Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soft, repeated sounds of feet tapping against the polished marble floor. The gentle but present buzz of the overhead lights illuminating the lobby. Faintly recognizable jazz music playing on the ceiling speakers.

It all tried to set a mood that it fell just short of achieving. The atmosphere was meant to be calm and reliable—but it didn’t help calm Survivor’s nerves one bit. Anxiety ate away at his nerves like leeches siphoned blood from an animal, and every second he waited felt like another leech had discovered his exposed body and began to feed.

No amount of reality reminding head-shaking or meditative deep breaths helped. The anxiety-dampening tricks that Survivor was taught at the Corporation didn’t work, either. Nothing felt like it worked, from his training to the ceiling speakers whose sound had just then started to flicker, the music fading—just barely, but noticeable enough to irritate.

Survivor sat in one of those foldable office chairs next to a colorful inspirational poster detailing the survival rate of company employees. It illustrated a man dressed in an orange hazmat (he wore a black gas mask helmet instead of a traditional hazmat helmet) in a triumphant pose. His dominant leg stood atop an old diesel engine, and he beckoned his fist toward the sky as though claiming himself the victor over some hard-fought battle.

In the background of the poster was one of those foreign planets that the Rain Company liked to send their employees. Survivor knew it all too well from the images that were shown via projection in the Corporation classrooms.

Survivor sighed, once again trying and failing to calm his nerves.

“Is Survivor present?” The blue slugcat behind the receptionist’s desk cleared her throat, her voice smooth like honey. She adjusted a pair of circular glasses fixed to her face. “The manager will see you now.”

“…Right,” Survivor replied. He’d hoped he kept as much of that anxiety out of his voice as possible as he stood from his seat. “Thank you,” he bowed before heading up to a large door on the left side of the reception desk.

The door handle didn’t budge.  

The receptionist cleared her throat. “The lock is disengaged,” she murmured. An accompanying metallic click could be heard from inside the handle.

Survivor refrained from speaking. This time, the door handle twisted open easily, and he was inside the manager’s office in a matter of seconds. He shut the door behind him and glanced forward, where there was a seat before a table.

And behind that table there was a person, whose eyes he just made contact with. A much taller person, made of a mix of metal and flesh. A pair of bright, pupil-less eyes sat embedded in a round and pink head. Silver antennae protruded upward from the sides, ending in a sharp, blade-like feature. A thick orange cloak draped his body.

“Sir,” Survivor murmured, bowing gently. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You were here last year, yes?” The iterator—his name Five Pebbles, designated by the nameplate on his desk—asked, expression unchanging. Not that it could change exactly, aside from shifting positions of his eyelids. “The one who had the—“

“Yes,” Survivor interrupted. “The one that had the panic attack,” he murmured shamefully.

Five Pebbles sighed. “You’ll learn not to interrupt your superiors. I trust that your issues have been worked out at the Corporation?”

Unsure, Survivor nodded again. “They have,” he said. “I retook the required training, too.” He brushed his ears back.

The light from the window, behind the iterator, flashed as Five Pebbles walked past it and around the table. Survivor’s eyes tracked him; uncertain, but ready.

“Enlighten me. Do you believe you’re now a fit for this job?” Five Pebbles questioned, his voice hissy as it escaped the speaker implant in his neck. His form was heavy and foreboding over the smaller slugcat. “Or must you return to the Corporation another year?”

Reluctantly, Survivor shook his head. “I’m ready for the job, sir,” he replied quietly.

“You don’t sound like you want the job,” Five Pebbles observed. “Well, nobody does. But you are exceptionally lacking in subtlety.”

Survivor stared down at his lap for a moment, gaze drifting over the threading that his black khakis were composed of. A response was not given nor planned.

Five Pebbles stood by for a moment, awaiting a reply—before eventually realizing that one wasn’t coming.

“That’s fine,” Five Pebbles sighed. “Enthusiasm is not a requirement for this job.” He strode back to his seat—a large black cushion-y office chair—and plopped back down into it. His hands steepled as Five Pebbles leaned in uncomfortably close.

“You’ll be leaving today,” the iterator muttered. “I can’t be possessed to imagine you have any qualms with that fact.”

