Chapter Twenty-Seven: Hot Room

I watched from the hall as Anton took a step inside, his gun at the ready. His head swiveled carefully and steadily until he had completed a full survey of the room. Once done, he slowly stepped out, grabbed the metal wheel on the door's face and began to push it closed. He stopped when he saw my weird look.

"Look, I think that thing could blow at any moment. I'd rather put as much between it and I as I possibly can. Besides, it isn't the source of the radiation," he explained with a scoff. The only real thing I took away from this, though, was that the mini-nuke wasn't the cause behind the radiation and that Anton was being too cowardly to want to explore the room.

If he wouldn't, then I'd have to be the one to do so. Reaching out, I grabbed hold of the warm metal with my right hand and nudged it back toward the cowardly man. It didn't budge, but after a moment he sighed and pulled it back open. "How about we go together, Miss?" His faux smile returned.

I had no reason to turn his offer down, so I nodded and proceeded inside. Like I saw from outside, this room was trashed, as if someone wasn't able to find what they were searching for. What I hadn't been able to see from outside, however, painted a new picture from what I gathered from the outside. Several barrels of green gunk were resting in one corner, opposite of it, still on the side near the door, was a corpse in a coat. A hammer and screwdriver lay beside it.

"Let's just find the keycard and get out of here. Your Geiger counter is getting noisy."

What he said was true, I hadn't noticed while studying the room, but the noise it was making would make stealth a near-impossibility. Which made me rather glad there was only radiation in this room. Yet, it also meant that any idle time like now, where I was standing around pondering, was wasted; so I set toward the skeletal remains and began checking its pockets.

I wished I could say the search was easy, but with only one hand, it was a lot tougher than I thought it'd be. At that point, I really started to regret what I'd done. Why did I do that in the first place? Was it panic? Desperation? Perhaps—

"Miss, there's a terminal here. Would you be so kind as to find the password?"

Anton was ducked behind a turned over desk, his dirtied brown hair barely peeking above. As I crossed the room, I saw that the terminal was resting on the floor, the screen cracked as if it'd seen a fall. Wires ran from it to a safe tucked into the wall, mostly hidden from view behind a bookshelf.

Anton moved to make space, shifting his search elsewhere, as I sat before the terminal. It was already turned on, so I tried a few passwords and was given a screen I was hoping I wouldn't see:

TERMINAL LOCKED

PLEASE CONTACT AN ADMINISTRATOR

That had been... just great. I clicked a few keys and nothing changed. Grimacing, I pressed and held the power button; waited ten seconds, and then pressed it again. The screen remained the same. I smacked it on the side, and when that didn't work I slapped the top with my left hand.

A stinging, almost breaking pain erupted through my hand, as if I just dipped it into a fire and the flames were leaping and dancing beneath my skin – like demons crawling out the pits. I clutched it tight and pulled it close, yet the pain hadn't ceased. I worked my hand closed, all the while it screamed aloud about how I wronged it.

Jumping up, I turned toward Anton. I don't know what expression I wore, but one look at me and he looked both perturbed and surprised. Had I shown him bloodlust? Rage? Pain? Sadness? I could only imagine.

Without a word, he marched over and looked down at the terminal's display. Shook his head, and began shuffling through the shelves that withstood this room's destruction. I left him to his own devices and crossed over to the mini-nuke in the center.

The egg had faded colors and a large crack running along two sides, almost as if it were trying to split the device in twain. Along the fissure I could see points where the metal had been fused back together, as if someone took the time to weld the pieces back together. Just looking at it caused me to sweat, but a part of me knew that had more to do with the sweltering heat of the air.

I wiped my brow on my sleeve, and studied the device some more. Soon enough, I noticed something I hadn't before: attached to the base was a small squared box, a thin antenna jutting out. Calling the thing jerry-rigged might actually be a disservice, not toward the level of craftsmanship, but toward jerry-rigged objects in-general. Dropping lower, I noticed a small cracked display near the bottom of the box; to both sides, wires spread out and sank within the cracks of the explosive.

Starting to rise, I noticed that the cap at the top was still in near-perfect condition (the paint having faded like the rest of the device). There wasn't a single crack to be found. I had an idea for what that box might do, but if my idea was correct, it'd require an additional tool. Looking around, I found it sitting near the sludge in the corner with the barrels.

Just my luck...

Rising, I took a step closer, then another. By that time, the Geiger counter in my Pip-Boy started up a major racket. I covered it with my hand as I continued. I knelt down, my stomach churned with the motion, and I quickly swiped the small object; beside it was a paper, so I grabbed that, too, and hastily retreated.

I barely got to the opposite wall before my knees gave out and I collapsed. It was only then that I noticed my breaths coming in short, quick pants. Yet it hadn't felt like enough air was coming in. Had that been a result of the heat?

My attention first turned toward the small tool. It was a remote cobbled together with different pieces with wires going this way and that. It took me less than four seconds to figure out the function of this device: it was a trigger. Whoever was trapped within this room – and they had to be trapped based on the odd design of the door (no interior handle) – had built a remote activated mini-nuke bomb.

