>Chapter 2_
The Seventh Iteration of Sanctuary 17223
"Waaaaaaaaargh!?"
Yeah, this is happening. I'm falling.
Going down.
Plummeting.
Accelerating at an alarming rate.
Falling is my thing, hardly worth pulling out the mental thesaurus—but not like this! This isn't the magical moment of floating in the air after a jump. For all I know this vent could be a literal bottomless pit!
Arms outstretched against the narrow walls, I slow my descent as my hands continue sliding down the slippery surface. With every inch the friction burns hotter through my gloves, forcing me to let go and continue my rapid downward—and occasionally sideways—trajectory like a cartoon character getting pushed around for laughs.
The good news: part of Clarice's CD collection is falling with me, guaranteed entertainment at the bottom.
The bad news: I mean, I'll probably die.
"What the heeeeeell!?" My incoherent screams echo down.
?Sure it's grand,? Róisín hums in as soothing a tone as she can, hurting with every word. ?You'll be on solid ground again in no time.?
"That's the part I'm worried abooout!!"
?I promise, Lulu. There's no need to be scared.?
What was it that the sign outside the Lonicera Medical Centre said? "Our care is a promise and a threat"?
"You'd better not be fucking with meee—aaah!!"
Brittle branches and vines winding their way up the vent tickle my legs, then cut holes into my already torn leggings. After a few too many close calls of nearly having my eyes poked out, I'm caught in a sturdy pile of foliage that slows my fall and supports my weight—but for how much longer?
Dim light struggles to shine through the green, and before I know it, my body exits the vent. The floor is in sight. The vines making up my unconventional seat only need to carry me a tiny bit longer. Don't tear, don't tear, don't tear—
Snap.
"Fuuu—!"
With all my luck used up, I hit the floor covered in branches, landing on my tailbone. A shock jolts up my spine, delivering a bout of nausea as the CD cases scatter around me.
"Ack!"
Not my best day performance-wise, but given the circumstances, I'll rank survival slightly higher on my list of priorities.
The ceiling tile I fell through snaps back into place without a sound, closing the vent and cutting leaves into halves that sway as they fall down.
?Welcome to Sanctuary 17223.?
"Seventeen, twenty-two, three?" I groan.
Róisín suppresses a cough. ?This is all I can do. The rest is up to you, Test Subject Lambda.?
"'Test Subject'? What're you talking about?"
There's no response.
"Hey," I try again. "Come on, don't leave me—" A glance at my phone confirms it's all out of juice. "—hanging."
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Great. What kind of weird cult am I stuck in now without battery, without a guide, and most importantly, without a soundtrack?
I lean on my side and pick up one of the CD cases. Oh, hey, it's the band that ripped off Clarice's Space Girls and definitely not the other way around.
On second thought, maybe silence is the appropriate choice of background noise in an abandoned hospital's secret underground facility.
Holding my breath to push through the slowly subsiding pain, I stand up and shield my eyes from the flickering ceiling lights. Plant stems squeeze through cracks all over. Thick branches hold floor panels in places where they definitely shouldn't be. It's more of an obstacle course than a "facility".
The path behind me is blocked off by a hole so wide no amount of momentum would let me reach the other side. It's dizzying. Empty more so than deep. Like there's nothing once you jump in. It doesn't feel real.
Must be the fear talking. Note to self: exposure therapy did not cure my aversion to heights and flying.
That leaves only one direction to begin my search for the doll—and for an exit, because I highly doubt I'm leaving through where I came from.
"Yo," I call out, dodging branches and awkwardly climbing over tilted floor and wall panels. "Anyone there? Anything?"
After turning the corner, I make my way for a door almost seamlessly blending in with the walls to my right. No label, no handle. But hidden under a cluster of leaves is an interactive terminal, and as I approach, lines of green text appear on its screen.
User authentication. . . . . .
Identity confirmed: λ
Access granted.
Welcome, Test Subject Lambda._
Despite my access privileges, well-earned by doing absolutely nothing, the door doesn't slide open for me.
Loading module. . . . . .
Process cancelled.
Environment could not be rendered.
ERROR CODE: 100
Host is busy. Contact Admin if error persists.
So much for whatever any of that means.
As I step out of the terminal's range, the text on it is wiped. No tutorial for me.
My journey along the destroyed hallway soon feels like a loop: another corner, another door, another interactive panel, and another instance of the same error message. But third time's the charm, so I drag my aching legs over more uneven flooring, around one more corner.
The giant hole on the other end tells me I've almost come full circle. "3F" is written next to a round elevator sandwiched between piles of misplaced wall tiles.
Calling elevator from 4F. . . . . .
Process cancelled.
Platform could not be moved.
ERROR CODE: 209
Physical obstruction. Tell Admin to fix that shit.
I'm not sure calling IT is the way to go for constructional issues, but if what little I know about Róisín and Clarice is anything to go by, then this Admin must be one hell of a character too.
Breaking the silence is a quiet ringing in my ears, a low-pitched buzz, oddly intrusive for how subtle it is. The sound of electricity flowing, or so it feels.
In search of the source, I reach for a branch that's in my way. As the light flickers off again, I notice a dimly lit line on my sleeves.
A light projection?
Its trail leads to a door across the elevator. Looks like I've been circling a large room this whole time. And if light manages to get out, there's got to be a way for me to get in.
The terminal invites me to try my luck. I make what I can only describe as eye contact with it before the usual text appears on its screen.
User authentication. . . . . .
Identity confirmed: λ
Access granted.
Welcome, Test Subject Lambda._
No error codes. This is it.
As the door slides open, my heart skips a beat in anticipation.
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