The chamber smelled of old iron and stagnant water. The dim beam from Emily's flashlight carved out jagged shapes in the darkness — rusted railings, half-collapsed pipes, and the faint outline of a ladder disappearing into the ceiling. Somewhere far above, something metallic groaned, as if the structure itself was breathing in slow, shallow intervals.
Michael moved first, stepping over a corroded grate. His boots splashed in a shallow puddle, the ripples distorting the beam of his own flashlight. "Maintenance shaft's this way," he said, tone casual, almost conversational.
Emily didn't move. She studied him — the easy set of his shoulders, the measured steps, the way his gaze flicked to each shadowed corner. She couldn't shake the feeling that every movement was calculated.
Marcus kept close to the hostages, his rifle angled low but ready. Ana brought up the rear, silent now, eyes darting nervously between Daniel and Michael. Daniel walked near Emily, jaw tight, like every muscle in his body was bracing for a blow.
The corridor narrowed until the group had to move in single file again. The walls were wet, slick with condensation, and the air was so thick it felt like breathing through cloth. Overhead, a slow drip echoed with unnerving regularity.
"You sure this shaft still connects to the surface?" Marcus asked, his voice low.
Michael glanced over his shoulder. "Positive. The outer seal's rusted but intact. It'll take some work to open, but once we do, we're out of Kane's reach."
Emily kept her flashlight fixed on the floor, watching for trip hazards. "And if Kane already knows about it?"
Michael's lips twitched. "Then we improvise."
They turned another corner, and there it was — the shaft. A massive steel hatch, flush with the wall, its wheel-lock caked with rust. A faded warning stencil, barely legible, read: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The hatch frame was scarred with dents and scratches, as if someone had tried — and failed — to force it open.
Michael approached, running his fingers along the edge. "Still locked. Good sign."
Daniel stepped forward. "Or it means they welded it shut years ago."
"Don't worry," Michael said, crouching to inspect the base. "I know another way."
Before anyone could ask, he pulled a small pry bar from his pack and began working at a seam near the bottom. Metal squealed in protest.
Emily motioned Marcus to watch the corridor they'd come from. "We don't have time for slow," she whispered.
Marcus nodded, but didn't take his eyes off the darkness.
As Michael worked, Ana crouched beside Emily. "You really think he's leading us out?"
Emily's voice was low. "I think he's leading us somewhere. Where that is… still up for debate."
Michael's voice cut in. "I can hear you, you know."
Emily didn't reply.
With a final wrench, Michael freed a panel at the base of the hatch, revealing a dark cavity barely big enough for a person to crawl through. A gust of stale air rushed out, carrying with it the smell of dust and something older — like forgotten earth.
"This is it," Michael said. "The maintenance crawl. It bypasses the main lock."
Daniel eyed it suspiciously. "Or it leads straight into one of Kane's cells."
Michael's grin was sharp. "Only one way to find out."
He dropped to his stomach and slid into the darkness without hesitation.
Emily waited five seconds, then followed. The crawlspace was barely high enough to lift her head; the walls pressed in, cold and unyielding. She could hear Michael ahead, his movements steady. Behind her came Daniel, then Ana, Marcus, and the hostages.
The air grew warmer as they crawled, the silence broken only by the shuffle of knees on metal and the occasional clang when someone brushed against a pipe.
After several minutes, Michael's voice floated back. "Stop."
Emily froze.
"There's a junction ahead," he said. "One path leads up to the shaft ladder. The other…" He hesitated, just long enough to raise suspicion. "…drops into the flood tunnels."
Daniel's voice was tight. "And which one are you taking us down?"
Michael chuckled softly. "Relax. I'm not in the mood for a swim."
They emerged into a small chamber — the bottom of the shaft. A vertical ladder stretched into darkness above, its rungs slick with moisture. Far overhead, a faint circle of light hinted at the surface.
Michael looked up. "Still there. We're close."
Emily stepped forward. "I'll go first. Marcus, you follow with the hostages. Daniel, you and Ana bring up the rear."
Michael tilted his head. "No trust for the guy who found the exit?"
"None," Emily said flatly, gripping the first rung.
The climb was slow. The ladder groaned under her weight, and more than once a rung shifted unsettlingly. The shaft walls were close enough that her shoulders brushed them, flakes of rust sticking to her jacket.
Halfway up, she heard something — faint, but wrong. Not the creak of metal. Not the drip of water. A muffled thump from below.
She froze, looking down.
Michael was gone.
Her stomach tightened. "Where's Michael?" she called down.
Marcus looked up from the base. "He said he'd check something in the junction and be right behind me."
Daniel's voice echoed up. "Or he just left us."
Emily's gut told her neither was true — and that was worse.
From somewhere far below, a metallic clang reverberated through the shaft, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots running on metal.
Ana swore. "We've got company."
Emily looked up at the faint light above. It felt impossibly far now. "Move! Everyone up, now!"
As Marcus began helping the hostages onto the ladder, Emily climbed faster, ignoring the burn in her arms. The sound from below was growing — more boots, more voices.
When she finally reached the hatch at the top, she found the outer seal rusted over, just as Michael had said. She pulled a multitool from her belt and began working furiously at the lock.
Below, Daniel shouted, "They're in the crawlspace!"
Emily's hands moved faster, scraping away rust until the wheel finally shifted. With a grinding screech, the hatch began to turn.
A shaft of daylight pierced the darkness.
"Go!" she ordered, helping the first hostage through.
One by one, they emerged into blinding sunlight — an overgrown industrial lot, fenced and silent. Emily was the last up, slamming the hatch shut behind her.
But as she stepped back, catching her breath, she saw movement at the far end of the lot. A figure leaning casually against the fence.
Michael.
He raised a hand in a mock salute.
And then he was gone.