The crudely etched error code pulsed in my vision, mocking, real, [ERR: SYNC_FAILURE_7G]. It wasn't just a phantom of my damaged cognition anymore; it was physically scratched into the damp rock of the Undercroft, a cryptic message left by… who? And why that specific code? The connection to the SOS signal felt undeniable, terrifyingly direct. I wasn't just receiving a signal; it felt like reality itself was actively trying to slap me in the face with it.
A shiver traced its way down my spine, colder than the Undercroft air, colder even than the residual chill from the temporal distortion. The paranoia flared again, sharp and insistent. Is this aimed at me? Specifically me? Did passing through that time warp… tune me in somehow? Make me a receiver? I glanced instinctively at Cipher, standing impassively nearby. Their cyan lenses offered no clue, no reaction. But the suspicion tightened its grip. Do they know? Is that why they're interested? Am I broadcasting something they want to intercept?
"Ren?" Anya's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. She'd followed my gaze to the etched code, her expression hardening. "You recognize that?"
I hesitated. Admitting the code matched the SOS felt… risky. Especially with Cipher listening, analyzing. "It's… familiar," I said carefully, tearing my eyes away from the disturbing glyph. "Looks like a standard system error format. Maybe related to… communication network failures?" Lying by omission felt like the safest bet right now.
Anya frowned, clearly not entirely convinced, but didn't press. She turned her attention to the etching itself. "Looks fresh. Made with something sharp, maybe a piece of scrap metal." She sniffed the air again. "And that chemical smell… stronger here."
Leo, ever observant, leaned closer to the wall near the etching. "Anya's right. See the scoring pattern? It's hurried, jagged. Not professional work." He then pointed slightly above the code. "And this discoloration… it's not soot. It almost looks like… acid etching, very faint. Maybe residue from whatever agent those scav-miners are using?"
"Volatile leaching agents," Anya confirmed grimly. "Stuff eats through rock to get at embedded ores or tech components. Nasty business. The 'Obsidian Jaw' crew was known for using similar unstable compounds back when I ran routes through Sector 9. Reckless idiots, blew themselves up more often than not." Her knowledge was specific, painting a picture of the human dangers lurking alongside the monstrous ones. Were the Obsidian Jaws operating here now? Did they leave the message? And why this specific code?
Cipher remained silent during this exchange, their head tilted slightly as if processing the new data points – the etching style, the chemical residue, Anya's faction knowledge. Minimal exertion, maximal observation. Still felt like being watched by a hawk disguised as a shadow.
"The trap," Anya continued, turning back to the bypassed tripwire. "The etching. The chemical smell. Seems likely connected to those scav-miners Leo mentioned. They block off tunnels they're working, use nasty surprises to deter rivals."
"Or protect their claim from whatever else is down here," I added quietly, thinking of the drag marks and the 'Apex Predator' Cipher had mentioned. Maybe the trap wasn't meant for us or rival scavengers, but for something worse.
"Regardless," Cipher interjected, their filtered voice cutting through the speculation, "lingering in this corridor increases probability of further contact. The Maintenance Junction is approximately 150 meters ahead via this passage. Recommend proceeding."
Right. Focus. Get back to the rig. Then worry about cryptic messages and paranoid theories.
We continued, Anya taking point again, moving with heightened caution now. I took up the rear, deliberately focusing on my footing, on the physical sensations of the tunnel, trying to ground myself against the swirling cognitive static and the persistent flicker of the error code hallucination. The near-miss with the tripwire had left a residue of adrenaline-fueled hyper-awareness; every shadow seemed deeper, every distant drip potentially sinister. I found myself glancing constantly towards Cipher, trying to gauge their reactions, looking for any flicker of intent behind the impassive mask.
The passage began to curve gently, ascending slightly. The air grew marginally less heavy, the metallic tang fading somewhat. Up ahead, Anya paused, signaling for quiet. Faint sounds drifted back to us – not clicking or grinding, but the low, resonant hum of heavy machinery operating irregularly, punctuated by muffled clanks.
