The iron spiral stairs wound downward through two hundred feet of solid dark rock before opening into the underground expanse of Sub-Level Two. As Arthur Vance stepped off the final rusted rung, the heat plummeted twenty degrees. The scorching, rotten-egg air of Factory Alpha was replaced by a cold, cold and exact chill that smelled intensely of heavy-duty formalin, acetic acid, and the faint, sweet musk of living fungal mycelium.
Arthur brought his ARC-7 Mag-Carbine up. He swept the weapon’s integral tactical lantern across the damp stone. Beside him, Grimm’s black glass paws padded silently across the flat stone slabs, the dread-wolf’s single ear cocked forward, sampling the faint sound reverberations bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.
From an overhead air-flow grate thirty feet above, a sleek, liquid shadow poured downward. Vesper landed without making the slightest sound, her black fur blending perfectly into the underground gloom. Her notched left ear flicked backward, her long tail swaying in a tight, hungry arc. She trotted to Arthur’s knee. She pressed her cool snout against his palm, before glancing back into the shadows of the huge chamber ahead.
“Vesper was scouting the upper ductwork,” Arthur murmured. He ran his gloved fingers through the panther’s thick fur. “She says the main hall is active. The guards haven’t abandoned the nursery yet.”
