a problem. But of course, that wasn’t something a Supervisor would need to ask.

“You’re the one who swapped fuses. If the console’s burnt out, that’s on you.”

“Uh! How’m I supposed to know? Know how lazy this is? Should’ve gone get a bigger fuse.”

He moved past Workman and snapped the mains’ switch off, crouching through the bent metal of the door as reverberations bounced away into the darkness of the tunnel.

“Follow.”

Only thing left to try was just finding the blasted train so they could get on with their work… though now mostly food was on Isaac’s mind, food and water and rest. He wanted to groan in a shriek, but failed to do so as Workman was nearby.

There were so many questions, yet only deafness festered around them as neither spoke, nor muttered, nor glanced at one another. In a way it was making every step take longer, ramping up the discomfort, the agony.

“Ey, what if the train is on the other side?” Ah, somehow the thoughts, the newness; they made his awareness go away from the gloom and doom of his existence. In a way, he appreciated it.

“We have the light, it’s here.”

“Ye-ye, light. But did ye see the other way? You see if it got light as well?” That was a valid question, and he scowled at realizing he had not checked, since what if the answer was obvious and the voice had meant the other way…

“No.”

“You didn’ see it?”

“No, there wasn’t any,” Isaac lied, since he didn’t trust himself to be capable of going back if Workman would defy him and turn around. At any rate, if he were to be proven to have deceived him, that would’ve meant they had found the salvation on wheels.

“Did you find anything useful in there?” To Isaac’s question Workman adjusted his uniform and coughed as his workbag jingled.

“Lotta blown fuses, old fuse sockets, wires and dust.”

“You’re pretty familiar with that. How so?”

“Grandpa’s old place. Had exactly the same buggers. He din’ like to touch ‘em so I’d gotta fix ‘em. He’d also do the copper wire trick to reuse a fuse, goddamn dementia-head.”

“Least you learned something.”

“But ain’t just him, I’ve seen at hotels and government buildings, using the same old stuff… but you know, if it ain’t broken don’t touch. Zap.”

“Surely the government had—”

“Zap.”

“There’s no way they—”

“Zap!”

“Fu— shut up! You can’t tell me that—”

“There, the choo-choo,” cut through the jovial whistle that would’ve slashed Isaac’s nerve if not for the relief upon seeing the train… at what appeared to be the end of the tunnel, though the end wasn’t something expected or remotely acceptable.

Collapsed, sticking rebar, crumbled rubble and no path in sight, the only leftover of survival being the steel train that somehow had missed being caved in on.

“Surely it chugs on coal, ey, Supervisor? Ha-ha!”

Well damned might it be, they had found it to smile’s relent.

C8 – Departure?

Flecks of thousands swam in the dimming bright, touching skin, glove, cement. Their destination as known as a blind wail of seething droplets.

Iron in his mouth winced at the dulling of the excitement as Isaac exhaled the dumbfounded stress that’d plagued him all throughout the journey of hardship.

He’d have asked for more time in that zone of calm, but Workman filled the void with his babbles of illegibility.

Stepping closer to shine a path for Workman, the train’s body now took shape. It was old, just like the rest of the place. Scrappy and battered, its entire pilot with the shape of snowplow, though one of countless welds of imprecision.

It’s size was disappointing, as he could nearly see into the cabin through the filth-grimed windows. It looked like a small tank, though at another bellow from Workman and the inspection towards the back, it showed its long frame that could’ve been considered a compensation for the trodden height.

“Ey, Super. Need light!” shouted Workman from the back. For a moment Isaac was to retort at the nickname but decided to let it go due to the nature of their success.

As he stepped by its side, he could see the small wheels, the sheets of metal that had been fused to the frame as if giving it more protection, though he suspected it was just to cover the holes of rust beneath.

Grunts… scraping… what was Workman doing?

“Wait, you can’t see—” Isaac tried, but as he shone at the noises, Workman had already climbed the little bars and onto the train.

Light now glancing upon him, Workman turned back, mouth grinning and arms raised in a triumphant ‘ta-dah’.

Huh, well it was good to know of the nocturnal capabilities of his subordinate. Personally he’d never risk it after his little event at the platform. Everything around here was a predator waiting to break off to stab or throw you off.

Stopping before those same steps, he glanced at the collapsed tunnel nearby. There was what looked like a passenger wagon, half covered in rubble. The metal frame bent like marzipan beneath the collapse. The part that gave him a shiver was the question to how they’d go about disconnecting the solid obsidian claw attaching the engine carriage to that one. Somehow he hated the potential answer.

Passing on the torch to Workman and grabbing firmly to the rails, he heaved himself off the ground. This weakness was festering faintness in him, but reinvigoration of hope steeled his nerves and he pulled through without losing mind and eye.

Good thing was that Workman didn’t try to help him, which was a sign that active listening was achieved. The door leading inside was opened, with just a moment’s hesitance by those rust-crusted hinges.

A small corridor bringing them closer to the front. This closed-off box had a strange abandoned vibe to it, yet somehow achieved coziness, at least over the vastness of the tunnel and the blackness that whispered.

They stopped before some kind of electrical panel that had its little casing fully exposed, a yellow light indicating residual power. The scribble on the metal said ‘PRESS, Bob’ in its dark, marker-likeness, right under a big red button.

Under no circumstances did Isaac think they should do that before—

“No!” Isaac screamed as Workman shoved his finger into the button at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. Isaac pushed him away, the grinding of something in the wall poking goosebumps on his skin as the lights flickered all across the corridor.

He tried to find anything that might stop the process but there were no other functional buttons, just those old damn ceramic fuses in different sizes. Maybe everything would be alright, maybe—

In violence the big fuse crackled wildly in smoke and coughs and blew up in a manner that cracked and flung the piece of protective glass at its front, grazing too closely over Isaac’s head.

“Why the f— why’d you do that, Workman?!”

“Huh? I did what it say, see?”

“What if it said ‘kill yourself’?”

He squinted at the button. “It don’t say that.”

“Well obviously no—” caught in a daze as his vision blurred, Isaac propped himself against the steel and tried to find calm between his labored breaths. Stress was leaking out of him in droves to the extent of fear over his own life. Was his heart going to explode?

Something touched him, more like pulled, though all that was was the likely silhouette of Workman. Coldness touched upon his rump. He was sitting down. Words shook his ears but nothing could go through the piercing tinnitus.

Ugh… his eyes kept defocusing, awareness gone…

If this kept going, it would spell disaster in terms of being able to solve basic problems. Worst of all: he feared hallucinations.

Focusing as much as possible to calm down and reduce his heartbeat, his ears slowly tuned in and finally were able to understand.

“—no button be there to kill me, no-no. This the one, see?” Workman lowered himself to eye level and showed Isaac the big fuse: black, charry and melted. “Is a piece of banana peel. See it was even cracked. It’s the engine, but I don’t see the ‘kill yourself’ fuse.”

Trying to stand, faintness again overtook him, his head falling back as all the strength in his body faded. He opened his eyes a few moments later to see Workman still babbling excuses for his stupidity. His heart pounded a constant rhythm in his chest.

It slowly dawned on him that this is what dying felt like.

“Just… forget it, what’s done is done.” Scolding, arguments, the damages done to company property: these were issues for another day, another time.

Wasn’t easy but with some grunts he was on his feet. Holding himself upright against the metal rail on the wall, Isaac tried and eventually managed to focus through the induced haze. Things were brighter, lights shining in the corridor and basking the tunnel.

In a few hours he wouldn’t manage even that. Time was running out. He had to find energy to put in his body, or…

“Tell me plain, what do we need to get this moving?”

“Well, less you wanna drag whole tunnel with you, we gotta disconnect other carriage.”

“Obviously.”

“So how bout that be your job. I’ll give flip-flop to the engine and ask ‘lil mice inside whassup.”

Through the mist of trying to keep up with what was said, Isaac didn’t even care to rebuke Workman for instructing him on what to do.

“What about light, there’s just one flashlight.”

“Yee, I’ll be needing it.”

Instinctively, Isaac’s hand closed tighter around the torch. Workman huffed and waved his hands towards him in defiance.

“You’ve got the light uh the train to see by, all you gotta do is check around how it’s attached. Meanwhile me’s gotta check all through the engine murk. Who needs light more, ah?”

How did he have so much energy still? Isaac felt he could barely walk. Arguing being the last priority on his mind, he handed over the flashlight and shuffled through the metal archway to the steps down from the train.

“Get oil over my torch, and I’ll—”

“Starve me? Yea, ho-ho.”

From outside, the black murk of the train’s windows had been transformed into a soft golden glow. Dim though it was, as the glow of speckled dust pierced the bowels of the tunnel, the darkness only grew darker and inexplainable, the cloud of dust shrouding its real face.

A sigh broke unevenly as his foot crunched on the broken rock and concrete strewn around, his heart still pounding a rhythm of desperation.

Glancing over his shoulder at a clang of metal and muffled shouts, Isaac saw Workman clambering atop the train. Calling out to get down seemed like too much work in that moment to care.

Besides, he knew what he was doing. Probably.

As he watched, Workman managed to find some kind of catch that popped the engine’s cover and had his hands, and Isaac’s flashlight, already pushed inside.

How did he have such energy still? It was so unfair. They’d both had their stomachs pumped-empty. Well, this Gregor, or whatever it was… was shorter, thinner too. Maybe the weight was making a difference? Or maybe it was that chocolate he kept bringing up. Why didn’t I get chocolate? Why didn’t I get Supervisor? Why Workman? He didn’t even—

A bang ripped through his musings, an explosion, or maybe just a pop being amplified by this echoing tube. He startled back, palms covering his ears and yelling out, “What happened? Hey, you there?”

“Nuthin’, nuthin’,” echoed Workman’s reply. “Just uh, making lil test of the uh… When mouse goes pop-pop you know you gotta find… new mouse. Fuse module, y’know? How ya going on?”

Nothing he said made sense. It seemed to be the norm for Workman. Was it the language barrier or just the exhaustion? He seemed to articulate well enough when he wanted. No matter. If Workman couldn’t fix the engine, Isaac sure as anything knew he couldn’t.

By the gold light of the train, Forst took in the situation. He’d known all along they were underground, but seeing for himself the thick concrete that these walls were made of, glimpsing behind the curtain that made this place, kept them separated from the miles of dirt and rock above?

It was haunting.

Especially so seeing it collapsed, the debris, the shards of concrete and twisted fingers of rebar groping, clawing from all corners of its decaying remains… All too clearly he saw how quickly this place could turn.

The train would be zero safety, the frame of the passenger carriage had buckled under the weight of the collapse like it wasn’t even there. Why would an unweightable heap of rocks care for a few centimeters of metal?

Stepping closer to the husk of broken glass and mangled metal, he tried to keep himself steady as he looked at the problem at hand. Every time he let his mind wander on the fragility of the moment, deep panic always came soon after, breathless and blurry.

Quite relievingly, Isaac found himself looking at a standard train coupling, the type he’d seen many times before. Or what was left of one. That was the problem; where the luck ended.

Isaac gave it a few kicks, but wasn’t impressed by the result. The pressure of the tunnel falling on the train had over-strained the metal of the coupling, bending it badly out of shape. The release catch was right there in front of him, but it all too clearly wasn’t going to budge easily.

Crouching down low, pushing his face up close against the mechanism, Forst reached out and gave the latch a shove. A layer of grime came off in his hand, but the more interesting outcome was the wiggle, the slight shift of motion between the two train knuckles, even bent as they were.

Pulling himself up with fresh excitement, a boot came smacking down squarely on the latch. It turned, dug deep into the twisted remains and stuck itself in place. Again the boot came smacking down, although this time it barely budged at all. Isaac’s balance failed him, arms dancing the empty air for something to grab and finding nothing but the aloof, unhelpful air.

“Orughta’ve been an acrobat, hah. Moves like that.”

“Shut your mouth,” grunted Isaac, sat hunched on a piece of fallen concrete, glancing across as the gnome of a human wandered over to him. “You get the engine up yet?”

“Nah, just need some bits. Got lotta tools I need in mah bag, but fuses? Nah. Gonna go take a walk back down up that room, get em there.”

“Yeah.”

“How bout you, sup with this?”

“We were pretty lucky,” he answered, slapping the thick metal of a coupler knuckle. “Mechanism still works, just the metal’s twisted too much to separate.”

Workman glanced between the two carriages and the couplers, his face growing to a glower as he seemed to be struggling to process what he’d been told. Maybe he wasn’t so full of energy after all.

“We fookin’ stuck here,” he shot, sudden rage taking him. “Gonna fookin’ suck and die here ain’t we? How’s that ‘good news’, lil pencil bratan?”

“Oh, it ju— pencil bratan? What did you call me?”

“Yeah. Cuz yo ass skinny.”

Shaking his head slowly, mouth agasp in disbelief, Isaac decided they’d skip that conversation. “The latch just needs a hard smack, I’m pretty sure—”

Instantly Workman jolted towards the latch.

“I already tried that. We need something with more force than a boot. A crowbar, or something.”

“Ain’t got none!”

Knuckles turning white at this infuriating creature he had to deal with, Isaac let the sarcasm flow, “Yeah, neither I ain’t. Get me?”

“So what we do?” Workman growled, smacking his palms together as he looked about the darkness. “Look, wait here. I’ll go get the fuses, something there might help with this. Right? Yeah. You go check inside other carriage. Yeah-yeah?”

“In there?”

“Might even find your magic crowbar in there. Might even find Bob!” Workman said, walking away up the emptiness of the tunnel, illuminated by the dull beams of the train.

“I’m not going in there, there’s a tunnel’s collapsed on it. That place is a death trap!”

Turning back, arms outstretched to the unseen skies above in praise, Workman started singing, clear and loud, voice echoing across the dust-ridden floors and cracked concrete walls… “Deathtrap-deathtrap! Welcome to Deep Dwell. Deathtraps of every kind! For ya wonder and amazement, see mice running in little maze. We even starve them first for your amusement! Nothing like a little zap-zap for…”

Babbling and babbling as he walked, the sound of Workman’s voice slowly grew impossible to understand, his song reverberating and mixing with his babbles of before, until it was all just one noise.

The light of his flashlight faded in the distance. Then so did Workman’s voice.

For a moment, Isaac thought he’d be happy for some silence and solitude. But then the itchy doubt, the anxieties, the sickening isolation of this inhuman hell he was surrounded by… it crept in.

Pulling himself once more to his feet, he gazed out at the empty tunnel, tingling dread dancing down his spine.

Wonder if he’ll be back soon.

C9 – Rumble

It took a long time for Isaac to shuffle his way back to the entrance of the train; took even longer to climb up those few metal steps to get inside.

Its condition was as grim as the rest of the place: rusted plating, exposed wires and a layer of grime over every surface. Boots creaked as he moved across the rubber-padded floor. Between the bulk of the control panel and the torn up fabric of the driver’s seat, Isaac peered yet again down the tunnel of the temperedly illuminated path, where some time ago Workman had backtracked into the black within.

Isaac shivered. He didn’t want to know how long it went on for. A labyrinth of tunnels without a soul in sight. It was almost amusing that the closest thing to a sign of life he’d seen, besides the creature Workman, had been a button marked ‘Bob’.

Pulling himself away from the view, Isaac turned to the back end of the engine carriage, the source of the golden light that felt so inviting in this chill-decaying box.

It was spacious, surprisingly so. A few short meters, but homely so they were. Two benches of a crimson fabric were set against the walls, relatively clean and only marginally torn. Already he felt the gnawing urge to rest his head upon the surface, just to feel its softness against his aching spine.

A small electric heater was just beside one of them. Reaching out a thumb, the button smoothly clicked and the device rushed into life. Damn, something didn’t blow up for once.

That was as much as he could take. The relief he felt to sit down on a surface with actual padding made him sigh a groan like he’d never sighed before. He wouldn’t have cared, even if Workman had been around.

Pushing his palms open against the blow of the heater, Isaac’s head dipped in the strain of his own consciousness.

Sleeping was not an option, not in this condition. The seductive pull of exhaustion, the siren song of rest. All it would take for his body to give in to the vibrant echoes of his decline, was for him to allow it. There’d be no coming back. He had to find food. Had to find water.

Desperate defiance overtook him as he pulled himself back to his feet. He feared this was his last chance to make it, the last shot of adrenaline he had left to survive. The urge to vomit was irresistible, held off only by the absence of anything to vomit.

Turning aside, shivering, sweating, checking the shelves along the walls of the cart: all of them empty, the buzz in his deranged mind stinging louder and sharper than the many florescent beams all around. He stumbled as he turned, rasping into the silent dispassion of the carriage, grabbing, clutching to something of leather to steady himself.

It was… Workman’s sack? But what made that crunch sound as he’d grabbed upon it?

Reaching out an unsteady hand, trembling fingers managed to find hold on the metal hoop of the zipper. Pulling it down, he reached inside the synthetic fabric, fingers clasping around a packet of plastic and… crumbs.

Crumbs?

A packet of crackers, half eaten. Somehow preserved and fresh, quite unlike everything else he’d seen so far.

The sweetest scent he’d ever smelled followed it, a rich creaminess that enveloped his senses. He pulled the first from its brightly colored packet, teeth crunching on its dry, bready desire.

Eating it was laborsome, without water or cheese and a mouth drier than brick dust, yet this was no reason to complain. Gulping down the broken crumbs a deep gurgle arose from his chest. This was probably the last thing his stomach was expecting these days as food.

He attacked the packet, scoffing a dozen in barely a minute. Each one harder to swallow than the next, he forced himself to eat anyway, until only a dozen or so were left.

While his lips were still parched, his throat itchy and sore from the half chewed crackers he’d forced down there, he at least had something inside him.

Sighing in relief, leaning back against the carriage wall, he glanced absently over the packet. Plain crackers. No salt, no sugar. Never had sugarless crackers tasted so sweet. Had it been in his bag all along? They were so fresh.

A crack-lipped grimace of a smile breaking on his face, Isaac shook his head. Unbelievable. So that was how he was so spry. He glanced down to Workman’s bag. Mouthful of water indeed, he probably had sparkling wine in there!

On a thought around, the ambiance fainted… weakened, as if his thoughts were getting louder and vivid, while a sudden movement of air rustled against his neck, from back towards the collapsed end of the tunnel. Nevertheless, just as he was to press his hand further inside that mystery sack of tools and treasures, the world just shook.

Isaac fell, barely grabbing himself by the metal poles as his head came within millimeters of smacking heavily on the wall. The train shook, the lights flickered, a thunderous groan, the raging growl of some cave monster ripped through the silence, the loudest noise he’d heard since waking up.

The lights died. Laid panting on the floor, trying not to move, he craned his head at the window. It couldn’t even be seen in the black, let alone anything outside of it.

Eyes still fixed in that space where he knew the window was, Isaac groped the floor for his flashlight, but he remembered it was with Workman. So his hand returned only a half eaten packet of crackers. Well, that was a good find anyway.

Something snapped in the small corridor by the entrance of the train, drawing a startled shudder as Isaac snapped to face it. But it seemed the snap was good news, as the orange lights flickered back into comfort, and all of a sudden the phantoms of monsters and ghosts oozed off his mind.

No. No, no. No monsters down here. Just him and Workman. Workman was a creature of his own kind, but whatever that noise was, it was no living thing.

Pulling himself back up on the chair, even the heater drew back to life. Anxiously nibbling on another cracker, he gazed even still at the window. Sounded more like a rumble, really. There’s already been one cave-in right here, it was probably just another.

Soothed to the soft whir of the electric fan, Isaac let his head come to rest against the red fabric of the chair.

The munching slowly stopped.

C10 – Confront

“Rediculous. You rediculous lil’, lil’ shroom-bratan!”

Stirred awake, Isaac’s wandering mind slowly returned from dreamless sleep.

“Like, I go out there, I get the stuff and I find you’ve gone lil’ sleep. Like, damn bratan. Just damn.”

Where was he now? Was his mouth full of biscuit? Someone close by was muttering or mumbling. The carriage of a train, a row of fluorescent lights, most of them broken. The whir of a heater somewhere beside him.

“Most disgusting, like most disgusting thing I’ve seen me life. An I worked in sewage pipes back once! There’s rats down that pipe got more, more than you!”

Isaac looked up to Workman’s face glaring back. He realized where he was.

Oh.

“Call me a rat again, I’ll strip you of your bathing rights.”

It was a terrible reply, antagonizing him wasn’t going to fix anything. Sleeping. Damn, what was he thinking? This was entirely the worst thing he could’ve done for Workman’s perspective on him.

“Oh, bathing rights? Ye wanna see me nasty-smelly foreva? Well ain’t nuthin’ stink more than yu. Strippy me off food rights!” he shot, grabbing the near-empty packet of crackers laying on the floor.

“It was wrong of you to hide them from me.”

“Hide them, hide them. We were busy, bratan, was gonna share ‘em with you right once we got train going. Lil’ celebration.”

Trying to pass this irritating topic, Isaac ground his palms against his aching eyes. “You have no reason to be so upset, I only ate my half.”

“Half? Your half!” Workman’s voice rose almost to a scream, Isaac pulling himself upright hastily. “Muh fucker half’s all there was! You ate em all, all what there was!”

Crumbs scattered to all corners as Workman hurled the packet down the length of the carriage. Isaac braced internally for an attack.

“Fix your damn console, fix your damn lights, walk thirty minutes for some damn fuses and what’d you do? Take sweet lil’ nappy time, precious lil’–”

Isaac leapt for the irritating gnome, shoving him harshly against his chest. It was a stupid move, a ridiculous way to react, but in that moment of arrogance and confusion it was all his body could come up with in response.

Workman yelled out as he smacked back against the wall, fierce teeth grinding tight as he and Isaac grappled beneath the dim light of the lonely cart.

Through just seconds of shuffling and grabbing and grunting, Isaac managed to bring Workman down, luck on his side as Workman lost his footing and stumbled down to the floor.

Both men panted deeply, gasping. Fighting more felt so unappealing. Apparently Workman felt the same way, glaring and gasping up, leaning on his elbows on the grooved rubber floor.

The Supervisor breathed carefully, shut his eyes, focused all his attention. He had one chance to repair this, to salvage what he’d done. He had to get this right.

“I am your Supervisor. I will tell you what to do and you will do as I tell you.”

“So you can sleep an’ slack while I does the work?”

“I slept because I had to, because I’m more important than you.” He opened his eyes, locked his gaze with the Workman, holding him silent at least for the moment. “All you have to think about is not dropping your tools. All you have to do is what I tell you. It doesn’t matter if you’re exhausted, if you can barely even talk. You don’t need to talk, you don’t need to think. I do.”

Pausing a moment to let his words settle in, Isaac watched Workman carefully. Pushing him down had shaken him, visibly; reminded him who was in charge. It was still a stupid move, as it could easily have gone Workman’s way and then where would they be?

Isaac went on, “If we’re going to get through this we’ll have to work together, but we’ll have to do it the right way. I ‘think’. You ‘do’. That’s why I need to be alert. That’s why I need to be rested. The training I’ve had, the things I know, my mind is essential to our survival.”

Fetching the packet of crackers from the wall, he debated for a moment if he should say ‘those’ words or not, but decided against it.

“I assumed you’d already eaten half the food in secret. It’s good you’re not as selfish as I thought. Nevertheless, you’re welcome to what’s left. I’ll make sure you get your share when we get to our destination.”

He held the packet out to the man. It was very much like he was trying to lure a dog out from its hole, without the part where someone else is waiting on the side with a big piece of wood, ready to whack it still.

With clear resentment still in his gaze, Workman reached out and swiped the packet. He didn’t say anything in protest, just sulkily pulled the last few crackers from the packet and swallowed them nearly whole.

“Did you get what you needed for the engine?”

“I guess.”

“Well, can you get it working?”

“Should do.”

“What about the couplers, you find something to smack them with?”

“Uh-huh.” Fingers gripping the corner of the seat where Isaac had been laying, Workman pulled himself back to his feet, muttering to Isaac as he passed, “So we checking passenger carriage or what?”

“Get the engine up, I’ll check for anything useful in the back. Don’t worry, Workman. I have a plan, we’ll get through this.”

Isaac watched as Workman shuffled stiffly along to the engine compartment, grabbing up his bag of tools that was now littered inside with cracker crumbs.

This was going to be a problem. Plan, what plan could he possibly have? He could only fool him with promises for so long. Didn’t have the knowledge, didn’t have the skills to follow it through.

Turning to face the back, to the connection space between this carriage and the next. The door beyond was a color of deep blood, its black window a murky gloom gazing back.

If he couldn’t justify any reason for him being around, being the Supervisor, well… if he couldn’t keep the act up to Workman, there goes his chance of the administrators letting him keep that position once they caught on to what had happened.

C11
Remnants

The first thing that hit Forst as he stepped through to the other carriage was this sweet tang in the air. Overripe melon? Fermenting berries? It smelled like late summer, just past the harvest season. When the fresh fruit missed by the machines were just starting to turn bad in the boiled sun.

But the tang, it was quite overwhelming. Like the chemicals they’d spray over the fruit for the hungry pests.

As he reached out a hand and pulled open the bright red door, Isaac’s nose turned, his face scrunching to the intense scent.

The reek of ammonia, like the fertilizer he’d been made to help lay in late May. And a smell like sick animals, sick horses. It stank like diarrhea and cheap medication.

He tasted metal on his tongue. He knew the smell, he’d had nightmares about it when he was young. Isaac didn’t have to flick on the light to know what he was going to see, but reached out to the switch and flicked it on all the same.

A few meters down the carriage was a guy on his stomach. Right there, right in front of him, right where the tunnel had caved in.

Isaac moved cautiously towards the body, covering his mouth with his sleeve. The floor groaned under his light weight. Falling dust shimmered in the dull light.