“No, sir,” Survivor, disheartened, responded.

Five Pebbles nodded, satisfied. Eyelids half-shut and his heart half-empty, if iterators even had one. “A shuttle will be arriving in five minutes in front of the company building. You will be on it. Your coworker is currently waiting for your arrival on-ship.”

Survivor hummed in surprise. “Coworker, sir?” 

The iterator’s head tilted to the side, as if he was amused. “We wouldn’t send a new hire without a senior,” he chuckled. “That would simply be irresponsible.”

Then suddenly, Five Pebbles’ eyelids narrowed as he leaned in ever closer. “A word of advice, Employee.” Survivor gulped.

“Don’t annoy her. Terrible things happen to those foolish enough to.” Silence filled the air. Tension was high. Sweat drops shot down Survivor’s face like bullets.

But the silence dissolved eventually, like a rope unceremoniously untied. Five Pebbles laughed again. “Astounding. You’re afraid, aren’t you? Of her?”

“I’m not,” Survivor stammered, fingers clenched in his lap, eyes wide.

Five Pebbles stood again, turning to face the window. “...Witticism aside, I’d suggest you keep your cards close to your chest. Take very great care. This line of work is not easy.” He turned around again, his eyes flashing with light as they glazed Survivor’s thin frame. “You may die. It’s not certain, but it’s possible. Always remember that. To die is to fail the company, and to fail is to disappoint the Corporation that trained and endorsed you.”

Survivor rose to his feet, saluting. “Understood, sir. I’ll try to commit my very best to the job.”

A hum, sounding as though interlaced with radio static, expelled from the iterator’s throat.

“Say that again, but with more confidence,” he ordered.

“...Understood, sir. I will commit my very best to the job,” Survivor repeated, this time louder.

Five Pebbles laughed, albeit quietly. “Good enough, I suppose. Now leave and prove your worth to the company.”

Immediately, Survivor turned a 180 and headed for the door. His heart rate had accelerated, mirrored in his rapid and unsure footsteps. 

Once he had left the manager’s office and the door shut behind him, it was like a 200 pound weight had been lifted from Survivor’s shoulders—but at the same time, he couldn’t calm down. He was practically gasping for air, leaking sweat like a fountain spat water. It took every bit of himself not to crack under pressure.

Deep breaths didn’t help, as usual. His nerves hardly calmed one bit. In, out, in—out again; he tried slower. In. Out. In. Out. 

In the corner of his vision, Survivor noticed the motivational poster from earlier, its background detailing a foreign, alien sky. Devoid of people. Empty of prying, hateful eyes. It reminded him of space. Endless, black, cold space. Visions of the endless inky black, all around him, like a blanket that was cold but welcomed him with open arms, a guardian that would never call judgement upon him.

Survivor let out one last deep breath. His anxiety left with it.

Right at the end of the brief hallway staring back at him was the receptionist, her arms pointedly on her hips. Watching. Judging. A glare like that could drill holes in your heart.

“…Excuse me,” Survivor muttered, feet tapping against the cold marble floor as he moved by her. She offered no complaints.

It was when Survivor was 90% of the way to the exit that he realized the jazz music on the speakers had ceased. Or rather, it changed. What played now was a classical piece, countless notes played on a piano spraying out of the speaker.

…He was never a big fan of classical.

…

Under the bright light of the sun, Survivor’s unadjusted eyes were forced to blink rapidly. He stumbled out onto the pavement, the warm outside air hitting him like a truck. The company building was always kept so cold that 80 degree weather felt sweltering.

The sky above, covered partially by strings of clouds, was difficult to see on account of the dozens of surrounding city skyscrapers and sky rails. Not to mention the smog that layered under it like a thick coat. Calling it blue would be an insult to real blue skies.

”Watch it!” A scavenger hissed as she nearly walked into Survivor, who admittedly had been standing  vacant-mindedly in the middle of the sidewalk. He hadn’t quite grasped the crowd of people that populated the concrete.

“Sorry!” Survivor choked before suddenly stepping forward toward the road. Conveniently, it was a few seconds later that the promised shuttle had arrived, gliding into the spot right by the sidewalk where Survivor stood. 

