The fissure Cipher led us into was barely shoulder-width, a jagged crack in the ancient brickwork and underlying bedrock that felt less like a planned passage and more like a scar left by some immense geological stress. The air instantly grew colder, damper, pressing in with a weight that felt different from the main tunnel. The silence here was deeper, more profound, swallowing the sound of our footsteps almost completely. Anya's shoulder-light beam seemed inadequate, penetrating only a few yards into the oppressive blackness ahead.
Cipher moved with an unsettling grace that defied the uneven, slick footing. There was a fluidity to their motion, almost liquid, yet combined with a machine-like precision. No wasted steps, no tentative groping for handholds. They flowed over obstacles, their dark suit seeming to absorb the already minimal light. Their posture was consistently neutral, economical, offering no clues to their thoughts or intentions beyond the steady, forward progress.
Occasionally, the cyan lenses of their mask would sweep sideways, pausing briefly on a section of wall or ceiling, before continuing onwards without comment. It was impossible to tell if they were admiring the subterranean décolage (unlikely), spotting hidden threats, or simply running routine environmental scans.
Behind Cipher, Anya moved with practiced caution, her sidearm held low but ready, her own flashlight beam adding a second, overlapping cone of illumination. She clearly didn't trust our new guide any further than she could throw the Probability Drive, but necessity dictated following.
Leo followed Anya, his earlier terror seemingly channeled into intense observation. His eyes constantly scanned the walls, the floor, the low ceiling, his head tilting as he took in the subtle shifts in rock strata, the patterns of moisture seepage, the unnatural angles where brickwork met bedrock. He wasn't just looking: he was reading the environment in a way neither Anya nor I could.
Bringing up the rear felt like being the weak link in a very vulnerable chain. Every step sent a dull throb through my temples. My vision swam intermittently, the faint phosphorescent fungi clinging to the walls pulsing with nauseating intensity when the dizziness hit. I kept instinctively trying to engage [Perceive Glitch], trying to get a read on Cipher, on the passage itself, on the faint, weird energy signatures that seemed to bleed through the rock here. Each attempt was met with a sharp spike of pain behind my eyes, like poking a raw nerve, accompanied by a fresh wave of visual static – angry red and glitchy green pixels dancing mockingly across my field of view.
Damn it! Useless! The frustration was a bitter taste, mingling with the metallic tang of adrenaline residue. Can't analyze the ghost guide. Can't scan for hidden Glitch pockets. Can't even tell if that weird fungus is going to try and eat my face. The fear wasn't just about external threats anymore... it was the internal dread of permanent impairment. Had fixing the Probability Drive broken something fundamental in my ability? Was this cognitive fog the new normal? The URE remained stubbornly silent on the matter, offering no helpful [Debuff: Permanent Brain Scramble] notification, which was somehow even less comforting. I stumbled slightly, catching myself on the cold, slimy rock wall.
"Easy, Ren," Anya murmured back, glancing over her shoulder, her expression tightening slightly as she noted my pallor in the combined flashlight beams. "Don't push it. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other." Her pragmatism extended to battlefield triage, apparently.
Cipher paused ahead, holding up a gloved hand. Their cyan lenses swept across a section of the ceiling. "Structural instability detected," the filtered voice announced calmly. "Minor fault line intersecting passage. Potential for debris fall. Proceed with caution."
Leo immediately moved forward, squinting up at the indicated area. "Yeah… see the shear stress?" He pointed towards almost invisible hairline cracks radiating outwards. "And the water seepage is heavier here. Weakening the structure." He looked back at Cipher. "Can we bypass?"
"Negative," Cipher replied flatly. "Alternative routes are significantly longer and intersect known Stalker nesting zones. Minimal-contact passage is the optimal probability." They indicated a slightly wider section near the opposite wall. "Maintain proximity to the far wall. Minimize vibration."