Most men would have been retching by now. But dealing with deceased animals on the farm and up the line of climbing the opportunity ladder, it didn’t do much more than get him to sneeze with a scowl to the annoying scent: if he’d known ‘is used to the smell of death’ would have came in useful down here, he would’ve added it to his CV.

Isaac wondered if he’d had time to see it coming. Certainly he wouldn’t have had time to feel it. Only the bottom half of the guy was left, the rest: well… That was quite a weight of rock and concrete on top of him for there to be much left. His pale uniform resembled that of his, so it’d suppose a supervisor position. Not much was to be said about the face as the upper part of the torso was just under rock and dust.

Sort of an upset tingle got his heart to pick up, as this person had once breathed the same air as now, only to fall victim to fate’s mawkishness. There was no use in getting upset about things that would not bring back the dead, Isaac decided. After all, it wasn’t him who was under there. For better or worse, his imagination pushed for the question if that could soon be him; if such fate awaited them all. There was no solace or amusement, just amping anxiety.

A satchel bag lay discarded by the feet of the, well, legs. Coated with cement dust but fortunately quite clear of ‘bodily’ substances.

As he reached to pull it over, he noticed something poking from the back pocket of the pair of legs. A scrap of paper, folded. It slipped quite easily out from the trouser pocket.

He was to also try to lift the torso up, due to the curiosity of what was under, as one of the hands was obscured under the skeletal weight, but that somehow bubbled his discomfort, so he decided to not disturb the dead any further.

With careful steps around the dried pool of blood that streaked from beneath the concrete tomb, Isaac assured himself there wasn’t much more to see here.

A man crushed to death, his bowel and intestines ruptured, it wasn’t a sight he much enjoyed looking at, or a smell he wanted seeping into his clothes.

He turned sharply to leave, dragging the satchel he’d found alongside him. Maybe found was the wrong word. Borrowed? Either way, it was his now, until he could find an authority he could give it back to.

The relief he felt shutting the door was palpable. At the scent of relatively fresh air, a fit of coughing took hold as he steadied himself against the metal frame.

A call came through from the engine. “You dyin’ out there?”

“Don’t go in there, there’s a… chemical leak, I think. Stinks real bad.”

“Cool. Find anything?”

Isaac moved to his bag brusquely, just able to see Workman’s form hunched under the engine compartment. “How’s the engine coming?”

“Yeah, almost hooked up. Lotta fuses and stuff, allv’m put on like the one box. Like, gets ya power from the line, an’ the river flows to—”

Workman kept babbling, but whatever it was he was trying to explain, Isaac wasn’t interested. Pulling the door closed a bit, he opened the satchel and scanned its contents.

A stash of documents. At a glance, looked like blueprints, manuscripts, logs, he didn’t even know what else. Giving a glance to the door, making sure Workman couldn’t see, he grabbed a handful of pages and stuffed them into his own case.

He heard Workman standing, grunting as he pulled himself out. Barely with time enough to stuff the last of the documents inside, Isaac was forced to snap his case shut as Workman turned around. No time for the note, hopefully he wouldn’t no—

“Oh-hooh, you found something din’t ya? Whas that case, secrets of humanity? Lost map to El ‘Radado?”

“No. I haven’t checked it yet.” Isaac bit his lip. He had to calm down. He’d gotten away with it. Fortunately for him, Workman was too excited with the bag to notice the cloud of dust still rising form his own snapped-shut case.

“What’s ya got in the magic bag, ah?” Workman said, already pulling over the satchel and diving his open palm inside. His face lit up at something he’d apparently felt inside. “Know what I feel? Hah, hah?”

Honestly, Isaac found it quite exciting to see. He’d barely had time to stash the papers, he didn’t know what was in there. He couldn’t resist the smile that pulled on his lips.

“Just show me, alright?” A glint of metal followed, a cylinder, shiny and clean, with a label of beans on the cover. “No way that’s real! There another one? Holy— there is! That ain’t beans though, it’s, it’s—”

Workman’s grin as he looked upon it was infectious. For once, Isaac even felt like he liked the guy. A ripple of laughter escaped him as Workman pulled out the second tin, this one with a label of peaches.

“Congrats, Workman. We’re not dying today.”

“C’mon, put it here, Super,” he replied, outstretched palm open for a high five. Isaac couldn’t bring himself to refuse, nor did he want to. The smack of skin clicked through the small carriage, and in that moment, things were less bleak.

“Alright, pass me the tin opener,” said Isaac and reached out his hand in bubbling joy.

“Heh, yah, as if.” As fast as the joy had risen did it find a slap against his knee. He wanted to keep it there but there wasn’t enough strength left.

“What?”

“Magic bag’s outta magic juice.”

“That’s all that’s in there? No water?”

“There be water in them tins,” countered Workman with a smirk, as if that had solved all their problems, but Isaac tilted the tin and shook it to emphasize his point that all that water was not getting out of there.

The two men gazed up at the ceiling. Workman released a slow breath. “Pffff. I mean, we get train moving. One v’us can go hold it under the wheel?”

“And lose half the contents? Great plan.”

“Plenty of deb, debby around. Debris. Smack with a rock?”

“Yeah, I love eating beans laced with concrete. Look, let’s just get this thing moving, we’ll figure it out as we go. We can even cook the beans, right?”

C12
Departure

“Hold it, hold it like this…”

“I can’t, wait!”

“Just 10 sec, yeye.”

“10… hey, Workman!” screamed Isaac, at the no-bodied silhouette that vanished into the glowing train. Isaac’s entire body was shaking, with sweat creeping into his eyes. Overheating and weakness was all that glowed from him, the cold piece of rebar malignantly looming above his head.

Fumes sparked from the engine in a volumetric dance of dust and grime which made Isaac’s muscles tense in hope and newly threaded vigor. It prevented him from dropping the heavy metal. Wheels spun in this horrendous creak that assaulted his ears in piercing stabs.

It moved, it pulled, it banged, but the coupling did not separate.

“Piece of shit…”

But Isaac’s scowl only deepened as he heaved his last efforts into pushing the rebar further up. They had to get out of this damned catacomb.

It creaked, it pulled, it clanked and the clasp snatched open as fast as the metal slid from his hands in a near collision with his foot.

“You did it!” shouted Isaac, in huffing to his knees’ support. Looking at the motion of the train, he expected it to stop so he could clamber up, but with every passing breath a new anxiety growled and growled. Yes, he was tired, but this was looking desperate.

“Stop, stop the train, Workman!” he shouted and picked up a pace, though there was none such to be expected from the recent, extreme workout. No, no, no… what on terra was he doing?! Was he going to leave him here, alone, with no tools, no food, no light?

“Stop, halt, cease, Workman. That’s an order, damn you!” he bellowed, to a fit of dry coughs which gave him visions of his awakening. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the memories, or the upcoming new ones that were taking front row of chance and failship.

And then, just as hope had ground to dust, so did the train. All that was: the glow of a lighthouse under the ground.

Isaac was not to falter, as he picked up his pace and slithered by the side of the wall and to the laddersteps. His body would steer clear of the electrified rail or the sticking rebar, or the random holes on the ground. Audibility was not an option as his heart boomed with deafening impacts.

There was the rail, he just had to grab onto it and safety was assured. There was no certainty that this creature wouldn’t move again, whether on its own or through intent. He wanted to blame Workman, but also knew that things here had a mind of their own.

Aha, his glove embraced the painted steel and then so did the other. Warmth overtook him in a comforting way that he was to not be left alone in the dark.

When he opened his eyes, nothing had changed, so that allowed for a sigh of relief and for labored grunts as he climbed inside.

Where was that goblin-thing? Noises! Yes, noises of babblings and curses. They were coming from the cabin. For a split second Isaac looked for something he could take to whack the creature, but realized how stupid that thought was and just focused on fixing off his slouch.

Entering the cabin, he was ready for the tirade, but only gawked at the thick shoes of Workman who’d mostly disappeared under the control console, loud banging accompanying his rustles.

An outburst is what craved his spirit, but he bit his lip and hissed, in control over his own self. At least this horror had taken off his mind from the water and food problem. Because he’d now remembered, it was vital he found more distractions to keep him busy until the creature would crawl out from underneath.

Glancing around, seeing control terminal with its buttons and control stick; the repair workstation tucked in the corner; the little heater he had used to keep warm; a cooking hob with some grease stains all around; a hanging cooling fan riddled in cobwebs…

In no way could he say this was a factory-set train, as whoever had used it had made it their little home.

Huh, the chair looked so comfortable, and suddenly he found a seat, looking aimlessly at Workman in awaitance to his intended confrontation that was more and more becoming a foggy idea. Funny things, were emotions, at one moment they want to erupt and at another they would just let things go.

He’d probably take a minute or so, it wouldn’t be like he’d fall asleep again like last time, not that it was unjustified or anything…

Just a little blink… or maybe two…

Huh, things felt pretty nice and comfy…

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… resonated the alarmic noise over and over, stirring Isaac in a jolt of breathless hassle.

“Aha!” shouted familiarity. “Red wire don’t wrap blue wire, duh, stoopid.”

Blinking heavily, Isaac forced himself up due to not wanting to show Workman he’d been asleep, again. However long that had gone for. Was it seconds or minutes?

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…

Dizziness aside, the blur faded to the view of a bent over Workman who was huffing to stand upright. Path of least resistance was favorable, likable… but anger had to be brought from the depths of his essence, and shoved outside in the grittiest, filthiest way possible.

“Ah,” Workman yelped after turning around, “ghosts of basement yesterday. Scared me wrench off…”

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…

“Lemme see what’s his problem and—”

“Problem is you left me with that metal stick and drove off. Unacceptable and reckless, Workman.”

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…

“I pull back stick, but no stop. Just going ka-chung, cha-chung—”

“You will stop endangering our lives. All of these, phah, decisions you’ve made, they were never authorized by me. I will report all of this once I get the chance.”

“Nah-ah, you ain’t do that. We friends now!”

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…

“Friends? What do you think this is? Just because I’ve been assigned to be your supervisor doesn’t make me your friend. Out of everyone else, I get to be stuck with you!” Isaac gestured in mockery, though he couldn’t register Workman’s reaction as the noise of the speaker was pounding at his head at every blasted Beep.

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…

“Do something about this da— noise…” Workman stared with a light gawk, superseded by a grunt as he looked around the terminal. His hand whacked the lights where the fax was, and Isaac was quick to hiss, “Don’t damage company property,” just as a blinking red light showed signs of life.

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…

“Yes, Super,” Workman droned and pressed the button under the light. The plight of beeps’ song found solace. A sort of amusement played around Isaac’s head as he could see his instructions being carried out. Of course the struggle was endless, as all it’d take is for him to drop his guard and find himself in the middle of a deadly hazard with a thick metal rod, electricity next to his feet and an escaping train.

“And get us moving, to the station.”

“Yes, Super.”

Scrunching loudly, the wheels spun and rattled the shy-rusty dust, a composition without its tail in swift and lonely oversight of two lanky men whose gurgles of hunger were deafened by the precise rhythm of the steel piercer of darkness.

C13
Beans

The off-yellow beams of the train’s forward lights sent a flickering glow upon the tracks which shimmered beneath, the dancing shadows upon the walls, set by the metal supports that arched above the tunnel wall. The light faded soon into black-beyond. The wheels echoed thunder down the concrete passageway.

Really, it was hypnotic. All Isaac could do to keep himself awake was to swirl in his mind the thought of the real bed that awaited him once he was done with whatever the Company had him doing. That thought alone could stop his head from dipping in sleep every few seconds as he sat at the train’s rather minimalist controls.

Whistling wind and metallic clanks paced a soft rhythm in his ears, lulling him against the muffled babble of Workman in the room behind.

Damn, they’d walked quite some distance. They weren’t even back at the green light yet.

Chuckling to himself, Isaac was glad that they at least had transport now. One step back toward humanity. Although where they were supposed to be going was anyone’s guess.

That reminded him…

Reaching across to his Supervisor’s case, with a glance to the noises of Workman behind the corridor’s closed door, he pulled the case up to his lap and flicked up the rusted metal latch.

It was some small miracle the mechanism still worked, given the state of it. He decided he’d have Workman polish it up tomorrow morning, it’d be his discipline for… for something. He’d figure out what later.

A jolt sent the case falling to the floor, papers spilling out as Isaac’s heartbeat pierced his ears. The train had moved to another surface. Out the window, the void sprawled beyond. The tunnel had opened out to the chasm that had started this whole hiking adventure.

“Workman, get in here.”

“Uhh?”

“Stop this machine, we’re at the station.”

Isaac didn’t bother looking around as he heard the door scrape open. His eyes were fixed on the track. The way the supports seemed to just disappear into nothing below was doing interesting things to his stomach.

“‘Sall this trash on the floor?” Workman muttered as he Isaac shifted onto his hands and knees.

“What? Oh, uh– just focus on your job.” No time for thought, Isaac rushed to scrape together the fallen pages before the gnome had a chance to see what was written.

Huffing at Workman as he disappeared beneath the train’s console, Isaac berated him in the hopes of distracting his attention from the papers. “Can’t you figure out a better way of doing this?”

“Doin’ what?”

“Of stopping the–”

The train lurched, the lights flickering out.

“Ain’t that wire, oops.”

With sounds of screaming metal, the train lurched again, a jarring mix of sudden halts and intermittent jerks as it reluctantly shivered to a halt. The cabin flickered back to life.

Isaac’s head fell back against the driver’s seat cushion as he tried to slow his breaths. “Of stopping the train.”

“Crunchy lil buttons. Yeah, I’ll fix it. Gimme twenny minutes, I’ll get console back again. But ‘oh let’s go’, s’what you said, didn’t wanna wait-none.”

Waving off Workman’s retort, Isaac leaned out towards the window. “Nice job parking. Just about stopped by the platform.”

“Ain’t easy, see how you’re stoppin’ under there.”

Pulling himself to his feet, Isaac started towards the door, happy just at the thought of getting off this thing with Workman at the controls. “Yeah. Get your tools. Get to work fixing it.”

“I’m on it,” he muttered.

Isaac paused at the door, turning over his shoulder at the sickly skin and bony frame of his companion. None of this was fair on him, Isaac’s attitudes or demands towards him. But then, this wasn’t fair on either of them.

Pulling himself from under the console, Workman trudged towards the back cabin, glancing Isaac briefly in the eye as he passed.

Besides, you were either a Workman or a Supervisor. Trying to be both would just lead you to becoming neither. Isaac knew what his choice was going to be. He grabbed his case and marched to the metal steps down.

Back again and back so soon.

As Isaac’s boots crunched down upon the cracked concrete of the platform, he remembered looking forward to getting out of here. Yet here he was again, and not all that much had changed.

Gritting his teeth to a body’s flinch, he span to the sound of the train’s engine behind. Coming down here was a dumb move, what if Workman decided to go without him?

Bah, he already had the chance once. He didn’t take it then. Still, better not to dilly-dally.

It wasn’t like he’d achieved nothing since leaving. He’d found a train, made friends with someone’s skeletal torso and eaten half a packet of crackers. Since when was eating some crackers an achievement again?

Striding towards the telephone: standing neatly in its own unit against the thick concrete wall, Isaac reached out squarely to the handset and brought it to his ear.

“Hello. Supervisor speaking.”

His answer came in silent rejection. Not even a drone in reply.

Glancing over the housing of the phone, no button or signal could be seen. He looked over the handset, but all it bore were three small holes for the mouthpiece and six small holes for the ear.

“This is…” He knew Workman hadn’t left the train, but Isaac still checked over his shoulder as he murmured, “This is Supervisor…” Isaac stopped, realizing he didn’t know his Supervisor’s name, “the Supervisor. Answer me, please.”

Was the unit broken? Maybe he should get Workman over to… No, no that was out of the question. The device returned one last time to his ear, his voice raising in desperation.

“Instructions have been completed as per, uh… instructions. Train is acquired, the train you told us about. There was a cave-in. Someone dead is buried in the rubble. We have no instructions, what do you want us to do? Just… Just tell me what…”

A soft growl escaping his throat, Isaac gave the handset one last glare before smacking the phone back in the receiver, with a hiss.

“Damn it,” he muttered, glancing towards the train, hands shaking as he pulled open his case. “Damn it, damn it.”

The case fumbled from his grip and fell to the floor. Isaac managed to grab it from tipping out onto the platform, and haphazardly pulled out handfuls of documents from inside.

Muttering to himself constantly he swiftly scanned the documents under the dull light. Scribbles, notes, drawings, schematics. All looked fancy and useless to him. A long afternoon and a pack of Tryka would see him well in figuring out everything useful. Not sixty seconds under a damn dingy light with a damn goblin bound to appear looking over his shoulder at any moment.

Wait, there was… The note, of course the note!

Groping for his breast pocket, Isaac slipped out the note of paper he’d taken from the corpse and held it to the light. There were two colors of ink. ‘71B – Tony, Grigore, Isaac’ was the first, while the second was scribbled in a hand far shakier. Did he scrawl this before getting crushed under? as he was dying?

Did it… Workman’s name must’ve been Grigore. Tony must’ve been the Supervisor! But was he the corpse under the rubble? Nevertheless, that was actually a great find which was most appreciated to a warm smirk.

Isaac’s lips moved as he made out what it said, “Tony, Ctr Nx 8 – P2 OV12”

That, but that wasn’t in the least bit useful! Panting, Isaac pulled down a gulp of spittle. Calm down. Have to figure this out.

‘Platform 71B’, that’s where they were. Groping through the documents, a blueprint of the trainlines emerged, finger tracing across them to find where he was in the mix of marks and scribbles.

“Ctr, Ctr Nx 8…” Ctr, like on a keyboard? Control? Or what about center? Or central? Hmm, maybe counter… What about Nx? That was an odd abbreviation, not many words with an ‘x’. Central Nerx? Narxx… Next! Central Next.

A dizzying buzz of relief melted through him as strained eyes caught glimpses of the word ‘Next’ on the map. Central Next, where were you… There was Central 53, but nothing with Next in its name or even an abbreviation. It was already giving him a headache trying to carefully find it. It was likely he had the wrong name, yet maybe he had the right one and hadn’t studied the map thoroughly. Yes, he had to study the map, get familiar with its locations.

The other letters, the other parts? Surely, their meaning would be apparent once they got a move-on. For now at least he had the tools of guidance.

Contemplating and studying the map a little bit more, Isaac groaned at the throb of pain in his head and just snapped the case shut. Feeling lighter on his feet, Isaac marched back towards the train: the phone a silent, unseeing witness to the events-transpired.

“Workman. Workman, you get the console fixed?” Pulling himself into the cabin, surprise took him to see an absence of man. A yell from behind soon answered the question on the front of his mind.

“Ey, Super! Come see what me found!”

Pushing through to the back, the wobbling heat of the air startled Isaac, the heater whirring full force against the wall, Workman crouched over…

“It’s too, it’s too hot in—”

“Lo-lo-look! Looksie what I-see!”

“What’s that?” Isaac asked.

“See that? Yeah-yeah, cooked em ain’t I!”

A grin set upon Isaac’s face. Somehow, their condition just kept getting better and better. He gestured to the device Workman knelt over. “Where’d you steal it from?”

“Steal-steal, bah. These benches, got draws in them ain’t they. Found it right inside. Cook thing, hot thingy.”

“Hob, it’s called a portable hob.”

“It’s called yo ma— eh, called nuthin’. See that? Beans, hot roasty-roast!”

“Well, you’re not roasting them. But I see them, I see them. Where’d you put the tin opener?” Isaac glanced around the floor, crossing his arms as he leaned against the cabin’s wall. The warmth here was delightful.

“Ain’t none.”

Well, that answer was unexpected. “Ain’t none?’. So, you’re boiling them…”

“Yeah, I cooked them.”

“And how do we eat them?”

“Yeah. Cook ‘em real good.”

Groaning, Isaac’s hand rose to his eyes. “Workman, all you’ve done is made the tin…” Noticing a high pitched whining begin to overpower the whir of the heater, a tone of urgency took Isaac’s voice. “Off, switch it off!”

“Why?”

Isaac sputtered. “You know what happens when you boil a sealed container?”

“Gets hot.”

“It explodes, you fu—”

Pop!

Two pairs of eyes turned slowly to the sight between them: of a small tin of beans gently frothing, the lid bending itself back of its own accord, as though under the force of a spring.

Isaac slowly leaned himself back against the carriage wall. This place was going to give him a heart attack.

“Oh-hoh! Little geniouses! See that? Can gets hot-hot it opens by itself!”

“Yes-yes, very nice.”

“Very nice? Yea it’s nice, we got beans, Super!”

It took a few moments for the thought to register, but when it did the frustration soon passed to joy. A heartbeat later, Isaac found himself crouched on the floor beside Workman, both men gazing at the bubbling juices.

“Oh damn, you’re right! What do you think, the lid’s opened by the temperature or by pressure?”

“Pressure?”

“As it boils, you know. Turns to steam, builds up pressure inside.”

“Steam-magic, wha’ever, let’s eat.”

C14
Junction

A sound beyond the train’s steely walls drew their attention. Not a new noise as such, but a change in the rhythm they had grown accustomed to. Less stuffy, more… open. Stepping closer, Isaac peered out at the black beyond the window.

The floor was still there, a surface of smooth… rock? It seemed they’d left the narrow tunnel of before. The beaming lights shone into the distance, the gently waving line of the track fading into shadow, but no walls or ceiling were there to be seen.

“Think it’s the place? The entrance?” asked Workman.

“Should be around here, yeah. We’ve traveled long enough.” Isaac bit his lip as he tried to recall the map. “There should be a split up ahead, we’ll need to take the right turn.”

“Uh-huh.”

Isaac smiled to himself. Workman didn’t seem to take any notice of the fact he seemed to know the layout, but it was a nice boost to his sense of legitimacy all the same.

“So what’s the other way?”

The smile fell. “Yeah… It leads to the rest of the system.”

“System?”

“The tunnel system. Maintenance, storage, electrical. It’s a whole network.” There, that was vague enough he couldn’t be proven wrong.

“And we two rats caught up init.”

“Don’t be melancholy. Things have been running pretty smoothly.”

“Who is Melan?” Workman asked in anticipation. Isaac could do nothing but stare with blinks of disbelief. But then something moved in Workman’s eyes and his hand swung the air. “Ya call collapsed tunnel ‘smooth’? What about people, where everybody?”

Isaac spoke carefully, “Clearly the Company is dealing with… Resource management is a… You know what? That’s privileged information, you don’t need to know. The personnel are elsewhere occupied. I’m sure we’ll be meeting up with the rest of the team just as soon as we’re in the main facility.”

Doubt buzzed in Isaac’s ear. Even he wasn’t happy with that excuse. “Besides, it’s not like we need that many personnel in Distribution. It’s mostly automat—”

“Ey, Supervisor, see lights? Look funny.”

Joining Workman by the window, Isaac leaned out to see a line of industrial lights stood a few meters away from the track, each a few meters apart, each fading into pitch blackness as the trainlight passed them by. “What’s funny?”

“Look new.”

“They do not look new. They look old as the rest of the—”

“They small. Ain’t fixed. They ain’t per-m-ment. Gotta be like, lil shack, lil work place round here to power by.”

“There should be another signal box and security for the door.”

“Just gotta find the source. The creamery hot sauce for the brightly speckles! The glistening strips of light, shining… Ey, wall!”

Looming up in the gaze of the headlights, the cliff’s far wall came into view. The tracks ahead disappeared sharply to a tunnel piled with rocks, concrete rubble and heaps of steel wheels, surrounded in darkness where light found no touch. The train’s tracks led stubbornly beneath.

A streak of fear flushed his spine for just a moment before Isaac forced his muscles to relax and his breaths to calm. “The track splits off to the right.”

“You sure, bratan?”

The blockade of broken boulders loomed closer before them.

“See that signal there, that arrow? It’s pointing to the right, right?”

“What if it ain’t working?” Workman shouted, his hands ready to tame the machine at moment’s blink.

The train jolted as it passed over the junction.

“It’s an integral device, checked regularly. No one would ever let it… malfunction.” A peculiar scratching dragged from somewhere in the cockpit, like a hurried shuffling, but it was insignificant and ignored. Maybe they should lower the speed and make extra sure this was… no, progress wasn’t made with distrust and constant questions at the company. Everything would be okay… it would all be…

Isaac watched calmly as the signal point passed them by. A proximity alarm blared, buzzing rhythmically in time with the clanks of wheels. His heart sank as his hands tried to grip to anything that would revert what had just happened.

“Eyy, Super!”

Open palm smacked the emergency stop button. The train jerked as if it knew its fate. The lights inside flickered; Isaac and Workman stumbling to their hands and knees on the grime of the floor.

“Brace!”

A scream of metal tore the air, the room lighting up in a golden glow of molten sparks. Isaac’s panic span, one arm braced against the wall, the other hugging his head. The proximity warning buzzed once more. For a fleeting instant the world was silent, then everything crashed in all at once.

The sharp smash of steel was the first trouble to call out, followed by this hideous drawn-out crunch. Crying out in pain, the carriage lurched as it was forced to a stop. Isaac was flown across the floor, barely managing to catch himself from bashing his brains out on the control console.

Shuddering to a stop, the train sighed a breath, the metal frame wobbling slightly beneath its own lost momentum.

Isaac looked up, shards of dust and metal tinkling from his shaved hair and dancing down through the illuminated space. “Workman. You alive?”

The air was acrid, a taste of bitter smoke, molten oil and burnt metal.

Workman mumbled something in reply and pulled himself onto his knees.

