Chapter 65: Spatial Anomaly |
The building's interior had lost power. Flashlight beams swept rhythmically across the walls of the Corridors.
Once safety was confirmed, the entire team filed inside.
Kyle brought up the rear, doing his utmost to maintain a professional demeanor.
The building looked exactly as it had during his previous visit. Clutter piled high, bedrolls and Cardboard Boxes littered the floor, and the walls were plastered with stains and flyers. It perfectly matched his impression of this neighborhood. However, as he gazed down the length of the hall, the sunlight streaming through the windows seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. The scattered debris showed no signs of repeating, as if the corridor extended all the way to the edge of the world.
A Spatial Anomaly had manifested within the building.
Had this happened after he evacuated that night?
"Signal is green," the Mobile Task Force Commander at the forward base reported. "I've uploaded a map to your displays, but—"
"Don't rely on it too much, I know." The Captain asked, "Are there any Cognitohazards down there?"
"No such reports at the moment. Your Helmets should filter out most Cognitohazards, but avoiding contact is always the best policy. Keep me updated."
"Copy that," Vanessa replied.
Kyle silently followed the order.
After entering the building, the team took a left turn. Following the trail markers left by the N3 Team, they descended into the Basement via the stairwell. Everyone activated their shoulder lamps and under-barrel Flashlights, pressing deeper into the earth. Down past the first basement level, then the second, the third... until they finally reached the fifth level underground.
Kyle did not need to point it out; everyone knew it was impossible for this building to have a Basement this deep.
With every few meters they descended, the air grew hotter and thicker, until it felt as though they were wading through water. The stairs led down to a perfectly ordinary Basement. Glow Sticks and signal transmitters lay scattered across the floor, left behind by the N3 Team.
N4-4 tested the light switch on the wall, but it was dead. N4-3 discovered that the fire sprinklers overhead were merely decorative props, snapping off at the slightest touch.
It was as if they had stepped into a giant dollhouse. Whatever had created this place was pointlessly mimicking the building's architecture without any intention of adding original details.
Kyle quickly shook off the bizarre thought. He recited the operational guidelines in his mind to verify his own lucidity. He had never encountered a Cognitohazard before, but the field manual was perfectly clear: many Anomalies possessed the ability to directly warp the human mind. A single glance or a passing sound from certain entities could cause permanent disability or even instant death.
"We've located the N3 Team's trail at the bottom of the stairs," N4-1 reported. "Preparing to push forward to the Front Hall."
"Signals are all green on our end," the Command Center replied.
The squad continued to advance.
The Corridors were too narrow to maintain a wide formation. They pressed close to one another, moving steadily in pairs.
The basement Corridors repeated endlessly, stretching for fifty meters, then seventy. Finally, whatever had constructed this place decided to show some creativity. The passages and ceilings began to warp, becoming uneven and winding like a natural cave system. Tiny black spots speckled the concrete walls. Only the acoustics remained normal—aside from the squad's echoing footsteps, the silence was absolute.
After navigating through several marked intersections, the squad arrived at the Front Hall—a relatively spacious area branching off into three separate exit passages.
If one ignored the fact that they were dozens of meters underground, it looked like a decent children's playground. The merry-go-round and swings were weathered, but still functional.
Everything was proceeding unbelievably smoothly.
After reconfirming the area was secure, the team fanned out to inspect the surroundings and establish a defensive perimeter.
"I found the Drone," N4-3 announced. "They dragged it back from deeper inside and even tried to repair it. The chip is fried, though, and the backup data drive is missing."
"No personnel, no bodies. Just shell casings and bloodstains. They engaged in a firefight here, then suffered an attack from something sharp..." Number Four pointed his Suit's camera at a fan-shaped spray of blood on the floor. Following a set of drag marks, he panned the camera toward one of the exit corridors, where the trail of blood abruptly vanished. "It's possible the Visitor took them. The attackers and the Visitor might be working together."
Kyle and Vanessa were paired up.
He searched his way to the edge of the Front Hall, stopping near a seesaw to take a sip of water from his Suit's hydration pack while sifting through the scattered supplies on the ground. The straw rested near his lips, making it easy to drink. Unfortunately, his thirst was a direct result of being suffocated by his gear. The impermeable outer layer clung tightly to his skin, causing sweat to slide down the moisture-wicking inner lining and pool around his legs.
The subterranean heat was sweltering, threatening to slow-cook the entire squad. Yet, taking off their Helmets to cool down was absolutely out of the question.
"You're acting way too tense," Vanessa remarked, sweeping her light over a series of scratch marks on the wall. "Aren't the rumors saying you're arrogant and reckless?"
Kyle glanced toward the beams of his teammates' lights, making sure everyone was accounted for.
He didn't understand why Vanessa was bringing this up here of all places. "We're still on the open comms channel."
"They don't log every single word. Besides, you have to talk about something. Missions drag on forever. The more tense you get, the more you need to chat, otherwise your mind will snap."
"...Those are just rumors. I'm not like that."
"Oh? Does that mean you didn't unilaterally terminate a dozen Distortion Phenomena before bothering to report them?"
"Where did you hear that?"
"I'm from the Coven. It's only natural that I know a little magic." Vanessa seemed to wink at him beneath her visor, but in the gloom, Kyle could only make out the bulky silhouette of the Explosives strapped to her back.
"It wasn't a dozen—"
"Then how many was it?"
"...Not counting the Visitor, just four. Everything went perfectly fine before that." Kyle sighed heavily. "I'm definitely going to catch hell when we get back."
"You've got friends in high places, New Star. Be a little bolder." Vanessa walked past him and scooped something off the floor in the dark, her Flashlight catching a metallic glint.
