The air at Point Beta felt thick, heavy with the sickly sweet smell of decay and the tangible hum of contained energy bleeding from somewhere within the entombed Chimera facility. The massive pile of rubble blocking the tunnel didn't just look like an obstacle, it felt like a deliberate seal, a crude scar over something best left undisturbed. The silence pressed in, amplifying the faint, almost subsonic thrum Cipher's sonic emitter began to generate as they scanned the debris.
Cipher stood before the chaotic barricade, arm outstretched, the emitter presumably housed within their forearm directing its invisible energy. Their posture was perfectly balanced, clinical. They moved their arm in slow, deliberate arcs, pausing occasionally. Cyan lenses glowed steadily, focused intently on the dense mass of ferroconcrete and twisted metal. It was like watching a surgeon plan an incision on a mountain.
Anya watched Cipher, her arms crossed tightly, radiating impatience. "Any decade now, ghost guide," she muttered, her voice tight with contained urgency. Every second spent out here felt like an eternity exposed. Her pragmatism, usually a strength, chafed against Cipher's methodical, data-driven approach. This flaw of her impatience under perceived inefficiency could be dangerous if it led to rushing things later.
Leo nervously shifted his weight beside Anya, his gaze darting between Cipher, the ominous rubble pile, and the darkness back down the tunnel. He fiddled with the strap of his pack, his anxiety almost palpable. "The resonance…" he whispered, likely feeling the low-frequency vibrations through the floor more acutely than we did. "Is it… stable?"
"Emitter operating within designated safety parameters," Cipher replied without turning, their voice perfectly level despite the almost inaudible thrumming. "Targeting identified optimal fracture point near upper left quadrant. Minimal collateral destabilization anticipated." Clinical reassurance that did little to soothe the gut-level feeling of precariousness.
While Cipher conducted their precise sonic surgery and Anya fretted, my attention was snagged by the discarded datapad lying near the abandoned Jaw tools. Cracked screen, scorched casing… but potentially holding answers. Why were the Jaws here? What did they find? Why did they leave their gear? The questions buzzed insistently, overriding the throb in my head and the flashing error code in my vision.
Ignoring the voice of caution screaming about booby traps or wasting time, I edged closer to the tools, keeping low, trying to be unobtrusive. The need to know, to gain some sliver of understanding in this chaotic mess, felt like a physical imperative. It was a compulsion born of desperation, my own flawed attempt to regain some semblance of control or usefulness.
My hand hesitated just above the datapad. It looked inert, damaged. But down here, assuming anything was safe was a good way to become part of the lingering rot. I scanned the immediate area quickly to make sure there were no obvious wires, pressure plates, or chemical triggers. Just discarded tools, empty ration packs, and the datapad lying innocently amidst the debris.
Taking a shallow breath, I scooped it up. The casing felt surprisingly heavy, dense military-grade polymer probably, warmish to the touch despite the cool air. Was it residual heat from whatever scorched it? Or internal components still holding a faint charge? The screen was a spiderweb of cracks, but beneath the damage, I could just make out faint, flickering lines of text. Maybe… maybe it still worked.
I retreated slightly, crouching behind a larger chunk of concrete, trying to shield my actions from Anya's sharp eyes and Cipher's omnipresent observation. My fingers fumbled with a small access panel on the side of the datapad, the same kind used for external charging or data ports. My fine motor skills still felt unreliable, clumsy. The [ERR: SYNC_FAILURE_7G] code flickered mockingly across the cracked screen as I worked.
Come on, you piece of junk. Finally, the panel popped open, revealing a standard URE-compatible data port, surprisingly clean despite the external damage. Hope flickered. Maybe I could interface with it using my multi-tool's limited data probe function? Extract any logs?
This was stupid. Risky. My multi-tool's data functions were basic, designed for diagnostics, not hacking potentially corrupted or booby-trapped scavenger tech. And trying any kind of interface, any kind of focused mental effort, felt like playing Russian Roulette with my already damaged cognitive functions. The last attempt had failed spectacularly.
But the potential payoff… answers…
Meanwhile, Cipher finished their scan. "Optimal frequency identified," they announced. "Initiating focused resonance pulse. Recommend maintaining distance and auditory dampening if available."