Sounds like… the Maintenance Junction? Was something inside?
Anya exchanged a look with Cipher. Cipher tilted their head, listening intently for a long moment. "Energy signatures detected," the filtered voice reported, low and almost inaudible. "Fluctuating. Consistent with Probability Drive attempting primary system recharge cycle, intermittently failing due to damaged external conduits or unstable auxiliary power feed."
Relief washed over me, so potent it almost made my knees buckle again. The Wraiths hadn't broken in, or if they had, they were gone. The rig was still there, inside the Junction, trying pathetically to draw power from the dying auxiliary batteries.
"Let's move," Anya whispered, quickening her pace, relief warring with urgency on her face.
We reached the end of the side passage, emerging cautiously back into the larger chamber outside the Maintenance Junction building. It looked exactly as we'd left it: dimly lit by the dying overheads, the heavy steel door of the Junction securely shut. No immediate sign of Wraiths near the entrance. The ragged hole we'd blown in the side wall of the Junction wasn't visible from this angle, likely tucked around a corner or leading into a passage behind the main structure.
"Door looks secure from here," Anya murmured, sweeping her light over the main entrance. "Wraiths still around?"
"Bio-signatures negative in immediate vicinity," Cipher stated. "Residual energy traces consistent with Wraith presence, but dissipated."
"Right," Anya breathed, holstering her sidearm but keeping her hand near it. "Let's get inside. Main door. Now."
Cipher moved to the door's control panel, producing a thin, sophisticated-looking interface tool from their suit. Sparks flew briefly as they bypassed the external lock mechanism, which we hadn't been able to open from the outside before. With a pneumatic hiss, the heavy steel door slid open.
We hurried inside, the familiar (if unsettling) interior of the junction a welcome sight. The Probability Drive sat where we'd left it, humming faintly, its internal lights flickering. Anya immediately moved to seal the door behind us, then headed straight for the Drive's access hatch. Leo slumped onto his crate, looking utterly drained.
I leaned against the wall, taking a moment to just breathe, the relative safety doing little to ease the throbbing in my head or the [ERR: SYNC_FAILURE_7G] still flickering in my vision. We were back. We were alive. The rig was here.
"Wait," Leo said suddenly, his voice tight. He was staring not at the rig, but towards the far side of the Junction, towards the jagged, crudely blasted hole in the wall that had been our desperate escape route from the Wraiths.
The floor around the interior edge of the breach hole looked… disturbed. Scuffed. As if something large had indeed passed through after us, exiting the Junction into the narrow passage beyond. And there, lying on the dusty concrete just inside the lip of the hole, was a single, large shard of dark, obsidian-like material. Smooth on one side, jaggedly fractured on the other.
Anya, hearing the change in Leo's tone, walked over. She picked up the shard carefully, examining it under her flashlight. "What the hell is this?" she murmured.
Cipher stepped forward, extending a gloved hand. Anya hesitated for only a fraction of a second before dropping the shard into Cipher's palm. Cipher rotated it, cyan lenses seeming to focus intensely.
"Analysis," the filtered voice stated after a moment. "Chitinous silicate composite. Exhibits minor energy absorption properties. Trace biological residue consistent with… Apex Predator designation: Obsidian Crawler."
Obsidian Crawler. It had been inside the junction with us, likely drawn by the chaos of the Wraith attack or our explosive escape. And it had seemingly departed through the hole we made, into the very passage we'd used to flee. Had it ignored us because we were insignificant? Or had it simply chosen an easier escape route when the Wraiths provided a distraction and a convenient new exit?
The knowledge sent a fresh wave of ice down my spine. We hadn't just escaped Wraiths... we'd shared our temporary sanctuary with something designated an Apex Predator of the Undercroft. And it had used our back door.
Retrieving the rig was just the first step. Surviving long enough to fix it and actually use it felt like a problem of an entirely different magnitude. And somewhere, out in that darkness, Cipher watched, analyzed, and waited, their true motives hidden behind glowing cyan lenses and layers of impenetrable silence.