Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
Working for the Leaders isn't glamorous, but it's still a job.
We're a fairly new group, all things considered. There's a lot we don't know about this place, but we're putting the pieces together slowly and steadily.
I say we, but really I'm not included in that list. Going to new Scenes and dissecting dead creatures isn't really my style. Most of what I handle is nice and familiar. Well, as familiar as anything can be in the DevRooms. I've spent a lot of time in the futuristic office, less so in the unnerving hotel, and even less so, well, here.
We've taken to calling this place Scene 03.1. Seems fitting, as it's very different to the other "01" and "02" scenes we've seen before. It's hostile, but not from a presence of monsters. It's because it's completely black. No light. No sound. Just your thoughts and your silent footsteps.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
The name of the game, for me at least, is mapping. We're fairly on our own in this regard, as we can't seem to find many records relating to this place. To be honest, we can't seem to find many records of anything down here. A That's always bugged me. We know there have been people before us, so where are all their remnants? Are we actually the first to write things down? It seems impossible, but that's the only explanation I can think of. But I digress.
Mapping Scene 03.1 is a job I don't know why I signed up for. I'm not the kind of man who gallantly risks his life for future generations, but I just got a sense of duty from the dark passages. Like I had to go in there, even if I never came out. I don't think I've truly reckoned with the danger I've put myself in. If you misstep here — well, it's best not to dwell on what they'll have to do in that case.
I fell out of the world a few months ago, and to be frank I don't think I've truly reckoned with that either. That my friends and family think I'm dead. That my entire life has been derailed. That the laws I thought I knew from school weren't correct. That there is so much unknown. I wake up every morning thinking I'm going to be back in my bed, with smells devoid of mold and water that's actual water, but it just doesn't happen.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
I'm not alone in my endeavors though. I'm with a fellow called Cooper. He's… alright, I'll give him that. We don't tend to talk even when we aren't in a soundproofed space. Not out of malice, mind you, but just because we don't know how to strike up conversation. The awkward tension is palpable.
He's a fairly decent mapping partner though, haven't had any slip-ups with him yet. We've got a good system going, and we've made more progress than any other pair in the past few days. Apparently this place serves as a connection between Scenes 01.6 and 01.9. We already have ways to reach both those areas, but if we could go through this Scene it would speed travel time immensely. That's probably the reason the Leaders are so interested in these halls.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
We can't see, and most of our speech sounds weirdly…garbled? (it's tough to explain), so we make use of a couple of different ways to communicate. We have a couple of "tap codes", you might call them: a palm on the front is stop, a pull on the arm is turn, etc. It's not elegant, but it works.
We're also tied together by a rope round both our waists, to make sure we don't drift too far apart. There's a fair amount of slack in it, so I'm not sure how effective it actually is. Can never be too safe, though.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
I have a second rope wrapped round my arm, and this is the key object that makes all this mapping possible. It's what lets us navigate safely as well. We use it to scan for one-way walls, which are all over this place. To do this, we follow a set procedure.
Cast. Before taking a single step, I fling the rope a bit in front of me.
Pull. I try to reel the rope back in. If it returns easily, there's no one-way wall there; we can safely step forward.
Catch. If instead the rope catches on something, then I'm trying to pull it backwards through a one-way wall, and it's been embedded. I give it a strong tug to make sure there's definitely a wall, then…
Cut. I cut the rope using whatever we have. Right now I have a bit of sharp metal scavenged from one of the industrial Scenes; not fancy, but it works.
Mark. The loose end of rope on the floor now warns future travelers, by telling them that there's a wall here. Disconcertingly, these markers don't tend to last long, and we don't know what's getting rid of them. In any case, Cooper also makes sure to memorize where the one-way wall is, so he can draw it on our work-in-progress map.
This system isn't fast in even the loosest sense of the word. I have to keep casting and reeling the rope so often we move at less than a snail's pace. It's taken us weeks to map this small portion of 03.1, even with other pairs using identical systems. At least it's pretty low-risk, aside from — no, I'm still not thinking about that.
There's a faint scent of blood here.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
Another hallway down. This whole area seems to be a complex snaking spiderweb, and every path we've checked is a cul-de-sac of one-ways, none of which we want to cross. Thoroughness is what we're paid for though, and by paid I really mean "not kicked out of the camp to become monster food", which I suppose is a form of payment.
Cast.
Pull.
Catch.
Cut.
Mark.
I'm tired. It's been a very long day doing this, and I'm relatively certain that we're the only pair left on-duty. Weirdly, this whole thing is becoming… boring? It seems strange to say. So many men have lost their minds in these tunnels, but mine's so intact it's falling asleep at the wheel. Perhaps the ropes is what helps? Gives me a physical thing to hold onto, which grounds me from the psychological threats. Seems plausible. Although, now that I think about it, wasn't there also —
My foot hits the ground.
It collides with an uneven surface: a step.
My ankle twists.
I fall forward.
My arms fly out in front of me.
I catch myself, grazing my palms on the rough floors.
I now can't feel my right hand.
Oh shit.
No. No. Nononono. I couldn't of, I didn't, I haven't…
I have.
My right arm is stuck. The plane of the one-way wall in front of me is intersecting it just below the wrist, and I can't get it out. Fuck. No. God no. I think Cooper's realized what's happened.
Tap codes.
Arm stuck. Below wrist.
I think he untied the rope. I think he left to get help. I don't know for certain. I can't see or hear. I can't feel my right hand at all: the nerves aren't sending a signal backwards through the one-way wall. I'm hyperventilating already. I know what happens next, as much as I pretended it wasn't a possibility mere moments ago. I can still smell the faint scent of blood. I'm scared. I don't know what to do even though there's nothing to do.
The minutes crawl by, taking all too long and no time at all. Intellectually, I know they have to get me out. Otherwise, the blood will pool in my hand, not being able to go back through the veins. It will become stagnant, and the cells of my hand will start dying, until no living hand is left. But feelings don't follow rational rules, and mine are going completely haywire. How was I so calm just minutes ago? I guess you don't know how bad it is until you face it.
That step. That damned step. Why was it there? Why did it trip me up? Out of spite? Is this place all built on spite? Or is it just utterly uncaring, ambivalent to our activities? What's more frightening?
The dread hurts more than what I know is coming. I feel sick. Truly, violently sick. I might vomit all over the concrete at any moment now, if I don't soil myself first. My God, when is -
A hand.
A firm grip on my shoulder. I can tell from experience that it's Cooper. He taps something.
2 more. Should be quick.
He's trying to reassure me. He's failing miserably. Do they even have anesthetic here? None that would be as effective as those back home. God I want to go home. I want to go home so badly. The events start replaying in my mind.
I trip over and lodge my hand in the wall. Cast.
I try to pull my arm back out. Pull.
It's firmly stuck in the one-way. Catch.
I know what's next. I brace.
Cut.
On October 26th, 1970, a man stumbles out of Scene 03.1. He is missing his right hand. The stump bleeds profusely, despite the crude attempts his colleagues made to seal the wound. He will not recover, not truly anyhow, but he will live.
On October 26th, 2020, a woman walks past a barricade in Level 6. She hardly notices it, instead focused on the thread map in her hands. She has no idea how the blueprints these maps were based off of were created. The faint smell of blood has long dissipated.
Behind the barricade, in a place nobody has trodden in 50 years, a severed hand lies.
It has not decayed.
It is not the only one of its kind.
Mark.