It was an open pair of Handcuffs.
"The Class-D that the Containment Squad brought down with them escaped. Looks like he snagged the keys during the chaos, unlocked his cuffs, and made a run for it."
Several other Flashlight beams immediately swept over toward Vanessa, illuminating the restraints in her hands.
As the squad regrouped in the center of the Front Hall, Kyle spoke up. "I suspect that D-Class had something to do with the N3 Team losing contact. The combat personnel are dead, yet the bait managed to escape? He definitely didn't just sit here quietly waiting for the Visitor to show up."
"Good analysis," the Captain agreed. "We're missing two Guns from the scene. If you spot an orange jumpsuit, prioritize aiming for the legs. We need intel."
With that said, the Captain turned to face the dark Corridors leading into the unknown.
"Number Three, do we have any functional searchlights left?"
"An entire bag of them was crushed before they even had the chance to set them up. Whatever is down here definitely hates the light."
"So they were ambushed before they could finish setting up their perimeter. Fan out into formation. Command Center, we are initiating our attempt to lure the target... Command Center?"
A few seconds passed. There was no response.
"Damn it, we've lost connection... Outbound telemetry is still pinging, so they can probably hear us. Number Five, anything on your end?"
Kyle glanced down at the Communication Device on his belt. "Nothing."
"Report immediately if you catch a signal. Number Six, go reset the Explosives. The rest of you, take your positions. Once we make contact, blow the corridor and let a few of them through so we can see what we're dealing with. Number Five, stick close to me."
Six distinct sources of light fanned out across the spacious Front Hall, establishing overlapping fields of fire to lock down all the Corridors.
Kyle took up a position near the front center, placing him closest to the three tunnels where an Anomalous Entity could burst out at any moment.
His actual role was to act as bait.
The N3 Team had used D-Class personnel—death row inmates and violent felons—as bait, but the Pangolin Mobile Task Force had chosen Kyle. As a previous survivor, the Visitor would likely try to hunt him again. If it weren't for that specific trait, he never would have been qualified to join the Task Force in the first place.
The terrain ahead was simply too narrow; moving in pairs was the only viable strategy. For a six-man squad, their best option was to draw out the unknown hostiles.
Coaxing these unknown entities out of their labyrinthine nests was far safer than blindly pushing deeper into the dark.
If it meant avoiding a mountain of casualties just to secure valuable intel, Kyle was more than willing to shoulder the burden.
He dropped to one knee, settling into a firing stance with his weapon aimed squarely at the tunnel ahead.
Just beyond the reach of their Flashlights, the darkness seemed to writhe.
A warning flashed across his Eyepiece:
[! HAZARDOUS GAS DETECTED !]
"Toxic gas," N4-4 called out.
The Suits' internal gas detectors began to blare. A colorless vapor carrying the pungent scent of fresh-cut grass—the very same gas that had once knocked Kyle unconscious—flooded into the Front Hall, slightly refracting the beams of light.
First the scent of grass, then the nightmares, and finally the Visitor...
Kyle rested his finger on the trigger.
Dead silence.
"Does anyone have a visual on the target?"
"Negative."
"The Records indicate the Visitor relies on this gas to hunt. It has to be close."
"Stay sharp."
Time ticked by, punctuated only by silence and intermittent radio checks. Their initial adrenaline slowly morphed into an exhausting, rigid tension. Sweat practically poured from their bodies in waves.
The N3 Team had been in the Front Hall for less than ten minutes before they went dark. Yet the toxic gas had been billowing into the room for a full fifteen minutes, and the N4 Team had been holding this position for nearly half an hour. Still, nothing emerged from the shadows.
"Whatever is down here doesn't want to come out and play," N4-3 muttered. "Looks like we're gonna have to go cave diving, Captain."
"Could it be that we're missing some trigger condition the N3 Team met?" N4-4 asked.
"Maybe they just don't like our smaller group size," Vanessa chimed in. "Or maybe they just really have a thing for orange jumpsuits."
"To be fair, based on pure body weight, Number Three practically counts as two people," N4-2 quipped.
"Screw you," N4-3 shot back.
The Captain didn't say a word, likely weighing whether to modify their plan of attack or abandon the Basement altogether to regroup.
Kyle stood up from his kneeling position, making sure to announce his movement. "Just stretching my legs."
Staring into pitch blackness always took a mental toll, especially in a suffocatingly hot, confined underground space like this. Just thinking about how far they were from the surface was enough to make one's chest tighten.
It was no wonder one of the prerequisites for joining the Pangolin squad was scoring exceptionally high on psychological stress tests.
"You don't need our permission to stand up," N4-2 said. "We aren't going to eat you. Walk around if you want."
"I'd say he's finally getting used to our operating style." The Captain swept his beam from Kyle's back over to the right. "Number Four, your light is malfunctioning. Fix it."
"Let me take a look... It seems fine on my end."
"I'm positive the brightness is too low."
Kyle reached up to adjust his shoulder lamp and glanced over to the right.
Staring into the harsh glare of Flashlights for too long could cause visual fatigue, making it difficult to judge brightness and distance. It wasn't unusual to experience slight visual hallucinations.
Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he noticed that Number Four's light truly was malfunctioning. It had dimmed down to nothing more than a pair of swaying, gleaming pinpricks...
"Number Four, are you moving?" N4-1 asked.
"Negative."
"I have—Contact! That is not Number Four!"
The instant the Captain roared the warning, the swaying pinpricks of light lunged into the blinding illumination of their shoulder lamps.
Under the glare, its glowing eyes remained bright. Its razor-sharp, mantis-like forelimbs reared up high before slashing down in a deadly cross!