The deep underground maze of Sub-Level 4 existed in a realm detached from the roaring spectacle of the Grand Colosseum above. Carved out of ancient pre-Cataclysm drainage canals, its damp concrete walls were crisscrossed by massive cast-iron steam mains that hummed with an unending sixty-cycle drone. In Workshop Bay 12, everyone could feel the honest scents of living beasts and machine oil. The rich, grassy musk of dried alfalfa, the metal tang of gun solvent, and the comforting warmth of a low coal fire bowl.
It was two o’clock in the morning. On a canvas cot tucked beneath the tool racks, Toby was fast asleep, his glasses folded neatly on an ammunition crate beside him, snoring with the rhythmic wheeze of a tired engine. In the center of the bay, Grimm lay stretched out on Arthur’s spare woolen blanket, his massive black head resting securely across Arthur’s left combat boot. Atop Titus’s wide, warm shell plates, Vesper was curled into her signed name rust-tabby donut. Her small body rose and falling in shallow, peaceful sleep.
Arthur sat at the long steel workbench under the focused cone of a hooded check lamp. Through his Monocle Taxonomy Loupe (Mk. IV), he was carefully examining the covalent structure of the man-made resin pulled out from Ronald’s bison. The amber light of the spectrograph reflected in his dark pupils as he cataloged the tiny polymer chains that formed the proprietary ApexBio kill-switch.
