The heavy silence that followed Cipher's manufactured comms failure felt brittle, like a held breath waiting to shatter. Outside the sealed steel door, the Undercroft remained quiet with no immediate retaliation from the Obsidian Jaws. But the lack of noise wasn't comforting... it felt like a coiled serpent, patiently waiting. Inside the junction, the only sounds were the low hum of the Probability Drive's struggling life support, the faint buzz of the dying overhead lights, and our own unsteady breathing. We'd bought time, maybe, but the clock was still ticking down with terrifying speed.
"Right," Anya declared, breaking the silence, her voice deliberately brisk, pushing past the uncertainty. "We move out as soon as Leo confirms the route specifics. Gear check. Minimal load. We need speed and silence more than firepower we don't have."
She started laying out the meager essentials on the workbench: the handful of nutrient paste tubes, the water flasks, the tiny medkit, her sidearm energy cells. The pathetic display underscored our desperation more effectively than any words. Looking at it, the stark reality hit hard – if this run went wrong, if we got pinned down or lost, we didn't have the resources for a prolonged engagement or detour. Failure wasn't just an option... it felt statistically probable.
Leo, having recovered somewhat from the adrenaline crashes, was back at the terminal, tracing potential paths through Chimera's Zone Alpha and Beta towards the targeted Gamma Ward. He muttered to himself, comparing Cipher's data with geological overlays, occasionally shaking his head. "The primary access corridor to Beta from the maintenance tunnel entrance looks clear on sensors," he reported, tapping the screen, "but Cipher's route suggestion curves through these secondary labs first. Adds distance."
"Cipher?" Anya questioned, turning towards the silent figure. "Reasoning?"
"Secondary labs exhibit lower probability of residual automated defenses," Cipher replied evenly. "Primary corridor intersects with known security network hubs. Risk analysis favors slightly longer, lower-threat trajectory."
It sounded logical. Almost too logical. My paranoia, simmering constantly now beneath the surface of exhaustion, flared again. Lower threat? Or bypassing something Cipher doesn't want us to see near the main corridor? Guiding us precisely? I watched Cipher's impassive mask, searching for any flicker, any tell, finding nothing but my own reflection warped in the dark cyan lenses. I quickly looked away, rubbing my temples, the [ERR: SYNC_FAILURE_7G] code ghosting across my vision. Need to stop this, I told myself. The pressure's making me see plots where there's just data. But the doubt lingered.
Anya seemed to share some of my skepticism, though she voiced it more pragmatically. "Longer route means more time spent travelling, more potential encounters, more drain on our non-existent supplies," she pointed out. "And relying solely on six-cycle-old scans for defense status feels… optimistic." She chewed her lip, considering. "That static burst might have bought us time from the Jaws, but Killian isn't known for forgetting slights. If they do come investigating…"
"Ignoring the hail might have been better," Leo mumbled, tracing a potential escape route branching off near Point Beta. "Less direct provocation."
"And have them show up assuming hostile takeover, ready to breach with seismic charges?" Anya countered sharply. "No good options, Leo. Just less immediately fatal ones. Cipher's plan worked, for now. We stick to the route that supposedly avoids security hubs." Her tone brokered no further argument, but the friction was clear as she weighed Cipher's suspiciously detailed knowledge against known Undercroft dangers and the wildcard Obsidian Jaws.
While they finalized the route, I focused on a gear check, my movements slow, deliberate. Multi-tool – check, battery - gone (no more flashlight duty, I guess). Comm bead – check, static cleared. My own scavenged clothing – durable but offering zero protection. The cognitive fog made even simple tasks feel laborious. I fumbled securing a pouch, fingers feeling clumsy and disconnected. Useless. The word echoed in my head. I wasn't a fighter, wasn't a navigator. My one unique skill was offline. What was my role on this run? Ballast? Potential bait? Mobile diagnostic subject?
The internal conflict churned. Part of me, the cynical, exhausted part, wanted to just stay here, curl up in a corner, and wait for the inevitable system crash. But another part, stubborn and refusing to accept obsolescence, pushed back. No. I have to go. Can't leave them. Might… might see something. Might be able to help, somehow. The insistence felt thin, desperate, but it was there. I wouldn't be left behind, even if my primary function was currently just 'breathing pessimistically'.
Anya finished securing the meager supplies into two packs: one for her, one for Leo. She hefted hers, then tossed Leo his. "Travel light. Move fast. No unnecessary noise." She then moved to the Probability Drive, running through a quick lockdown sequence on an external panel. Lights dimmed further, the main drive core falling completely silent, leaving only the faint whisper of the junction's emergency battery-powered fans. The silence felt profound, dangerous.
Then, Anya placed a small, sophisticated-looking device which was likely a remote diagnostic monitor or maybe even a proximity alarm – near the sealed hatch, concealed from easy view. "Gives us a faint signal if anyone tries to tamper with the rig while we're gone," she explained briefly. "Low power draw, encrypted burst." Her preparedness was thorough, honed by countless risky situations, no doubt. I saw her pause, hand resting on the rig's cold hull for just a moment, a flicker of something deep and protective in her eyes before it vanished behind the pragmatic mask. That rig means more to her than just transport. The thought was clear, even through my mental static.
Leo secured his pack, nervously adjusting the straps. He hefted the bent golf club, its weight seeming utterly inadequate against the horrors we might face. He glanced towards the schematics still displayed on the terminal, specifically the layout of Zone Gamma. "Those… 'bio-engineered specimens' Cipher mentioned," he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, directed mostly at Anya but loud enough for all to hear. "The Chimera files… are they specific? Do we know what we might be walking into?"
Anya shook her head, her expression grim. "Cipher's data dump was mostly structural and systemic. Biological containment logs were either absent or heavily corrupted. All it noted was 'multiple Class 4-7 bio-signatures detected, containment integrity unknown'." She didn't sugar-coat it. "Assume the worst. Assume teeth, claws, acid, maybe reality-warping digestive systems. Treat every closed door like it's hiding something hungry."
Leo swallowed hard, nodding silently. His fear resonated with my own anxieties, amplified by the fragmented nightmare image of things writhing in cages.
Finally, everything was packed. The route was chosen. The risks acknowledged, if not fully understood. Anya stood near the breach, peering out into the darkness of the service passage. Leo stood behind her, looking small but resolute. Cipher waited near the opening, an impassive shadow.
I took my place behind Leo, focusing on the cool feel of the rock under my hand, the rhythmic thud of my own pulse. Just keep moving.
"Alright," Anya breathed, gripping her sidearm. "Let's go fetch some quantum fluid and try not to get eaten by science experiments or obsidian nightmares."
She gave one last look around the dim, failing junction – our temporary, compromised sanctuary – then slipped through the ragged hole into the oppressive darkness of the Undercroft passage, leaving the relative silence behind for the unknown dangers ahead. Project Chimera awaited.