“Good. Ugh… That’s good. Oh, ah, this is all just, just fantastic!” Isaac tried to shake the blurry from his vision, taking in the surroundings. “The lights still work. The window is still intact.” It was surprising that it hadn’t cracked and shattered, so he tapped it to make sure there was no illusion. At the tap of his knuckles it sounded like… plastic. What an odd, cheap choice.

“Smokey-smokey,” Workman coughed.

“Smells like the brakes burnt.”

“That ain’t the brakes, bratan.”

Isaac sniffed again and froze at the scent of ozone.

Illuminated ahead of them was what looked like the main station, riddled all around with metal frames and parts of trains of which the majority was wheels. Wheels on top of wheels. To tremulous dismay light showed a glooming darkness that kept glistening in reflective glamor ever further. Now that was just ridiculous.

A hill of steel wheels…

Pulling himself to action from the distraction that served no purpose, he forced not to stumble, leaning against the metal wall as he made to the back door, unlatching the extinguisher from the wall. “Come on, come on!”

Jumping down from the last metal step, Isaac immediately coughed, a mix of rock dust and smoke. This couldn’t be healthy, none of it. Outcome of silicosis was making his spine to tingle in dread.

He pulled his coverall over his nose and waved at Workman to hurry. When he found Workman wasn’t there, he just yelled to him instead, before staggering to the other side of the train of hisses and snaps.

Thickly black smoke slowly bloomed from the wheels: from one of the motors just behind. Isaac pulled the pin and sprayed, coughing constantly at the stench.

It smelled worse than that corpse at the carriage.

The extinguisher sputtered, the tank weighing light. But still smoke rose from beneath the carriage. Sweat poured from Isaac’s brow, enough to put out the fire. If only he could find the damn thing. He paused a moment as he couldn’t waste what was left, crouching down as close as he dared get. Still, couldn’t see where the smoke was from.

“Y’ managed?”

Isaac span. “I told you to follow me!” Every breath rattled with a stench no one should ever have had to breathe.

“’S only one fire-stopper, bratan. Wha’s I meant to do?”

“Have my back! I can’t put this bloody thing out!”

“You spray it?”

“Obviously! I sprayed whole motor.”

“How’s the train connect to the rail?”

“The third rail? By the… Bah!” Throwing himself to the floor, Isaac crawled to get a specific angle underneath the carriage. Another spray, the extinguisher spluttered and the rising smoke died away.

Dizzy, exhausted, Isaac pulled himself to his feet. Uniform was filthy. Stood there panting, gazing at the wheels, large patches of sweat circling his pits and back. With a clunk, the empty extinguisher dropped to the concrete. A bout of heavy coughing took him, spitting mouthfuls of sootiness.

After a time, his voice came in rasping demands. “So what… What you think you can just slack around?”

“Y’ managed.”

Crouching, Isaac checked over the motor. He soon realized he didn’t have a clue what he was really looking at. “Yeah, just. How did you know it was the shoe?”

“The big rail thing? Motor would’ve burnt out by now. Big rail gotta be thicker, gonna burn longer. We save it?”

“We? I think I did all the work.”

Workman shrugged, an air of irritating cockiness about him. “Ey, ye’re Supervisor for a reason? Heh, a Supervisor who don’t know a ‘lectric fire ain’t going out if ya don’t cut the power.”

“…what?” said Isaac, turning slowly towards him.

Workman grinned. “I cut power. ‘Out that, you ain’t putting out nuthin, your lil fire-popper box.”

Marching close, Isaac grabbed him by the shirt. “Then you need to com-mun-i-cate that. I thought you passed out, what if I’d used up all the CO2?”

“Didn’t though, did ya. So how ‘bout ya take a lil sit and calm down.”

“Calm d– You realize how screwed we are?”

“Yee, we fucked.”

“We’re more than fu— Yeah, that. Look, I don’t know how far we still have to travel. I don’t even know if we can get in without the train. Stop grinning. Stop grinning right now!” In every way this man was exhausting to be around.

Only a chuckle in reply. “Don’t ya find this funny? Like… damn, bratan. What a week. Got the train smashed, got a fire, got a smack in the head.”

“It’s been only a day. I think… I also think the smack’s having an effect on you. There’s nothing amusing about this.”

“Find it funny, find it funny. Or the fumes got me. What do I know?”

“Yeah, funny. Remind me to laugh about it one day. Next year.”

“Ya’d find it funny if it wasn’t your fault,” Workman said, his voice so casual Isaac almost missed the accusation.

He decided to pretend he had missed it. Not like there was any retort he could give. ‘Oh it’s the Company’s fault’. Yeah, that was a great thing to say. “What’re the chances of getting this moving again?”

“Y’ what?”

“The crash wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh-yee, just a basket of fires!”

“This thing’s built with redundancies. Two shoes, for one,” Isaac nodded to the smoking lump beneath the train. “This one’s fried. The other should be fine.”

“Two shoes, Little Tommy Two-Shoes. And the motors? And the console and the wheels and the–”

“Just get it running,” Isaac cut in, voice raising. “All you need to do is figure out what’s broken and fix it.”

“Jus’ fix it. Yea, it’s that easy.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll look around. Those lights you mentioned, before the crash? I’ll try get them up.”

“Ye, just follow the lights, the cable.”

“Thanks, I figured that much.”

Adjusting his coveralls for a moment, Workman lowered himself to the traction motor. After pressing the back of his palm against it, he chuckled to himself. “No zap-zap today. Ahhh!”

Before Isaac knew it, he’d set about dismantling the whole thing; a sequence of tools and screws, metal panels and other bits he didn’t even know the name of. It was quite a sight. Isaac absently wondered if he’d even know where to start, let alone know the whole sequence to take the thing apart.

A gnawing doubt found its way in the back of his mind as he watched. It festered and grew, until Isaac found himself reaching out and touching Workman’s shoulder.

“Are you okay, by the way?”

“Uh?”

“Said you hit your head? Any pain, dizziness?”

After a moment’s blank gaze, Workman’s reply came in the form of a wide grin. “Heh-heey.”

Isaac gazed as the gnome went back to his work under the emergency backup lights. Didn’t seem the hit to the head had damaged him much. Hadn’t made him any worse, at least.

Well, if there was one thing Isaac probably understood better than most real Supervisors, it was the value of being left to work. Besides, the longer he stuck around the more chance of getting asked something he didn’t know.

Grabbing the crank light from Workman’s bag, Isaac made off towards the dark line of light poles. The stone ground was smooth, at least close to the rail. Seemed to be ground smooth by some machine, the marks of circles all over the place where it had come by. But less than half a meter away from it waved unevenness. Flashlight buzzing, stepping carefully across the uneven terrain, he spotted the industrial light poles stood idle alongside the tracks, a thick black cable running from one to the next until they disappeared in the inability of his light to reach.

Isaac regarded the train behind, Workman somewhere unseen on the other side. What once looked so huge now was dwarfed against the setting of the dark, gloomy cave they were in. The front was smashed against the collapsed tunnel, but the damage didn’t look bad. A few electrical problems and a couple broken lights wouldn’t be the end of their journey.

Even so, following the line of cable, he counted himself lucky he hadn’t came worse off personally from the crash. Humans were much squishier than trains by quite a margin.

The cave wall stood sharply against the ground: a tight, ninety degree incline that could only have been done by mining. Despite that observation, the wall was quite natural, at least from Isaac’s best guess. There was a certain smoothness to everything, a flowing shape to the wall, like some underground river had ran here long ago.

The ceiling, the far wall? It wasn’t even close to visible. He hoped Workman was right about those lights. It would be so refreshing to be able to see everything clearly for once in this miserable place.

Few minute’s of walking, Isaac came to the switch where all this started. Ah, there was the point indicator which had wronged him so, pointing obstinately to the right, in abject mockery to the mess behind him.

He turned to follow that illusive ‘right turn’ which the map had pointed the entry to the main facility of being. Just a two minute walk. He guaranteed himself that the signal box, the source of controlling these lights, would be along the way.

There wasn’t much to be seen despite his flashlight. Every so often he’d hear the noises of Workman: a clank of metal, a bout of babble.

Things continued in a steady pattern. Every few meters, a two-or-so meter tall light pole with tripod legs and two boxy lights on top. He was starting to agree with Workman, they somehow looked quite new.

This space was apparently much longer than it was wide, something about the steps’ echo was telling him of the opposite side’s closeness.

Shaking his head, he breathed a sigh. What a night. What a day? All this darkness felt like evening but he had no idea of the time.

Pausing in his step to the break of pattern, Isaac snapped from his introspection and shined the light ahead. The back cable of the sleeping light arched down, linking itself with the ceramic disks of this menacing rusty transformer with its many heatsinks spiking out of its body, all surrounded by crumpled stacked rocks that once surely resembled a wall. Gloom’s black was all around the place, without an inkling of an idea to what else was out there, but most importantly the black cable dangled into a distribution split which all connected visibly to an open switch-lever.

Rods of rust peeked their heads at the path of dust and random pieces of degraded metal. At the split, ooze of green, discoloration had soaked into the joint, as if sickness pouring out in infectious plague.

None of it gave solace to Isaac, as the slow simmer of anxiety was now bringing him into involuntary shivers. If they… if he couldn’t get the power running, would this be it? And how would he know which turned on what? Well, at least that was a trial, error.

There was no time for these thoughts, the same plague that festered him as he gave way to finding the train. It always had to be worse before it could get better.

Cold, crumbly, immovable and stuck in muted brown, Isaac tried to pull on the heavy transformer’s Bakelite lever in the dimming of his flashlight.

Nothing.

Whirring the light back up, he lifted the Bakelite and pulled harshly, this time scrunching with partial success. His prior injury did not celebrate the moment.

Nothing.

Damn this weak body, damn this blasted place, damn this world of force. “Damn you!” he wheezed as both hands grabbed on and he tore his entire body into the motion.

Sizzle, frazzle, a blinding white bloom burned into the conductive connections of the transformer, fires breaking out around them in molten particles, yet a hum broke as if some liquid was given a push of boil.

Isaac couldn’t help himself but stare at the electrical pylons despite all these dangers crackling around him, because the area now glowed in new life: heartbeat by heartbeat.

Slow and sure as sunrise, dawn broke out in this cave underground. The air slowly grew fresher, his feet felt lighter.

At last, to be able to see again, even with tight squints.

Grinning to himself as he stood up, he noticed his hands were tightly gripped to the lever which had snapped off the transformer. Trying to drop it proved tricky as his hands both had seized up.

Taking a moment to relax, the surprising shackle fell, so now he could walk out the old ruin and into the summer’s day, even if he was just as trapped as he was a moment ago. Across the way, he spotted the figure of Workman standing by the train.

Workman sent him a wave. Isaac chuckled and found to give him a thumbs-up back.

C15
Crevice

The railroad lay by Isaac’s feet. He followed with his gaze up to see where it would lead, excited at long last to see that portal, that entrance to Deep Dwell.

The real thing. Food, rest, water. The rail swayed and turned and mounted a…

Isaac scowled, this wasn’t right.

The rail mounted a construction of metal poles, some kind of temporary bridge that didn’t look at all H&S compliant. It seemed to have been built as a makeshift bridge across a chasm: a fractured gap in the floor of the cave, between them and a towering, sturdy, aged metal Gate big enough to let the entire train through, and more.

His palms itched to the discouraging sight. That Gate looked like it could withstand a nuke. The bridge, on the other hand, didn’t look like it could withstand so much as its own weight.

Flurry of dust sprinkled his vision to a squint of deflection. He marched across, scratching at his palm, the Gate looming up bigger and somehow more grotesque as he approached. He stopped well in advance of the crevice in the floor.

No button, no buzzer, no control panel. How the hell was this thing opened? He glanced across to Workman in the distance behind. Still working at the train, good. The moment he was done, the question would be pushed onto him, onto the Supervisor, to explain how this thing was opened.

Why didn’t he bring the briefcase? He should never go without it. Must be a note somewhere in there on how this worked.

Isaac’s breath turned to vapor, heart pumping fierce and hot. It was icy cold in here. At least the air was fresh, fresh and clear and cold as winter…

Dust? Stretching out his hand and letting the particles fall, the frostiness landed softly and turned into moistness. This wasn’t dust, it was snow. From what could be seen, it was slowly spreading around the lit openness. Were they close to the surface?

Going through a shiver, his eyes darted in aimless thoughtfulness, scouting for any sign or clue of their ingress.

Yes, this cavernous place quite likely occurred naturally. Initially at least. The rock had this smoothness, this flowing pattern. The ground was flatly jagged in minuscule imperfections, machined down to a surface upon which these train tracks, buildings and these damn faulty signal lights were built.

Gaze turning down the length of the cave, Isaac took in the breadth of the chasm. Wide, sharp and black within. It ran the whole length of the cave: from the tunnel they’d come out of, to…

There was a second building much like the first, right against the edge of the wide crack. Beyond it, actually. More than half of the construction was hanging right over the edge, while the back had seemingly dropped away to the void below.

There was no way to figure out what it’d been used for from here. Time to move out.

His boots drove plumes of dust to rise and dance around his legs, shimmery in the flickery glow of the industrial lights.

Arguing with himself, a part of him insisted the bridge was fine. This place didn’t hire idiots. He chuckled to himself; even Workman knew what he was doing when it came to electronics, despite all his quirky nonsense.

Then came back to him the question of if the train would even still run. The train, the bridge, the Gate… All these questions bustling for space, shouting all at once. It was overwhelming, an endless spinning of the same questions over and over in his mind.

He grunted a smirk. The price of authority: every problem yours to solve.

It was a shorter walk to get back to Workman and the train. With light now glowing around him, Isaac had simply walked directly across the space towards him.

He’d soon come to regret the choice, as the dust and muck off the ground had jumped and danced to mingle-stick to his uniform. Never mind. Wasn’t like his uniform was spotless before.

It was Workman who called out first, pulling himself to his feet as Isaac came closer.

“Ey, got them lights up-up! Good job. Like holiday in here. Found where to next?”

“Nearly. What’s more, there’s a gap between it and us. Seems this whole place broke off sometime.”

“Broke off, like a split?”

Isaac pointed across the length of the tunnel. “Shifted. There’s a huge crack running all across the cave. This part of the cave’s sank down, judging by how high the gate is off the ground.”

Dropping his tools, Workman passed Isaac as he made to the Gate. “Fuck, bratan. There no way across?”

“There’s a bridge, but… You’ll see it.”

“What about another?”

Was there? Isaac gazed to the ceiling as he tried to remember the maps, falling in step behind. Of course there were other ways inside, but already multiple had proven to be dead-ends. Looking for new alternatives meant more dead ends in combination with the new technical issues of their transportation.

“Tell me about the train,” said Isaac, following Workman as they walked towards the Gate. A distraction was as good as an answer, after all.

“Ain’t happy. Collector busted, wheels busted, console all fritzie.”

“Are both collectors broke? Both shoes?”

“Nah, just the catch-fire one.”

Isaac nodded as he followed behind. “The train can still draw power from the rail. That’s good.”

“Ye, but no more heat. Cooking…” Dejection played pause in his eyes. “Ain’t pull enough. Uh, one motor gone-gone, the bearings all shot on half the others.”

Isaac tried to remember back to chats he used to have with train engineers during his lunch break.

“You mean the wheels aren’t turning properly.”

“Yee, mis’ligned and we go quick maybe we hear a clang and now wheel stuck fully. After that, we ain’t moving nowhere.”

“Can’t you fix it? This is what the company pays you for.”

“Fix with what? Ain’t no ‘put the bearings back’. Gotta replace!”

“Alright, so what if we take off the damaged traction motor and move up a good one from the back?”

“Only got four motors, bratan. Already lost one. Start pulling off wheels we ain’t going nowhere.”

Isaac nodded, trying to pass it off casually. But damn, he’d assumed eight motors. He was supposed to know these things.

Again he found himself gazing at that Gate of sheer metal, flanked on most sides by concrete, protruding from a vast wall of damn-thick stone. Quite a fortress. Even had a drawbridge of metal beams and a mote of cracked earth.

He wondered if he could convince Workman to check it out, that damn dreadful ‘bridge’, to give the Gate a closer look.

Playing out the conversation in his head, the best case outcome was Workman telling him to ‘Go f…’ Well, it wasn’t going to work out, that much was clear.

“Fresh air!” Workman cheered with a pick up of pace.

There wasn’t much to see at the Gate anyway, Isaac pondered, stopping as they came close to the edge of the crack. He stopped, but Workman kept going. Kept walking closer like he hadn’t seen it–the bleak drop ahead.

“Workman. Work–”

He stopped right at edge of the crack, the toes of his boots peeking over the edge. He bent forwards to look over the edge, which was when Isaac’s nerves had enough.

“Get back here,” he shot, grabbing Workman’s shoulder and yanking him back. “That’s stupid and dangerous, never go close to the edge of a cliff like that.”

“Was gonna spit off the edge.”

“Why would you ever do that?”

“See how deep.”

Grinding his palm against his forehead, Isaac released his hard grip on Workman’s shoulder. “Very deep. Too deep. It doesn’t matter how deep, all that matters is the bridge, take a look at it.”

Workman glanced in its direction. “Alright. S’a bridge.”

“Is it sound?”

“Nah, it’s quiet.”

“Is it structurally sound.”

“Pff. You wha? I’m ‘lectric engineer. Ain’t no Billy the Builder.” Workman gave the bridge a double take, his eyes bulging as he pointed towards it.

He was taking the question seriously at last.

“Way-whay, you’re asking me if it’s safe to cross? That piece of crap? In the train?”

“Whoever built it knew what’d be passing by. They knew the load the bridge would need to take.”

“Yea, real geniuses in this place, ain’t none shortcuts or no mistakes.” Workman’s jaw tightened, his teeth showing as his lips pulled back.

“Bratan, fuck with this shit. Ain’t even seen no one. Get a haircut: machine catch fire. Get drink: tap full of mud. Wait for train: stuck in tunnel. Walk an’-walk an’-walk an’-walk and ain’t nuthin’ but lil room with shot out ‘lectric, shoved wrenches and faulty fuses!”

“Things will be different once we’re inside. It’s perfectly reasonable not to waste resources on–”

“Waste? Yeah-yea, waste. Who cares ‘bout us, if we got food and transport. They ain’t caring about us now, they ain’t gonna care once we’re inside.”

“Get a hold of yourself, Workman. That’s an order.”

The response came in an incredulous glare. Isaac didn’t give him the chance to speak, Workman had too many valid points to risk letting him. Flakes of snow glistened in the ambient light. Workman’s rough hand ungloved and he played with the flakes that fell and melted on his skin.

Isaac breathed appreciatively. Hmm, it was so nice, no longer filled with machine oil and stale rock, rather invigorating and carried with this subtle breeze.

“We’re going this way,” Isaac broke through the silence, making up whatever facts suited his argument. “With the tunnel down there collapsed, the closest entrance going back is halfway round the circumference of the whole facility. And I’m sure neither of us want to take that risk on a train one sharp kick away from falling apart.”

Isaac let the silence hang for a moment more. It was a powerful tool when used correctly. He watched Workman shuffle his feet in the dust, lips tight, glancing to the Gate, the train, the path going back the way they came.

“What do you expect to find anyway? The other entrenches are all going to be like this. This won’t be the only tunnel to have collapsed. They’ve worked hard to keep this path, and only this path clear.”

He held in a grin, kept his voice passive as the swell of excitement took him, knowing he’d already won.

“So what do you say, Workman? Ride the train at walking speed kilometers back the other way, or deal with a problem as simple as figuring out how this gate opens.”

“Huh?” “You don’t know?”

A prickling sting ran up his spine. How could he have made such a… such a blunder as never he should have made.

“Well how could? They don’t, I mean.” Workman’s gaze bore a hole through him. His jaw throbbed from the tension he was grinding against his teeth. “They… There’s supposed to be a security guard.”

“So they are screwing up: the company.” “Don’t be absurd, we’re–” “Meant to be security guy but–” “Behind schedule, the shift’s over–” “They got us locked out like–” “And someone will be along–” “Little ducklings in a storm–”

“Workman! That doesn’t matter. What matters is we get the gate open. That’s step one. Step ten, even. The last step. We do that, cross the bridge, we’re inside; we’re done.”

“That done how? Ain’t no key.”

Huffing, moving as close as he dared to the edge of the crevice, Isaac leaned forward and squinted at the Gate. It looked just as featureless as it had done before. A chevron strip at the base, some kinds of bars across the front, no button, console or lever to trigger it.

“There’s not even a window looking out,” he mused. “So it has to be triggered or at least signaled from this side.” Naturally, his gaze wandered to the second of the two small buildings, the one hanging half over the chasm.

Isaac turned slowly to Workman, who seemed to realize very quickly what was on his mind. Already he was backing away, arms reached out as though blocking a punch. “Eyy now, ey! Ain’t me going in there.”

“It has to be one of us.”

“Yea, you!”

“Yes. Me.”

Workman gazed back dumbfounded. Without a word, Isaac began his short journey, chewing his lip as the edge of the world came closer, the chill air rushing from that widening void.

There was no use arguing. Nothing he could have said would have convinced Workman to go in for him. Better to just take it like a man, like a Supervisor, and do his job.

That didn’t mean he liked it.

It was some sort of amalgamation of stone, plastic and steel that held the skeletal remains together, way bigger than how it looked from the bridge’s ridge.

Temporary fixes on a rust-leaky pipe.

Normally this would’ve been the last place he’d think of looking, but since it was closest to the Gate’s perimeter it had to be tried first.

Mechanical parts were scattered everywhere: levers, train wheels, frail wires, steel ropes, bare bodies of train parts and whatever else that lacked wordy distinction.

Somehow the building looked ancient with its blackish foundation stones, except where there was this steel frame of plastic colorfulness that bleaked of green to completion of the walls.

“Come over. Grab this,” he called over his shoulder. Workman approached at a hurried pace, visibly appreciative Isaac had taken the risk upon himself. He had even shut up for once.

Bracing himself, fingers digging into the steel cage that kept the compressed plastic, Workman gave Isaac a nod. A nod to put his life in the hands of this ridiculous situation.

Numerous other options danced by his head as he stepped through the empty doorframe: taking the train and looking for another entrance; clearing the debris from the other tunnel; ordering Workman to check inside himself. None of it would work.

He idly wondered if the door was missing, but a lack of door hinges suggested there never was a door at all. His boot crunched on an assortment of junk. Papers, shards of plastic and metal, rocks and dust dragged in from outside.

The room inside, the… half-room inside, bore a steel frame bed with no mattress and no sheets, overtaken underneath by luminous mushrooms of small. Maybe they were edible, but that was a bit of a long shot.

Scrunching his nose, he checked over the safer parts of the room. A workbench seemed to be the focal point. A few tools hung from a pegboard, apparently metalworking in nature. The station was littered with metal dust, shavings, washers. Bent screws, cracked bolts and other bits of scrap decorated the workspace.

“Got some metalworking tools in here,” he called out.

“Don’t need it,” replied Workman, slightly muffled through the wall of colorfulness between them.

“I see a hammer, pliers, chisels, a saw…”

“Don’t need it. Got tools in me bag.”

“You sure?”

“Ain’t gonna saw a way in, or fix the train-none. See any ‘lectrics for the gate?”

A tentative step pushed Isaac further into the room’s depths, a heavy creak following as he moved.

“There’s not all that much in here. Desk, chair, bed. No electronics. Just a…”

“Wha?”

A glisten poked out to Isaac’s attention. What was it, some kind of metal plate? It seemed to have something written on it, just sitting there on the edge of the rusty bed-frame.

Fixated by it, or rather by the lack of anything else, he edged closer to the far side of the room, sliding in on flat feet. Shudders of the room got his steps to pause to several sneezes which he blamed on the little fungi he’d stepped over. Everything was protesting this uncalled exploration, but no matter.

Isaac squinted into the gloom, the industrial lights not quite managing to shine inside. ‘9B-00-37…’ The rest was covered by a tan shirt left hanging over the back.

“Some kind of code in here,” he called out.

“Yea, good job, bratan,” came Workman’s reply, slightly strained either by the weight of the situation or the more literal weight of the structure braced against him.

“I’m gonna try get it.”

A single step closer, and the warning yells of Workman spilled out to the air, huffed and grunted as he yelled of the whole thing shifting.

Closer, he needed to be closer.

There wasn’t another option. There wasn’t a better way in. On a can of peaches, no water and a busted train, there wasn’t the resources to risk all that time finding another way in.

Sliding down to his hands and knees, Isaac fiddled with the laces of his boots, throwing them with a heavy thunk out the door behind. Workman shouted to know what the sound was.

What if the train broke? Stranded them a day’s walk from anywhere?

Flattening himself, keeping his weight far back as he could, Isaac’s fingertips danced upon the edge of the withered plate. The air hummed with the industrial lights close by, the soft crackle of rock, the babbled complaints of Workman.

Closer, he had to get closer.

The whole structure tilted. Shifted violently as his fingers snapped closed on the scrap of his desires. Clamoring on hands and knees, knuckles grasped white around the metal as he made for the door.

“I can’t–” came a shout from close by. The sound of falling rock grew to a cacophony of debris, snapping plastic, clanging metal, scraping, bashing, splintering.

By a final leap alone, a leap that scraped the skin off Isaac’s knees, he made it out of the empty doorframe.

He turned, vision blurred, mind dizzy, void of all thought, watching his near-tomb slide from the edge off the rock.

It fell peacefully from the edge, not a sound escaping it as it plummeted into that black below. Seconds passed, filled only by his own heaving breaths. Then… a splash.

A loud splash, a deep splash, a cold splash from somewhere far down in the deep below. A showering spatter of droplets. A gurgle and glug as the prefab sunk below.

