*Hurk*
Astral’s barrel shivered, the last of his lunch now residing on the floor next to the elevator. The entire area was now silent save for his left-over retching.
Ledger stared back at him; unblinking eyes wide in horror.
Icy tendrils gripped the bat-pony’s heart as he ventured around the body, snagging Ledger’s security badge just in case.
Now things were different. There was something here. The lockdown now made a bit of sense, and that was what made a ball of lead form in Astral’s stomach. The bat-pony’s black-tipped ears were on a swivel, green eyes darting from room to room.
The glass walls were shattered. The smell of spilled chemicals made his nose wrinkle.
Astral stayed plastered to one side of the wall, checking each room before passing it by. The crossbow was strapped to his right forelimb, brought up to aim at every broken, see-through door.
The hole was left behind, the stallion making it to the end of the hall without a fuss. To his relief, there were two doors left unlocked.
Supply closets. Perfect.
Not exactly an armory, but what he was looking for wasn’t a weapon.
To the pony’s eternal joy, three large tanks covered in straps lined the walls next to other various lockers.
Thank the heavens. Ok, this will work.
While usually used for fire-fighting ponies, the Self-Contained Breathing Apparatus’s (SCBA’s) were kept in times of an emergency chemical spill in the lab. There were likely another few in the other hallway just in case.
Mainly out of his personal sense of self-preservation, Astral had taken an introductory course on how to use them after accepting the job. They did import a lot of nasty chemicals, after all.
Strapping on the full tank, the bat-pony briefly cursed the lack of a horn. If he had a way to shrink the other tanks, use a storage portal, something, he could take them along. As it was, he was stuck with just a single tank on his back…unless he got creative.
Thirty minutes, maybe an hour of air. That’s not too bad. Three tanks here, maybe another three in the other room; six hours. Surely enough time for someone to come to the rescue.
The stallion continued his quest for supplies, tearing open boxes for anything that could potentially be useful.
Pens? Not so much.
Large saddle bags? Perfect.
Respirator with large filters? Into the bags they went.
The first aid kits on the walls were also burglarized, quite a few fancy self-administering syringes carefully placed into the saddlebags. Wide-spectrum antigen, painkillers, bandages; it was a kit meant for fifty ponies in a lab environment. It would suit him just fine. There were some stimulants in the kit but those got put far out of reach so he wouldn’t accidentally take them. Last thing he needed was to be loopy right now.
Between the pack and the air tank, the stallion could only move at a brisk walk. But he wasn’t about to be running any marathons.
“Stage Two Containment authorized. Detonation of above-ground floors commencing.”
“Deta-WHAT?” Astral called out, sliding to place his back against a wall.
“Stand b-b-b-by.”
The entire room shook and shivered as if doing a jig, lights swinging to and fro as any unshattered glass joined its brothers on the floor.
And then it was quiet.
“Above-ground floor detonation complete. Evaluating for Stage Three Containment.”
“What are they trying to contain?!” Astral hissed, digging into the supplies and stashing a pack of water bottles into his saddlebags.
He then paused, sitting down with a slump.
The top floors are gone. That means…
His hooves began to shake, the bat pony forcing down the fear that clawed at his throat and threatened to escape as hot tears from his green eyes.
Rescue isn’t coming.
Two hours passed without so much as a peep from the computer. The only sounds were the facility occasionally shaking, and the distant grinding of metal or shattering glass.
Astral had built a decent barricade of shelving and other materials at the end of the hallway; the only door behind him leading to the emergency staircase. This exit was unlocked, but the stairs led down to SL-4. He’d prefer to stay as far away from that place as possible, considering that was where the hole on the opposite end of the lab led to.
The Thestral had at least covered the top half of his supervisor with a lab coat. But he wanted to stay as far away from that space as possible. Needless to say, the bat pony was not doing well. Currently huddled next to the extra SCBA units, the Security Guard was desperately trying not to have a panic attack.
Then again, knowing there was hundreds of tons of concrete and steel above your head ready to collapse was enough to send plenty of ponies into a tizzy.
