Area 12 Into the Depths

The maintenance corridor felt less like a part of a facility and more like the digestive tract of some great, concrete beast. The air was thick and humid, tasting of rust and stagnant water.

"Check your spacing," Miller whispered, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic thrum-thud of the massive industrial water pumps. "Don't let the shadows swallow you."

Their weapon-mounted lights cut through the dark in nervous, jerky arcs. Every time a beam hit a wet pipe, the reflection sent a flash of light dancing across the walls like a ghost. The constant drip... drip... drip... of condensation sounded unnervingly like footsteps following just out of sight.

Suddenly, a sound like a falling anvil tore through the corridor.

K-BANG.

The team spun as one, boots scraping on the wet floor. Six red laser dots converged on the heavy steel door they had just bypassed. The metal groaned, a visible indentation appearing in the centre of the reinforced slab.

K-BANG.

"Jesus," Hudson hissed, his rifle trembling slightly in his grip. The red dot of his laser danced erratically over the door’s hinges. "They’re using the GAU-arm as a ram. They’re going to bust through."

"Steady, Hudson. Deep breaths," Sheridan commanded, though her own heart was a hammer against her ribs. She pulled her tactical tablet, the blue light of the screen making her face look spectral. "If this map can still be trusted, the end of this corridor leads to a storage bay and a stairwell to the lower levels. We move, now."

"Ma'am?"

The voice was low, carrying the thick, rhythmic cadence of the Black Country. PFC Michael Cresser, usually the quietest man in the unit, had his rifle levelled at the door, but his eyes were wide.

"With all respect, Ma'am... we need comms with command. We need to get a full battalion in here with heavy weapons—Milan missiles, LAWs, the lot. Our 5.56's did nothing but tickle the buggers. We're outgunned, and we're being hunted in a basement."

Sheridan went quiet. The logic was undeniable, but the reality was bleaker. "We’re two hundred feet of reinforced lead and rock under the Cumbrian fells, Cresser. Unless we reach the comms array in the Tech Division, we're shouting into a vacuum."

SCREEEEEE-THUD.

The sound of metal shearing was sickening—the screech of the door’s frame being ripped out of the concrete. A sliver of red light from the lab beyond bled through the gap.

"No more talk!" Sheridan barked, stowing the tablet. "Stairwell, now! Miller, take point. Frosty, cover the rear. If it moves, you melt it. Move!"

The squad turned and sprinted, the claustrophobic walls closing in. The sound of their own frantic breathing was drowned out by the heavy, metallic clank-clank-clank of the constructs finally breaking through the door behind them—a sound that wasn't running, but a relentless, tireless march.

"The door at the end!" Miller shouted, his light hitting a heavy fire door labelled STAIRWELL B - LEVEL 6 ACCESS. "Frosty, get inside! I’m setting a claymore!"

"Negative, Miller, no time!" Sheridan yelled as she skidded past him. "Just get through and bar it! Go!"

As they scrambled into the stairwell, the temperature dropped ten degrees. The stairs spiraled down into a black pit that seemed to have no bottom, the echoes of their boots bouncing up from the depths like a warning.