Chapter 3: Stealthily Unleashing Hell

Even after a week of using the stuff, I still couldn't get past the smell. The disinfectant used for cleaning the barracks restrooms smelled worse then the actual shit it cleaned up. Hell, a toilet filled with an eighteen-inch mound of fly-infested chocobo shit would smell better. It figured. Major Blockhead was more than eager to throw me another shitty task once I'd completed a previous one.

Damn I missed Sarge. I had worked under him back in the mines Narshe, and even a short time after I was transferred here. But soon thereafter, a re-organization of staff caused him to be transferred again. A death at Figaro Castle resulted in loss of military staff, and Sarge was re-assigned there, leaving me to work under the eyes of that square-faced asshole Major.

Maybe I shouldn't have complained too much. Blockhead put me here because I gave his favorite lackey an overdue physical punishment. I was here not because I'd screwed up or was incompetent, but for punching some money-laden, arrogant fuck head's lights out.

I never believed in solipsism, the idea that the universe around you is your dream and that stuff only happens when you think of it. The Ts'aosra'iy makes no mention of solipsism. But not a moment after I thought of punching Quentir's lights out, the lights in the bathroom suddenly died, leaving me with the sunlight coming in from the small window near the ceiling.

Power down emergency drill, most likely. They'd done those quite a few times before as a part of basic training, so there was no reason to question it. I pulled a small flashlight from one of the pockets on the outer side of my pant leg and flipped it on. It was powered by batteries, yet another one of the Shedairah mines' great products.

The whole room vibrated with a low rumble. An earthquake obviously. The Hyaxulan Mountain Range rested on a fault line. Small tremors out in this rural area were not uncommon. Loud bangs came in from outside, as though stuff was coming loss in the quake. Despite all this, the emergency sirens and ceiling-mounted hazard lights, both of which were operated by emergency power in the event of a blackout, had not gone off. Surely that was a good sign.

Five more minutes brought another few rumbles, each louder than the last, and an equal number of shakes that likewise increased in their intensity. I began to hear footsteps and shouting in the hall outside the closed restroom door. There was a knot in my stomach.

The little voice inside my head once again spewed its comments. Leonard, you might just want to think about hauling ass outta here right now. You despise the duties of RW anyway. Good point. Who am I to argue with my most trusted resource?

I grabbed my leather jacket off a stall door's hook and put it on, then was about to walk to the door when it came.

This was not a long, extensive shaking sound like that of an earthquake. It was a sharp, loud sound that rocked the room violently. Only an explosion could be so loud and destructive. I was thrown to the restroom's tile floor, landing on my right side. The loud BOOM was followed by the sounds of cracking mortar and twisting steel that was being pulverized right outside in the hallway.

For some indeterminate period after that, the bells and whistles of a thousand locomotives were going off in my head simultaneously, and my sense of direction was flipping head over heals. Finally, the world stopped spinning and the trains were silenced, replaced by the white noise of crackling. I stood up and groaned. My right hip ached, as I'd had banged it on the tile floor. I blinked away shooting starts and took note of the surroundings. That's when it struck me. Despite all the happenings—the blackout, the banging, the tremors, and the explosion—the hazard lights and the emergency sirens had still not gone off. I almost laughed at the irony. Before, I thought the lack of hazard flashes and sirens was a good sign. But now I reversed that outlook. Shedairah's troops were not stupid, and neither were its civilian mining crew. Both knew that in emergencies (such as this) they were to trigger the alarms and hazard lights. If something happened to prevent anyone from activating such devices, circumstances were greatly fucked up.

The drywall near the doorway had cracked all the way to the opposing corner of the room, and many of the tile panels lining the lower half of the wall had come loose, now laying shattered on the floor. The regular lights were back on, but flickering steadily. I ran to the door and shoved it open. As I did so, the door stopped and I slammed into it.

I staggered back a few steps. The explosion had knocked something loose that was now blocking the door. I opened it again, slowly this time. It stopped moving after four or five inches. A piece of steel lay on the floor, possibly a ceiling girder weighing a few tons, pinning the door closed. Some fires were burning in the outside hallway. The sprinklers weren't doing their job, just like everything thing else that should've been going full force after such an occurrence.