Astral knew eventually that he’d have to move. But when was the operative word. He had some food, some water, but that was it. The phone had no service (obviously) and the computer voice was still silent.
There has to be another way out.
That was the key thought, but what the stallion dreaded was where that exit may be. He knew there was a level deeper than SL-4.5. But to that end, he hadn’t even seen SL-4.5. Only a brief glimpse into the power generation room on his initial tour. It barely qualified as a floor, just bare-bones equipment. You needed a special access code to get there, and Astral didn’t have that. Well, he didn’t originally.
Why would Flask give me an Administrator Override code? How high up does this access go?
There was only one way to find out, and the oh-so-lovely computer made Astral’s choice of when to move for him.
“Stage Three Containment Authorized. Replacing oxygen atmosphere of SL-3 and SL-4.”
As the fans kicked into high gear, Astral donned the SCBA and opened the valve. There was a total of five other spare oxygen tanks from the other closet; those had been positioned at the top of the stairs at the emergency exit. Whatever had replaced the oxygen in the air was obviously not breathable, as Astral saw a single moth abruptly fall to the ground and twitch once before being still. But sound still echoed in the room, so whatever it was must be similar to oxygen.
Opening the door and stepping through, Astral tried to control the shaking in his limbs as he dragged the tanks down, each one padded in some cardboard and duct-tape and wrapped into pairs, and a single tank. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to refill them, so best to not leave them behind. The makeshift sled was heavy, but moveable.
Reaching the fourth-floor exit, the stallion carefully pulled the door open, leading with his crossbow. He tried not to think of how there was no breathable air outside of what was in his tanks.
This should just be some fancy labs. Testing rooms, manufacturing. Astral thought, recalling what he had seen on his initial tour.
The layout was similar to SL-3; instead of glass rooms, there were massive computer screens, robotic arms, metal lathes, and a few office cubicles. Eight massive squares, four on each side of the central hall with specific goals in mind. The glass walls had shone brightly during his initial welcoming tour, the two cubicles at the end of the hall being made of reinforced metal for more dangerous welding work.
The primary difference between now and his tour, was that every room was bathed in blood.
The hole was visible from where Astral crouched, the ceiling open on the far right end of the room. That large cubical was shattered, the reinforced metal walls peeled outwards like an orange on the side facing the adjacent cube.
Astral struggled to control his breathing, knowing full well he had a limited number of panicked breaths remaining. The mask wasn’t fogging up so that was a blessing.
Ok. So, something was here. Maybe still is here.
Astral knew he had to get to the elevators; they were located near the other stairway that led to SL-4.5. Unfortunately, that was on the other side of the room, and he couldn’t leave the oxygen tanks.
Oh, this is such a bad idea.
Crouching and creeping forwards, Astral scouted out the route, listening for even the slightest sound of life.
Thankfully, nothing was heard outside the occasional cracking of glass.
Hoof sliding across the tile, Astral scooted the various debris off to the side, clearing a path for himself and the sled. Darting past the hole in the roof, he reached the disturbingly-pristine elevator area, five of the six tubes still brightly lit and open amid the cream-colored walls.
It was then a simple matter to drag the sled over the tiles. It was a noisy affair, but he stopped every few moments to listen for anything. So far, so good.
Looking into the various elevators, Astral noted all of them stopped on SL-4.5. That would have to do.
Cautiously creeping out to double check the coast was clear, the bat-pony was about to head back to the elevator when he heard something that shouldn’t be possible.
Something was breathing. Something big.
Glass crackled around the corner, the enclosure with the torn walls making the sound echo unnaturally through the remainder of the room. The sound was coming from below the floor for a moment; indicating that the hole in the ceiling wasn’t the only breach.
A single clawed hand reached over the torn metal on the torn siding, and that’s when Astral backpedaled frantically.
The Thestral wasn’t sure if it was his own breathing or the thing’s that echoed in his ears as he skidded to a stop in the elevator, frantically typing the code and watching as the doors closed far too slowly.
He certainly wasn’t imagining things as the clawed hand gripped the corner of a stone wall at the edge of the room, claws tearing into the material just as the elevator door shut and whisked him lower.