Prologue

"Hi, and welcome to your H2S Alive certification training course. The aim of this course is to protect you and other workers from possible exposure to Hydrogen Sulfide gas, also called H2S. It's also called sewer gas, stink gas, and many other names, and can accumulate around oil and gas equipment, pipelines, pulp and paper mills, in sewers, in mines, and in many other locations. When it accumulates in pockets of natural gas, it becomes what is commonly known as "Sour Gas." By taking this course, you will know how to protect yourself from H2S exposure at any and all of these locations."

The man watching the instructional video on his boss's computer sighed mightily, setting his heavy frame back in his seat and staring at the ceiling. This fucking sucked. The lady in the video seemed kind of hot, and that was honestly the only reason he hadn't tuned out completely.

"For a start, what is H2S? Hydrogen Sulfide is a naturally occurring gas that can accumulate in contained or underground spaces. H2S is colourless and invisible in the air, but it has a characteristic odour of rotten eggs, due to the sulfide compounds. It is also HIGHLY flammable. Burning H2S releases SO4, Sulfur Tetraoxide, which is a powerful greenhouse gas. As such, we do not recommend using fire to 'flare off' large H2S leaks."

The man's nickname among his coworkers was Roach, and he rubbed at his eyes and glanced at his hard hat. He just wanted to go back to work, for fuck's sake. But noooo, the supervisor had come around and asked him about where the SCBA gear was stored, and he didn't know, so now here he was, in the boss's office, fucking forced to watch a review of some shit every oilfield worker knew.

The company, Suncor, was just fucking paranoid at this point. At least the dumb bitch in the video had a half-decent rack on her, thank god for small mercies.

"The primary danger from H2S is not its concentration. Simply put, H2S bonds more readily to the iron in your blood than oxygen, meaning that in an environment with unsafe levels of Hydrogen Sulfide, you can suffocate to death while surrounded by oxygen. Suffocation and death can occur within minutes of exposure- which is why it is critical to always wear your monitor and to always follow the safety guidelines outlined in this course..."

The office door behind him was half-open, and Roach groaned as the lady started on another spiel about H2S. He already knew all of this shit, for fuck's sake. He didn't need to review any of this nonsense.

Roach sniffed the air and scowled, nose wrinkling. Someone had dropped a monster fart in the hallway, and it just smelled terrible, like they'd been eating nothing but eggs-

Wait, hold on. Wasn't that-

And then the little H2S monitor on his waist started going absolutely apeshit.

Roach bolted to his feet, panicking. Oh god. Oh god. What was he supposed to do? Muster point?! The lady in the video was still talking, but he couldn't be fucked with that. Something- he needed to get outside, out of the office building, NOW.

Roach bolted for the door and careened into the hallway, slamming into the wall and bouncing off. The alarm on his waist was still going absolutely apeshit, and he needed to get out, needed to get OUT-

He staggered out the door and careened down the steel steps, only to find to his horror that the smell was even stronger outside.

What did the training say again!? Get upwind?!

THERE WASN'T ANY WIND-

Roach just started running for the trucks, because actually fuck that noise. The parking lot was some ways from the facility, and he was just not in the mood for any of this crap. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket- fucking, fucking fuck. Someone had to know about this. Fucking- What was that number his stupid brother had made him memorize?

He dialed it in as he ran towards the fence, panting and out of breath. His eyes were watering, the acrid gas all around him burning his nose and throat- fuck, fuck, honestly, he was so fucking fucked. And the alarm was still beeping in his pocket, and honestly, honestly, just FUCK-

The phone was ringing in his ear, and on the third ring, the voice of some disinterested bimbo connected, going "Hello, You've reached the Government of Alberta Occupational Health And Safety 24-hour line, how may I help-"

"THERE'S A FUCKIN' GAS LEAK ON MY SITE!" he roared, "THE H2S SHIT, YOU KNOW?! THAT SHIT?! IT'S, FUCKING, IT'S FUCKING EVERYWHERE!"

"What?" The woman's tone sharpened, "What is the nature of the leak? Where are you?"

"I- Uh- I'm-" Roach rubbed at his face, stopping in the middle of his sentence, as well as just stopping generally. Which way was the fence, again? Fuck. But the question, he needed to answer her question, "The, uh, the...Suncor. With the, uh, the flarestack?" He said, staring at the flarestack, the red-and-white tower climbing high into the sky. "Fuck, my nose- it burns-"

"A Suncor site with a flarestack? That doesn't narrow it down. How bad is the leak? Are you safe?! Get to safety immediately, what are you doing on the phone?!"

"I- bitch, calm down, I mean, fuck, I mean, um…."

"Get upwind of it!"

"There's, there's no wind-"

"Oh, god-"

Roach dropped his stupid phone, because honestly, honestly fuck all of this. He was so sick and tired of this crap, and the world was just spinning, but like, at least he couldn't smell the gas anymore? It still, like, it still burned, though, so-

Someone was walking up to him, he noted dimly as he wobbled and sunk to his knees. Someone in, like, a mask or something?

The mask-person pressed something to his face, and Roach realized dimly that it was a mask just like the person's, and that there might be air-

Something inside the mask latched onto his face.

It was wet and slimy and stank like a gas tank, the stench inside the mask instantly filling his mouth and nose- and then the slime inside the mask started pouring into his mouth, into his nose, down his throat, choking and clogging his airways with thick black sludge.

Roach tried to scream, but that just opened his throat wider for more of the black sludge to pour in. Air. Air. AIR. HE COULDN'T BREATHE. HE COULDN'T BREATHE-

The man in the mask standing over him watched as his former coworker writhed on the gravel in terror and panic, the man's face almost invisible behind his mask. The sludge had fogged up the inside except for a tiny slit through which his eyes, blank and empty, gleamed.

The man in the mask watched and waited as Roach's convulsions slowed, and then, finally, stopped. The man's breathing stopped, too- one shaky, raggedy attempt, a last violent splutter- and then, nothing.

The only sound was the faint, frantic screeching of the woman on the other end of Roach's phone line.

Screaming for a response from the dead.

Seconds blurred past, and the phone's tinny speaker cut out as the woman hung up. In its place…nothing. Not a breath of wind, not a rustle of leaves, not a chirp of a cricket. Nothing.

Then Roach's chest stammered to life.

It inhaled the poisoned air once- and slowly sat up.

A/N: Oh god the OC train never stops. It's all OC's all the way down, folks. Brace yourselves.

If you liked it, hated it, or want me to suck on some black sludge, let me know! Leave a review, I really appreciate all the feedback I get.