Then the smoke started building up. I slammed the door, but could still see tiny wisps of gray coming in from underneath. This was fast getting worse and worse. After gagging on the fumes of paint and disinfectant for over a week, I'd be damned if I were to perish from smoke asphyxiation. There had to be an escape from this room. I glanced at the window near the ceiling. Reaching it was simple, but its size was another matter. I'm not a large-framed guy, but I'm no twig man either. That window opening was just too small for me to squeeze through, and I had nothing with me that could hack at the wall and make it larger.

The smoke was now crawling up the closed door. Soon the room would be filled with smoke, and I'd be coughing up my lungs. I had to find an exit…..fast. That small window couldn't be an efficient venting hole.

Venting…

I looked at the wall opposite the window. Sure enough, there it was, a thin metallic grate covering it up. This facility needed the right air quantities distributed at all times to all areas, and the ducts to accomplish this task had to be the ample size. It was wide, much wider than that slit of a window. It would easily double as an escape route.

I picked my flashlight up off the floor. It still worked. Then I took the 'puke scraping' chisel from the supply cart and rushed to the venting grate. I pried it off with no trouble, letting it fall to the floor with a clang. I hoisted myself up and into the venting duct, shining my flashlight up ahead. Even with my boots on, crawling around on all fours was easy, though the speed at which I did this left something to be desired. Still, it was better than nothing.

At first there was only one direction to go, so I went that way. A few areas had smoke rising into the venting ducts. I avoided those completely. After more crawling around, I came upon a path in the venting duct that went straight down. I wasn't looking to go deeper into the facility, so I crawled over the vertical shaft and continued ahead.

That became a dead end. One of the explosions had damaged the venting duct, severely dentingit inward so it became like the restroomwindow, too narrow for me to pass through. There was no choice. I'd have to use the duct passage that went downwards if I wanted to get out. So much for a shortcut.

I returned to the said passage and examined it. Shining my flashlight down, I saw it extended very deep, as far as the light's beam could shine. I could get to the bottom extremely fast if I didn't object to the sudden, painful stop at the end. For an unknown height such as this one, patience would be the virtue. I turned around, scrunching up to accomplish this, and crawled backwards, feet first into the shaft to begin the descent.

It wasn't that hard. The vertical shaft was narrow just like the horizontal ones, and I could easily wedge myself in the space by pressing my feet against one side and my back to the other. I got into a working momentum that sped up the more I climbed. I'd likely descended to the basement or even sub-basement mining levels. My back was aching a little, but with shear patience and persistence I finally got to the bottom. Another horizontal passage was my reward for the exercise session. There was a grate in the bottom of this passage, a vent in a ceiling. No smoke was rising from below, but I could hear the familiar crackling that suggested a nearby fire. I could tolerate that, so long as it didn't impede my exit path.

Pushing loose the grate, I peeked through the hole. There were no signs of life. Once again I scrunched up and turned around, lowering myself feet first like earlier, this time out of the ventilation duct. I dropped onto the solid stone floor of an ore crushing room. Some of the pistons had exploded and were burning. Flaming wreckage was strewn about, and the path in front of me was blocked off by burning and twisted steel. There was another pathway leading to a curved hall, so I took that route. A burning corpse lay on the floor. As I got closer, I noticed it was only part of a corpse. The legs and pelvis were gone. Some parts of the body were untouched by the flames. The dead man's eyes stared at the ceiling mindlessly while the chest, shoulders, mouth, nose, and one arm blazed on. I held my nose as I walked past. I didn't need reminders of the burning human skin stench. I had my share from the old accident.

Accident. Had this been one? An ore crusher could've blown and set off a chain reaction, but that wouldn't explain the explosions up in the army base. Nor would it explain why the hazard lights, sirens, and sprinklers all failed at once. Even down here in the mining tunnels, there were sprinklers and lights. Only the lights were on, and like the bathroom, their performance was sub-par. The emergency power generators were supposed to function better than this.

