//------------------------------// // Chapter Eight: Tenacious Trams Travail a Tired Traveler // Story: We don't go to Sub-Level Five // by RadBunny //------------------------------// Two things became abruptly apparent to Astral Sentinel. One: The pony on top of him was very, very dead. Two: Astral had quickly run out of breath to continue screaming. Shoving the body off, Astral tried to calm his breathing as he looked around…and promptly felt bile rise in his throat. Yanking off the mask, he emptied his stomach onto the dirty tile floor. The bat-pony knew that as soon as he lifted his gaze, he wouldn’t be able to avoid the sights. Taking a tentative sniff of air, Astral stowed the mask after shutting off the SCBA, wiping his mouth as he pulled the supply sled out of the elevator. The smell made him gag again, but he pushed on. The mask limited his vision far too much unless necessary. Dozens of bodies were mounded near the elevators. All were torn apart by clear slash marks, making Astral’s head immediately swivel. The source of said deadly blows was quickly found. Plastered against a wall, a familiar grey creature was flopped on the ground; half of its head missing as dozens of bullet-holes marked its frame. There’s more than one?! And if there are two, there might be three. That was a disturbing thought indeed, and Astral hoped the explosive rounds in the cannon would be enough. Judging by the six bodies of heavily-armored security ponies, Astral’s confidence was quickly fading. Then again, their saddle-guns were much smaller. The format of the floors was definitely shifting to a domed layout, each floor also getting larger and larger. This floor seemed to have multiple, smaller domed areas sectioned off for separate tasks. The first dome was obviously dedicated to office-work, perhaps administrative, as shown by the typical office desks, chairs, and conference rooms. Neatly tinted blue-green glass dividers separated each cubical, even being constructed into larger, boxy rooms that stuck out from amid the cubicles. The second dome that Astral traversed seemed to be a lab of some sort. Centrifuges, flasks, vials, mixing machines, and all sorts of electronic screens dominated the clear-glass rooms. The various decontamination stations indicated that there was definitely something nasty being worked on here. Still, he pressed on, at least until he came to a massive barricade. Large, official-looking metal plates had been hastily welded together, bodies of armored ponies laying this way and that. Some were in pieces, Astral’s light armor abruptly feeling very inadequate. The saddle-guns on their bodies were empty, the hundreds of brass casings littering the ground indicating why. All this happened in the span of two days?! What was going on down here?! That question was answered with a simple ‘bad things’ thought, and that ultimately covered it. After three more barricades, the Thestral found himself in the third dome. This one looked almost like a doctor’s office. If not for the blood everywhere, it could have passed off as a stereotypical check-up location at a hospital or local physician. Like the other rooms, it all branched off from a central hallway. At least the lights weren’t- *Shunk!* Astral took a few deep breaths, clicking on the saddle and helmet-mounted flashlight. Of course, the power would choose this melodramatic moment to die. Naturally. Beams of light reflecting off of the glass made Astral’s sensitive green eyes ache. The helmet was a bit restrictive, but at least it had ear-holes, the fuzzy appendages on a constant swivel. The ear protection from the armory was battery-powered; it amplified any non-dangerous level sounds and blocked out any that may damage Astral’s hearing. At this moment, however, he did not appreciate hearing every single crackle of glass. A brief gesture and he turned down the sensitivity. He had to focus. Thankfully, his goal was illuminated in bright but flickering emergency lights. ‘Silo Junction: Transit Station 1.’ Again, with the numbering, but Astral pushed it out of his mind. The hall took a few twists and turns, the glass rooms on either side either blood-covered or utterly destroyed. The red crosshair on the helmet’s visor swept from side to side, Astral making sure to cover each room as he passed it. I hate this. It didn’t feel like anything was watching him, and that was almost worse. The knowledge he was likely the only living thing in this area… He made it to the end of the hallway, a familiar ‘T’ junction with elevators to the right, supply closets to the left. The closets were destroyed; clearly burned from something or other. The elevator area was the same as all the others, save two doors. Carefully walking into the area, three elevators on each side, Astral kept the crosshairs trained on the door dead ahead of him. At the end of the elevator welcoming room, two large metal doors were securely bolted shut. Well, one of them had been at least; a gaping hole was torn through the hoof-thick metal. The sign itself was ominous, to say the least. ‘Direct access to Silo 2.’ The door directly next to it was likewise brightly labeled, the brass letters taunting the Thestral. ‘Silo Junction, Transit Station 1’ Ponyfeathers. Slowly edging towards the door, Astral set down his supplies to listen, creeping forward as he kept the saddle-canons trained on the gaping hole. Thankfully, nothing reached his sensitive ears. He wasn’t about to stick his head into the breach, but an outward glance revealed that the ‘Direct Access’ door was a fancy sort of elevator, but had a tube-like structure almost like what you’d see at a water park. He added that to the list of the many odd things about this place, The door to the Transit station was disturbingly easy to pull open, a small access panel immediately granting Astral access with the code and card combo. To his surprise, the hallway immediately beyond the door opened up into a small…subway station? Well, the sign did say station on it. Cautiously descending onto the platform, Astra noted the two tracks to either side of the obnoxiously-neatly tiled area. In the center, however, there was what appeared to be, on further investigation, a windowless supply closet with a water dispenser-still half full too! Pushing his supplies into the closet for safe-keeping, the Security Guard took a closer look at the platform for any sign of, well, anything. There was a screen that would most likely have shown the trains coming and going, but it was cracked in half. Well. I’m at the transit station. Now what? That was when Astral noticed a softly-blinking red light in the ceiling, a small, hoof-sized glass dome recessed into the metal. A camera? With no other recourse, and also since Astral really didn’t want to go back up the stairs next to the likely-hole-of-death, he began to wave. “Oh! Wow. You made it! Ok. Ummm, let me see.” Astral wasn’t sure if he could feel better or worse since the voice sounded genuinely surprised. “Ok, does this button do it? Nope. Alright, maybe this one…” the voice muttered, sounding a lot less sure of themselves. “Ah! Got it. So, I’ve re-activated the tram system. It should-oh no. Hide. Now! I’ll lead it off.” Astral wasn’t sure if the voice was talking to him, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. “Yes, you! Thestral! Tram station! HIDE!” With a mad scramble, Astral ducked back into the supply closet and shoved one of the large shelves against the door. His back pressed against the solid stone; he kept his cannons trained on the thin metal doorway. He heard a smooth, metal-on-metal gliding sound, a familiar voice then reaching his ears. “Welcome, to Silo Transit Station One.” The raspy, laugh-like breath a creature expelled made the stallion’s heart rise into his throat. The tram hadn’t been empty when it arrived. Within a few moments, a familiar voice rang out. “Hey! You. The ugly thing with no hair! Can’t catch me!” the voice sounded from the top of the stairs. As whatever-it-was skittered across the tile, the voice echoed again, farther up the hallway and around the bend. Thankfully, whatever this thing was didn’t sound too bright if it was chasing a voice. After a good five minutes of silence, Astral was about to open the door to sneak onto the tram when his sensitive ears registered something. It was small, the sound as if a dozen little tacks were tapping across the tiled floor. The soft, hiss-like whispers made him immediately recoil. Evidently, the giant creature wasn’t the only thing that the tram had brought over. “Just stay there for a while. I’ll see if I can lead these things off,” a familiar voice whispered, Astral catching sight of a small, nearly-invisible dome in the corner of the room on the ceiling. “I wouldn’t go out there for a good long while. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.” “Thank you,” Astral said softly, not sure if the voice could hear him as he slumped down, still facing the barricaded door. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed away, only venturing to eat and drink once the sound of the skittering faded away. Eventually, however, he dozed off to sleep, helmeted head resting against a shelf. Looking at the viewing monitor, two dark-violet eyes softened at seeing the Thestral doze off, a soft huff leaving between two fangs. “You’re welcome,” the pony muttered, tapping a few keys to pull up a file. ‘Astral Sentinel.’ This should have been done sooner but, truth be told, it hadn’t been likely Astral would survive this long. “Huh. Not much older than me…” they muttered, eyes then narrowing at an ‘addendum’ mark. ‘Records Expunged from Military Tribunal.’ Ironic that most areas kept a record of ‘deleted’ files. Obviously, the Stairway Company had access to it, as it did for all employees when they dug into any past incidents, criminal or otherwise. It was the three lines of text that made the viewer’s hoof tap in suspicion. ‘Two counts of Second-Degree Attempted Murder: Case dropped; records expunged. Second-Degree Sexual Assault: Case Dropped due to testimony, records expunged One count of Possession of Narcotics with intent to distribute and/or use within a military installation: Case dropped; records expunged.’ What sort of connections do you have, Astral? The pony thought. To get those charges dropped, you have to have friends in high places or a lot of bits. Those types of connections could certainly get you a job here. “Maybe you aren’t so friendly after all.”