Author's notes: It took about a week, but here it is, the next part of this thrilling (mis)adventure. Does our main character have what it takes to face danger head on when all the other options are botched. Before we begin, here are my responses to a few reviews:

Leodragon678 (Ch7): It would be impossible to determine what is wrong with Silver, if it is really the same person as Silver the Hedgehog. This place certainly took a toll on his mentality, it remains to be seen if the newcomer will suffer a similar fate. I hope you take your time to read these author's notes, just as I read your reviews. Nevertheless, you have my appreciation.

Guest: Glad you liked it so much that you read all of them. If this has invoked your phobia, however heartless this may sound, that means I have succeeded as a writer. Don't worry, I would have died on many occasions in this story, almost all of them being the spider caves. Hope you are still here, because this isn't going to end before the number of chapters become quadruple.

Hopefully by next week I will get back on my regular schedule. Until then, here is the next chapter.

Chapter 8: Confronting the Adversity

Since my last entry, quite a few events have transpired, only this time, the most crucial of roles, the centerpiece, befell on me. The consequences still linger, despite my best efforts to alleviate them. I am forced to accept my imperfections, and have faith that I am better prepared for the times of their imminent reveal.

I could withhold the torment I have gone through, the seeping spider bites for which I could only alter the subjectivity of their severity, and not the injuries themselves. The only meddling with the wounds I could do is to inhibit the pain, and hope that the powers of restoration render my newfound stash of painkillers no longer needed.

Silver reminded me of the prime reason I went through this predicament in the first place:

"The mining beast lies dormant, tempted by fate's goodwill to jolt her awake. Reclaim the key and the go-go juice, then proceed to the beast in the shaft."

As stated, I needed to find the vehicle's ignition key and some fuel, both of which are stashed somewhere in this storage complex. The place was adequately illuminated, but it remained an array of corridors, relentlessly making me utilize my navigation skills. Each room looked alike, the decrepit walls surrounding two rusted metal shelves filled to the brink with food and supplies, laying behind a wire fence.

My search for the key was very brief. A green container portruding from the wall housing a key shaped label presented anything but a masquerade. The lid wasn't even locked, which made my already effortless hassle even simpler. It made for a well deserved break.

The gasoline, however, required some scrutiny to acquire. The hallway leading to the room with gasoline wasn't physically barricaded, however one of the pipes on the walls was ruptured, and out came out a jer of blistering steam. It triggered a faint discomfort in my shoulder as an ode to my eariler carelessness, and unilke then, there was no going past the continuous flow of steam. I would have to either find a valve somewhere and close it, thus ceasing the flow, or a different route.

The former proved to be futile even after a thorough search. In hindsight, there was no reason to look over the same rooms over and over, believing that the unremarkable walls conceal a sizable pipe. As an act of immense frustration, I forcefully kicked a ventilation grate on the wall.

That was when the latter of the options, which I believed to be improbable, suddenly became a feasible endeavor. Instead of sore toes from kicking a solid, inert object, I discovered that the grate shifted a bit after impact, loosely hanging by the corners. One hit from my pick and it detached from the wall revealing the ventilation tunnels.

Despite its size, I could crouch through the narrow metallic tunnels. The one that I opened, however, didn't lead to the room with the gasoline, it simply made for an alternative, longer and more cramp route back to one of the corridors. Nevertheless, there were certainly more than two grates, and so I backtracked and began searching for additional grates.

For better or for worse, none of the grates were secured tight, and I opened all of them simply by blunt force. I had to practice some stacking so I could reach the higher ones. In the end, I nailed the right one and came into the gasoline room. I backtracked, pushing the bright red canister with my arms, and proceeded back into the central room.

The entrance to the door was barricaded with a bunch of wooden planks. My mind goes blank at the prospect of how Silver exited the storage room, noting that there were no other points of entry besides the one I've just chiseled out, and there were no signs of life in the storage room besides me. Perhaps there was another, undisclosed entry point I missed during my exploration, but then again, it could have been one that was already unavailable by the time I arrived.

As I went back into the labyrinth from which I came from, I attempted to analyze my acquaintance's stance on everything. I concur rhat it was impossible. However obvious his alignment was in the past, it underwent a drastic shift. His disposition was questioniable, he didn't seem to have one. He seemed like a seeping pile of conflicting, concentrated emotions. The only consistency in his behaviour is its inconsistency, he was the epitome of ambivalence . He could treat a close friend like a complete stranger and vice versa, depending on the thoughts leaking from his rusty, unscrewed faucet of a brain. I still remain unsure whether I could entrust him with my safety, but I do not hold the upper hand in this ensuing chaos.