Well… Nice to see he was right about the underground river.

A hand grabbed him by the arm and heaved him to his feet. The bout of babbling and dusting of his clothes managed to shake the white noise in his ears.

“–crazy man! What you doing? Ain’t ladder none climb back up!”

“I got it, I…” Gasping pants through a flurry of pulsing blood, booming through Isaac’s ears. “This code.”

Hands shaking, throat sore from the clouds of dust, he pulled to his face the small plate he’d snatched from the mouth of demise and held it to the light, voice breathless as he read its engravings aloud.

“9B-00-37-7D-58-D3-12. 125 kilohertz… What?” He turned it over to smudges and old paper colors. “What the hell am I supposed to do with these?”

C16
9B-00-37-7D-58-D3-12

Breathing deeply; gazing down at the dusty floor below, Isaac sat upon the top step of the train’s entrance. The step’s frame was rusty and dug into his coveralls, but they were already filthy to beyond the point of caring.

After half coming to his senses, Workman had sent him to ‘take a chill’ by the train. Coming from Workman or not, he wasn’t in any mood to argue.

He couldn’t shift the feeling from his mind, the floor moving, the lights shifting. How stupid had he been to expect he could survive? How easily he could have not made it out.

He’d been an idiot. The desperation, this fatigue and hunger just driving him mad.

He sneezed again, nose blocked, throat aching with the dust that’d coated his whole body, hair and soul. His shoes lay discarded on the floor; even his socks were infested by this point.

You know what? Screw it. Screw the damn uniform.

Pulling himself up, he groped at the zipper of his uniform. He was done with this, this dirt, these adventures. Eat the peaches, sleep, no one was going to stop him.

Off came the top, legs kicking out violently to just get this filth off his body.

It wasn’t an efficient way to undress but Isaac’s patience hadn’t made it out of the little prefab. It wasn’t even the dirt, just his own stupidity that had annoyed him so.

He pulled the rag from his legs, shook it out and dumped it over a random rail beside the door. His temple soon received the same treatment, bashing his palms against his head until the cloud of dust was thick enough to sting his eyes.

“You okay there?”

“Just this grit,” Isaac shot back, the question bubbling his irritation. “It’s everywhere. Hate it. Always have. Mud? Okay, you clean it off you’re good, but grit?”

“It’s coarse and rough and it gets—”

Isaac levelled a death stare at Workman, fierce enough to make the creature drop his grin and shuffle under the heat. “Stop shuffling. You’re kicking up more.”

“Ah.”

“Find anything?”

“Other building, just transformer and stuff, power the lights. Looked around the tunnel, the broken one, ain’t nothing. Heap of wheels and old parts.”

“And the code?”

“Yeah! Got it figured. I come up?”

Isaac nodded, having Workman dust himself off before he let him mount the steps. He did a half-arsed effort but it was good enough. The train had become a wreck inside since the crash anyway.

“So this code, yea?” said Workman, passing Isaac towards the driver’s cabin. “Bunch a numbers, then this one twenty five kilohertz.”

“Alright?” Isaac tried to focus but was barely paying attention, just words and numbers.

“And I think, door gotta open, but ain’t no handle. Gotta be triggered, but ain’t no button.”

Collapsing into the driver’s seat, Isaac wondered if it had always been this soft. It was so nice.

“So door gotta open by remote. Or gotta get trigger by remote. An’ hertz, like frequency, right?”

“Make your point,” Isaac sighed.

“Radio code, ain’t it? Like tag. Send it to door, door plop open.”

That sounded… actually alright. Shaking himself awake, Isaac forced his focus to engage. They were so damn close, he couldn’t give up now.

“So how do we send this, there’s no communications here. Just a fax.”

“Ye, gotta rig it to tra‘mit at one twenty five,” said Workman, without delaying his work upon the comms device: poking around with his screwdriver to remove the covering plate. Isaac tried to find instructions to provide, but somehow fell silent to observing the quick and visibly fruitful work before him. Why stop the flow of movement when you could just let it do its thing.

Instead of sitting further and appearing like a slob, Isaac looked around the cockpit once more, trying to find something interesting or out of place so as to appear busy. Pulling himself up, stepping closer to one of the ceiling cabinets, he tried to pull it open to resistance’s flop. Trying again didn’t result into much so he put in a sharp tug that should’ve unhatched the entire door, yet it only snapped the handle off, to a dismay of a yelp and a grunt. This feeling that they were both damaging company property and that the repercussions would come back to bite them were just too much for his comfort.

“Careful with that thing,” Isaac said to Workman, more to himself in obscurity, while hiding the broken segment at his back. Workman didn’t even turn to look at him.

This was such a disaster and in so many ways. Isaac didn’t see any justice in the situation he was thrown in. This was never agreed on. What on terra had the company done?

Sure, he had a job to do, but in no way was this an acceptable challenge to overcome when even his survival needs hadn’t been initially met… What if…

No. No. No! He needed to take a breath—outside, where it didn’t smell of oil and decaying plastics. Heat glowed by the side of the engine as he passed by, his vision blurring as he tried to sustain his gait from shifting badly.

There the door opened with a shove, to a wave of freshness that revitalized his essence. Nice, deep cold that was just delicious. Hmm, and more of that snow. Not that it was disliked, all the more appreciative to be had.

Taking a seat by the steps, he put his head in his hands and stared into the rock below that glistened in melted moisture. Things were dire and nothing was changing that fate from what was seen up till now. A deepened abandonment stirred, as if it was already too late and that the ship had sailed. Why else would hell be given first seat to his eyes?

Voices, calling, whispering, wandering… were they his? Distant hums of another world faintly drowning out the silence. His hands were getting cold, a reminder of the weak human flesh that needed; that asked for the gloves to be put back on, an artificial coating of coarseness and memory to human persistence and adaptability.

Renewed calmness gave glances around the whitey view of visibility, going over buildings and objects, but also finding new interesting things that he had previously omitted: an interesting shape in the rock and some sort of room high up at the edge further away. Surely that was worth investigating.

Voices, calling, yelling. Oh, they were coming from inside. There was no certainty how long he’d stayed there, though his face had lost sensation that burned when he got back to Workman.

“Hell, ya doing, bratan? Been calling for you forever!” Workman shouted through half a body lost on the side of the fax machine. “Come pull,” he grunted to Isaac’s lack of motion, though repeated himself quickly after, “Help me, I’ll fucking drop it!”

That was no way of asking for help, but if it was critical then it mattered, so Isaac skipped close and grabbed onto what Workman guided his hand to: cold and coarse. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for Workman to react and quickly clamp a few times inside the machine. He wasn’t even looking, as both his hands were shoulder-deep, his eyes staring absently with a twisted tongue of thought.

“Yeye, pull out now. Hold to it!” he said as he stared intently at Isaac, who slowly pulled his hand out to a sight of a black, molten square.

“What’s this?” asked Isaac as he stared at the remains of what once was a…

“Eh, transformer.”

“When did it combust?” Isaac asked, not liking the potential fact it could’ve been their fault, though resting in assurance that it looked old, didn’t smell and was cold.

“Bah, what do I know? Ey, I didn’t do that, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“I wasn’t…” Isaac tried to rebuke in annoyance of pattern, but guided himself to a more fruitful continuance, “We got a spare?”

“No idea, Super.” Workman sat down on the chair, his face of sweaty dirt. This was no way to take the situation seriously, but instead of berating him, Isaac decided to take initiation and begin searching, as an example.

Lots and lots of little compartments were opened, many parts were found of random properties, many tools clanked to jeer and many hopes crushed any dreams, until the whole train had been crawled, apart from that compartment Isaac had snapped the handle off.

He did remember that he hadn’t checked it, but somehow the discouragement was enough to make him conclude the spot was to be another red herring of dust, random parts of crumbled paper in plastic containers. At least the nice part about his pursuit was that Workman had joined in without a single order, which had given Isaac a pride of appreciation of himself.

Yet the veil of nothingness awaited, as he stared into the burned thing that was their key to the facility.

“Is there a way to fix this?” asked Isaac as he passed the heavy black at Workman, who didn’t hesitate longer than a yawn. He carefully examined several of its angles, smacked it against the wall, to Isaac’s audible rebukes and to finality he scraped it with a knife, leaving off trails of golden in a sea of obsidian.

“Yea… Maybe we get a lucky day and we find it around the place,” Workman muttered, heading to outside. But Isaac wasn’t going to let it slide.

“We’ll check the area then, Workman.” Adjusting his jacket, putting back his coldened shoes and putting his bag in one of the cabinets, he exited with Workman, into the cold.

“Bah, feels like up top.”

“Wasn’t that bad during the day.”

“Ye, if you were wearing a smelter’s ushanka”

“I didn’t take you for a tropical.”

“Nah, what? Just got fed up with it, bratan. Sure, get it for a few months and let it pass was fine, but then it was every day. Like some wizard snapped a button and then clank, get cold.”

“I got used to it a long time ago…”

“How?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore…” Workman scowled at the response. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to give at least a little bit. “When you’re dealt your only cards, there ain’t much else you can play.”

“Ha, Bababyi said that. She throw funny dice and show me cards, calling bad spirits and demons,” Workman shouted to hands’ gesture. “I tell her, throw dice again, gramma, toss Satan to someone else!” He seemed dead-serious. “But no, she say my cards were dealed. Bunch of vodoo-hocus scamaz… I give money for card with flower, but she only have Satan cards… Bunch o’ nonsense!”

Yea, bunch of nonsense. At least he was happy and hadn’t pushed further, or would appear to want to push in the future. Workman seemed so… fluid, changing to wherever the wind blew him. It was definitely a good thing, but also a disaster if Isaac were to expect compliance and following orders. Ugh…

Taking his mind off the troubles of life, Isaac stared at the hill of wheels and crossed his hands, allowing himself to finally ponder how it was even possible to stack these thick masses of steel on top of one another. Obvious answer was a crane, but there was no such in sight. Maybe there used to be one attached to the ceiling and it fell? No way to tell due to the blackness that shrouded the cavernous roof.

“Wait a few hours and get the sledge, eh? He-he,” chuckled Workman, giving Isaac a glance of validation which was deflected with a scoff. How did this pile come to be? There was no crane in sight and why would that even be practical for them to stack all of that? How long had this operation been going for? More importantly, was it over?

No, no it wasn’t and the needed device had to be found behind the reinforced steel door that stood wide and tall in its rusty mood.

“Bah, what now, Super?” What now… what now… He followed the rock until a window came into view, elevated high up and pointing before the chasm, at the entrance to the facility. But how would they get in there if the door locked?

“Stupid door,” Workman yelled distantly in kick of the door. Above the window was something like a satellite dish. If there was someone in there, they would’ve come out by now, so that was ruled out quickly. But just as Isaac were to move to somewhere else, he spotted something odd that the snow was doing in ballet to the light. Instead of falling against the rock as usual, it swirled and would disappear in a darker area of the jagged wall… as if sucked in.

“Workman, get over here,” he shouted and looked up again, charging certainty to his bubbling plan of action.

“You found it?” There was no time to explain in detail why the bees could fly.

“Do we have a ladder?”

“Ughm, yea-yea. I saw one recently.”

“Bring it.”

“Why?” No answer was to be given, just a scowl asking ‘you serious right now?’ to which Workman scurried away without enthusiasm.

Breathy vapor poured out of his mouth as he wondered if he could trust Workman to get the job done or if he’d get lost somewhere along the way, or if he’d get stuck with that gnarly body of his.

Whatever the case, he let the light dull down and walked further ahead until he was tip-toe with the chasm of blackness. Interestingly enough there was a metal wire attached to some steel hooks that entered the abyss’ mouth. Remembering correctly, it looked like climbing rope, though he wondered anyone stupid enough who’d try to use it… oh.

Taking a knee to inspect things closer with aches that told him that he’s rather unhealthy, indents into the rock were observed as well as little handles that gave the impression of a ladder. Why was it so primitive, obscure and unlabeled? Curiosity edged him to consider the inconsiderable, but then obvious ‘curiosity killed the cat’ ended all moronicness.

Who could figure how long it’d take Workman to bring the thing over, so might as well take a seat on that thick piece of wheel close to the wire-rope. With another ankle creak, Isaac exhaled relief and let the light die down as he stared into the bright distance of the Gate, wondering how on terra such was created, let alone nestled so naturally in the cavernous realm.

Air around felt so refreshing, each drop of snow tingling red upon his bony cheeks. With hands nestled under his armpits his idle took on a relief of meditative contour.

Fields of snow and rising mountains of breeze to memory’s moments from a past bygone. Simple times of hardship, yet filled with so many moments that would twitch his lips in painful smiles, sizzling through droplets of snow across his cheek.

No way back, no way home, no way but up. His hands gripped his short hair in sizzling despair that no matter what the outcome would be, nothing will bring them back, nothing but thoughts that would lead to decay no matter what.

His body plopped into his lap and his mind found empty. A canvas stuck in time, waiting for brush of stroke… brush of stroke…

C17
Ladder

“Ey! Where ya at?”

Stroke of red, of disharmony relentless to the canvas’ wishes and needs.

“Where ya at, Super?”

Stroke of yellow, of heat rushing to illuminate the paleness and mandate action.

“Ya dipped on me, didn’t ye?”

Stroke of… That annoying little goblin forcing itself in his ears. Escape impossible.

“Oh leave ol’ Grig behind and let ‘im eat rocks and oil!”

Propping himself slowly up, cold shock made him find a cover of snow all over his back and head, as if the layer of cloth had given it a chance to not melt. It was rather amusing, if not for the tiny slip that made him jolt internally from the closeness of demise that was.

Back to the window, back to the window under a new threat that now formed slippery slides at any wrong angle of step.

“Aha, knew ya were there,” Workman shouted from the distance, giving off lightful blindings that Isaac shouted off. He’d brought the ladder, propped against the rock. It wasn’t reaching the dark shade, but it was extendable so worries drifted elsewhere.

“Was heavy, could’ve used a hand, ey?” Isaac didn’t even look at him, just reached for the clasps and went on to extend the second layer of aluminium steps, though it proved slightly difficult. It wasn’t light after all, yet with Workman’s help the tower of mobility grew, until it was enough for Workman to take ascend with rattling shakes as he climbed.

“I need you to check what’s at that dark shade over there and report back to me.”

“I ain’t climbing down to tell ye that,” Workman sputtered, halfway on the ladder, angrily sulking in defiance with a side glance.

“You… just shout it to me for sake of…”

“Oh, ye-ye, I’ll do that, duh.” He didn’t even wait, as his body smashed against the ladder, leaving doubts if it’d manage to hold against such weight, in Isaac’s mind, yet the visage of a man slowly stepped one after the other, though rather unsafely.

“Don’t skip steps!” Isaac commanded and after a pause and heavy grumbles, Workman followed true. The whole thing rattled as Isaac held it in place, pieces of dust and rock grinding off from above and annoying the pristine air-cold.

Finally it all stopped to a series of shuffles and grunts. “You right, I see a vent thing or something. Doesn’t budge.”

“You got tools?”

“Nah, gimme sec.”

“What do you mean ‘nah’?” Isaac cut in, just as the loud smashes echoed the cavernous realm, “That’s company property, stop it right now!” Isaac demanded, but the goblin fiend kept bashing into the metal, all the while fusing his power with insults that were lost in translation.

“Get down here right now, you hear me? Get down!” It wasn’t listening, could it even hear him? He tried rattling the ladder but stopped sharp as that could lead to a freak accident that was the last thing they needed right now.

So with grit teeth he stared at his feet and counted each speck of snow that luminated through his breath.

With a loud clank that gave imagery of metal being ripped apart, vent crashed behind him to a deafened shriek of ear drums, loads of dust exploding in the light, random sludgy motes trickling against his neck. Nastiness got him to go through a hard shiver, but keeping the ladder steady was taking full-blown priority.

“See ya on other side, bratan,” Workman called as he leaned into the crevice, his feet wobbling in the air with struggle.

“You sure you can fit, ey! Don’t get stuck, Workman. Think this through.”

“Yeye, catch.”

“Catch wha—” a big shadow dove from above, but unlike a feather it slapped against the ladder and reached Isaac’s head, where part of the zipper whacked him rashly to a yelp. “Hell’s wrong wit—”

Just as things were already worse, Workman pushed his feet against the now-unsupported ladder and the whole thing tilted into fall, which Isaac couldn’t stop by himself.

Dashing to the side at the last moment, the thing crashed with a bang against a stack of wheels, blowing grit all around Isaac the Disoriented.

“Stupid, goblin! What’s wrong with you?!” Isaac screamed, befuddled this could’ve ever happened out of all the random things of fate. But Workman was nowhere to be seen, an apparition that had transcended reality. Maybe for good.

Rubbing the spot the jacket hit him at, he shook his head and tried to recollect the scene, importantly so, the dropped flashlight and the pinned-down jacket of Workman. Sure, he stopped holding the ladder which found trouble at an instant, but that heavy jacket was not an expected avalanche to be had. What on terra did he have in those pockets…

Wrenches, picks… rocks?! Why did he have rocks in his pockets. What was wrong with this creature? How could everything go wrong when he’s around, why did nothing happen when he was sitting on his own and enjoying the cold breeze tickling his skin…

No matter, it was done, and at least the likeliness of him getting stuck was reduced in greatness, though, if he were to crawl out again, Isaac wasn’t sure if he’d be able to lift the ladder back up by himself.

Best place to find him would be the big door, so might as well get there and get comfy.

He sat by the door, blanketing the spot with Workman’s jacket so he wouldn’t be sapped of warmth, and just stared into the peculiar weather, distant fragments of frost dancing around the light.

Hmm, he shook his head that tried to remember how long he’d been sitting there. It wasn’t like Workman was just going to come out the door at any moment, so he revved the flashlight harder to explore his surroundings better as he stood up. Just ahead was the maintance building they’d checked out during the hours of exploration. There wasn’t much to it, yet what else was left to do than kill time?

There was the door light, visibly shattered, there was the mountain of train wheels in the shorter distance, now being covered in layers of snow.

Instead of holding the heavy jacket, he found a piece of sticking rebar and hung it, staring at the stretched pockets in slight awe. What was that thing stitched with, steel threads?

It wouldn’t hurt to look around now, would it? He’d already seen that obscure ladder, the transformer, the place with the note that nearly swallowed him bone and rag, the Gate from a distance, the pile of scrap… might as well go around the maintance building again, to clear the head.

His breath smoked in the cold, the severe drop in temperature quite much bringing confusion to what was going on with the ventilation system. Maybe there was a fault where it was set to cool the air down?

Slouching closer to himself, Isaac kept going around the building, random bits of scrap, metal bars, plastic cans, random tools all scattered around its walls.

Yea, he couldn’t remember seeing such weather underground, not that he had much experience underneath the earth in the first place… Passing by a large piece of corrugated metal, he felt a sort of warmth tickle his neck. It stopped him fast as he walked backwards in confusion.

There it was again, a sort of warmth flowing from… the gaps of the corrugated metal sheet. It just looked like it was attached to the wall.

Was this… with a sort of curious impatience, he pulled carefully on the metal which didn’t budge. But as he then shoved his head in the cracks, he saw a passage further in with train wheels in the way. Why was this covered and blocked?

Yanking the metal, the thing scrunched rusty dust and fell down loudly, echoing the cavernous deep and opening this entombed passage of the maintance building.

Maybe there’d be something peculiar in there, like a key or the spare part they were looking for? His mind sought for the ladder at first, but then he decided he’d get Workman to fold, as he was the one who caused the mayhem and not anyone else, obviously.

Easy to follow, he carefully got to the front, the slippery slush playing tricks to his sturdy boots. The open doorway didn’t have a normal door, just a pile of stacked wheels supposedly blocking the way, but Isaac’s lankiness made things rather easy to skip around.

Inside reeked of dark stagnation, so he naturally looked for the light switch: instantly forgetting about it as it’d surely have proved futile and defunct.

So many random objects riddled the base of the walls, shards of broken rods peeking off and showing how once shelves and hangers stood to hold. Isaac tried to rummage through the random scrap, but over and over what he sought was eluded. More and more certainty grew that this was used as a workshop for repairs and maintenance, which grew hope of him finding their piece of the puzzle.

Lacking any windows was a surprising decision, the only entrance being that makeshift door and nothing else. With guidance at his hand, he delved deeper into the dark warming. Stench of oil was now overwhelming his senses and it wasn’t the one that would feel nice at the memory of metrostations. No, this was like a mix of tar and asphalt which was slowly making his eyes water.

Black drums filled the room, some toppled and probably empty, others idling in timelessness to fate-unknown, surrounding what looked like a worktable with a pile of rusty metal bits once cut too many times.

Just above was a big map painted onto the wall. Its condition was decrepit, yet it still managed to give off acceptable information. Isaac squinted his eyes and tried to understand the layout of what was being shown. It appeared more regional than global, and he was to try to go and get his schematics he’d borrowed from Bob, if not for the issue of keeping the light on for a live comparison.

Blasted thing. If only it could hold charge for even a minute.

He managed to find the location they were at on the map, as it was circled in red, but to his disappointment nothing further was shown for what was beyond the Gate. Sure, it had the track they had rode on as well as other areas that they hadn’t been to, but nothing about where they were heading. The track they were originally on was there, but it also would end up at an end.

Secrecy, lots and lots of secrecy and information on a need-to-know basis. In a way it was admirable for such strict security, but in another way it was questionable. What was the scope of this operation and why was it so critical? Sure, he’d heard about an underground project as rumours here and there, but it was nothing in comparison to the global effort which barely-whispers breathed words of.

A scoff was all he could spare at this helplessness of a map, though at least they could go back to it if the Gate plan were to go nowhere, not that he wanted to think about such a failure. There were no other options.

Just as he was to leave the place, the smell overwhelming his patience to the discovery’s expiration, he spotted a peculiar shine at an odd angle, as if coming from the floor. Staircase with stacked barrels thrown nonchalantly down, some crushed and others dented-yet-whole. At the end were steel doors bolted shut in rust.

There wouldn’t have been much of an issue if not for that huge… something that was painted over them which for Isaac initially didn’t mean much, but which he gave a few blinks of deeper thought, the whole ordeal became from strange to terrifying as his senses sharpened and a sort of paranoia tingled around his spine.

Large eyes gaped into his soul, the form of a dome-headed monster, featureless and broad, white eyes round and open and surrounded by a black body, its edges scratched as though made by paint-stricken claws. Mouthless, limbless, watching. A monster from forever ago.

The pieces fit together in a most unyielding light. A staircase leading into a basement, a heavy duty door marked with a horrific analogate of a devil watching his every move and blocked off by a heap of heavy barrels. None of this spelled safety, and all of this spelled uncertainty and danger. Somehow he no longer felt adventurous and preferred the noisy company of Workman, or just the fresh outside. Yea.

Why were things so quiet? Were they always this quiet? What was this sound? Isaac took a step closer reluctantly, focusing his breath down so his ears can pick up on any hints of reason that nothing was up and that he could just leave. It was a sort of distant… static… mixed with a crackle and… it felt distant. He wanted to snap around and check his surroundings, but a chill froze him into not making any sudden movements. What was this ultimate stupidity that was happening to him!

Just in between, a loud shriek exploded into the room, grabbing onto Isaac’s heart, ripping it out of his chest and shoving it into his mouth.

Glacial, perfidy, unruly…

His mind couldn’t keep up with his speed as he collided into the wall in the flash of run. But that wasn’t a deterrent as he found the doorway, flashlight attached like glue to his limb, and got out of the building as fast as he could.

Perseverance, entropy, storm…

Outside scenery had not changed, apart from this same loud, speaker voice echoing in the cavern. Heaves of breathing and rapid twists got him to scout for the uncertain danger, yet the space and visibility of the outside ruled the hysteria down. Through a ragged breath he gulped and heard a loud smash that came from where he had initially sat and waited for Workman.

Contamination, energy…

No stop came to the loudly broadcasted words that now Isaac could focus on, but before he could dwell any further he spotted Workman arching up with his jacket in hand, the steel door half open to where he’d sat.

Beacon…

Isaac tried to yell at the man, but his voice came out as a low-key exhale. Trying again yielded a whisper, so he reached for his larynx and moved it around in crunches of repulse.

Venerate, terra…

“You leave jacket, it be attacked by ants,” Workman piped up as he spotted Isaac’s closing-in, “Lucky no chocolate in pocket. Oh, come, I found something.”

“Workman, get back—” Isaac hissed in lateness as the goblin creature had already sucked into the darkness of the doorway, the noise around echoing over and over those same words.

Glacial, perfidy…

He had to calm down and regain his senses. Repeating a few phrases louder and louder it was decided that the confidence had been recaptured, and with a quick sigh he carefully stepped in, all the while the cacophony of the outside blared strangeness and ambiguity.

C18
No Frogs

First impression was the scrunched door and this large steel cabinet that visibly had been in collision with one another; the floor riddled with all kinds of random objects that annoyed his toes. Wait, what was this dampness and padding… as if… soil. Blanketed in wobbly brown moss and mushrooms here and there of different sizes, leading to a staircase that had the imprints of steps, believed easily to have been Workman’s, a path of destruction marking how the steel cabinet cannon-ball had slid down at its target.

“Workman!” Isaac yelled at the lack of anyone up the mossy, stone-cut staircase. Instead of surrounding cement it was just rough-rocky tunnel with surprising vegetation. “Workman, respond right now!” Isaac tried again, but as nothing pinged back he figured his voice was being drowned by the uninterrupted loudspeaker noise. Yea, noise, he couldn’t see it as terrifying or important, just plainly annoying. It had to stop, as soon as possible. All this chaos, all this damage of company property. Outright unacceptable.