I walked along the curved hallway until I saw something that confirmed my fears. This was no accident. A soldier lay dead on the ground. There was a huge slash across his stomach from hip to hip, out of which his intestines and blood had spilled. There was no damage to the hallway and no trail of blood that would indicate he'd been placed here after being gutted elsewhere. It was true. Shedairah had been attacked, but by who, or what?

Then I found something that momentarily helped me overlook the gore, something that put a smile to my face and gave me a boost of confidence in this desperate situation.

The gutted Narshean soldier held something of interest. Ignoring the carnage, I walked over for a look, and smiled. This model had a cartridge-based ammunition supply. Its rounds weren't the fastest out there, but they were still good for mid-range and a bit of long-range accuracy, if the target wasn't moving too quickly and lacked the reflexes to block and deflect the shots. There was also a blade under the barrel. This didn't act as a weight that hampered aiming procedures. Rather, it was utilized as a weight to greatly reduce firing recoil, so the pause between shots was noticeably reduced. The blade was strong and durable though, and could deal some worthy amounts of damage when used by skillful hands in a melee. I'd only shot these on firing ranges, but was more than familiar with all their parts and functions. I pulled the piece from the dead soldier's grasp and examined it.

I removed the ammo clip from the handle and pulled back the reloading lever to empty a round from the chamber. The clip was full and the piece still had the trigger safety lock on. I loosened it, pulled the trigger, and heard the sound I'd been hoping for, the receiver clicking. The firing mechanism worked properly. I slid the lone round back in the chamber and loaded the standard eight-round clip back inside the handle.

Shedairah had been attacked by someone or something. The man's disemboweled stomach hinted at a presence of beastly attackers with huge blades or claws. For all I knew there could still be something lurking about, which I could encounter. What better was to make my first performance in military-style combat than with a functioning, fully-loaded rifle-axe.

Okay, military combat. The warriors may be different, but the war is the same for all who fight it. The King of Figaro and his band of Returners fought the same battle, despite all their differences and diverse outlooks on life, based on the little I knew. So what if I technically wasn't a soldier. I've a decent enough mindset to count, and I've always prided myself on my resourcefulness. Unless you're abysmally stupid, you don't spend all the time working around military personnel like I have and learn absolutely nothing.

I couldn't get too overconfident with my new discovery. It only had eight shots, and if there were any remaining attackers, their nature was still a mystery. I resisted the eagerness to break in my new find. Better to use it only when dire need arose. A small supply of ammo and the likely presence of a mysterious foe were enough to keep even the most reckless from getting conflict-thirsty.

I left the hallway and walked into a large, open room. Before I could scan the place, a ton of bricks came down upon me from above. Grunting, I elbowed myself free with limited effort and spun to point the business end of the rifle-axe at the assailant. I'm sure that the headless cadaver was real intimidated. No wonder I freed myself so easily. Of all the fucking times for an anti-climax.

I let the rush fade away and began to observe the fallen corpse. It was small, obviously that of a petite woman. The back of her shirt was torn but there was no injury beneath. I looked up and saw a piece of fabric caught on some twisted metal structure above, just below a catwalk. The woman had been decapitated and the headless body tumbled or was thrown over the catwalk's handrail, with the clothes catching on the twisted metal shards of the support column. It hung there until the dead weight pulled it down….right on top of me as I entered.

Further observation revealed this was a liquid metals processing room. The aftermath of a slaughter was everywhere. A catwalk section had fallen and crushed several troops to death, their uniform-clad arms and legs protruding out from under the fallen deck plate. Several bodies of both military and mining staff were haphazardly strewn about. Some of the dead minors held rifles and crossbows taken from dead soldiers. Many of the deceased had been shot with bullets or crossbow bolts. The civilians of Shedairah were indeed fighting spirits, but they lacked the tactics and discipline that came with military training. In the dark, with unidentified attackers charging, it didn't take much imagination to see the civilians freaking out and slaying one another accidentally with friendly fire.