We edged past the designated weak spot, practically scraping against the damp rock, holding our breath. Thankfully, nothing collapsed. Cipher's assessment seemed accurate, if unnervingly detached.
Further into the passage, the air began to change again. The damp earth and metallic smell lessened slightly, replaced by a dry, dusty scent overlaid with something else… faintly spicy, almost like cinnamon, but with an underlying electrical buzz. The phosphorescent fungi grew thicker here, casting a brighter, more coherent green light.
"What's that smell?" Leo asked, sniffing the air cautiously.
"Fulgur-spores," Anya answered immediately, her hand going to a respirator clipped to her belt, though she didn't don it yet. "Type of fungus that thrives on ambient electrical fields and reality static. Usually harmless unless disturbed. Kick up the spores, inhale them… causes hallucinations, sensory overload, sometimes spontaneous energy discharge if you get a high enough concentration."
Lovely. Hallucinogenic, electrically charged exploding fungus. The Undercroft's wonders never ceased.
Cipher seemed unconcerned, moving steadily through the spore-rich area. Their suit presumably had its own sealed environmental systems.
As we rounded another bend, the passage opened slightly. Here, the Fulgur-spores grew in dense, carpet-like mats across the floor and lower walls, pulsing faintly with soft green light. They illuminated a strange sight: several crude tunnels burrowing into the spore mats, leading off into the rock beyond. They looked deliberately excavated, not natural formations.
Cipher stopped again, cyan lenses fixed on the burrow entrances. "Secondary tunnel network. Uncatalogued. High concentration of spore particulate suggests… cultivation?"
Before anyone could comment on the delightful image of something cultivating exploding mind-fungus, Leo tensed, holding up a hand. "Wait. Listen."
We froze. At first, I heard nothing but the faint thrum of our own bodies, the whisper of air currents. Then, I caught it. Faint, but definite. A rhythmic, metallic chink… chink… chink. Coming from deeper within the main passage, beyond the spore field. Like a pickaxe hitting rock? Or something being dragged?
It wasn't the chitinous clicking of Stalkers. It wasn't the silent menace of the Wraiths. This sounded… purposeful. Artificial.
Cipher's head tilted again. "Analysis indicates patterned metallic impacts consistent with manual resource extraction or tunneling activity. Probability of encountering non-aligned human or semi-human entities: increased."
Non-aligned humans. Down here? Tunneling near explosive fungus? Either incredibly desperate or incredibly stupid. Or both.
Anya swore under her breath. "Vultures? Or something else? Last thing we need is a turf war."
The chink-chink-chink sound grew slightly louder, closer. Whoever it was, they were working their way towards us.
Cipher turned, cyan lenses sweeping over us, lingering again on me. "Decision point. Engage potential contacts? Attempt stealthy bypass via secondary spore tunnels? Or retreat and recalculate?" The filtered voice was calm, presenting options like a machine running through scenarios.
Retreat felt impossible. Engaging unknown tunnellers while flanked by potential spore-burrow horrors and still technically hunted seemed unwise. The spore tunnels… looked disturbingly small and potentially full of things that enjoyed cultivating hallucinogenic explosives.
My head throbbed. Choices. All terrible. Just another Tuesday.
"Optimal path requires assessment," Cipher stated, before Anya or I could voice our indecision. "Proceeding with limited recon of secondary tunnels."
And with that, Cipher moved towards the spore-covered section of the tunnel floor, not disturbing the main mats, but stepping carefully towards one of the smaller, burrowed side tunnels, melting into the shadows near its entrance with unnerving speed and silence, leaving us alone in the pulsing green light, the rhythmic chinking sound getting closer, caught between known unknowns and unknown unknowns.
- - - - - - - - - -
In art, décollage refers to a technique where layers of materials, like posters or advertisements, are removed or torn away to create a new composition.
Ah, the wonders of learning art and giving up midway. Maybe, I should share some doodles I make every now and then. 🤔