From there, I had to look at the paper. Whether it'd have any sort of explanation to all of this, I couldn't say, nor even hope for. The paper had rough scribbles on it, but the worst part of all was that the paper was soaked. A few of my fingers released the page, and I held it with as minimal contact as I could. Alongside the sketches was chicken-scratch styled writings. Most of which had suffered the gruesome fate of being devoured by the gunk in the corner, leaving only a few ramblings intact.

I shook my head.

It was then that I noticed that past the off-beat clicking of radiation being announced through my Pip-Boy, there was a low thrum resting in the air. I hadn't noticed it at first, I might have been too divided or focused on whatever task was at hand; but with the temperature slowly getting to me, I found myself focusing on my surroundings more than ever. It was a quiet hum, almost like a deep voice carrying a single note. It caused me to scan the walls, and I soon spotted it; not far from the barrels was a big box with a grated face.

Just as I started to pay more attention to that box, to the thrumming it produced I was drawn away by a figure crossing my field of vision. I turned in time for Anton to reach the door, without waiting he stepped out. Clutching the trigger, I followed after him.

I spotted him halfway down the hall, he was low to the ground in a half-bent-half-crouched state. He was huffing and gasping for air, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Soon enough, he slumped against the wall and looked toward the ceiling. Upon hearing my approach, he turned and looked at me with a tiredness in his eyes.

"I found it," he sighed, drawing in a large breath, "Now we can get out of here, Miss. Ain't that pleasant?" He let out a chuckle, it wasn't mirthful. It wasn't happy. It carried that tiredness I saw within his eyes, it carried a sense of weight behind it that honestly startled me.

As I drew closer, he pulled out a pouch and tossed it to me. It slapped against my chest and fell to the ground as I didn't make any attempt to snatch it. Looking down, I saw that it was full of an orange liquid. It was radaway. Sitting down, I set the trigger beside me, grabbed the pouch, ripped open the stopper at the top with my teeth, and knocked the liquid back.

Slush crawled across my tongue, making its way to my throat, and I could only let it. It tasted like apricots. I resisted the urge to spit it out, downing as much as I could as quickly as I could – the sooner it was over the better. Anton, meanwhile, was casually sipping down his own, his eyes still cast toward the ceiling.

After finishing the sludge-like fluid, I tossed the empty pouch to the side and picked the trigger back up, and slowly climbed to my feet using the wall for support. I had to admit that despite all the aches and groans and pain coming from my body, I was moving a lot better by that point. Whether it was a good thing or not, I dare not comment.

Taking a long, deep breath, I motioned for Anton to hurry, and then set for the exit of this underground dungeon. Past the broken rubble, past my cell, past the closed door with blood leading out I marched without rest until I made it to the closed door at the end of the hall.

I rested my back against the wall and waited.

Sliding down, my rump hit the floor, as I waited.

I pulled my knees closer, resting my chin on them, and waited.

Just as my eyes started to droop, a voice called out, "Sorry for the wait, Miss. I thought I'd pick up something for you." He was standing before me, just a step or two away from my feet. I hadn't even heard him approach. His hand was outstretched with a bundle of cloth with a long strap attached to it, "This is for carrying that thing in your hand. I noticed you don't seem to have much use of your left hand yet."

I set the trigger down beside me, reached up, and took what appeared to be a pouch. It was soft to the touch, yet the strap was long enough that it could easily be carried. I opened the thing, grabbed the trigger, and dropped it in. Closing it, I pulled the strap over my head and pushed my left arm through.

"By the way, what exactly is that thing you're carrying?"

I thought for a moment, closed my hand then imitated pressing down on something with my thumb. Immediately after I flicked my fingers opened and pulled it away slightly, hopefully giving off the impression of an explosion.

He blinked a few times and just hummed an 'ah'. Blinked a few more times, and then let out a, "Huh?" Took a calming breath, then asked, "Is that the trigger to an explosive?" I nodded. "I... see... and how large is the explosion going to be?"

That was a good question. I didn't have the answer for that. The part of the paper that had likely explained it had been damp and no longer legible (or perhaps was part of the worst portions of chicken-scratch). So I shrugged. Planted my hand against the wall, and rose to my feet – slowly, but surely.

"Please don't activate it while I'm here..." his tone and expression were both pleading, even his eyes matched. I couldn't help but nod at the sincerity. "Thank you." He straightened himself out, checked his pistol, and turned toward the interface beside the door. "We should get out of this basement and find your stuff. The sooner we can leave, the sooner you can test out that explosive." I nodded once more.

-Transmission in Progress-

A slightly shorter chapter than I meant, but that's okay. I can't give an eta for the next chapter as I don't know how much writing and editing I'll be able to do over the next week or so; as Elden Ring's DLC will be coming out, and I'll be hard focusing on that. Until next time.