Other mining workers had taken to hand-to-hand combat, going at it with their picks, shovels, and drills. The undamaged floodlight overhead was bright enough for me to notice something caked upon a drill clutched within a dead man's fists. The bit was covered with a shiny brown-yellow fluid that bore a resemblance to the runs, but it seemed unlikely this was fecal material. Could it be…monster blood?

As I crossed the processing chamber to the hallway on the other side, I saw more smears and pools of the dark gold liquid, both on the solid rock floor and on the tools gripped by the dead. On the catwalk directly over the large doorway was the body of a soldier. He or she had some kind of long, gray objects stuck inside his or her skull. Something told me they were not crossbow arrows. I shined my light up there and sure enough, they were something else. They were shaped all wrong. They looked more like small tree branches. The texture was different as well. They weren't smooth and shiny like metallic arrows, but instead were dull and rough. I was too far down to see anymore details. They'd remain mysterious for now.

I left the chamber and entered the hallway. With no signs of death in this new area, now seemed a good time to review the evidence I'd just observed. It bore some obvious signs of a monster attack. During the blackout, creatures from the unexplored subterranean depths or elsewhere had come out and kicked our asses, big time. Still, there was evidence suggesting that at least a few of them had been seriously wounded or even killed, given the large amounts of brown fluid. But if that was the case, where were they? The only bodies I had seen were those of Shedairah personnel. Did the attacking monsters leave after their victory and collect their fallen peers? This was inconsistent with a wild monster attack. All of Shedairah's workers were trained to deal with monsters. Even in a blackout, we had effective methods to counter such a threat. How had a simple monster attack caused so much death on our side and cleaned up any trace of its own losses?

So many questions and absolutely no answers. This was getting me nowhere. I was still inside the ransacked base. My first priority was to get the hell out, survival and evacuation. I could ponder all the fine points later.

Up ahead was a lift, burning and destroyed beyond usage. Oh well. I had a feeling in my gut that I'd have to take the stairs anyway. I continued along the hallway. Many of the lights in the next section had been damaged. It was in near-total darkness. I held my flashlight but thought against using it. If there was anything hostile lurking about, using the flashlight in this dark section would reveal my position instantly, and anything close by would come around and say hello with fangs and claws. The small but adequate lighting was the best I'd get.

I finally reached the end of the dark area, coming upon a decently-lit stairwell leading upwards, exactly where I wanted to go. This was surprisingly untouched, showcasing only a few broken lights and streaks of human blood. After climbing at least three hundred steps I got to another hallway. This one led to another large chamber like the processing one down below. I started walking along a metal grate pathway when something snagged the pocket on the side of my pants. The enemy? I pulled back, heard a ripping sound, and pointed the rifle-axe at the offending…chunk of broken, twisted handrail. Anti-climax number two. I looked at my pant leg. The metal had poked a hole in the side pocket, ripped larger as I pulled away, but only the pocket was torn. The broken handrail segment hadn't pierced my leg.

I looked across to the other side of the chamber. There was a large stairway beyond, the kind that usually connected the mining facility to the army base. There was only one problem in getting there. The rest of the walkway had collapsed, leaving a wide chasm of about sixty feet across and even deeper between me and my desired progress.

There's something I learned from my grandfather, who had served in the Figaroan army after a brief period of service in Narshe's; when you encounter a problem, don't obsessively look for a solution. Sometimes the best solutions come when you only give the problem mild thought. Unlike focusing exclusively on one solution, thinking about the problem in context to other thoughts can bring vital information out from your sub-conscious and into the forefront of your mind. The answer finds you when you let it come. I'd made it this far already. Certainly this latest impediment shouldn't hold me back. Yes, there had lived some worthy people whom I'd had the honor of knowing personally, even if they were few and far between. May Grandpa rest in peace.

Sure enough, I'd found a solution without obsessing over the problem. Not only was this the top of the mining facility, I was also at the top of the room. Indeed, it could work. What's the worse that could happen? I could fall off in the process, and either land on some munitions that would impale me or just splatter on the ground below. Either way, I'd be as dead as everyone else I'd encountered up to this point. Staying put or backtracking didn't present any different outcomes.

