The shape of the boot was difficult to make out, but I saw it. Whether due to the effects of my earlier experience with the Nitrogen, or my current limited air, I didn't panic.

Maybe there was someone, waiting unseen and ready to pounce; Someone with a rebreather, or air tank waiting for me to investigate.

I quickly ruled out this possibility as I eyed the dust around the boot. The trail of my previous tracks skirted by, something I'd missed on my first passthrough, and I didn't see any other signs of human feet having tread where mine hadn't. Steeling my nerves, I made up my mind to get closer.

All senses were on overdrive as my brain continued to seek out any evidence of a trap. I crept slowly, trying not to make any noise as I got my first full glimps of the person the boot was connected to. All Outerall suits, regardless of Corporate affiliation, or Department, have a contact point near the collar meant for emergency communication and diagnostics if hand signals weren't viable.

I didn't need to use the diagnostic to confirm the state of the person in question: They were dead. Straight-up dead.

For one, the body was missing a leg, both arms, and Ninety-Nine percent of its moisture; It could've been a prop from a holo featuring ancient mummified skeletons, and I would've believed you. For another, the contact point was gone, along with a majority of the faded orange Overall still meagerly covering the desiccated corpse.

I had to fight to not get overexcited: Orange meant Maintenance. Maintenance meant a different configuration. Different configuration meant parts I might be able to utilize.

From where I stood, and by the appearance of the shredded suit, most of the components and systems along the back, and lower parts of the body had been...shorn off somehow. Through a number of openings, I could see tiny nicks and cracks along the ribs, vertebrae and skull. None of the cuts appeared to be recent. The dust within the edges of the tattered remains was thick, matching the surrounding flooring.

It's been here for a while. Good.

I relaxed just a touch as I turned over the body. It felt like it weighed nothing as the leathery skin stretched and deteriorated, causing my stomach to roll as I surveyed the remains of the decaying suit. I swiftly confirmed the Ident-chip, wicking system, and underlying electronics had all been removed. By what, or whom, I still wasn't quite sure, but what still remained made my heart leap in happiness.

A locking collar.

The air was getting thin, as my chest began to burn. I was overcome with an urge to breathe harder as I grabbed the tattered upper portions of the suit's remains, hastily extracting it from the body before making my way back to the opening doorway.

I finally made it back, having taken extra care not to disturb the Drones as I replenish my air and took the time to examine the spoils of my dive.

I almost whooped in happiness at the state of the locking collar. While there were minor blemishes which tarnished the metallic ring, it was wholly undamaged and serviceable. Even better? Stowed safely within the collar was an old, but usable soft-hood. Having not been deployed, the hood had still been packed, safely ensconced beneath the metal ring of the locking collar, which had protected it from harm.

With the hood, I had more range. How much more I couldn't say for certain. It turned my once Herculean task into something a bit more...mortally achievable.

There was a soft clink as I worked to remove the collar. I set the collar aside as I worked to unravel the source of the noise and found a palm sized metallic plate on what would've been the right breast of the Overall. A nameplate.

Laser etched onto the face were the following words:

MAINTENANCE.

[Branch, P.T.] CC05.

CIDENT#45-17-1138.

The last few digits of the ID caught me by surprise. I pondered for a bit as I realized who the body belonged to; It was the owner of the code. The code I used to enter the tunnels so many years ago. The code which was even now saving my life.

The presence of his body within the tunnels of an entirely different block was a mystery, as was the fact his codes were still working despite the proof of his untimely demise within. The length of time needed for his body to be in the state it was?

Wow.

I began connecting the collar to my own suit.

"Well, Mr. Branch," I said quietly as I readjusted the ring, checking the placement with my gloves to ensure it was positioned correctly, "Looks like I need to thank you. You've done a lot for me and I didn't even know you, so...thanks." The collar clicked as it sealed perfectly into position. I was feeling good all the way up to when I reached back to pull out the hood and seal it around my head, trapping the air inside the suit like a bubble.

Yeah. It...it wasn't good. Phew.

Between the skinsuit still being wet, the muskiness of the scarf wrapped around my neck, and a dead guy's stained and crumpled soft-hood?

I unsealed the hood, breathing heavily from the open doorway as I took off the scarf in a futile effort to cut the smell, even a little. It might have worked, but I couldn't tell. There were almost comical whisps of steam coming off of the soiled garment, looking like ripe smell lines in a classical cartoon holo as I wrapped the scarf around the suit's locking collar in order to free my hands. At this point, I was pretty convinced I'd need to get my nasal passages lead-lined the next time I visited a MedDoc. Perhaps it was even time to replace my sense of smell entirely...damn the cost.

I took a number of quick cleansing breaths, displacing the air by fluffing the hood open and closed a few times, before locking down and closing the doorway.

I jumped as I realized there were now three drones facing me from the tunnel, all three sets of eight eyes locked around my neck as they chittered excitedly, mechanical arms vibrating like rattles as their eyes turned a deeper shade of red. They were close...far, far too close.

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I yelped as one of them leapt, snagging my scarf and succeeding in dragging me onto the floor in one move. The soft-hood's seal held as the air was forced out of my lungs and I hit the ground. I was face-up as the drone dragged me, across the corridor and away from the door like a spider towing a juicy insect into a webbed lair. The scarf was locked tight like a noose under the locking collar as I struggled, gloved fingers trying to find a way under the loop in order to loosen it enough to escape.

I redoubled my efforts as I felt a rapid series of tiny vibrations, the tap, tap, tap, tapping of magnetic feet as the side drones converged. Two sets of utility arms darted toward me from either side as I untangled myself with a sudden jerk. The sudden freedom caused the scarf to accelerate as it slid along. The arms retracted as I heaved, leaning sharply to the right, barely avoiding the rush of pursuing drones as they buzzed after it aggressively.