The low thrum intensified, climbing rapidly in pitch until it was a high-frequency whine just at the edge of human hearing, vibrating unpleasantly in my teeth and sinuses. The air itself seemed to shimmer around the targeted section of the rubble pile near the upper left quadrant Cipher had indicated.
Cracks began to appear in the targeted concrete slab, spiderwebbing outwards from a central point. Dust puffed out. Small pebbles began to vibrate, dancing on the surface of larger rocks. The process was controlled, almost surgical, yet undeniably powerful.
"Hold steady…" Anya murmured, watching intently, hand near her weapon.
Suddenly, a larger crack zipped across the main slab. With a low groan of protesting metal and stressed concrete, a triangular section near the top, maybe four feet wide at the base, sagged inwards slightly, then crumbled, cascading down the front of the pile with a surprisingly muffled thump and cloud of dust.
It wasn't a huge opening, but it was an opening. A dark, narrow gap leading into the blackness beyond the barricade.
The high-frequency whine from Cipher cut off instantly. Silence rushed back in, seeming even heavier now.
"Access point created," Cipher stated neutrally, retracting their arm. "Minimal structural compromise to surrounding debris achieved."
Anya cautiously approached the opening, peering into the darkness beyond, her flashlight beam cutting through the settling dust. "Big enough to squeeze through. Looks like it leads straight into a narrow conduit, just like the schematic showed." She scanned the edges of the breach. "Relatively stable… for now."
Success. Cipher's weird tech had worked. Now came the hard part: going inside.
Just as Anya turned back, likely about to give the order to move, my multi-tool, interfaced precariously with the datapad port, suddenly chirped. Not an error tone. A connection tone.
My heart leaped. Ignoring the throbbing pain behind my eyes, I focused desperately, trying to initiate a simple file directory scan using the multi-tool's basic interface protocols. It felt like trying to thread a needle during an earthquake. Mental static crashed against my concentration. The flickering error code intensified.
Then, text scrolled across my multi-tool's tiny display screen, glitchy but readable: [URE_OS v3.1 - JAWS_MOD] Detected. Root Directory Access Denied. Security Level: KILIAN_PRIME. Attempting User Log Access… FILE CORRUPTED: Daily_Log_Cycle_477.txt … FILE CORRUPTED: Survey_Data_Chimera_Alpha.dat … Opening Last Accessible Fragment: Memo_PRIORITY_7_UNSENT.txt …
The screen displayed a single, fragmented message:
…Crawler breach containment Zone Gamma confirmed. Thorne's Legacy is loose. Repeat, Thorne's Legacy is OUT. Killian en route main force. Objective: Retrieve Sample T-077 at all costs. Secondary: Purge facility. If compromised, initiate Protocol… [DATA FRAGMENT ENDS]
My blood ran cold. Crawler breach… Zone Gamma… Thorne's Legacy… Retrieve Sample… Purge facility… This wasn't just a scavenging log. This was confirmation of a disaster inside Chimera, something related to the Crawler, something called "Thorne's Legacy," and orders involving retrieval and purging. And Killian, the Obsidian Jaw leader, was apparently heading there with his main force.
Before I could fully process the implications, or even warn the others, the datapad in my hands suddenly vibrated violently. A high-pitched whine emanated from it, growing rapidly louder. Red warning lights flashed around the cracked screen, displaying a stark message: SECURITY PROTOCOL KILIAN_PRIME ACTIVATED! ANTI-TAMPER COUNTERMEASURE DEPLOYING! IMMINENT THERMAL OVERLOAD!
Shit! A booby trap! Not a physical one, a digital one! Accessed the wrong file, triggered a self-destruct!
"Ren! Get rid of it!" Anya yelled, seeing the warning lights reflecting off my face, already diving for cover.
No time to think. I flung the overheating datapad away from me, towards the main rubble pile, just as it erupted in a blinding flash of thermite-white heat and a deafening WHOOMP!
The concussive force slammed me back against the concrete chunk I'd been hiding behind. Shrapnel pinged off the walls. The sickly sweet smell was momentarily overwhelmed by the acrid stench of burning electronics and superheated metal. The noise echoed down the tunnel, destroying the fragile silence we'd tried so hard to maintain.
So much for a quiet entry.