The Probability Drive chewed through the narrow, damp tunnel, its powerful floodlights cutting a swathe through the oppressive darkness. Behind us, the silence felt absolute, the nest of Tunnel Stalkers thankfully not giving chase. Or perhaps occupied with mourning (or eating) their electro-cooked comrade. Ahead, there was only the twisting blackness, the rhythmic crunch of the tracks on debris, and the low thrum of the reality drive core, currently behaving itself thanks to my increasingly frayed cosmic duct tape.
Inside the cockpit, the atmosphere was thick with exhaustion, residual adrenaline, and the lingering, unpleasant odor of burnt insect flesh. Leo was quiet in the back, occasionally wiping condensation from a side viewport, his initial terror replaced by a wide-eyed, wary vigilance. Anya piloted with unwavering focus, her face illuminated by the complex glow of the controls, though I could see the faint lines of strain around her eyes. This place clearly took its toll, even on someone familiar with its dangers.
My own condition was… sub-optimal. The world viewed through the main viewport seemed subtly distorted, colors bleeding slightly at the edges, straight lines seeming to curve almost imperceptibly. The cognitive fog persisted, making complex thought feel like trying to swim through syrup. My headache pulsed relentlessly. Trying to even think about accessing [Perceive Glitch] sent warning bells ringing in my skull. It was a visualization of my mental 'toolbox' flickering erratically, the tools sparking feebly, refusing to properly materialize. The well was dry, and attempting to draw from it again felt physically dangerous. The URE's warning about potential Cognitive Damage wasn't just text on a screen... it was a palpable threat looming behind every stray thought.
"How much further?" I asked, my voice raspy. Talking felt like an effort.
"Almost there," Anya replied without looking away from the path ahead. "See that bend? Junction is just beyond it. Used to be a major pumping station nexus before the lines were rerouted decades ago. Relatively secure, structurally sound… mostly. Had power regulation issues, though."
As we rounded the bend, the tunnel widened slightly. Ahead, the floodlights revealed not just another intersection, but a larger chamber carved out of the rock and concrete. Thick pipes, coated in rust and grime, crisscrossed the ceiling and walls. In the center stood an uninhabited, windowless structure built of heavy reinforced concrete. It was the maintenance junction building itself. Its thick steel door looked securely shut.
Anya brought the Probability Drive to a smooth halt just outside the junction building. She killed the main drive hum, plunging us into an eerie silence broken only by the quiet whir of internal life support fans and the distant, ever-present drip… drip. The sudden lack of the core's vibration felt strangely unnerving.
"Okay," Anya announced, unbuckling her harness. "Temporary pit stop. Need to check the rig for damage after that Stalker demolition derby, let the core cool slightly, and…" she glanced back at me, her expression assessing, "…get you upright, Debugger. You look like crap warmed over."
"Feel like crap reconstituted from recycled error logs," I muttered, fumbling with my own harness buckle. My fingers felt clumsy, slightly numb.
"Leo," Anya instructed, already moving towards the cockpit hatch, "stay inside, keep watch. Cycle through the external sensors. Yell if anything bigger than a mutated rat shows up."
Leo nodded mutely, his eyes scanning the sensor readouts she indicated.
Anya cracked the cockpit hatch. The air that wafted in was thick with the Undercroft's usual charming perfume of mildew, decay, and wet stone, but thankfully lacked the immediate scent of burnt insect gore. She dropped lightly to the ground, her boots crunching on the rubble-strewn floor. I followed more awkwardly, my legs feeling shaky, the simple act of standing and moving requiring conscious effort. The oppressive quiet of the chamber pressed in.
The maintenance junction building looked solid, almost bunker-like. Anya approached the heavy steel door, examining an ancient-looking control panel beside it. It was similar to the keypad outside her workshop, but even older, more corroded.
"Standard mag-lock, but the power coupling down here is notoriously unstable," she commented, tracing a finger over the rusted casing. "Sometimes it works, sometimes it needs… persuasion." She glanced at me pointedly.
I shook my head, leaning against the cool hull of the Probability Drive for support. "Don't look at me. Persuasion circuits are offline. Might manage to order a pizza telepathically if I'm lucky, but bypassing security locks? Not happening." Even visualizing the keypad's potential circuitry sent sparks of pain behind my eyes.
Anya frowned, then shrugged. "Figured. Alright, Plan B." She rummaged in one of her belt pouches and produced a compact, multi-frequency sonic resonator – a tool designed for materials testing, or, more likely in her case, finding structural weaknesses. She pressed it against the door near the lock mechanism, fiddling with dials. A low, focused hum filled the air, changing pitch as she adjusted the frequency.
"Looking for the resonant frequency of the locking pins," she explained, concentrating. "Old trick. Usually faster than cutting..."
Suddenly, a high-pitched whine emanated from the device, and it sparked violently in her hand. Anya cursed, snatching her hand back as the tool went dead. "Damn it! Power surge from the building's grid. Told you the regulation was shit." She kicked the steel door in frustration. "Locked tight."
"So… we're sleeping in the truck?" I asked hopefully. The cockpit, while cramped, felt marginally safer than the Undercroft tunnels.
"Can't," Anya stated flatly. "Need to run external diagnostics on the drive connections and check the track assembly for stress fractures after that impact. Plus, the rig's energy signature, even idling, is like a beacon down here. Need to power down fully, and we can't do that exposed." She looked from the stubbornly locked door to me, then back again, tapping a finger against her chin. "There is one other way in. Maintenance shaft access on the roof. But it's small, probably rusted shut, and getting the Probability Drive up there is… not an option."
"So we climb?" I guessed, already feeling exhausted at the prospect.
"We climb," she confirmed. "Or rather, I climb. Get inside, override the lock from the internal panel, let you two in. You," she pointed at me, "look like you'd fall off a ladder standing still right now. Stay with the rig. Keep Leo company. Try not to… I don't know… spontaneously debug the local gravity or something."
It was a pragmatic plan, playing to our current strengths (or lack thereof). She had the agility and presumably the tools. I had the distinct liability of potentially passing out if I stood up too quickly.
Anya retrieved a compact coil of synth-rope and a grappling hook from a storage compartment on the Probability Drive. She expertly sized up the ten-foot height of the junction building, eyed the rusted service ladder bolted to the side, and shook her head. "Ladder looks like decorative rust. Grapple it is."
With a practiced flick of her wrist, she sent the grapple soaring upwards. It hooked securely onto a sturdy-looking ventilation grate near the roof edge. Testing the line with her full weight, she nodded, satisfied.
"Alright," she said, turning back to me. "Shouldn't take long. Keep the comms open, even if it's mostly static." She gestured towards my ear where a small comm bead resided. Standard scavenger tech, mostly useless for long range, potentially viable for short-range line-of-sight. "Yell if anything changes. And Ren?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to pass out," she said, a ghost of a smirk touching her lips before she turned and started ascending the rope with fluid, athletic grace, disappearing quickly onto the flat roof above.
Left alone in the relative quiet of the chamber, leaning against the silent metal beast, the weight of my exhaustion pressed down harder. The silence felt heavy, expectant. My blurry vision played tricks, making shadows writhe in the corners of the floodlight beams.
Suddenly, Leo's voice crackled over the comm bead in my ear, tight with suppressed panic. "Ren? Ren, you need to see this. External sensors… rear quadrant. Something's coming back down the tunnel we just came from. Fast."
My blood ran cold. Back already? Or something else drawn by the commotion? Alone, outside the vehicle, with Anya on the roof and my brain running on fumes… this pit stop was rapidly turning into another potential deathtrap.