Above me, hanging from the rock ceiling, were some sprinkler pipes. Naturally they weren't functioning, but they didn't appear damaged either. They traversed the entire room and could easily get me across the chasm. I'd just need a place to store my piece since traversing required both hands. Maybe I could've found a cord or something to tie it around my neck, but I had something else in mind that didn't require anything new.

My leather jacket had a few straps and buckles under the armpits and down the sides that could tighten the size if one so desired. I clicked on the rifle-axe's trigger safety and undid the topmost right side buckle strap. It fit perfectly through the gun's trigger loop. I pulled it as tight as it would go then secured the strap and buckle.

I stepped up using the remaining handrail section and steadied myself. Then I faced the desired stairwell, put one hand around the suspended pipe, then the other. After that it was a simple task of hand-over-hand momentum. I began to traverse, mindful to keep an eye open for any sprinkler nozzle that pointed downward. I wasn't eager to hit my head and possibly lose my grip.

All I had to do was look straight ahead and upwards to keep myself focused. I felt it best to avoid a glance downwards. My shoulders and elbows began to ache, and my palms were getting sore, but the closing distance between myself and the stairway enabled me to ignore such pet peeves. Cramps and blisters were only temporary.

Then it was over. I'd completed my second physical training exercise of the day and arrived before the stairs. I dropped onto the solid floor in front of my destination, removed my piece from the jacket side straps, and clicked off the safety, allowing myself a breather for a moment.

I was now back in the military base section of Shedairah, not that this part was any better off than the mines. Some of the fires had died down but the smoke still remained, forming an opaque gray fog that hovered in the air, all the way down to the floor in one direction. No use going that way.

Along a clear hallway was door to the left. Peeking inside, I saw an undamaged Figaro-manufactured radio bank. A civilian lay on the floor face-down, his head impaled at the base of the skull. The radio phone rested in his hand. I inspected the cable. It too, was untouched. Maybe I could send a distress call.

I turned on the radio bank. It hummed to life. The guy must have been dispatched before he'd even a chance to flip the switch. I rotated the dial, trying to find a clear signal, but no matter what frequency I tried, my efforts were only rewarded with the noise of static, comparable to the Lete River rapids. The communications gear had been tampered with as well. Honestly it was no surprise once I thought about it.

I went back to the hallway and continued in the same direction as before. Another corpse lay on the ground, its face smashed or blown clean off. Something about this one made it very familiar. In fact, I only had to glance at the tattoos across both forearms before turning to the bars on the sleeve. As if that wasn't enough, the massively wide shoulders and short stubby neck were dead giveaways. This was what remained of Adin Bozwensc, also known as Major Blockhead. Only now, the facial feature that earned him such a derogatory nick had been reduced to splinters of bone and chunks of mush scattered about the concrete floor. Despite my lack of experience in mortuary work, I'd been doing a fine job of playing coroner.

I checked the Major's corpse over. He was an ass, that was for sure, but he was certainly not a wuss. He was always territorial and possessive (bordering on fanatical) of the mines' assets, and would never take kindly to intruders, human or otherwise. A sword was in his right hand, its blade broken and coated with more of that yellowy-brown shit. His armored wrist cuffs were dented and scratched, and were his shin guards and plate mail vest. I patted him down to see if he carried any thing useful, but he'd used whatever he had. Ass or not, he died fighting.

I left the deceased Major and came upon two more doorways on the left. The first was a medical room. Another corpse lay inside on one of the beds, its right arm had turned to a grayish-purple, as if it'd been doused and corroded with some chemical, or maybe even a monster's spitting acid. Like the Major's, this bedridden corpse held an aura of familiarity, and I figured another coroner's performance might lead to some new find regarding the death squad. I stepped over and took in the details.

Sure enough, it was the corpse of exactly whom I thought it was. I could not overlook that. His family had been my father's right hand, and my grudge had always been hefty. Even now, with the facial skin of his nose, one cheek, and upper lip torn away, I could still recognize the face with full clarity. The prominent sun tan, the high forehead, the widow's peak. It was none other than him.