Through the commotion in my head I could hear, or at least I thought I did, the familiar, yet foreign whispers chanting ominously from every conceivable direction. It was just like last time, before I entered this labyrinth for the first time, as if the whisperers were wary of my presence, if their existence goes beyond than just a figment of my imagination.

Albeit burdened by a full gasoline canister occupying my right hand, I made no sound returning to the barred up gate. As the single plank split in two, the rusted saw was broken beyond repair. I left the two asymmetrical piece laying on the floor as I slowly walked up to the metal door, my right hand gripping firmly on the canister

A few moments later, I would bring catastrophe upon my already bloodied flesh. The preceding set of hallways housed another pack of ferals. The revelation startled me, I might as well have waltzed into the clasp of their jaws. Despite that, that was merely one of my close calls, simply an ode to overconfidence that would envelop my being without my knowledge.

I had the impression that the stench of their decaying flesh obstructed my odor, and that was the case. The ferals would have mutilated me before I could even become aware of dangers, had their sense of smell remained unhindered. Still, their ears and eyes, even if they were in some way weakened, greatly surpassed mine, and I needed to be especially careful at all times.

That is why, halway through the maze, they were on full alert when the gasoline canister clanked on one of the metal boxes I was hiding behind. I underestimated its weight and size, and to my dismay, it was enough to get these ferals not just alerted, but full-on charging in my direction.

My heart skipped several beats as my wide opened eyes witnessed two ferals sprinting towards me, their jaws wide open, drool pouring out, teeth glimmeting in the faintly lit corridors. I sniffled audibly, and started running like the wind, trying to escape the hunger of the beasts. I desperately looked for a door, an exit that would block me off from these beasts, but the fear of imminent danger blinded my eyes which were already uncontrollably darting around the room.

My exasperated breaths turned into a blood cuddling scream as one of the beasts sunk their teeth deep into my right calf. At first I continued running normally, but the increasingly sharp pain made it into a horrible limp. It was excruciating, the deafening sounds of my hearbeat accompanied by the ringing in my ears created a turmoil of desperation. Still, in the moments of clarity I could gather, I grabbed and mightily swung my pick at one of the ferals that had just leaped at me.I made it whimper in pain, but not before it gashed my forearm.

"I can't feel my arms or legs anymore. I'm in trouble." was one of the thoughts that came to my head.

There was nowhere to run anymore, the corridorr had come to a undesirable end. Dread was pricking me from inside, like tiny needles, a physical manifestation to impending doom. That was, until I looked to left and gazed upon a pressurized propane canister. I've been acknowledging their presence before, but now was the first time I would have to rely on them.

I hit the top part of the canister with my pick, and blazes instantly came out of it. In just a few seconds it would create an inferno, so I had to be precise when throwing with, lest I get caught in the inferno myself. I launched at it the feral who didn't recieve the bitter end of my pick, knocking the beast out. The other one had just got back on its feet after being stabbed by the pick, and was about to charge back at me, as if it didn't have its flesh torn by the pick.

The inevitable explosion was perfectly timed, and both of the ferals were caught right near its source. The smell of charred flesh filled my nostrils as I stared at the bloodied teeth of one the ferals I killed. It took me a while before I recovered from shock, and was astonished the gruesome sights and scents didn't jolt me from it sooner.

The moment I regained my composure, the intensity of the pain in my calf and my forearm came back to me, and I grunted in pain. I swallowed the remaining painkillers with much trouble, as they painfully slid down my dry throat. Inspecting the greater of the wounds, I've realized it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. By sheer luck, the bite was shallower than I thought, and the feral must have immediately released its grip on me, since he didn't pull away with a chunk of flesh between its jaw, which would have caused more damage.

I don't know whether it is the painkillers kicking in, or if my body does have a significantly increased healing capabilities than most, but the pain has subsided by the time I wrote this. The bleeding has also mostly stopped, and all the spider bites have become painless. There is no trace of me being grazed by that blistering steam either.

Regardless of how I feel, or what I did, the antics I performed right now were simply an act of desperation, and I should do everything in my power to avoid direct confrontation.