“Blasted goblin…” he muttered with a brief glance at the mess at the exit, and hurried up his pace up the steep steps in padded slops. At least it didn’t reek of oil or general stagnation, but now it was fumed of earthy fungus and mould. Such growth was abnormal and made no sense, yet here he was, stepping over large tufts of moss and breaking apart thick mushrooms at random missteps.

Draping cobwebs got stuck in his face to arghs and grunts as he swiped away at his path. Why hadn’t Workman collected all of them was a question of odds. Finally the top was reached after several stumbles, murmurs and loss of light. There was a faint glow around the ceiling, but it seemed overtaken by the same feisty moss, which hung around the thick wires, mostly following them as if bathing in their heat.

Ah, he did it, some breaths were mandatory to chase away the blurriness. The spot where the cabinet had been was bare of rock and had random insects scuttling about. Maybe that’s why he’d mentioned ants and his jacket. But this was the first time they’d seen living creatures since… since he’d woken up pretty much.

Ahead, another staircase leading down, though filled up entirely by swampy water. Thirst nearly threw him in to take a sip but the color was keeping him away. Nevertheless, with some boiling and filtering, they could get a nice supply of relief and rejuvenation. One problem ticked off from the container of hell. The staircase leading further up was less lively and since it was a sole choice, the ascent dragged on toward the increasing red light.

Steepness would’ve been an understatement, jagged corners scraping on Isaac’s shoes and asking for a mistake so they can take him to fall’s embrace, but such delight was not going to be given so easily, as he’d measure each step and push against his knees with his hands.

No longer was his light needed, visibility taking tint and giving way. No longer did the moss and shrooms cover the area to dry rock and starving mites.

Below the blinking light at the top where the stairs stopped was the similar steel door that Workman had sieged open. It was gawking wide open in age immobile. It was a good thing he hadn’t damaged more of the surrounding property, as far as it was known.

Taking the last step brought a sense of euphoria to his lanky body. So many layers of ancient dust, heavily contrasted to the assumed steps of Workman. Least be told it wasn’t going to be hard to find where he’d went as the room ahead bounced in noises of shuffles and mutterings.

Stepping through the doorway the room insides showed themselves with Workman waddling about a station where a similar fax machine, like the one at the train, was situated. There were several terminals just before the windows that overlooked the Gate, yet all of their monitors were cracked and dark from the main suspect being time.

It wasn’t hard to get pulled away from the observations as that voice kept repeating the same lines over and over from outside, a cacophony that was for sure going to get them in trouble and it didn’t appear that Workman was trying anything at all at stopping it.

“Workman, stop that noise right now.”

“Noise?” he drew through a befuddled pause, “Ah, can’t even hear it no more. Problem solved.”

“We’re making a ruckus around the entire area. It’s unacceptable noise levels and use of the warning system.”

“Noise! Let ‘em hear us so we can get some blasted help. It’s not like I haven’ been trying to find a living soul since that meatgrinder. Best thing they do is open that gate to investigate, and we get saved, ha-ha!”

Isaac tried to object without even thinking but then stopped to muse upon the stupid mouth of Workman. He actually made sense. If, for whatever reason, they were breaking protocol by not doing anything about this ruckus, then so an investigation would lead to them finally getting direct help from their unknown colleagues.

“We’re going to let it play out. Maybe it’s something important that’s being relayed by the system,” Isaac made up an excuse.

“Aha, almighty time travellers who left a message on loop.”

Isaac only rolled a sigh and walked to the window to check on the view, leaving Workman to his tasks. Visibility ebbed through smudges of grime, now having turned from gray to shades of white on spots that had been drained of their heat.

Their train stood patiently, towering over structures. At a rap of his fingers he concluded the glass to be reinforced and likely impact-proof. This was for sure the control room that would give them access to the facility, it made too much sense from a security standpoint.

Something glinted next to their train and Isaac squinted in a flash, the potential of other people coming about exciting him deeply, but as a repeated occurrence failed to bloom he crossed his hands and rested his forehead on the grimy glass.

Deep down he hoped for Workman’s prospectful excuse to turn into reality so he could stop having to problem solve every single step he’d make.

“Let there be zap!” Workman theatricalized and smacked the metal frame which whirred painfully as if losing power, but then whatever was inside picked up pace. Isaac half expected a printed out paper, but a terminal monitor faintly took life and words came to view.

Property of VAS Inc…

Initiate boot sequence…

Memory integrity check…

Memory flush initiate in 3…2…1…

Tampering memory integrity check…

Verification successful…

Dumping debug log…

Station status: Operational…

Backup power status: Unknown…

Connected peripherals: 1…

Communication connection status: Offline…

Self-analysis report: Warning 5C-24…

…

All this bubbled excitement fizzled like a soft drink out in the open. Why would it ever be that easy.

“The communications are down.”

“Huh? Ye, says it here on the screen,” Workman dismissed, his eyes scouting for an unknown thing as he trailed his hands around the body of the terminal station, until he rested at the yellow keyboard which’s keys had lost any kind of eligibility. But no matter which button was pressed, the terminal just blinked statically at the last printed line.

“I ain’t no damn computer mechanic.”

“Can’t you just re-plug it?”

“What? You see buttons or knobs like on train?”

“Just replug the keyboard.”

“Repl—bratan, is fused into terminal, there is no cable.”

“So what can we do?”

“This should have transformer to take. Maybe we get lucky.” Workman didn’t delay and went ahead pulling off the panels of the terminal, and since he didn’t ask for any help, Isaac left the man to do his job and decided to explore this control room. There was the vent at one of the corners, its metal frame scrunched in what he knew to be one of Workman’s practical solutions.

Next to the door was an industrial switch that had voltage indicators with recently disturbed cobwebs hanging down. Maybe there’d be something useful on the rock-cut desk, though it was mostly layers of dust. Trailing a finger in it to try and draw something out of subtle boredom, a discovery was made in the form of a pen.

Green plastic with the usual cheap design, yet he smiled at the finding and kept up his search for any other buried treasures. There was a paper puncher for preparing documents for folders once upon a time, random scraps of metal in forms of paper clips, pins and a few more pens. With so many bureaucratical supplies, he wondered about where all the paperwork was, yet thinking about it a bit, all this dust on the table… the question rather resolved itself.

It gave Isaac sheer dread that overtook his reason before it had a chance to conclude its cause. He remembered that dark staircase he’d ran out from, the stench of oil and whispers of damnation which surely were a defect of imagination. Somehow being all alone felt better… better than the prospect of someone or something lurking about…

That was silly, they weren’t alone, just at the more isolated part of the facility. Hell, they weren’t even in the facility, technically. He’d heard the voice over the phone and they’d found all these instructions pushing them in the right direction. All they had to do was open that Gate and somehow make it across the leap-of-faith bridge. Well, it didn’t seem that bad, on the opposite: things were slowly working out.

Uselessness bounced around his brain and he wanted to do something productive, but how could one focus on their thoughts with that blaring noise outside? Wait, he never wrote the words, maybe they could carry meaning? With a slap on his forehead at the obvious, he took out his notebook, made the scavenged pen cry ink and logged each one carefully…

Venerate, Terra, Glacial, Perfidy, Unruly, Perseverance, Entropy, Storm, Contamination, Energy, Beacon.

Nothing further to put down, it just repeated those words over and over, a pause at the end indicating the rewinding of the sequence. Was it a password, an encrypted message, the rambling nonsense of a corrupted tape? Tricky to tell…

“Stupid shit.”

“Don’t use that language,” Isaac cut in and closed the distance swiftly. “You found it?”

“Ye-ye. Just…” his elbow went into the hole, his eyes in strained focus, “Aha!” Loudness of crunch marked the entry of the component, its copper coils lacking the grunge of ash, though still smeared here and there with greenish tints.

“Will it do?” To Isaac’s question Workman scrutinized the component and put it aside, finding the blackened one and scraping at it with a knife he pulled from his jacket. Excitement gave his stomach that young giddy feeling, which for a bit kept him on his toes, until he realized the immaturity and tried to dull it down.

“Not powerful enough, bratan…” Workman muttered, crushing Isaac’s positive flow. “We can try it out anyways, but it will break other things at some point.”

Isaac grit his teeth and looked away. Why had he thought things would be so easy? When on terra were they ever such?! His anger wanted to explode on something, to punish anything before him, but he didn’t want to waste his energy which was so lacking nonetheless.

“There was oldie grandpa Barin. He was pensioner, worked with us at cinema on ‘lectrics. He like cables long time. He made himself place to live at, right under big cinema. Warm, free, and with these tunnels too. Before Coldening came. He knew. Always says, ‘They be driving us to beggar’s staff. Underground next to heater all’s you need,’” Workman halted in anticipation, but Isaac wasn’t even sure what to remember from the shared. This was just pushing the attention away from what was important.

“Yes yes, we’ll exchange stories later. We’ve got work right now,” Isaac cut in, impatient to wait out this story about grandpa Barin.

“We had a long nasty shift one day, total blackout at one of the stations,” Workman continued as if having not heard a thing. “And I’m fed up. Like I care if Lilly High Heels can’t get to her phone job tomorrow. Transformer had burnt out, black just like this one,” Workman emphasized the darkened component, “of course as big as a car. He got us to find thick wires matching the size of the loops, stripping it off the cover and then running extra loops over the thing.”

“Did it work?” Isaac beamed in renewed vigor.

“Nah, thing boofed in flames, melted, fucked up cinema to ground.”

“Why did you even tell me this?”

“Look, we put too much copper. It was band-aid. If I take this one and unwind it, I count the loops and give the same to the other,” Workman finished, holding both small transformers in his hands as if looking for approval to this ridiculous plan, but then Isaac’s brows lowered and in a way it made sense.

“Right, but you make sure to count them perfectly, understand?” Isaac ordered to a smiley Workman who put both components in his jacket.

All they could do now was go back to the train, fix the thing and try turning on their equipment. Power to the station was cut off, no need to waste electrical, though it was mostly the loudspeaker being a headache.

Nothing much more of interest or value could be found, so they walked down the staircase one breath at a time. Again staleness of damp fungus reeked in the air to Isaac’s cough.

“Found water down there, damn salty but so nice,” Workman boasted in between slaps of lips to Isaac’s scandalized gawk. He’d drank from that festering pool of diseases?

“Why on terra would you do that?! It’s… it’s green!”

“Was thirsty. No frogs, no worry.”

“No fro—you get dysentery and you’re done. Your brain skipped on that?” Isaac pulled at his face.

“Dissi-what? Nah, I ain’t getting no dizzy.” An inevitable facepalm muffled against the moss that absorbed their step.

“How much did you…”

“Some. Wanted more but spider hissed in my ear and I toppled that thing,” Workman pointed at the metal cabinet at the exit. “Lemme get some more.”

“Hey, do not ever drink random green water ever again. We’ll get it boiled and filtered and only then, got it?”

“I dunno… I guess.” Workman just stared at the pool, and it took a hard shove by Isaac for them to move out of the building… cave… tunnel? Whatever this place was considered to be.

As they routed outside, the cold had worsened, having frozen the ground with layers now taken life. Isaac remembered quickly and said, “Go get the ladder. If it’s broken you’ll be fixing it.”

“Why me?”

“It nearly crushed me because you kicked it.”

“Kicked it? You said you were holding it.”

“I was until you threw your jacket at me without a word,” Isaac rebuked, and before Workman could retort, he added, “What’s your problem anyways, carrying rocks in your pockets? Actual heavy rocks. You’re carrying them right now!”

“Oh, these? Forgot they were there, heh,” he said with a smile, “They my little heroes.”

“What?!” Isaac sputtered, though calming down as it didn’t appear as if there’d been any joke.

“When I woke in pod, it stole my air. Water sludge didn’t go away and I was drowning,” Workman reminisced as he put his hands in his pockets. “Then the whole thing shook and the glass shattered in the middle. I found those two between the shards.”

“So the ceiling fell?”

“Nah, but they fell inside and drain the sludge.”

“Fell? Fell from where? Was it at an angle, were you in motion?”

“I dunno, could barely see.”

“Well, you’re getting the ladder. Also I’m not going to tell you again, you’re not allowed to damage company property. That was no way to open the vents or door. All this is going on the report,” Isaac finalized, not interested in listening to any more excuses. At least the rocks in the pockets made a tingle of sense now.

As Isaac got into the train, the warmth it gave off was a delight, and he sought to get to the heater at the front. He remembered to get the cans out so they could collect as much water as possible to prepare for the journey, and as he rummaged around the enclosed space, he noticed something that wasn’t the way they’d left it.

One of the ceiling cabinets was slightly open, the one he’d broken the handle off. Curiously his eyes peered inside the mess of cogs, screws, bolts; plastic bottles with unknown liquids in messy scatter to every corner, as if pushed aside to make space. No transformer, nothing else of interest…

Just as he was closing it a glint made him freeze. He’d missed something, something that looked like… a scale. It felt sturdy, uneven as if solid rock, and when he turned it around there was some sort of inscription. Wasn’t any language he knew, though it maybe looked like Mandarin, but he wasn’t sure how that looked in the first place. At the top was a hole, looked like made for a string, without the string… anyways, just a fancy rock.

Throwing the scale into his pocket and edging to the heater so to take a seat, he went deeper into thought about Workman, and for some strange reason he felt a tingle of envy. If Workman had rocks he cared about, why couldn’t Isaac have one as well? He now too had a special rock to carry around. It didn’t have a story behind it, but time would make one, especially if he could figure out what was chiselled on it.

Workman climbed in at some point and they both went to gather enough water for the unknown journey, Isaac not trusting Workman in going alone due to the irresponsible attitude of, “If no frogs, all good.”

Isaac hurried to scrap together a water filter with pebbles, cloth, sand from the fuses that Workman had brought up as an idea, and many more extra layers of cloth. Sure, that didn’t remove any of the festering micro-organisms but at least it’d get rid of the random bits of strange; floating bits of green algae and the shards of plastic, cobwebs and yellow filth.

Good old boil would then do the rest of the job, so long as there was no nasty oil roaming about. Yet what were these complaints? What were the alternatives?

After having finished the contraption with the beginning of the boiling stage, he stared at the steaming cup of clean water, shocked he’d finally have some of his basic needs met in an acceptable manner. He wondered about what it’d feel like running around his rancid tongue. Giving it a quick cool of outside, he took a big gulp which flawlessly sneaked through his flesh. Hmm, metal, slightly salty and slimy. Definitely sub-par, but with the lack of choice it was a 5-star drink of preference.

Workman was left to deal with the attunement of the transformer while Isaac dealt with the water. When he was done though, it seemed Workman had some more to go, so Isaac went to take a walk and try to scout some more of the Gate.

Layered with a white blanket, the tracks blackened under their caps. Ever so dangerous and solemn was the bridge, a question of safety at any considerable moment. To its side was the catwalk that Isaac thought of taking, but the lack of anything on the other side steeled his reluctance.

Backtracking from where they had come with the train before the crash, he found his solitude relaxing, bringing back his mind to those winter nightwalks by the street. Calm, quiet, the hustle and bustle gone to the refuge of apartment radiators and blanketed beds, while he reaped the chill of space and peace.

How was it possible for it to snow underground?

They must’ve been so close to the surface, maybe that was what was behind the Gate. They had climbed and fell and turned so many times in their train journey, it was quite impossible for Isaac to know where they now were in relation to where he had woken.

Deciding to head back and check if Workman hadn’t blown himself up, Isaac turned around and sighed.

Good thing was that Workman had indeed not blown up and that also he had gotten the fax working. There was no terminal like the one at the station, so they had to feed it paper.

Property of VAS Inc…

Initiate boot sequence…

Memory integrity check…

Memory flush initiate 3…2…1…

Tampering memory integrity check…

Verification successful…

Train status: Operational…

Communication connection status: Offline…

Self-analysis report: Warning 5D-07…

What was the point in trying to send anything, the connection was not there…

Workman fiddled with some buttons and knobs with the paper reporting ‘Print test’ to which he muttered, “Set to FM… one-twenty-five…” and pressed the enter key. Air, heavy of trepidation to what would be printed, the words of what’s next splashed on it…

‘Communication connection status: Offline…’

“Put in the code,” Isaac hastily added in glimmer’s hope. Workman did so slowly, getting the combination wrong and having to start again with closer squints on the pale keys.No matter: the message was yet the same.

“Is it even working?”

“Uh, yea it types ‘n’ thinks.”

“Is it sending the data?”

“Nah, don’ you see it be offline?”

“That’s not—so it’s not working,” Isaac concluded to a ‘nah’ as a response. But instead of going into a frenzy of rasped breaths, he took lead, “What can we do?”

“Huh? You’re super, what askin’ me for?” Isaac was to scold him for the forfeit-retort, but just turned around and stared through the panes of protective glass in an attempt to spot the Gate, as if that was going to be the solution.

Just the snow slowly glistened in the yellow rays, alluring the mind away from the distant goal… distant, distance, far away, not close enough!

Isaac’s heart thumped and he shouted at Workman who’d just tried to sit down, “Can the train move?”

“Yea, yea, it move. Slow, but it move.”

“Get it in front that bridge.”

“We ain’t got speed to ram the door, bratan.”

“Oh, you gotta be—nobody’s breaking anything. Get us there, Workman,” Isaac facepalmed as he looked around the train to make sure they had everything they’d need in case this plan worked out.

It took multiple attempts and some makeshift fixes, and the train took slow leave, dragging in noisiness the problematic wheel.

Changing the junction mandated a lot of elbow grease and shouting, nevertheless, the rail moved into a position that was originally believed to be the default before they’d crash-stopped.

With the slowest approach in case of an error margin of a malfunction or mistake, they crept the train as close to the edge as Isaac found safe. He half expected some sort of trigger would mark their next step, or that security cameras would capture their presence, or that their fax would bring them instructions and orders… and so they stood staring into the lit Gate in between the tricklets of snow shards of ceaseless dance.

“Try the code again,” Isaac ordered without peeling off his eyes on the prize. Workman did so, the quickened tappings bubbling excitement in Isaac’s chest.

“None,” Workman reported to Isaac’s disappointment. No, they couldn’t lose hope, not until they’d tried everything. Time, this should be given some time.

“We wait.”

“For who?”

“For whoever is to notice our presence. They will, we need to wait,” Isaac finalized and leaned against the controls, leaving Workman to do whatever he wanted, which he took as an appreciative groan on the seat.

“They’ll come for us, you’ll see,” Isaac muttered to himself, fending off fester’s doubt which had been eating on him since the day he woke up.

C19
Open Sesame

Beset persistence in elongated drapes twirled ahead to exposed inbobscurity, gliding effortlessly to depths unseen and away from the frame of eyefulness.

On and on, and on and on, and on and on it kept tirelessly without rest or stop. It didn’t care about its fate, surroundings or purpose, it didn’t care for problems set: its only purpose and only goal was to just exist and be carried away to uncertainty… to freedom.

Isaac shook himself from tired stupor of stared thoughts and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Would’ve been nice if he had a clock of time so he could have a distraction different to the one of unforeseen gloom.

Might’ve been minutes, might’ve been hours, might’ve been a day. He no longer knew, as time’s tracks had derailed just as much as they had for taking this suggested route. What a great idea to follow in uninstructed steps, for this management was doing such an excellent…

No-no, he couldn’t have such thoughts as they’d fester and lead to slip-ups of speech or action, and that never ended favorably for anyone who’d done so before.

Standing up without spring, he dusted his jacket and gave a glance at Workman whose mouth hung open to rest next to the radiator. Waking him up right now would be awful, not because of how he’d feel but of his noisiness that’d pollute the calm confines.

His fingers itched for the re-attempt of sending a message, of getting the attention to whoever was on that other side. It’s not like they could not be seen, idling brightly and intently.

It should only be a matter of time… what about that rock he’d found: asked by his hands, that ran it around his fingers. He needed to put his energy elsewhere as to make time move faster: it always did.

Backpack in hand, in a slow sneak, he got out the cab and hid himself at the furthest back, and opened the door for the frosty air to give him focus and deter the creature of noisiness.

In careful motions he got the maps out and carefully put them on the floor, in intent study. He knew where they were, and the Gate was labelled STM, leaving a trail deeper into the facility with its capital letters DEEP DWELL. From within it sprouted many tunnels like this one, to many locations of different acronyms and numbers. But it was hand-drawn, imperfect and had already once failed them, so in many ways this was not of any affirmation to his comfort.

There were notes, detailed close-ups of areas’ infrastructures, but nothing about ways of communication. Pieces of the paper withered and frayed to his uncertain touch. Composure, composure was all that had to come out of this or he’d ruin his only compass in the dark.

Sharp thunk came from below him that sent the papers flying to a crouched jump. Hurriedly he crammed them all into the pack and craved the emptiness more than ever. As nothing came into view he scowled at the floor and jumped out the train, seeking pieces of his imagination to turn into reality.

Nothing but snow and twinkling lights. He turned around and edged to the bridge in stare to anticipation and emptied patience.

“I’m here, don’t you see me?!” Isaac bellowed in balled fists. “I’m here and ready, just open…just…open,” he trailed off and coughed roughly in pain, for his lungs squeezed and itched all inside of him. His body weak, his mind incapable… maybe with good reason the Gate was keeping him away from his destined position.

A shiver took him. Night had surely fallen up above, for the circle of frost had grown all about the vents in sparkles of drifted white. Air turned scolding in ice.

Jolting off back into the train, he grunted in haste and got to the cab in ragged breaths, zero tolerance to anyone who’d protest.

Where was it, where was the damn thing… Noises of tracking got Workman to stir, though he’d not wake. Where would they put the damn thing, the most important part of a disaster deterrent…

‘Emerge—’ trailed off the words upon the metal, though underneath was a break in red. His hand grabbed upon the cold metal and held, asking deeply if this was going to backfire badly on them.

What other choice was there? Wait until they run out of food? Things already were dire enough!

No more hesitance gnawing in his soul; the lever was pulled so ferociously that he felt the inward parts of the train creak under the force.

Inside, the entire body rattled, pieces of plastic and other bits falling on the floor in instant protest, the deepness and deafening growl of the train gutting into the Gate and its surroundings that bounced and trashed in the unstoppable roar.

Workman fell off the chair and scurried under the control terminal in utter shock, though Isaac kept at the handle, he needed to make sure they’d be heard, they’d be known, they’d be let in. He wasn’t going to miss his chance a second time.

Under further rattle his feet shook and his balance wavered, the eyes of the train showing what looked like thick and massive rock falling just next to the bridge and taking with its revenge, parts of the catwalk. Without further delay he let go of the handle and all that was now: shrieking ringing of his ears and Workman’s faces of confused horror.

His jaw hung and snapped for the pain at its core winced and catered to a mastery of diluted mind. Had he just severed their only way in, their only way out? Impossible, he needed to see with his own blurry eyes. His feet pushed in cramps of weakness, his eyes and mind giving no attention to the shouts of Workman, and finally, as he heaved all that flesh, he stood aghast to the bridge that was…

Still there.

It was now or never, for whoever was asleep there had zero chances of sustaining any drop of black-motionless. Getting to the fax in a flash, he grabbed onto the piece of paper with the sequences and hastily pressed each key without afterthought to the weight of impact.

9B-00-37-7D-58-D3-12-Enter

Internal components whirred, crackled, sizzled in high frequencies… and then the ink spread, giving off its final answer.

Communication connection status: Offline…

“No! I demand you, blasted machine,” Isaac squeezed upon the machine in malice to his options draining into a puddle of frozen hopelessness. Suddenly the heat had drained away and the spark dimmed under the arctic waste, as if the walls’ pores opened widely and the fans turned loudly.

“Maybe we should do it, Workman. Why not?!” he shouted at the staring man on the floor, heart beating in courage now throbbing in dread to their future. Just ramming into the Gate would surely wake up someone, somewhere, to come and investigate.

No moment was allowed for a response, retort, rapport or any kind of bodily reaction. Fax was slashing loudly and quickly, a flip in his belly that got him swinging around in a youthspring of flexed tendons.

Communication connection status: Online…

Establishing connection sequence: 9B-00-37-7D-58-D3-12 125kHz…

Awaiting response channel 9B…

Security key integrity check…

Memory flush initiate 3…2…1…

Tampering Security key integrity check…

Verification successful…

Awaiting response…

It was happening, it was happening, it was happening! Isaac sighed relief and called on Workman to come and see the wonder he’d personally brought to his world.

“They’re there, they heard us, Workman. We’re going in!” Isaac cheered and turned to look at the Gate in grave anticipation.

Sequence verified, proceed composition 00-37-7D-58-D3-12 security dock…

Isaac didn’t have time to read out what was on the paper as red flared into the cab. A blast higher than that of the horn rippled quakes and air, as if something ancient had fallen down a staircase, thrashing strikes of disorder.

Looming mass of black metal crunched, coiled spins from within expunging massive bursts of unoiled friction. Nothing moved. Vibrations broke through bangs and slams. Rock peeled off the ceiling and surrounding walls that hugged the Gate’s body.

Nothing moved.

Layers of grime peeled off the Gate’s edges, with a sudden ear-piercing snap its middle tortuous split aside, revealing a dusty-white funnel of light-within. Slabs encroached Gate’s jagged form, its mass.

Isaac’s hands had not gone away from his ears, the deafening groans and bashes doing no justice to his sanity. But the end in sight continued regressing into the adjacent rockwalls.

“Aight, Super, ya did tit! Computers!” Workman reached for the train controls to steer the train, but Isaac grabbed him cold.

“Bridge got damaged, we must ensure it can sustain the weight,” Isaac instructed and took on to go outside in survey to the damages. It didn’t matter though as there were people on the other side waiting for their arrival, train or no train.