I smiled. So Quentir Braslino had gotten the death penalty after all, in a rather odd and unexpected fashion. I let my mind flow with thoughts that I'd held back for years. You asked for it. And here you thought that you were invincible. All your life, while you hid like a dickless coward behind your upper-class social position and your ten-digit GP assets, you always believed you were untouchable. Now look at what just transpired. While totally defenseless and confined to a hospital bed, you died a painful and gruesome death at the hands of a force that didn't give a fuck about your wealth or status. At least Major Blockhead died a soldier's death. Even in this world that has been void of magic for three years, there are still other forms of power besides wealth and deceptive influence.

I looked at the large gaping hole in his chest, and followed a trail of blood droplets to the far side of the room. A round pink object, probably a lung, sat rotting on the floor against the wall. For a moment, I wished I'd been here to witness the spectacle, but had second thoughts. Whatever mauled his ass would certainly have done the same to mine had I been present, and I'd also have been reduced to corpse meat. I suddenly no longer resented the late Major Blockhead's decision to place me on restroom watch, isolated from everyone else. Had I been down in the mines as usual, I'd have been killed like all the rest, and wouldn't be able to gaze upon the bodies of this installation's prick of a C.O. and his favorite underling.

Attention, you day dreaming bastard! You've had your moment of triumph. Now get back to the task at hand. The voice between my ears was pulling me from my daydream with a not-so gentle approach, reminding me that survival and evacuation were still my primary objectives.

I left the medical room and entered the next door down the hall, where I could hear a sporadic crackling sound. In that direction was another radio bank. A woman was slouched over in front the radio with something through her neck. Not quite sure if this would lead to anti-climax number three, I cautiously paced forward to look. The object was much like the ones I'd seen embedded in a person's skull down in the mining processing room, only now I could look at this one up close.

Just as I'd figured, it was not a crossbow arrow of any kind. It was rough and jagged, tapering to a point at the end. It looked like…..finger nail or bone tissue.

Something told me the noise was coming from the radio. I looked at the panel and found the source. Blood from the dead woman's neck wound had sprayed forward, and was dripping down the radio panel into one of the open slits on the side, from which the crackling, sparks, and a wisp of smoke were emerging.

Then came a new sound, the sound of flapping behind me. Only mildly curious at this point, I looked over my right shoulder and turned to see it coming.

It was a dull shade of beige, and had a wingspan of three feet at least. Its antennae, legs, and all three sections of its body were covered sporadically with short, coarse hairs, and its legs ended in what could qualify as pick-axe spikes. It had this last feature pointed directly at me.

There was no time to aim and fire. I jumped to my right as the moth flew by. I'd relaxed my trigger finger to avoid accidentally firing a shot when I leapt. When I landed upon a wooden chair that broke under my weight, my entire grip relaxed and my piece clunked to the floor beyond my reach.

I rolled off the broken chair pieces, about to crawl over to my weapon when this belching sound came. I had a sinking feeling that the oversized moth had spit something, and once again, my intuition did not disappoint.

A few ice picks slammed into my left cheek, and I grunted through clenched teeth. As if the impact weren't already enough, a split second later I felt another surge of pain, like the projectiles already buried in my skin were firing extra shots of their own. Before they could do anything else I grabbed at the wet rubbery object, pulled from my face, and tossed it aside. I could inspect it later.

"You fuckin' bitch!" I cursed at the monstrous insect, not that it could understand my words. It had slowed its flight and was now steadily advancing. Then I looked toward my feet and saw my weapon. I reached out with my foot and slid my piece across the floor under my heel. When it was within arm's reach, I grabbed the handle, then looked at the flying motherfucker as it drew near.

That's right, come closer. Now I'm gonna return your favor and introduce myself to you. I didn't collect this rifle-axe from a cold dead hand just to keep as a souvenir.

I spun over to a kneel and with one hand, aimed the gun. It wasn't really a matter of aiming this close. I simply pressed the barrel up against the pecker's thorax at point-blank range and squeezed the trigger.

A bang came out from the end, accompanied by no recoil worth mentioning. The target on the other hand, unleashed a noise like that of a high pitched whistle and was sent backwards as some black fluid gushed from the hole in its chest. The fucking motherless bastard was still floating in the air, though not as fast as it had been moments before. It was wounded, its mobility decreased.