It was a funny looking almost box-shaped vehicle. The wheels were nearly completely covered by long flaps on both sides of the shuttle, making it appear to float over the road instead of rest on it. The shuttle, a beige color, clearly hadn’t been washed in a while. Dirt and grime caked its outer walls generously. The windows were just as covered.

The only feature that prevented Survivor from assuming it was one of those vans kidnappers used was the silver insignia of the Corporation embedded by the front right door of the shuttle.

An airy hiss was emitted from the long sliding door on the side of the shuttle in front of him as it opened, revealing an accomodatingly large interior with no fewer than 12 seats. There were a couple of slugcats inside, which Survivor supposed lended to its credibility. 

He climbed inside, took a seat, and…

“No seatbelts,” Survivor muttered, disappointed.

The driver, a tall and thin tan scavenger, looked back at Survivor and the rest of the slugcats in the backseats. “Ready to go?”

Survivor reluctantly nodded, despite the lack of seatbelts. “Yes, sir.”

The sliding doors shut, and the shuttle took off down the road.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

It was about a half hour drive to the site, which Survivor learned from his time in the Corporation to refer to as the Shipyard. It wasn’t a shipyard in the traditional sense since there was not a speck of ocean or lake. Instead, the Shipyard was a launching grounds for the spaceships that the Employees would be operating on.

Survivor could feel his nerves creeping up on him again, but not exactly in a bad way. It was like he had butterflies  in his stomach, but he felt excited regardless.

The shuttle—which at this point had dropped off the two other slugcats at different locations—came to a halt, wheels scraping against the gravel path it had driven onto. The doors slid wide open.

“Don’t get yourself killed, kid,” the driver muttered. “Careful up there.”

Survivor chuckled nervously as he stepped out of the shuttle. “Actually, the survival rate for employees is 98%. I’ll be—“

The scavenger shook his head. “Tell that to my coworkers.”

Confused, Survivor tilted his head to the right a bit. “Are they on site?”

“They’re in site, alright,” the driver muttered. “Six feet under it.” 

Their eyes made contact for a moment. Black, wispy eyes that had seen true terrors meeting Survivor’s own.

Then the doors slammed shut before the shuttle took off, leaving Survivor behind, alone on the site. He, watched the vehicle drive off past a thick patch of bushes and trees into the forest, disappearing from view completely. The sounds of engine sputtering and rubber tires rolling over gravel disappeared too, shortly.

All that was left were the ambient sounds of the forest.

Eventually, Survivor glanced down at a little slip of paper he’d been given earlier that day at the company building. 

Ship 03-JR-J. Allotted two crew members. Returns October 26th. Crator II.

“First shift’s two weeks,” Survivor muttered, narrowing his eyes. “What a generous employer I have.”

Then he looked back up, and as luck would have it, Survivor quickly spotted the ship in question just a few vehicles down the row. 

It was similar in shape to the shuttle that had taken him here, except much larger and longer—and obviously not beige. Surrounding the ship perimeter was an elevated yellow railing standing atop a narrow metal grid mesh pathway. It wore four thrusters, all substantially large, and on top of the ship appeared to be a set of sirens? Horns maybe? Survivor couldn’t exactly tell. Certainly, the ship wasn’t enormous. Probably enough to fit 16 people inside like a pack of sardines if you kept the appliances and machinery.

The ship looked hardly like anything he’d seen in the Corporation Handbook. Survivor was expecting something grand, but this was barely a step above shoddy.

Notably, the sliding door at the back of the ship was wide open. Blaring music screamed out the opening, some kind of hard rock. But as Survivor approached, the music suddenly screeched to a halt.

A gas helmet-covered head poked out of the door, immediately spotting Survivor. It stared, an unreadable expression behind the cloudy visor, though Survivor couldn’t help but feel judged. He froze up, his body stiffening, his hands clammy.

The rest of the orange hazmat-covered figure walked out to the edge of the railing, a confident stride, leaning against it coolly as they studied Survivor.

“You him?” yelled a low, hissy, yet slightly feminine voice. Just enough to convince Survivor this must have been the senior that the manager said would easily tear him apart.

Survivor gulped. “I’m Survivor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ah, figured. You are him,” she muttered, her tone almost disappointed. “Well? Get on board already.”