I was now behind them.

The two side drones caught up to the first, tearing and ripping into the steaming cloth with the same breathtaking efficiency demonstrated on the conduits earlier. The first one stopped to join once it realized the frenzy had started, and they acted as one. The drone on the left was using a tiny cutting saw to shear sections of the scarf into ribbons while the other two stabbed through the material and into the ground with ruthless abandon. The red-cast corridor was occasionally illuminated by strobing snapshots of horrifying violence as they fell on their prey; Their sharpened probes sent off sparks with every brutal impact, showing all the grace of prison shivs being used to shank someone. It would've been an impressive display of synchronicity if it weren't so utterly terrifying.

I was trapped against the door, the three drones between me and the tunnel as I stood up slowly. The trio stopped; Their movements jerky and halting as I froze, mid-rise. My face paled at the sight of their bodies now turning slowly in unison to track me.

The scarf was now a distant memory, the mangled pile of unrecognizably shredded fibers forgotten like a lifeless victim. The remnants grew cold and discarded in the chilly air, and I didn't dare breathe as the arms of the drones began to rattle again. Three sets of Eight eyes darted from place to place, individually and in sets as they evaluated the surroundings for threats, or targets. Curiously they seemed unable to track me if I stood motionless like I was now. After a few tense minutes, it was clear the drones were no longer finding anything to focus on.

My thighs and knees were beginning to burn with exertion as I struggled not to move. My optics silently warned me of the Nitrogen imbalance in the air again, the alert set to a minimal mode so it would no longer block my view. As if on cue from the alert, the three drones skittered off down the tunnel, seeminly happy to move onto their next task as if nothing had occurred. At the very least, I knew what had caused the smallish cuts on the bones.

I waited a few more minutes before attempting to open the door and reset my air levels, quickly shutting the entry before the drones returned.

I had a theory on why they were coming, but I didn't want to trigger them again, not yet. I was shaking, this time not from the cold, but from the adrenaline of nearly being processed into a pile of shredded protipacks on a platter. My stomach growled despite the temporary weakness I felt at the mere thought of food.

I slowed my breathing to calm myself, thankful for the extra air the soft-hood afforded me, despite the scent, as I focused on the positives of the ordeal. Now...I had information.

It was becoming obvious, the drones only started coming closer once I kept the door open long enough for the warnings to go away. The first trip had been a fluke. The trigger seemed to be the ratio of anything except the Nitrogen Gas now present deeper within the tunnels, and it had been a wonder I'd made it as far as I had without running afoul unexpectedly.

More than once I'd stepped by the drones as they'd monitored me while the Nitrogen Gas mix was present. It felt safe to assume, provided I kept my distance where applicable, I wouldn't risk aggression so long as I avoided another hidden trigger I might not be aware of.

Judging by how the drones had reacted once the trigger conditions were met, I had to assume their primary hunting senses were between electrical, scent, pheromone, heat, or motion. It was easy to rule out most of these options because of one absolute fact during the attack: They'd ignored me.

When I'd taken my scarf off, I'd wrapped it around the locking collar to free my hands. They'd gone straight for it, having been remarkably fixated on my neck when they'd first appeared. After the drone had bore me to the ground and I'd managed to untangle, they'd gone after it instead of attacking me.

I could argue there could've been enough...residue, to have left enough medium clinging to the outside of my suit to follow by scent, or pheromones, yet, they'd stayed solely focused on the scarf itself; Particularly once it had been dragged away. In similar vein, while Mr. Branch's suit had been torn to ribbons, and the electrical components removed, or destroyed; It didn't look targeted, just brutally efficient. I looked over at the pile of stray fibers and remembered the marks on Branch's corpse.

That leaves two: Heat and movement. The most likely and the most effective when paired together with cold ambient temps like down here.

I tried to imagine what Branch's last moments must've been like. The sheer terror of suddenly being attacked in the dark, and what he would've done. What I would've done.

I would've ran.

Based on my new understanding, running wouldn't have worked. It meant they would've gone into a frenzy, the motion drawing them toward him as he tried to flee. Worse? With every cut, he would've bled more heat into the frosty air, showing up like a fusion core in dark void, all the while drawing more and more of the drones from sub-tunnels he wouldn't have been able to crawl through to escape if he wanted to. The main corridors would've been drowned in the tap, tap, tapping of those magnetic legs just like I'd heard as they hunted. Legs which would've followed him as far as it took until the heat stopped showing and he finally stopped moving.

No way out.

I stared down the tunnel, which was now absent of the red glow of the drones and their creepily watching eyes. My mind began to play tricks, imagining spiders lurking in the far off corners to snatch and drag me away into the darkness, like the drone had begun to do when the scarf had looped around my collar.

Would it have tried to squeeze me through one of those smaller tunnels until I couldn't move?

The Nitrogen warning reappeared on my interface. I shook off the thought.

I had a problem, or so I had once been told, of imagining worse things in lieu of facing the issues immediately before me. I wasn't a child anymore, but even then I'd known the monsters were real. The imagination meant I made it even worse on myself if I couldn't get control of it.

Here? Now? I could do something about it.

I could do something.

Toggling the door open, I nodded to myself before readying up for another trek into the depths; The plan had not changed.

The plan:

1. Find another doorway which worked with the code. Avoid being Drone-Shanked. (Thanks, Mr. Branch.)

2. Try to trick the Goons into thinking I was going somewhere I wasn't.

3. Something something...lose em. I'll figure it out.

4. Success!

I sealed my hood and closed the door.

Better fear and action, than doubt and quandary.

Go time, Price.

I stepped forward down the tunnel.