Heavy crunches of snow got him to the base of steel where he could see the catwalk in the middle being bent and damaged, nevertheless, still usable. Overall the integrity of the bridge appeared to have survived the fall of rocks.

On the other side, he just had to get to the other side. Absent-mindedly he took a step upon the grate of frozen metal, in hold to the railing, as his eyes stared at the heavenly light ahead.

His mind found reality with every step which finally brought him to look down and his knees to buckle at the new consternation.

Black abyss waiting to take him whole, immeasurable, deep and inevitable. Isaac grit his anger at this fear and tried to keep the pace.

But now he was fully trembling and the instincts for self preservation were pulling on his tendons of control.

His body backtracked swiftly and he found himself sitting at the edge once more in vibratious shivers, his hands reaching for his forehead and rubbing at the cacophony of stress that held no meaning.

“Bridge gone?” asked Workman to a startle that scowled. If his limitations would prevent important decisions, then so he’d have to play his role. He should send Workman to establish contact with the people in charge of this security checkpoint, before any rash decision were to be made, especially if the bridge was an unstable mess, and yet, if it was such, would’ve they opened the door for them to cross? Definitely not, there was no need to do all these insignificant and time-wasting gymnastics.

“We must the drive the locomotive across. Follow me,” Isaac instructed and headed back into the warmth of the mechanical creature. Positioning himself at the control, patiently he waited for Workman as he stared at the bright white blindness. There was no telling if there was a time limit upon which they had to react, so swiftness was key. He was to order Workman to get them in motion, when his teeth clenched and that doubt of reason festered deep in his mind.

What if the bridge collapsed? What if there was nobody on the other side and this was a huge mistake waiting to go south? In that case he wanted to not be here during that mistake, yet he couldn’t see himself crossing that slippery mess of a chasm. All choices pointed at his ineptitude that laughed and pulled at the only choice left.

“Run me through the steps on how to start and stop this machine, Workman.”

“Looksee, ai’ll just do it, Super.” Workman reached for the control, but Isaac ordered again in stern reluctance. “Ya push steerin’ up for cho-choo forward, middle stops, down go back. Clanker don’ always stop, so gotta…” Workman ducked and motioned with his hand for Isaac to go under the control terminal, “grab two wires an’ disconnect. See, red-yellow.”

Isaac stood idle and drenched himself in thought. It looked simple enough to follow. And without hesitation, he stood, “Workman, you will carefully cross the bridge. Once on the other side, you will investigate and I’ll drive over.”

“Ye fucking wha’? Don’ ya want me find small train. Ai ask bratans over there give one, ye-ye.”

“They wouldn’t open the door if the crossing is deemed unsafe.”

“Then ai stay, whas problem?”

“Problem is that you’ve been given an order. So get to work!”

“Ai ain’ crossin’ iceskate staircase. Ai see ya fall, fuck-thanks.”

“You’re scared?”

“Nah, ai just—”

“You’re scared.”

“Ai ain’ scare of some lil icefloor. Ye, how ‘bout ai go there, maybe bridge falls an’ ai get tell ye dead-ass, told ya ain’ scared, ha.” Workman stuffed his work bag with water and scraps of food and left the train with constant mumbles and unintelligible obscenities.

Isaac found it distasteful of the reaction and words, but kept his tongue in place, for the annoying little goblin would follow his orders. Anything else he would say could make Workman put more questions which Isaac was not going to answer. How could he tell him that there was doubt that anyone was on the other side, or admit that the bridge might collapse so it’s best for one of them to survive? Hell, he didn’t even want to think these things as this was a dance of death all within his head.

Workman appeared by the bridge and made some gestures that were tricky to distinguish, though he took no extra time and moved onto the catwalk, holding by the rail and turning around to gesture random things.

Isaac knew for sure he was shouting despite the inevitable muffle, yet he carried forth the gashing hole of damage, slipping many times. Yet, as many he fell, as many he came back up. Isaac knew he’d never have managed to do that, not with the paralysing fear of the gnawing mouth below.

After many moments of heartache from Workman’s slips and falls on the icy metal, the now-small creature was at the Gate and was waving back, or pointing, or flipping the bird…

No matter, Isaac pushed the steering forward and the wheels grinded into spin, but just as he neared the connective junction that had misaligned space between the rails, Isaac stopped the train and stared.

No, patience was not the answer. Pulling back as hard as he could, movement came to be and the silhouette of Workman shrunk further-so. Wheels of screeches was beating at Isaac’s ears, until enough distance gave a drop of comfort in this snowy scape to motionlessness-given.

Was this the right choice? Was his vision wrapped around tunnels and lured in by bright white light? Was it all just a dance of hunger, sickness and sleeplessness? Doubt overwhelmed, yet it was not more than that doubt which was stronger than any fear of death, the doubt of any of his expectations to be real: alone, forgotten, abandoned by his kind, no matter the efforts he’d put forth with a huge chunk of his life.

Caution had no more space, no more room, no more power, no more time.

Pushing the steering forward in painful throbs of his hand, the train revved speed and grind to dragging and scraping of steel. Despite it all, the motion felt weak, insufficient and mediocre, for which Isaac pushed harder and harder in hope to any significant difference. Workman was waving his hands as a silhouette in front the white, but whether it was a signal to stop or keep going, Isaac did not know.

His stomach sunk down as the entire train crunched viciously at the bad connection, his ears ringing loudly and eyes blinking in rapid successions to the metallic dust which overtook the cabin. Both sides kept the black abyss, which was all that could be seen; the structure beneath viciously groaning and wobbling in horrendous vibration of shaken drive.

Had he delivered himself to hell on a silver platter?

But before another chance had to introduce itself, a similar crash jolted him into the window, shoving out all air and dizzying his awareness. Next blink he could remember, all that could be seen were rocky tunnel walls and bright white light. Had they crawled out of the pit of nothingness? But there were still tracks and movement…

Shooting his eyes fully awake, he realized his success, to which he pulled on the steering to give stop to a further calamity. Viciously jolting: the machine had a different opinion as its speed slowed down, yet it seemed discontent of fully complying. Isaac tried again, this time also trying to shove it in reverse, but it was as stiff and immovable as a planet.

Fearing the worst he threw himself on the floor and shoved his hands deep into the terminal, feeling for the wires and pulling out too many for memory and rationale to figure.

Blue and red, that was it, right? Nothing. Yellow and… white?! Lights of the cabin died, leaving off a crimson emergency glow that trembled on Isaac’s re-attempt of bringing back his only chance.

Managing to bring back the light, he stood up and glanced ahead at a dreadful sight. Another Gate! His hands gripped the steering and just sporadically moved it forward and backwards to grinding and shifting noises that stumbled the train in horrendous shakings.

“Da fuck’s ya stupid—” shouted the voice which pushed his entire body away, stumbling over the terminal and falling on the floor to blinks of a creature kneeling under the terminal.

Motion ceased to be, just ringing in the ears and dusty coughs. Was this one of his colleagues? Were they really not alone in this? A suspiciously vibrant smile fell and crashed at the scowling face of Workman’s heavings.

“Аi say, wrench-monkey! Ha-ha, ka-gum. Bam-bam-boom! Was thinkin’ wher’ get candle for ye tombstone, blah. Lost our wheel when tit smashed, gave ye lotta fucking speed that. Eh, popped our last frontlight too.”

Isaac was rather happy to see Workman, rather happy to understand that he was alive in the hell that was reality, but before he could cook along what was said, ground shook and he dashed to the train’s exit to see what had just happened.

Gate of their entrance had just closed tightly shut, leaving off a vacuum of air that bristled against his sweaty face, which fell into obscurity as the lights shut off, leftover remnants filling up the imagination as bolts scrunched and snapped into hundreds of piercing noises.

Picturesque outcomes drew, to the inevitability of ever opening that thick mass of steel, under death of lights and renewed fester of darkness.

The two men stood, breaths bated in the looming black. Not a sound crept out, not a breath of wind in the disturbed air.

C20
Checkpoint

Dark erupted. A snap rang, pierced the air, reverberating across the tight space as a low whirr swelled in volume above.

It took some seconds: the whirring faded, a persistent drone grew; a number of flood lights secured high upon the walls around faded into life: pure-white light.

It was refreshing, for a brief moment, to have the change away from dim yellows and flickering blues. But all too soon it started feeling like a laboratory inspection.

Isaac crept to the ladder; footsteps echoing clear in the box of concrete.

Three wide windows sat raised a few meters off the ground on one wall, looking down like some gray monolith. They ran along the length of the room: a room long enough for a train with many carriages behind it, and wide enough only for the train itself, with a metal walkway either side.

“Workman, get out here,” he called to the darkness inside the train as he passed.

The slabby Gate they came in from was sealed tight. An identical Gate stood at the opposite end of the chamber, as featureless and grim as the first. It wasn’t a sight that filled him with joy.

Another door: a human sized door, stood close beside it, at the end of the metal walkway. A gray, characterless lump of metal.

Marching towards it, his fingers clasped the handle. Locked: naturally. Predictable. Never an easy way out in this place.

He turned to the echoey clunk of boot against metal. Workman climbed slowly down from the train with anxious glances, the concrete walls tall and painted with gloomy leftover resonance.

“Whas t’is? Security? Wher’ guardy at?”

“Um, security checkpoint. Head back inside, re-attempt the fax again,” Isaac shrugged off and squinted in response to the last words that resonated in a racey heart. Where were the guards?

“Tried that, bratan. First thing ai does.”

“Unsanctioned,” Isaac muttered through slight irritation that Workman hadn’t asked if he could do that, yet appreciating the quick thinking nonetheless. Stepping aside to get a better view, Isaac huffed to the bubbling disappointment.

The metal walkway clanged in the silence as Isaac moved across it, passing by Workman as he paced slowly to the back side of the tight space.

“A gray, featureless box. Three glass windows. Three locked doors.”

“Looksee, ai get somethin’ bash door down wivh?”

Isaac squared himself up against the middle of the three windows glaring down at him. Was someone inside, looking down at them from the gloom? Or just a trick of light.

The glass shone bright with the reflection of the floodlights above. Nothing could be seen inside, though the spider web cracks of this pane gave a dance of shimmering light as the glow moved across it, even when observed through the thick bars bolted across them.

“With what, the hob? The chair?” Isaac contemplated in sardonically.

“Got hammer, tools, will dismantle ‘em.”

“Erm, why not, go ahead.” Isaac gestured loosely in the door’s direction. “If you believe you could break down a SMARTa security door with some insignificant tools, be my shepherd.”

“Yappymouth.” Either not noticing the sarcasm or not caring, Workman trotted towards the gray lump of metal and bolts and shoved his hands into his bag of tools and cracker crumbs.

Isaac paced down to the end of the long corridor, looking closely at each window in turn. Wide cracks ran all around the frames. A result of the shifting rock perhaps?

The one closest to the door they came in by had by far the most damage. He could almost expect they could… No. No, that’s a stupid idea. He’d be fired within the hour if he tried pulling that off.

He turned up to the lights on the wall above. Thick cables came from each of them, ran along the corner of the ceiling like a flock of black rats and disappeared through a hole high in the wall. No chance of getting in through there.

With nowhere else to look, Isaac found himself looking down at his feet; the metal walkway beneath.

This whole space was clearly built for the security team to check over the train before letting it come or go. Long enough for many carriages, yet only wide enough to walk either side. A ceiling barely any taller than the train itself. And a crawlspace beneath.

A moment’s searching found an open hole in the grate that ran beneath the train, from where the security team could check undercarriage.

A few hours before, the idea of crawling into that darkness would’ve repulsed him, sent him calling for Workman to check it for him. But you don’t leap from a falling building without suppressing your fear of dark, tight spaces.

Besides, they were close. Just one more damn Gate and it was over. One.

Glancing over his shoulder, Isaac made to call his intentions to Workman, but decided to leave him tinkering with his tools.

It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like he was trying to hammer a chisel in behind the backplate of the doorhandle. It wasn’t going to work. Not that he was wrong for trying.

Snapping as it was pulled from his jacket pocket, Isaac’s flashlight whirred to life, powered by the strenuous grind of wrist against motor.

A thud followed of boots against dirt. It was moist beneath, clammy and cold. It smelled of oil and metal, a sharp tang that stuck in the nose and burnt the tongue.

It wasn’t big enough to stand within, but it hadn’t been the first time he’d gone down on hands and knees that day.

What was he looking for? Anything. Anything new. A scrap of paper with a new radio code, a switch for the door, a crawlspace to the security room. Hell, he’d settle for a warning written in blood by this point.

It was a long crawl, a dirty crawl. Wet sludge coated his elbows and the lower half of his jacket.

If this could be the last time he’d live to see his jacket this dirty he’d die a happy man.

Grunting at the strain of crawling while trying to keep his hand-powered flashlight active, Isaac finally approached the far end of the chamber. A shadow fell over him, Bob’s train looming as a form of dark metal above.

It stank even now of the fire, the ozone and smoke.

The thought passed his mind of how much of an earful he was going to get for damaging the train so horridly. In the dark, Isaac gritted his teeth. However much it was, it wasn’t half the earful he was going to dish out to whoever wound them up in this mess.

A thunk from above, another and another. Angling for a view between the concrete wall and the frame of the train, Isaac gained a view of Workman at the door. It seemed he’d given up on finessing it open and was instead just bashing away at it with his hammer.

“Workman!”

“Bah! Holy fu – scare me!”

“Cease hammering at the door, it’s impractical.”

“Wha’ ye doin’ down there, Super?”

“Bathing. Do consider, these doors are built to withstand sledgehammers, battering rams, even explosions. You’re not breaking anything with your little claw hammer.”

“Ball peen.”

“What?”

“Ain’ claw hammer, ball peen.”

“I couldn’t discern from down here. Inconsequential.”

“Ain’ got claw hammer. Would-ie nice, claw way fucking bigger for –”

“Cease babbling. Just cease hammering blindly and think of an alternative. I’m coming back. And, Workman…”

“Uh?”

“Sorr… erm, sort your equipment out. It’s a mess.”

“Yes, Supervisor.”

Nearly an apology… he knew Workman at least half deserved one from him. For his snaps and demands and accusations. But apologies weren’t something people in command made. And his urge to be ‘friendly’ wasn’t something he was going to let get in the way of…

His leg caught a lump in the darkness. It clanged coldly in the mud.

Isaac reached out a hand and, though he despised dirtying one of the last parts of his body that wasn’t consumed by grime, grasped his fingers around the shape in the darkness.

He gave it a tug. More followed. More still.

A chain of thick metal, curled up in the darkness. Leftover construction supplies, a tool used to hold the trains in place? He didn’t care why it was here, it was here now. And it was coming with him.

The crawl back seemed to take half as long as it had getting there, a buzz of excitement pushing him forward as the chain rattled and clanked in tow.

Excitement enough that he didn’t even pause to lament his sullied jacket as he clambered out of that dank crawlspace, marching towards Workman with chain outstretched.

“Bratan, ya look like—”

“A solution to our mutual door problem,” Isaac interrupted. “Come on, take it.”

“Tit’s like… nasty.”

Isaac chuckled as he pushed the chain in Workman’s hands. “Out of everyone I’ve ever met, you’d be the last I expect to care about a bit of dirt.”

Workman did an impressive display of holding the heavy chain while also touching it as little as possible. “Ya kidding? Hate gettin’ shitty-shit over meself.”

Isaac’s grin spread wider as he tugged on the other end of the chain, drawing it out from that murk below. Childish excitement sizzled from having solved their little puzzle.

“Bah, whas idea todo?”

“You just choose a spot on the locomotive you can hook this to, and then get inside. Erm, wipe your hands off on your coveralls first though, we don’t need mud all over the console. So many things are not up to code, I don’t need to have another tickbox added to the list.”

The other end of the chain snagged on the grating as Isaac pulled it up. It needed a kick that sent mud jumping across the floor. He didn’t care. The moment he’d accepted that his clothing was ruined, things turned rather enjoyful.

It had been quite some years since he’d last worked dirty like this. It’d be quite some time more if he counted his stay in stasis.

Workman disappeared inside, grumbling something about stains and soap, his end of the chain latched on the railing of the train’s stairs.

“Now, have the engine started. And when I call, put it in reverse!”

It was the work of a moment to latch the heavy duty chain around the handle of the man-sized door. And in just a moment more he’d backed a safe distance away.

“Move it, lad!”

The train huffed a grotesque sigh at being shaken again from slumber, and wearily sidled its way back towards the way they’d came in.

The chain pulled tight, Isaac’s palms grasped together, and in just a moment more…

Pop!

The doorhandle skittered along the floor, jumping and bouncing as it danced its way to rest at Isaac’s feet.

Darn.

He turned and signalled ‘cut it’ to the dark windows wherein Workman waited. Not that it was necessary, he’d already cut power to the motors. But it made Isaac feel in control.

What now though, what now.

Jogging to the door, he saw immediately his bright idea hadn’t done any good. Those idiots, those genius idiots had engineered the thing to just pop off if it was pulled too hard; pop off in a way that didn’t damage or even expose the internal components.

He had to be pragmatic about this. There were no access points, no electronics, no codes. Every door was bolted, every alternative had been tried and there was no way of reaching the voice he’d spoken to on the phone before.

It was the last thing he wanted to do, yet was all there was left to try, and this… this wouldn’t fail.

Isaac turned with a start, grabbing the discarded chain from the ground as he marched.

“That’s the finality of it then! Back inside, Workman, don’t you even dare think of coming out. And if anyone ever asks you about this: we found it that way.”

Workman’s head poked back inside the train, looking quite uneasy at whatever Isaac was planning. Isaac was glad he understood to keep out of his way.

Screw regulation, screw the Corporation and screw his position. What use was being Supervisor of a concrete box?

His march took him to the back end of the room, to the last of the three windows; to the window most affected by cracks and broken concrete.

“I’ve done too much today to listen to your pretentious rules,” he muttered to the Corporation in general, reaching up on tip toe and clamping the chain over one of the metal bars in tight hold. His toes scrunched in discomfort but his drive burned in scowling pursuit.

“Wrats, I don’t care if you’re listening, I don’t even care if you fire me,” his voice rose in defiance to the glare of the windows, the murmur of the lights. “I didn’t risk my life on the edge of the world to be chained-stuck in here, not another day, not another minute!”

Jogging back, Isaac grabbed the rail of the train and heaved himself in one great leap up to the top step.

“Forward, Workman! On my authority as supervisor, forward!”

The engine growled, a tired dog kept from rest, angry, tetchy, ready to grind away at its last strength for freedom from this awful chain around its neck.

It clawed and tugged and grunted against its strain, the engine huffing and gnawing as the chain wobbled and tightened and grated in reply.

A soft crackle came at last from the wall, the falling of a few small lumps of concrete.

The falling dust grew to a cascade of minute avalanches, each growing bigger, merging and joining until the entire surface was a haze of dislodged cement and poking rebar.

With a final howl from the engine, an unearthly screech of metal tearing from its bone, the whole frame of the window came loose from the wall.

Its solid lump hit the ground, dashed to pieces by its own weight. The rising rubble filled the air, sending Isaac dashing back inside the train, arms covering his mouth against the dust.

They’d done it. They were in. They had to be, right?

Workman came by Isaac’s side, eyes wide, but whether with surprise or concern, he couldn’t tell.

He gawked at the sight, at the open hole ripped in the solid wall. It was a rare thing to see Workman with nothing to say.

Dancing particles in light, only distant shapes could be seen inside through the opening, an abstract uncertainty that needed a closer investigation. Isaac kept squinting from the height of their train and into the hole, only managing to decipher several sneezes of snotty cement.

“Advance on,” Isaac quipped. Stepping down the ladder, he couldn’t express how good he felt. The wash, the food, the bed: he didn’t know what he was more excited for. This was probably the proudest he’d felt himself in his…

But just then he noticed something else that hung from its cables off the wall, swinging left and right with a certain strange noise. A noise that had started sometime shortly after he’d pulled the wall down. A hiss? A buzz? A crackling he couldn’t quite make out.

It was a black speaker trying quietly to convey something indecipherable. It was no surprise he hadn’t spotted it before, being high enough to hide in the darkness of the gloomy ceiling.

“Workman, the speaker. Fix it.”

“Ai’ll try.”

Words, maybe. Every word a crackled hiss through a speaker too old and broken down to hear.

“Quickly, it’s vital.”

Tickly doubt was already rapidly spreading through his body. He didn’t even need to know what was being said to figure it out.

He was fined, he was fired, he was going to jail. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

Workman pulled open a small box set below the speaker and poked about inside with glints of metal and plastic.

He had done well, Isaac would even argue he did the best he could with the tools and information he had. With the excuses of likely dead Bob and dead Tony… maybe the Company wouldn’t even press charges?

Maybe if he threatened to go public with all this, they’d agree to just quietly fire him and sweep this whole thing under the rug.

The speaker crackled into sudden clarity.

“–ght. Seven.” A female voice. Stern but calm.

“Six. Five.“

“Ey, wha’ they countin’?” Grigore babbled, clutching his tools.

“Four. Three.“

“Erm… gnarly ruck, stay close…” Isaac warned.

“Two. One.“

A deep siren rang out several times into rest, crackling angrily through the ancient devices. Lights croaked in death, replaced with weak red that swung around the chamber. Another strobe flickered from above as a cylinder of black steel dropped from the modest ceiling.

It buzzed and hummed, ticking and clicking as it moved. It unfolded and spun, emergency lights flashing on its angular exterior.

Workman and Isaac stood together in dumbfounded awe of the sight before them, too startled, too terrified to do anything but gaze as this shape unfurled before them.

It finished unfolding itself and turned sharply. Sensors locked on. The barrel span. Something inside clicked into place.

“Ah, shit.”

The turret opened fire.

C21
Chokepoint

Furious ticking filled the air. Many sounds: buzzing, ticking, beeping, whirring, but it was the ticking that stood out sharpest.

After a long hold of breath, Isaac Forst opened his eyes. He couldn’t find it in himself to exhale though.

It was a huge device: boxy, with smoothed edges and a look of death about it. A meter wide by a meter tall, hanging down from the ceiling above.

The barrel span. The gun aimed at his chest. All that came: ‘tic-tic-tic-tic’. He had to get away from this horrific thing.

“What in dwell?! Get inside!” Isaac yelled, spinning and trying to dash away from those ticks; those endless ticks which clawed at luck’s next end.

Hot sweat dripped down his back as he span to find Workman right behind him. Workman was just catching on but damn if he wasn’t taking his time. A harsh shove followed, a shove fuelled by all Isaac’s instincts.

Disappearing from sight, stumbling away, Workman shouted out as Isaac stormed past, boots beating the ground as the dust rose in abundance and the ever present ticking chased his steps.

The entranceway come up quick before him, a cloud of gray dust still settling in the still air. Bounding up the rubble of concrete and metal scattered around, Isaac leapt, his arm grabbing and slipping from its perch.

He tried again, lungs heaving with the harsh grit in the air, glancing across to the turret as it hung there, watching his every move.

Isaac’s voice shook as he spoke, his whole body trembled. “Aid me, it’s too high. Help me up.”

“Fuck yourself.”

“What did you say?” Whatever. He had to get up. That damn turret was only interested in him and the moment that goblin noticed too, he’d dump him here alone for sure.

Heart beating in synchrony to the ticking of the barrel, he glanced back to the man scowling behind him.

“Grin-escapades, come here, I’ll boost.”

Without a word, Workman hurried over. Isaac glanced again to the turret, as it span and span in ghastly absence of death.

For a man with no meat on him Workman was a heavy burden to lift. His dirty boot grinding on Isaac’s palm, his sweaty stench rubbing over his clothes, it was with only the burst of Isaac’s adrenaline he managed to heave Workman up the half a meter needed for him to climb inside.

He stood gasping, his own exhausted body barely keeping itself together, watching as Workman disappeared above. Even a man of skin and bones was a hefty weight when you were frail and famished.

A crash came from above, something between a yell and a cackle. More noises, rumbling, boxes shuffling, furniture moving. Yet nothing to drown out the noise of that turret.

“Pick me up! Come on, pick me!”

The turret, the turret, the turret. Watching his every move, ticking ticking ticking. Any second, any instant ready to burst into life and perforate him.

Just a second of gunfire. Just one bullet. He didn’t know if it was jammed or disarmed but—

“Workman!”

Oh who cared why, he just had to get out of here.

“What’s your major predisposition, Workman do—”

Something black appeared from the shadow-veiled hole above. A lump of metal and plastic thumped down before him, and stood with slowly spinning frame on the ground.

“Scurry,” called Workman’s unseen visage.

“What in dwell do you expect me…” Grunting and growling, he climbed up the office chair Workman had dropped. It was a terrible thing to climb. The chair span, the back tilted.

He called out for Workman to grab him again, the wheels shifting beneath him on the uneven concrete shards and cinder blocks, stopping himself from falling only by managing to grasp on to that rough edge of cinder block and torn metal.

He made a promise to himself he would kill that creature, as he climbed. Kill him for whatever sick joke he thought this was. For a moment, it even took his mind off the whirring death hanging above him.

“Workman,” he seethed with words of ground gravel, “you, you wretch, you…”

Finding footing easily on the torn surface, Isaac found climbing inside to be a different matter. Through the panic and the darkness, the looming shapes behind the veil of his blurred vision weren’t enough to steady his footing.

A metal surface lay unseen beyond, his hand reaching to that gray lump, climbing across it, whatever it was, until it tilted down unexpectedly and dropped off to nothing just beyond.

Toppling head first, he slid off the sloped panel to the floor below. Groping in the darkness, legs kicking, fragments of faint red glowing in the room, while the emergency ones in the train chamber turned and turned rhythmically to this overbearing danger..