Its mouth began to move. Would it fire another of its…..things? I had other plans, such as making sure that wouldn't happen. This close, and with the moth having lost its speed and struggling to say afloat, there was no need in shooting again. Time to put the rifle-axe to its other use.

I lifted the weapon up over my head with both hands. Like they often told Privates in training for close combat melees, aim not for your intended target but beyond it to cause maximum damage.

Aiming for the floor beneath the baddy, I swung down hard. The blade went right down the center of its head, creating a loud, wet crunching noise, similar to that of a watermelon splattering on the concrete after falling from a tenth-floor window. The moth let out a noise that sounded like a balloon deflating, its shiny black eyes dulled to the color its body, and its wings slowed down before falling limp. It fell to the ground below. So was this responsible for the assault? Of course, but only in part. It seemed improbable that a single monster had performed all the death and destruction I'd seen.

I kicked the carcass. Nothing. From what I could tell, the monster was dead, courtesy of Leonard Gurosawn, Shedairah mining field technician and self-trained combatant of his—er—my own militia. No, self-styled militia.

Now I could examine whatever had speared my cheek. It looked like a small brown sack, much like the ones found on drifting wads of kelp in the ocean or washed up on the beach, only this sack was deflated. There were also some hard, black spikes resembling large rosebush thorns extending from the sack. Seeing my own blood on the spikes pulled me out of investigation mode.

I dropped the sack of needles and returned to the medical room that served as Quetir's grave. Was there anything else nearby that would come out upon hearing the gunshot? Fortunately nothing did. I sifted through the large cabinet in the far corner and found a medical box. Unfortunately, it had been torn open and the contents were strewn about. The various bottles of antidotes, eye drops, and general remedies had been crushed, their contents smeared about the floor. However, I did find some cotton swabs, a small amount of peroxide, and the last remaining bandage of ample size for the wound in question.

I washed my hands in the nearby sink before going to work using the small mirror on the back of the cabinet door. The wound was actually several smaller wounds clustered together. The sting of the peroxide-soaked cotton swab rubbing over the punctures was more than preferable to the pain of the spikes and their mysterious follow-up shots. I opened my mouth and looked at my reflection. The wound was only a flesh wound. The spikes had only pierced the outside of my cheek and hadn't made their way inside my mouth. I covered the wound with the bandage and once again returned to the corridor.

Soon I reached the west entry hall. This place was also showcasing telltale signs of attack. The guards who normally stood outside the doors were inside now, their throats slit. This added yet another facet to the baffling attack. Had the things—maybe an entire legion of giant beige moths—made it this far from the underground tunnels? Or had the enemy attacked from both the tunnels and the surface entrances?

With all this pontificating, I began to feel a weird sensation. Fatigue, most likely. I'd been through a lot in the last couple hours, so exhaustion was expected. But there was another feeling. I felt...hungry.

I'd eaten lunch at maybe half past noon before returning to restroom watch, shortly before this whole thing started. Normally, a lunch of a banana, jerky strips, and a root beer would hold me over. But now I felt the need for a snack. The mess hall was out of the question now, so I'd need to scrounge around and find something elsewhere.

I walked into a side hall and came to an office. Anyone who'd been here must have run out once the attack commenced. This room looked orderly. A glance here would be enough to convince anyone that the bloodbath which unfolded most everywhere else never even happened. Maybe there was a small ice chest or fridge around this untouched area.

There was one in the corner. Opening it revealed only a small bag containing an apple, a small box of granola, and a can of root beer. An officer's forgotten lunch? Best not to waste good food. I finished off the forgotten meal and returned to the west entry hall, revitalized.

Outside the large sliding doors of the entrance, no one was around, personnel or enemy, so I exited the building and took in the fresh air. I was quite grateful for it, since it wasn't tainted with smoke or the stench of dead people, and it was so much better than the stale shit circulated and than re-circulated through the tunnels. After the breather I looked around for any signs of life, or death. I found neither. A watch tower stood off to the side near the perimeter fence. It looked intact, so I ventured up the stairs seeking anything notable. It was deserted. The sentries here must've run inside the base during the attack. Curious, I observed the base from the tower's window.