Isaac’s hand found purchase. It turned out to be a jug of water, however, and wasn’t helpful in staying his descent.

He landed heavily on his behind; the only help the water jug turned out to be was to moisten his uniform with some sort of dark sludge with flaky random bits.

He heard snickering from somewhere behind him.

How dare he be laughing. How dare…

Isaac turned and made a blind throw of the empty jug, missing Workman by quite a distance, spraying what little water was left across the walls. This only amused the creature further.

“You utterly lapsed in failure, Workman. Yes, we’re in regulation gray, but what does anyone know? You failed me. It was your duty to help me up!”

“So bang-bang can shoot me? Blagodarnost. Gave chair, didn’ ai?”

“After a lifetime. That thing would’ve opened fire at any second.”

“Ay, ain’ mine problem. Ain’ me puttin’ guns places.”

Isaac’s head shook. “You have no idea—”

“How ‘bout go write to H an’ R or somethin’.”

“Yes it’s your problem,” Isaac retorted, putting his last patience in to calming his voice. “You’re expected to work with me, Grigore, we’re a team.”

“Huh…” Workman fell silent, nodding to himself. His demeanor was reserved, somehow calculated and experienced. “Guess ya’re right.” Isaac could already feel the sarcasm just oozing out of Workman’s mouth. “Shovin’ me dead to save ye fucking neck. Teamwork, right?”

“Erm, don’t be—”

“Ya’re right, Supervisor.”

“Get the lights in order. Cease being such an animal.”

Of all the people, of all the selfish, incompetent creatures he could’ve been shackled to, he got the worst. He plead to think it was just a mistake, just his stupidity.

“Bah, spooktacular idea, let turret shoot us faster.”

It was either that or Workman saw this whole thing as a joke. Or he was just trying to get him killed. Isaac closed his eyes, the drum of heartbeat slowly lowering and getting his eyes to blur in tiredness. Excitement was fading off and the exhaustion and limited energy were drawing evident.

“Do you want to be imprisoned in this dark room forever?”

“Forever? Forever just today if bang-bang fucking kills me.”

“It wasn’t even… Erm, very well.” With a snap Isaac’s flash light came from its pocket and began whirring in the gloom.

Workman could skulk here and sulk if he wanted. Isaac had no intention of wasting his life in this room, not one door away from salvation.

The light from the train was barely enough to see by, marking only a framework of hazy shapes, outlines of chairs and buttons, while his flashlight was that splash of true clarity he needed.

There wasn’t much to be seen. Three doors from the room: two opposite the windows, one at the far end; the outline of what appeared to be another couple of office chairs set behind the lurking hulk of a computer console.

It was a long, angular thing. Ugly. Running the length of the room, which felt much shorter now they were inside. It was this lump of metal that had caused his trip. Several dials were missing, buttons smashed in. It was probably caused when he fell on them.

Would he get away with saying it was like that when he found it? He scoffed to himself, leaning closer to the console. Who was he kidding, as if they’d care about a few buttons when there was a giant hole freshly ripped in the wall.

Hopefully none of these was the light switch.

All in all there’d be a lot of explaining to do. Did they even know Bob was dead? The corpse in the carriage of the collapsed tunnel, it didn’t exactly tell him who it was…

His eyes blurred again with a long yawn which only led to more temptation, with more hesitation, with more excuses.

Glancing behind as a way to distract from such calamities, Isaac saw Workman idling in the corner, leaning up against the wall. “You’re exceptionally useful just standing there, aren’t you?”

“Ye, bratan, like most useful an’ stuff.”

There was nothing indicating the lights. Nothing Isaac could tell. Or the turrets. The labels of most of the switches had faded away; besides, the figure lurking behind was more than aggravating enough, even without speaking, to focus.

“You want to help me find the light switch?”

“Do ya want help me, please sir? Ai don’ know my way to candy store.”

“Um, we’re singing now, having a sing-song, that’s beyond useful. That’ll get us out of this… calamity.” Slapping his hand on the console, he turned on Workman, the clap of hollow metal clawing in the tight space. He couldn’t even think in this ridiculous place.

Workman raised his head from leaning against the wall. He even took the time out of his day to pull his eyes open. He nodded slowly to the ceiling.

“Follow cable.”

Shining above himself, reflections of light bounced around the room as his light hit the reflective metal of the strip lights attached to the ceiling.

His gaze turned down, following the path of a white cable emanating from the base of the unit. It ran across the ceiling, to the edge of the room, down and to a standard light switch, sat plain and simple beside the far door.

Isaac let the buzz of his flashlight fade to darkness. Of all the… ridiculousness.

“Ey, don’ blame ya,” Workman said. “Pretty easy miss.”

For the life of him, Isaac couldn’t figure out if it was mocking sarcasm or honesty that drove Workman’s comment. It didn’t make it easier: the pounding in his brain that also was now going at it without reason. It sounded genuine, but—

“Any bright ideas for disabling the defensive turret you’re keeping from me?”

“Nope.”

Isaac waited, expecting more to be said or at least for him to come over and stop slacking in the corner. Nothing came, just Workman’s closed eyes gazing in the dark. Tiredness shrouded his mind, making it trickier to continue the flow of solutions, making it trickier to push Workman, to get him to tell and do things. What if he just napped for a second… what if…

“How about you get up off that wall and check this console with me?” Isaac said through an exhale that quickened his heart. He wasn’t going to back down yet.

“There button scratched ‘Turret’? Unless there button scratched ‘Turret’ ai don’ know nuthin.”

“The labels are faded. Just pop open the console and trace the wires. I know you could do it, you did it at the signal box.”

A low growl escaping the man, he ground his head back against the wall. “Potatoes and bananas, is different. This has all mess of cables for all different stuff, goes through… fuck this dumbass shit, don’ even wanna explain.”

Isaac fidgeted with his flashlight through distaste of the obscenities. “You’re giving up.”

“Ain’ even possible. Shit kebab, wires go through wall: how ai supposed to follow? Potato-mash wall?”

Turning to the tall window, Isaac gazed upon the turret hanging motionless on the other side. He felt his jaw clench at the sight. “All done and said, that’s it then.”

“Uh?”

“The lights stay off.”

“Uh.”

“Until we know what we’re doing. Of course, the defense turret never actually shot us, but—”

“Let’s snatch another click-click try.”

Isaac breathed a dry chuckle. “No argument there.”

What to do next. He couldn’t even think straight. The whole world was swaying by this point, and judging by Workman, he wasn’t doing much better.

A way out. That’s all that mattered. The train, why was he even caring about the train by this point? They were already inside, they just had to…

“There’s three doors here. One of them has to lead out. You investigate these two. I’ll investigate the one at the end.”

Without a word, Workman idled for a random amount of time, then pulled himself up from the wall and sidled towards the closest door.

“If the lights function you can use them. It’s only out here we can’t risk it.” As Workman disappeared inside, Isaac chuckled, managing to call a few last words as the door swung closed. “And watch out for more defensive turrets!”

“Watchie for… for casserole. Cook yaself an—”

Isaac tuned out Workman’s babbling. It was just background noise to him by this point.

There’d be someone around who could let them in—open the door—shut down the turret.

Without the goblin creature around, Isaac leaned against the wall and focused on his breathing, weakness in his joints and mind glowing pain and suffering through his nerves. His need of rest, to just sit down, it amounted to tons of stones of force. No, there was work to do.

An itchy feeling grew in Isaac’s spine as he moved closer to the far door, turret hanging against the adjacent wall in eager thirst of chaotic action.

C22
Caged

A frame of gray and plastic lurked in the gloom, growing in Isaac’s mind as that last step to salvation’s respite. All the trauma, all the problems had paid off at last.

His hand resting on the smooth handle, it turned with a muffled clack as metal components shifted within.

The door slid open easily, blissfully easy, in contrast to all the troubles that had come before. One last laugh came to sit on his face though, as the sight beyond caused a startle in his mind.

Another door, nestled right behind the first. Much more in line with the rest of this place, much more… uncompromising.

He scrutinized the lump of metal before him. Why these places needed two he didn’t know but it wasn’t the first time he’d heard of these things being used.

Trying the handle, Isaac found it stiff and it turned with unsatisfying grinding, the components lacking any of the grace the first door had.

Grunting as he pushed, the door’s weight and his own body’s exhaustion standing in defiance of that final freedom, the crack slowly edged to a widening crevice, groaning and squeaking as the metal peeled away.

His muscles rippled with fatigue. In the fleeting moments of thought he managed, he wondered if ever in his life he’d felt so weak; huffing and straining and grinding his jaw to keep his senses as he mustered. Breaths panted through clenched teeth, flecks of spittle bursting forth while the dizzying choke-hold of—

Isaac caught himself at the tipping point his fingers locking instinctively around the door’s handle, only just managing to save himself from tumbling down a flight of steps beyond.

He tried to steady himself, knelt on the floor, breathless, gazing into that murk. His heart thumped in his ears with veins pumping in his neck.

What even happened? He remembered pushing the door, feeling giddy…

He reached for the flashlight: slipped, as it had, to the floor just beside his feet. He noticed even his fingers twitched with every beat.

There was a gap in his memory, a block in his mind. Maybe a minute, maybe less than a second, Isaac didn’t know. It felt darker than it had before. A darkness greater than was purely caused by the lack of lights around.

Pulling himself up, as a bucket of water was dragged from a deep well, he propped himself up on the metal frame beside him, black spots popping in his vision as he clasped his fingers around the winder of his flashlight.

It took some time to get the grip right. His fingers’ twitch caused attempt after attempt to end in a shivered slip, until frustration grew in his mind enough for a harsh grab to seal the deal.

Again the winding came. It was slow, clumsy. Barely enough to sustain the light’s power, it faded erratically as the beam protruded the space beyond.

Isaac made his first step inside, shifting his weight gingerly from one foot to the next, hugging his body against the wall. The grinding dust, the risk of snags weren’t enough to deter him, he knew he couldn’t trust his body to recover from another stumble.

The space beyond reeked of stale air, clamped inside a tight stairwell that turned sharply in on itself twice; the steepness of the narrow steps made all the more daunting by the filtering shadows dancing on each jagged edge.

In a moment of curiosity, Isaac wondered what had hindered the door so much, his flashlight’s gaze revealing a…

Surprise grew at what he saw, surprise he’d managed to open the thing at all.

Rust coated the width of the hinges, aside from a spattering of black paint, fusing them into a single lump of dirty brown. The paint was peeling in many places and where it frayed, tumors of rust festered.

A glance up showed him two metal pipes coated in black paint of their own. They penetrated the wall, disappearing somewhere inside, passing directly above where the door’s hinges sat.

They looked dry now, but the signs of water’s decay were clear to be seen by the ancient coupling directly above the stains of brick-dust-red below.

Turning, Isaac set back down the short flight of stairs. The PVC door clacked smoothly closed on its own accord behind.

It was a dull space, nothing but those two water pipes and a single door at the base of the stairs. It went left, down more steps and left again.

Glancing back up the steps, Isaac wondered what the point of all that was. Running the pipes in through one wall then out through another, couldn’t they just…

This was no place for him to criticize, the Company must have had good reason for…

Snorting, glad he was alone to think his thoughts, Isaac went over in his head all the mistakes and blatant screwups the Company had already made. As if they weren’t at fault for at least some of what had happened.

All that mattered was he kept the facade up in front of Workman. All that mattered is that he didn’t voice to anyone on the other side of this door about…

The sight beyond the door was not something that pleased Isaac. It didn’t cause his heart to leap with joy nor even to skip a beat in excitement. There were no staff to be seen, no oak furniture or marble tiles, just a train.

Bob’s train.

His train, staring out at Isaac with its blackened visage of indiscriminate ambient emergency light.

Shaking his head, venomous disgust running through his veins, he defied it from being the same place, he vetoed it.

But there was the hole they’d torn in the wall; there, by his feet, a few meters away was the handle that belonged on the other side of this door; there above him, buzzing as its motors slowly… turned—

Door slamming shut, stumbling back, Isaac managed to climb half the staircase in a frantic motion of kicking feet and grappling palms.

He’d spent enough time dealing with that for one day. He’d spent enough time with all of this. If there was nothing useful, no escape in the other room, or beyond the second gate, he’d…

Maybe if he and Workman beat hard enough on the gate someone would hear. Maybe if they crashed the train against it hard enough it would just break.

Climbing the top of the steps, he pulled himself unsteadily in the perfect black. Hissing, fingers and palms burned constantly, but he found pressing them against the cold of the metal door quite soothing for a few seconds.

He figured he’d grazed them pretty badly in his scrabble up the steps. Just another discomfort in the growing list by this point.

Isaac reached out and grasped the door’s handle and when the handle clacked and only offered resistance, with a sharp sound of an inner spring breaking… another item was added to that list.

The door wouldn’t budge.

Isaac tried again. He tried a third time. Then all at once it dawned on him, how he’d opened the door at the bottom of these stairs; the door that had been locked from the other side.

“Workman!” he yelled, fist beating the rigid plastic. “Workman, open this door. This gnarly thing, it’s – it has locked me out!”

He wasn’t going to wait. He wasn’t going to be ignored. He wasn’t going to sit in this horrid little closet and wait to starve to death.

He reacted the only way he could think, or more honestly, the only thing he had patience for anymore, tugging his boot from his foot, feeling around for the handle, he raised the boot high and beat it down with all the ferocity he could muster.

“Workman!” he yelled, as some crazed battle cry against the barrier of impassive polymer between him and what he wanted.

Every bam filled the tight space with a racket of piercing noise, Isaac grabbing the boot with both hands in a violent pounding, the handle of the door jolting this way and that.

“Workman get over here and… What? What the gnarly hell is—“

Coldness-damp trickled over his ears and neck, finding way down his chest with complete disregard for his dignity. It wasn’t that festering foulness alike the one at the cafeteria before the station, was it?

More cold trickled over his neck. Was he bleeding? Did someone spit on him?

Flinching off from the drippling water that crept from cracks above, Isaac growled and tried to push it off his hair, though somewhat stickiness gripped to his fingers. Could it be the dust playing tricks, or that horrible, foul, disastrous water?

He grabbed at his neck; his back, his shoulders, his hair was soaked. What was this? What was going wrong now?

Gaze turning like a panther’s to its prey, shining his light briefly above, the pipes became the easy culprit for the anomalous liquids stealthily soaking Isaac’s clothes, and the focus of manic outrage.

It was sneaking further down his body, putrid foulness! Hand smacked against himself in an effort to stop it sludging further down, though this only did him the favor of grabbing the attention of the turret that hadn’t spotted him yet. So now it clicked again at his direction, one painful clank after clank.

Another bang on the door only did him the harm of crawling pain to his bony hand, so instead he grabbed his discarded boot and used it as a makeshift hammer of desperation.

“Workman. Workman!”

With a new idea he raised the boot and did so upon the leaky-damn pipe.

He didn’t care as the leak became worse, he didn’t care as the metal started to bend and warp. He didn’t care as long as the clunk, clunk, clunk kept-

The door opened all of a sudden and Isaac found himself face to face with the panicked expression of Workman who took steps away to Isaac’s swings of boot that managed to land upon Workman’s hands of shielding.

It took less than a second, however, for Workman’s panic to split into a grin of laughter that stopped the attack.

“Wha… Wha’ the fuck, bratan? Wivh ya, ya boot!”

Isaac sneered, his boot still raised, ready to swing yet again.

“An’ ya drenchie-soaked, an’ ya beatis up—” Trailing off into laughter again as he pointed up at the pipes, Isaac’s temper broke.

“C’mere,” Isaac snapped, slashing his boot in the creature’s direction. He intended every swing to hit, but somehow Workman kept managing to skip away.

“Ey bratan, ey-ey, ain’ got bananas to hate for.”

“Where were you this time, eh? What’s your next excuse?”

“Used toilet.”

“You were using the toilet. Erm aren’t you just a useful li— Wait, there’s a toilet? There’s running aqua?”

“Who?”

“Water, liquid, drinkable-blue!”

“Dunno if water still runnin’ an’ burblin’.” Workman nodded to the streaming liquid dribbling steadily from the pipes above. “Made pretty good job of ‘em wha’ ai can see. But ye, toilet.”

“Did you flush it?”

“Ye.”

“You flushed it on me!”

“Na-nah, that was intake pipe.”

“It’s viscous.”

“Nu-uh, intake-intake.”

Isaac huffed and turned slowly to the side, watching the turret as it kept vigil over the door he’d poked his head through just moments before.

What was even the point of being mad? Of arguing with the only other living being he’d even seen. What was even the point of ‘trying’, when it was all so stacked against you.

Isaac dropped his boot to the floor, not caring he was one foot bare. He breathed deeply, his heart finally slowing back to a normal speed, glancing over the red lines, the grazes all over his palms. No smell emanated from him, other than that of dust, rust and stale air, so maybe it was an ‘intake’ pipe. Whatever.

Raw concrete. What’s not to love about it?

When he looked up again, Workman’s grin had fallen away, replaced instead with the blank exhaustion of a man who had no life left, maybe even mixed with a hint of caution or concern.

“Don’ know ‘bout ya, of ye orders an’ stuff: like wha’ guy on phone said. Tut ai say we sleep.”

“By the way, yeah, whatever.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Isaac had a strong urge to scold him for those words that had severe consequences if heard by the wrong person, but due to distant agreement he held his tongue and ignored in practicality. “Did you investigate the last room?”

“Nah. Used toilet.”

“I know you…” For just a second, Isaac closed his eyes and immediately a dizzying weakness took him. He caught himself; shook himself awake. “Erm, let’s investigate it and then rest.”

The two men wandered drearily to the final door. This door had the same appearance as the other one, Isaac noticed. Except this one didn’t have a lock. He checked.

The door swung open just as easy as the last. Groping against the wall, checking more out of instinct than expectation, Isaac actually found a light switch.

Flicking it on, not only was he pleased to see the lights actually work, but the glimpse of the view beyond was more than acceptable.

In place of a rusted security door, in place of a worthless concrete closet that doubled back on itself: a kitchenette of surprisingly decent condition waited for them in its place.

Its walls were stained and the yellow tiles still cracked but the overall vibe was quite homely. At least in contrast to the world outside the door.

Thought of the doors sparking his mind, Issac grabbed its plastic structure, stopping it bare moments before it would’ve clicked closed.

Slipping off his other boot, Isaac wedged it in the door. Sure, there was no sign of any locking mechanism but there was no way he was taking that risk.

Turning to a clattering of pots, he saw Workman delving inside one of the few cabinets against the wall.

The room was barely a few meters wide and a few meters more across. There weren’t even any chairs, just some cabinets, a kettle, some empty plastic jars and…

Some odd contraption, set into the wall at the far end of the room. A frame of well greened copper, a big hole, wide and deep in its center.

Moving towards it, walking barefoot past the kneeling figure of Workman, Isaac found himself mesmerized by this thing, how out of place it was.

A random hole in the wall, decorated with ornate squiggles of engravings all around its rim.

He glanced over the buttons’ markings. The alphabet. Zero to nine. Another button marked ‘OK’ and a final button marked ‘Cancel’.

Reaching cautiously, Isaac pressed ‘OK’.

The mechanical key clicked stiffly to his touch. Immediately following, a light flickered into life from somewhere inside and up the contraption’s opening.

A buzzing followed, a whirring like a fan coming to life before falling silent again a second later.

More lights came into life: multiple lights, set behind the brass panel the buttons were set upon, illuminating each of their marked faces.

Isaac felt Workman appear at his side, both men gazing up at this soulless puppet show of light and noise, when the brightness inside the opening turned off and a crackling of speaker static blared out.

It screeched awfully, filling the space with white noise that grew and compounded over itself on the smooth surfaces of this small room, until decaying into garbled fragments of a woman’s voice.

Vaguely recognizing it as the voice he’d heard before the turret dropped, Isaac hoped to God this thing wasn’t about to start shooting.

Amid the racket, the static and white noise, ‘Code’ and `Credit’ were the only scraps he managed to make out before silence fell.

Lowering his hands from his ears, Isaac shared a glance with Workman, standing beside him.

“What was that all about?”

“Ya’s askin’ me?”

“Look ‘Supervisor Training’ doesn’t brief you about random gnarly holes in walls, okay?”

“Ey bratan—”

“It’s not my fault there’s no one around to give us a proper orientation!”

“Ey-ay, ain’ sayin’ ya is-eh. Just asked question.”

“No more questions. Don’t want anymore questions. If I want to inform you of something, I’ll tell you.”

“Alright, boss.”

Isaac huffed a growl. On top of everything else, having to keep up this facade was just the limit. “What do you think it is.”

“Ai dunno, push button.”

Before Isaac even had the chance to register what had been said, Workman had already reached across and pushed another button.

“Wor—” Isaac started, making to smack his hand, but it was already too late. The cacophony of buzzing, static and screeches started all over again.

Recoiling from the noise, Isaac slapped his palms over his ears, unable to hear his own yelling over the blaring of the malfunctioning speakers.

When the moment passed, Isaac turned on the culprit “Workman, what have I told you?”

“Hear that? Hear what tit say?”

“No more questions and no pushing random buttons.”

“Said like type code for potato credits or some—”

“You already wrecked the locomotive once doing that.”

“Bah ‘me’, ye ai wrecked trainy-o.”

“I’m referring to before. When you blew the fuses.”

“Uh huh?”

“The second time was an… a maintenance error.”

“Uh.”

Isaac’s jaw clenched. “Don’t you ‘uh’ at me.”

Workman’s gaze was perfectly blank in reply. In contrary to the saying, Isaac pondered, in this case ‘nothing’ was vastly superior to ‘anything’ Workman would retort, until he finally broke through, “Tut not like that. But that. Like that.”

“Erm…” shifting his weight, Isaac waved at the device and ignored the indistinguishable babble that would come out that mouth. “It’s got this spacious hole, right?

“Is-eh food machine.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Ya know. Beep-beep, buh-vhrrrrrrrh. An’ drops food. An’ always gets stuck.”

“Oh, a… Erm, you might be correct. All these buttons, letters and numbers, just like a vending machine. The code must be a credit card or—”

“Ain’ havin’ mine.”

“Shh, I don’t th—”

“Ain’ havin’ tit. Grandma lost lotta money that way, one them holes in wall that puke money.”

“I don’t—”

“She put card an’ wall machine was like ‘nom-nom-nom’ an’ kept tit.”

“‘Chew on’—”

“An’ police came wivh crowbar an’ broke open tit an’ said, ‘nah, this ain’ no crime, you just stuffed sliced cheese inside.’ She tell ‘em t’is machine did tit on purpose to have hole same size as cheese to confuse her. Ai tell ya, she is-eh right!”

“Uh-huuh.”

“Then she said she wants cheese back. Was good cheese. Cops say nah, gonna take hours to clean tit out, tut she says it’s her cheese an’ takin’ it’s stealin’, an’ said tin badges make conspiracy to steal her cheese.”

“You said she… lost money?”

“Yea, they give big fucking fine after she keyed coppers’ car.”

“Erm…” Isaac sucked his lip. If only assault was legal. “So she didn’t actually lose money from the ATM… machine?”

“Yeah. Mu-fucker coppers. Scammas.”

Isaac nodded slowly. “Erm… anyway, given how our wages work I doubt the vending machine takes cash, and there’s no—”

“Then she sued police department. When she lost she sued government.”

“There’s no slot for any card.”

“Ended up going to jail for ‘lil bit.”

“I believe it’s rationed out, or is on credits or other alternative currencies.”

“Woulda crawled longer tut Grandpa broke her out.”

“The problem is we haven’t received our employee IDs yet.”

“Drove hole right through wivh his roller—”

“And then pigs flew over the sky, right?”

“Aha! Tut it wasn’t real, just publicity thing by butchers.”

“I…” Every time Isaac became convinced Workman was just screwing with him, there was always one extra subtle detail that just didn’t make sense for him to make up. “Can you focus here? We’ll have time for your grandmother’s larceny later.”

“Just help ya think, bratan.”

“Well it didn’t. Just a ridiculous… erm, do you have your ID? Of course you don’t, why am I even asking?”

“Dunno. Whas tit look like?”

“Like… look, like this.” Slipping his hand impulsively to his pocket, he drew out a piece of paper he hadn’t even really remembered having.

It didn’t have much to go over other than a number and some disclaimers. There were no names, no pictures. He had to improvise a lie, any lie.

“See? Bob’s orders from management, and right at the top there, that’s his employment ID.”

“Them numbers?”

“The ones I’m pointing at? Yes.”

“Nah. Don’t got none numbers.”

“Obviously you—”

“Juss use that.”

“What? We, we can’t use that, he’s de—” Isaac stopped himself from the random assumptions he was to just spit out. Normally it’d have worked out, but there was an uncanny amount of attention that was being given, and bringing up things of uncertainty, even with the likeliness of them being true, was the worst idea of them all.

At least the lie that this was Bob’s number had given enough distance from the real identity of Supervisor Tony. Temporary bullet dodged.

Workman blinked at him. Why was it now of all times he’d actually start paying attention?

“De-finitely not going to be happy about it.”

“Wait, how ya snatch Bobie’s stuff?”

“Inconsequential.”

“Uh? Ya chatter wivh him don’ ya?”

“I haven’t met a living soul apart from you, do consider.”

“Rabbit holes against me. Plots an’ secrets? Like, testin’ me if ai take banana from table? Like if ai’m good worker-bee?”

Isaac chuckled. By this point he didn’t know what was going on. “If it is, Workman, I’m the butt of it as much as you. The note was just laid in the briefing room. This one is a copy.”

“Uhh.”

“Do consider, it’s important to keep Supervisors informed, after all.”

“We usin’ code or ai’ll go get peaches?”

“Let’s finalize our investigation around here first and then we’ll check out the code.”

“Checked. No food, just plates an’ stuff.”

“That’s the finality of it then. Erm, I’m going to use the bathroom, try clean myself up a bit. When I’m back, we proceed.”

“Yes sir, Detective.”

“Supervisor.”

“Supervisor.”

C23
Delivery

Isaac didn’t know why it had to be Workman to come up with the ‘bright idea’ of trying ‘Bob’s’ code. Such an obvious thing, even if it was unlikely to be the solution. He wasn’t going to let it ruin his day though, putting it down to his exhaustion and the stress of having to deal with such an obtuse man.

Finishing up his biologically mandated interaction with the toilet, grabbing the old metal handles of the tap, he twisted them through rust groans.

Hand holding under the freezing drizzle, Isaac waited for the temperature to increase. Holding no illusions of it ever warming up however, he resigned himself to his fate and pulled the zipper of his jacket down.

His numb fingers failing to get a grip, Isaac got out of the jacket and groped repeatedly at his cuff before managing to drag it off.

Pulling away the other sleeve, he stood ‘shirtless’ in the still air. His jacket released a puff of dust as he put it aside.

Stretching up in closure of his eyes, Isaac ground his fingers into his short-shaven hair.

Dust and grime and other things he didn’t want to identify came tumbling out. He tried to remember the last time he’d been so filthy. Probably the time his dog had leaped into a heap of horse manure and he’d had to climb in after her.

His chuckle echoed through the tiled space. It sounded like one of Workman’s stories for once.

Rubbing the grit from his eyes, Isaac turned his attention to the shallow sink and the taps above.

He hated what he was about to do to himself but, weighing it up in his mind, checking the water again to make absolutely sure it wasn’t heating up, Isaac concluded he hated this layer of sweat and this sticky, gooey coating more.

Pressing his hands into a bowl shape, he solemnly collected a handful of that frosty liquid.

A groan escaped him, a sharp hiss. His foot stamped the ground and the muscles all along his back and neck tightened.

Then another feeling, the relief of the water, that smooth, clean water working away at the layer of slime on his chest.

Another handful followed, then another. It was freezing and hideously uncomfortable, but as more and more layers of sweat left his body, the more he regained humanity in stark contrast to that swamp monster.

In the end, he shoved his head under the taps and let the glacial water pour over his scalp.

Grinding his fingers, twisting and stretching against the short stubs of his hair, Isaac watched as all manner of grit peeled away, carried on the back of the stream of clear water, turned dirt-gray.

When the water ran clear, Isaac turned the tap, slicked what water he could off himself, and stood.

Shivering overtook the body as he groped for his protective wears.

It was pretty stupid, disappointing even, that he had nothing else to dress himself with but to go back to this smelly, sweaty shirt and jacket, what else was there to do?

Prickly painful sizzles danced around where blood would try to circulate, the choke of breath hanging low in his chest to groans and whimpers. In a few minutes he could put his clothes back on, leaving his body to evaporate whatever moisture it could.

He knew it normally wouldn’t be as bad; the cold showers of his youth being nothing but a refresher for the mind, but as it was, in his weak state of body and mind, it was as if looking over the chasm of ends.

Making his shirtless way back to the kitchenette, feeling at least barely energized by his newfound cleanliness, Isaac pushed open the door with tremendous strain and stepped from the shrouded grime of the security room to the relative brightness he found inside.

New life carried in his step as if his old self had been sucked into the faucet and deep down into the pipes, only leaving the pristine newness that blinked wearily with every involuntary shiver. Yet, new pain and fogginess were now pulling off his heat, the cold not being replaced, only worsening.

Scanning for Workman, it took Isaac a while to notice him: sleeping on the table, legs dangling off the edge.

He approached cautiously in choked breaths. It was no doubt a light sleep, on his back and snoring slowly, Isaac watched his chest as it rose and fell.

He didn’t look healthy, those ribs just protruded through his coveralls.

Scratching his neck, Isaac reflected that if he saw someone lying on the street looking like this, he’d assume they were dead. Not that he looked much better himself. Both their bodies had been starved; degenerated by that disgusting stasis.

He considered waking the form of the discarded ragdoll, but decided against it for a moment’s peace from his constant babbling nonsense.

Turning to that odd device of copper, of holes and rounded buttons, Isaac slipped Bob’s orders from his pocket and reached out a finger to the smooth, illuminated surface of the first of many buttons.

One by one he typed in the code, mechanical keys cracking on brittle springs with every character. It wasn’t a short code. It felt like hours to type the whole thing, Isaac checking after every few button presses for assurance he wasn’t going astray.

Maybe he’d only have one chance. What did he know about it?

Workman shuffled behind him, though no less was to be expected. Shivers mistyped, buttons clanked.

With the last of the characters entered: 4913236265, Isaac braced himself for another bout of vicious white noise.

Instead came the greetings of a series of mechanical clicks from somewhere inside.

A row of numbers and letters span, a small slither of a panel he hadn’t even noticed until its movement caught his eye.

The number went up to only two digits, its flaps spinning until the first settled on zero. A moment later, the second settled on a three. Zero, three?

Whatever. There were no markings or indication of what it meant. He’d figure it out as he went along. What was next?

End of events brought him to remember the nasty cold which was still trembling his body. Enough was enough. Despite the dampness of his hair, neck and back, he brought back all his clothes upon himself. Ah, such savorly renewed, damp warmth.

Well, if Workman was to believed and this was just a normal vending machine wearing a fancy skin, all he had to do was pick…

Reaching, Isaac’s finger k-lunked a number. It stayed pushed in place, rather than snapping back out as the buttons had done before. Good. Promising.

His finger came down next on one of the letters, supposing one letter was as good as any other. It too snapped and remained locked in its place.

The light behind the panel flicked off as the one stowed somewhere up the wide opening came back on. Isaac edged back, already anticipating another assault from the speaker.

A loud and abrupt noise came, but the source wasn’t from any speaker. Whirring; the hum of a motor, to which Workman grunted and shifted behind. Then, all of a sudden, hissing of vacuum broke out.

“Ey, ey wha’ ya—”

“Is it blowing or sucking?” said Isaac, tentatively holding his hand out to the contraption’s hole.

“Whatcha doin’ tit wivhout me?”

Isaac tutted. “Don’t complain, I let you sleep.”

“Sleep, ai like—”

“Do consider, you don’t know how this machine works any better than me.”

“Toss my fish? C-Seven, that’s cake that is-eh.”

“Erm… really?”

“Yeh, diamond-choco-bon-bons crystal cake. Got pop sweets in.”

“Pop what?”

“Ya know, pop-pop! Fizz pop!”

“I don’t think it vends anything. It’s not doing a lot right now.”

“Like is-eh thinkin’. That’s noise of thinkin’ tincan.”

Isaac turned on the man. “I don’t think it’s a vending machine at all. How are you so sure you know anything about this?”

“Bah, ai know sacks of potatoes more than ye.”

“Pardon?”

“Yee.”

Isaac squared himself with the shorter man. “What did you say?”

“Don’ know for vender, don’t know for door. Get us mu-fucking trapped here, shot at.”

“The door has a security code, why would—“

“Ain’ much Supervisor, like all ai sayin’.”

“If you were just slightly better at obeying orders our situation would be much more technically straight.”

“Bah, ai follow all them orders. Workman, go fix console. Workman, fix train. Workman, my shoelace undone, come tie.”

“Workman,” Isaac rebuked, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. “I am a patient man, but right now patience is a virtue that’s rapidly decaying. I’m tired, and it’s been an excruciating day.”

“Yeh, fucking choco-bonbons melted.”

“You’ve had a bad day too. Which is why I’ll forget what you just said.”

“Like in all me pockets fi—”

Pulling Workman in a jerk, Isaac cut off his babbling. “Do consider, undermine my rank again—”

“Pullin’ me in for lil kiss now are ya?”

Isaac blinked at the goblin in his hands. Unbelievable. Unforgivable.

Shoving hard into Workman’s chest, Isaac watched him catch himself on the table behind.

The gnome grunted as he pulled himself upright, muttering, “Shove me again, ya see wha’ happens.”

“What? Tell me. Show me,” Isaac called, having had enough of this horrible behavior he had to deal with.

“Ya ask, ya get. Ye was lucky on train.” Workman took a quick step, making Isaac’s stance change quick to one of readiness. Sure he was taller, by much more, and, in a way, wanted to get into this fight, but reason screamed at him to stop this madness.

Plop.

Something metallic ejected from the device mounted into the wall. A squarish shape of metal foil.

The two men stared at it in the new-found silence of the vacuum’s absence. Moving past Isaac, Workman squinted at the package.

“Is-eh that… condoms?”

“Erm—”

“Ya freaky lil man,” he continued, eyes bulging as he backed away to the door. “Wha’ ya thinkin’, ey? Wha’, wha’ ya doin’ gettin’ condoms when just ya-me?”

“It, it’s, I don’t…” Damn, this was the most worked-up Workman had been.

“Ai ain’, ai ain’ for that, bratan. Ya go, go make do wivh ye hand or sumthin’, but ai ain’, that ain’ in me contract.”

“Shhh, Workman, listen. I didn’t know what I was ordering.”

“Uh. Ya sure?”

“Yes, I’m– you see any indicators on this thing?”

Workman paused in the doorway and turned to the device, watching it for a long moment before turning back to Isaac.

When he didn’t move to return, Isaac gestured him to come back. “Gnarly ruck, the condom’s not for… I don’t— Let’s just try another article!”

“Uh. Yeh. Ya pick.” A long pause followed while Workman glanced between the machine and Isaac. “But if tit shoots dild—”

“Workman!” Isaac almost laughed, but managed to suppress it as a sigh. “If you’re so insecure about it, you insert the code.”

“Ai’m stayin’ like here.”

“Erm… whatever. D-six, chosen ‘at random’, right?”

No reply came, just a cautious waiting at the edge of the room. Why did he have to be so ridiculous? Did he really think, really believe he wanted… He’d just call it another one of his games, if he hadn’t reacted so seriously to it.

He tried to put figuring out his eclectic companion out of his mind and turned back to the machine; the ‘vacuum vendor’ or whatever the thing would be called.

As it sat, hissing, Isaac noticed the number had changed: spinning, at some point, from three to one.

“There’s a number here,” he said. “It’s gone from three to one. I think it’s how many credits are left on Bob’s account.”

“Number of dicey chances.”

“Or that.”

“Ai prize choco-bonbons, extra chungus food.”

As if prompted by his words, a shudder came from the device and the whir of the vacuum grew oddly harsh.

It hadn’t struggled so much last time. Of course, it was just a pack of four condoms.

A grinding came next, a harsh scratching of metal as the whirring grew yet louder. Was something jammed inside?

Backing away, his trust for the equipment in this place having long since abandoned him, Isaac waited for the fire that seemed so inevitable.

With a heavy, scraping thunk, something emerged from up the hole. The shadows coming from inside shimmered, the light shafting through what seemed to be a tangled blob of spikes.

The vacuum cut out. The light inside shut off. The glow behind the buttons returned.

Approaching cautiously, Isaac snapped his flashlight from his belt, leaning in to the machine and craning his neck up at the sight.

“See it?” asked Workman, hovering over his shoulder.

“Um yeah.”

“Wha’s it?”

“Cactus,” Isaac deadpanned.

“Wha’? Lemme see.”

Isaac stepped aside but didn’t hand over the flashlight, instead just pointing it in the right direction for Workman to duck inside and see for himself. “You still say it’s just a vending machine?”

Reaching inside, Workman made a brief attempt at dislodging the old plant, jiggling it cautiously. “Nah, gonna cut me hand off. Like that poster: disability is-eh not indem-identity, ye.”

“Disability is not indemnity,” Isaac corrected to a low grunt of confirmation from the short man. As much as he agreed that anyone can be useful, pushing people with disabilities for maximum output, it felt a bit much in his current state of mind and situation. “First condoms, now an overgrown cactus.”

“Like, cactus when ya wanna eye-candy ye room.”

Isaac shook his head. Despite his hunger, despite everything he’d seen today, he had still hoped for a something to eat. Half a can of beans wasn’t much on an empty stomach.

“We’ve got one more article left,” he said, nodding to the counter before reaching to the buttons one last time. “Let’s see what we get.”

“Try lower.”

“What?”

“Like, lower letter. List is-eh like, in order of stuffs. Ai’d put food stuffs first.”

It actually sounded… pretty reasonable. Yet again it was Workman suggesting the obvious. It would be a problem if he let this keep happening, but for now, he reached out and picked his keys.

Again the whirring came, again the wait, again the idle shuffling of feet.

The whirring was different this time, louder and less harmonious with the blistering of air through the tangle of cactus.

Something ‘thunked’. It sounded light. This time it was Workman who hurried in to glimpse whatever magical treasure the hole had dumped on them. Isaac was less enthused, simply holding the light at the right angle.

“You see it?”

“Is-eh green, green box!”

Isaac nodded. It could be anything from cod liver tablets to church candles.

“Like gimmey light, like… Ye-ye, is-eh tea!”

No time for thinking, no time for caution as Workman shoved his hand in greedy haste. Naturally Isaac tried to get there first and claim the promise of delight, grabbing one-handed in beside him, groping in that mess for whatever packages he could find. Both men reached and groped and twitched every time their fingers thumped upon one of the many thorns of the cactus.

Every time his fingers found purchase the soft sound of tearing followed and a shower of black, scented dust fell into the midst.

Hissing as the thorns pinched his fingers one too many times, Isaac finally pulled his hand back from that spiky gauntlet.

Somehow the prize became unworthy. “This is it, it’s sufficient,” he said, moving to pat Workman on the shoulder. He stopped abruptly when he saw his hand: speckled and bleeding from pinhole punctures all over.

“Workman. Workman, take your hands out, that’s an order.”

“Ai nearly got—”

“An order.”

He withdrew his hands, although it was already too late to save himself. One glance at the speckles of blood trickling his palm was all Isaac needed to see before turning to the sink close by. Ah, at least some nice amenities were available, a way to debride grit and wounds.

Broken teabags and dust speckled the bottom of the machine, which was rather quite a shame and loss.

Pushing his palm under the steady stream of water, he glanced over his shoulder to Workman, who stood motionless, gazing at his palms. “Don’t be alarmed, it appears quite shallow.”

Workman kept staring in the pose of a surgeon, his fingers twitching, his face of horror. “An’ poison?”

“Pardon? It’s not poisonous, it’s a cactus.”

“Ye? Like, my Uncle Arnie—”

“Let it be finished with these stories, Workman. Get over here and wash,” Isaac cut in and crossed his hands, his stare breaking through the stupor of the untold story and bringing Workman underneath the cold stream of bloodful cleansing.

Despite the calamity of this vending machine, something good did come out of it. Between the dusty lighting and broken bags, one thing was for certain, that dust was still potent and allowed for a delightful-moment-to-be.

It was collected meticulously and slowly from the floor and around the bloodthirsty cactus; moving forth to the kitchen and putting them into a stainless pot that was found in one of the old drawers. Of course the mistake was made where Isaac had forgotten to clean the inside of it.

But just as he was to empty everything out in anger, he remembered the pot had been put upside down, and that usually would keep it pretty clean. Such came as a relief, as the pot then was filled with water, though relief was short lived as the problem of boiling it came to be.

Oven sat silently, rusted with decayed writings and icons featuring past’s information, but the trouble didn’t end there. Those knobs did nothing. No heat would come. Quickest way would be to see if it’s even connected to the outlet. Normally he’d task Workman with this, but somehow he found it prestigious of dealing with the tea—an equivalent to a sacred drink in such dire times.

Going to the side of the independent-cabinetless drawer, he dug his fingers into its edges and pulled. Nothing but a few scrunches. That wouldn’t cut it.

So he yanked ferociously, forgetting he’d put the pot of tea on that same drawer. Ancient grime that surrounded the drawer peeled off with a jitter in conspiracy to the splash of that delightful liquid on top.

Last time he’d had any givings with wood—those crates before the cafeteria—it’d turned into ashes and coughs. This one was not disintegrating in his hand, or chipping away…

In harsher pulls the drawer moved and gave view to grime and the expected hole inside the wall, one of power and to-be heat. He fumbled with the oven plug and pushed it into the yellow outlet, only to meet the resistance of something stuck in the holes.

Having none of its insubordination he kicked it in, the outlet’s outer shell cracking and falling to the floor, but the plug was now deeply nestled into its rightful place. Despite the satisfaction of a job well-done he then had a few skip of beats as he looked for the broken parts on the grimy floor. This was a job badly done and in no way deemable professional.

But it was too late to salvage the moment as the pieces had scattered like fine sand, yet in his discovery of failures, he found himself acquainted with two bullets of what looked like from a handgun. One of them had a rusted casing, while the other seemed to have lucked out in preservation, retaining its yellow coating.

Hesitance only festered for a while, as touching anything related to such power wasn’t an easy choice, though, with rapid blinking, Isaac took both bullets and gave them a new home in his pocket.

Onto matters of importance, he moved to the stove and held his hand on top, brushing off the rusty powder and grit he’d showered over it.

There could be no certainty to which knob did what, from all the timeworn inscriptions. Systematically, one by one, each knob was turned, some snapping off into many pieces, others surviving the new attention. His hand sought for the heat on the hobs or oven that lacked a door.

Nothing other than the pitched distant wind.

In an accepting sigh, he rested both palms against the glass surface, nostalgically seeking for the heat of their train…

Huh, ‘their train’, ‘his train’… interesting.

His eyes trailed in tiredness up to the sight of exposed-bare legs of what he assumed to be a woman. Anything above had been long ripped off, unveiling the embed of that same old corporate logo that only fueled the creeps at the back of his neck.

With a shudder and a grunt he tried to move away but felt a random tingle of heat. Not wasting a moment he flung the pot of tea into the open oven.

Satisfied with the strange outcome, he moved away, with a slight smile, to somewhere more comfortable than the eyesore above. Workman had already found some office chairs.

With an assuring whomp, Isaac fell back into the black, fake upholstery of the office chair. Oh, to sit down again. His eyes settled closed, his hands clasped gracefully around the empty cup.

He would have nodded off then and there, head nodding back against the chair’s rest, if not for the anticipation of having that aromatic warmth inside him. He pulled an eye open, aware of a figure standing above him.

“Sit down, Workman. Pronto, shift’s over for today.”

“Wher’ is-eh tea at?”

“Being baked in a few minutes.”

“Baked? Baked! Bah, but ya boil, not bake cake—”

“Cease your complaining. Wages here are thrice what you’d earn in City Maintenance.”

“Heh, earned wagie big sack bonus then.”

“Yes, assuming we still possess our jobs.” Issac scratched his fingernail distractedly on the worn table. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a good reason for everything, even pretending to be a Supervisor. Still, that wouldn’t stop them from—

Grunting, Workman waved that conversation aside. “Ey, who gives a banana! We gonna get hot slurpies. Door is-eh tomorrow.”

“They have to be wondering where we are by now. It’s not up to code…”

“Even got yummy peaches. Bah, left ’em in cho-choo. Gotta give little shimmy-shimmy on turret.”

“The defense turret. Erm, I suppose I should say something about the turret. After I… pushed you?”

“Ya think?”

Isaac sucked his teeth. “I just wanted to express, that… that… I pardon you.”

A perplexed smirk pulled on the corner of Workman’s mouth. “Ya wha?”

“For leaving me down there. I can perceive how that might’ve seemed like the right thing to do… from your perspective.” Whole thing felt awkward as the limitation of language hung heavy on Isaac. There was no way to say things without throwing away his authority, or without expressing remorse and showing weakness.

After seconds of gazing with his expression fixed in place, the smirk grew to a wide grin, a ripple of laughter following. “Whas? Darm, bratan, ai got ya. Whatever ya say, Supervisor.”

“Good,” Isaac concluded in utter seriousness, despite the presence of irony on the other side. He was too tired to be interested in any kind of excessive bickering.

“Wha’ did ya see, anyway?”

“Erm, when?”

“When turret stared to shoot ya.”

Sitting back, roaming at the ceiling, Isaac brought the rim of his empty cup to his lips and tapped it against his chin. “Proceed to collect our drinks.”

Workman didn’t wait to be told again and grabbed Isaac’s cup, skipping at the direction of the noisy heat. It took multiple bangs and obscenities, and Isaac used that to wonder about that dire moment when he thought Workman had crossed the line of natural selection.

“Did you just drop it?” Isaac called out, his eyes roaming the darkness and ebbing light.

“Nah-na, door broke off hinges, stupid trash,” Workman called back to a tiny snort of amusement for Isaac. His amusement tried to drain away to the problem that would keep reoccurring: of how they’d constantly damage conglomerate property, so he funneled that sweaty skip by gripping his pants.

“10-star restaurant deliveryyy,” chooed Workman in haste, shoving Isaac his mug and throwing himself on the office chair besides. Trying to protest the lack of precautions, Isaac pointed his finger but just gawked at the creature that tried to take a sip off the steaming fill of minty liquid, leaving off traces of snarls and obscenities.

So Isaac just leaned back and took a deep minty sniff, calming nerves to the anticipation of what was soon to twirl around his lips.

“What’d ya see?” Workman spoke, as silence crept around. What did he expect to have been seen was an alluded answer.

“I didn’t see my life flashing before my eyes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Wincing as the hot tea touched his cracked lips, the discomfort was soon replaced with deep satisfaction as the moisture spread across his parched pallet, lubricating all around his teeth, flowing fresh life into his gums.

“Just, how wasteful it felt. ‘I did all I did, just to die here?’” Isaac answered seriously, trying again to slurp some of that old elixir, and this time the slurp was acceptable, reaching the back of his throat and further down below. A deep warmth filled him as he swallowed.

Workman nodded. “This walkin’?”

“All of it. School, uni, studying, networking. You don’t just get handed the position of Supervisor, not in a million rotations.”

“Yeh, ai hear. Hear only way is-eh stealin’ it.”

Isaac choked on a cough, wiping off his lips on the back of his hand. It wasn’t possible Workman had figured him out, surely not, how had he slipped up?

He played for time to think, wiping off his lips more than necessary, dusting off the droplets of spilt tea. Sucking in a breath of air, he met Workman’s eye.

“And what do you infer by that?”

“Ya know, nep’ism. Bratan mine said only nep’ism gets ya Super, like stealin’ from people who earn it wivh sweat.”

“Erm, I worked meticulously hard to get here.”

“Sure-sure. Ya don’ know nobody who sweats here?” Workman was so insistent. It took a delay for Isaac to figure out the question, and then he tapped his fingers on the tabletop. He knew he could just lie, but bare-faced lies had a way of creeping back on you.

“Do consider, if you must know: just one.”

“Uh-huh.” A chuckle escaped Workman. At least it felt more like a good-humored laugh than a taunting one.

Isaac huffed, though found it hard to feel genuine irritation towards him. Maybe it was the tea. “Consider, she’s at the science laboratory. Her voice doesn’t even carry weight down here.”

“Ey, whitey coats lab, huh? Head of science? Master of chairs?”

“Erm, even if she was, that’s insufficient to get you Supervisor. Believe me.”

How he became ‘Supervisor’ wasn’t on his list of things he enjoyed talking about. As Workman took a sip of his drink, Isaac took the opportunity it presented.

“All done and said, how’d you end up here?”

“Dunno.”

Isaac chuckled, then realized he was being serious. “Wh— what in dwell does that mean ‘don’t know’?”

Workman’s eyes went wild as he recalled the story. “Ai dunno, bratan. Took job at City, woman who give me choco-bonbons said ‘drug test, drug test’, gave me needle-poke an’ then ai wokie up in muh-fucking tube.”

Scratching his close-shaven head, Isaac tried to figure out what he was even hearing. “You’re implying what, they kidnapped you?”

“Yeah! Ain’ signed document, nothin’.”

“What, you were… valedictorian or something?”

“Whas that?”

Somehow he doubted the answer would be a positive one, yet despite it all Workman was capable at getting things done. So it wasn’t as much of a stretch to ask. “You did exceptionally well at university.”

“Ain never done uni. Went once for cafeteria for grub, didn’ lemme see inside. Told me, ain’ no bazar for chicken sales.”

“That so? Who taught you, where did you acquire your profession?”

“Junkyard. Had one out back when was shortie-kiddo. Ai was bored like lots, an’ just go look at stuff. One time found skateboard. Ai fixed it wivh me fingers: new wheels, pretty much. Now ai got skateboard. Sold for boots, ai think. Yeah-yea, to fat rich kiddo. Figured ai will fix other stuff.”

“You ever discover digital equipment?”

“Pft, no. Never.”

Isaac found doubt in the tone which lacked the lively, confident note that the story of the junkyard carried. “Do consider I’m just curious. I’ve heard collectors would pay handsomely for something ‘working’.”

Chewing his lip, Workman made a show of checking over his shoulder. “Ye wanna wind up dealin’ wivh Inquisitors, go cut ye own head off.”

Isaac chuckled, shaking his head as Workman tipped back the rest of his drink. “Bedone,” Workman said, standing, “for today: we good. Got drink, got peaches, gotta sleep. That it.”

“My opinion too. We’ll head back to the locomotive an—”

“Train, ye crazy?”

“You want to sleep here? In the cold, slouched in an office chair? The locomotive has benches, it has heating.”

“Heatin’ can’t cook, train ain’ draw power enough.”

“It’s still connected to the mains right now, why wouldn’t it have power?”

“Bah, well. Ai dunno, but turret.”

“Just follow my lead, Workman. I know exactly how we’ll deal with this calamity.”

Knows exactly. Knows exactly nothing. Think, Isaac, think. Have to get to my bag, have to find the codes for this crusty door. Figure that out and everything will all start working out.