The radio reception antenna was broken off, as if some massive dragon or behemoth, or even a bunch of gigantic moths had snapped it apart like a toy. Honestly, I expected such, given the radio hadn't worked earlier. But seeing actual evidence of tactical sabotage made my stomach turn. I felt I'd lose the snack I'd just eaten. I looked away and descended the tower stairs.

On the east side of the exterior was yet another sign of sabotage. There was a gorge just east of the base. Beyond it was the small train that connected Narshe to this base, used exclusively for Shediarah's troops and workers. The cable car which carried people and freight across the gorge was gone. Only the support pillars remained. The cable had been snapped and the cars had inevitably fallen to the gorge below. The train was there, but lifeless as everything else. Suddenly my heart stopped and my blood froze, the reality of everything now crystal clear; Shedairah had been attacked and neutralized, and there were no survivors, save for a dazed man named Leonard Gurosawn.

In addition, the attack was stealthy, and no one but I and the attacking party knew about it. The enemy had taken out our radio communications and cut us off from transport away from this facility. The train that stopped beyond the gorge was operated by the military. If there was anyone on board during the attack, they were certainly dead as well. The world at large knew nothing of this incident.

And as I thought about it more, I realized it would remain a secret for quite some time. The people who worked here often stayed on for long shifts, days on end, sleeping in the bunks and eating in the mess hall. Miners and troops alike would come here and not return for several days. Their acquaintances would only suspect something after that period of time had passed, at least. Likewise, our last shipment of goods to Figaro had only been the previous day. Though Shediarah often communicated with Figaro, it wasn't in constant communication. Days with no contact between the two places were not unfamiliar. The people down there wouldn't have an inkling of took place up here until their next shipment failed to arrive, and it wasn't due for more than week. Shit could easily get worse in that time

Though it seemed as if the enemy had withdrawn, the possibility they'd return was likely. That they destroyed the cable car and left that big moth behind hinted they'd planned to deal with survivors upon withdrawal. They might come back to finish the job, or expand on it.

My mind raced. How I'd inform someone of this was as much a problem as who I'd inform. I knew how to use weapons and all that, but I was still a civilian with no formal military training. I knew so little about the upper brass that even their names and faces eluded me. Shit, I knew even less about them than I knew about the Reter…

I stopped.

There was no one better to inform of this. They'd done the impossible once, certainly they could do it again. After what they did, handling this could be a walk in the park. They were better suited to dealing with such things than I. The 'who' part of my problem had been solved.

I'd only met him once, quite a ways back. Plus, I really didn't talk with him. I merely shook his hand like hundreds of others at the seminar to display his newly-created radio equipment. But his people had supplied us with goods, and we in turn did the same. Surely he could help. Besides, sooner or later he'd be interested as to why his shipments from us had ceased.

Funny. I'd always hoped to meet him and formally introduce myself, but not under such drastic circumstances like these. His many inventions made our work so much easier. Plus he was married now, to a woman every bit as horny as himself, so I'd heard. King Edgar of Figaro was now above and beyond sexual misconduct, so he'd devote his time to more serious matters like this.

I went to the perimeter fence along the western side of the facility, and looked back. Despite everything that happened inside, on the outside everything appeared up-and-up, save for the broken radio tower and missing cable car. Not that it made any difference. This was a remote area, and no one but us ever spent time in this region.

I found cuts in the cyclone fence, the enemy's touch yet again. I pulled back the severed portions and exited the base grounds, keeping the rifle-axe poised, just in case anyone or anything was following me or waiting up ahead. Happily, there was nothing. The former military base and mining facility continued to sink further behind me, until I entered the forest and the trees masked it from view. My number one objective was now fulfilled. Now for objective number two; find transit to Figaro and spread word of Shedairah's fall. I had an idea for this task. I'd have to search a bit, and although time was of the essence, I had plenty for the moment.

Didn't I?