Survivor had just been standing there like an idiot the entire time, he realized. He immediately jogged up to the ship before pausing to study its exterior, red and yellow paint worn down over years of use.

The suited employee groaned impatiently, her foot tapping against the floor. “Don’t have all day.”

“…How do I… get on?” Survivor chuckled nervously. 

“There’s ladders front left and back right,” she replied, agitated. “Literally can’t miss em.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Survivor silently cursed himself a hundred times for being so painfully unaware. Now that the ladders were pointed out, he could spot them clearly. He wasn’t exactly leaving his idea of a good first impression. His senior was already annoyed.

He quickly climbed aboard the ship, getting his bearings as his feet left the top ladder rung and met the sturdy mesh pathway surrounding the ship. Then it creaked under his weight, which was… concerning, to say the least.

“…What do I call y—?”

“Artificer,” the other slugcat interrupted. “Looks like it’s just you and me from here on out. Company said you’re a junior?”

Survivor nodded. “Yeah, and—“

“Good. I’m your senior, which means you’re my responsibility, which means it’s my paycheck getting sapped if you die out there,” Artificer interjected yet again, her voice no more than a growl, before roughly shoving Survivor forward toward the ship door. “Haul ass! We’re burning too much time as it is.”

“Can you let me talk?” Survivor choked, grabbing hold of the railing tight so that he wouldn’t trip from the sudden push. “I just got here!”

Artificer shook her head before heading past him, entering the ship. Then she gestured for him to follow. “No time. Get suited up and we’re leaving.”

This was going to be a very, very long two weeks, Survivor realized.

////////////////////////////////////

It took no longer than a meager one minute for Survivor to properly dress himself with the company safety gear. He’d done it plenty of times during his training at the corporation, but this was the first time he’d done so with the intention of actually working inside of it.

The suit was warm— but dry warm, not a trace of humidity. Though the visor on the gas helmet could’ve used a cleaning. Thankfully, next to the suit rack, there was a box of wet wipes generously provided by the Company, which he could deduce from the enormous ‘Company-sponsored’ sticker plastered over the part of the box that would have shown the original brand logo.

Survivor cleaned off the front of his visor, sparing it from what must have been months of built up grime.

“You done?” Artificer muttered impatiently, leaning against the wall beside the suit rack. Survivor really didn’t appreciate being rushed into a job that was half-foreign to him.

”Just about,” Survivor replied, tossing the used wipe into a small metal bin embedded into the wall. 

He noticed a button labeled ‘Dispose’ directly above it.

“Does this just drop the trash out of the ship?” He wondered, inspecting the bin mechanism closely.

Suddenly, Artificer slammed her hand against the button. Survivor jumped back in shock. “Wait! We’re not in space yet!”

Nothing happened.

“That piece of shit’s never worked,” Artificer snorted. “You have to clean the trash out by hand.” She released the button, allowing it to unceremoniously slide back into its original position.

Survivor frowned, his head drooping just an inch.

“I’m ready to take off, I guess,” he finally sighed as he turned to face his senior. “Are you going to fly the ship?”

“Do you see flight controls back there?” Artificer grunted, gesturing to the back of the ship with her shoulder. “There’s like, a lever, and that’s all. Ship flies on auto.”

“You’re kidding. What was all that flight training they put me through for then?” Survivor gaped, his shoulders dropping in disappointment.

Artificer led him to the control panel, which obviously was missing the mentioned flight controls. Just above the panel was a sizable monitor displaying arbitrary data, with another similarly sized monitor to its right, blank with green-tinted static.

“If we get promoted, we get a bigger ship,” Artificer shrugged. “Somethin’ to look forward to. It’d probably even have flight controls.”

“How long does it take to get promoted?” Survivor stammered. “I mean, you’re a senior. You must have been here for at least two years now.”

Then Artificer shook her head. “Three. And nah, one-woman teams don’t really get promoted,” she muttered. “But hey, with you here, maybe it’ll finally happen.”

The two allowed a moment of silence as Survivor thought. Eventually, he turned his head to Artificer, a puzzled look crossing his face.

“How long have you been doing this job alo—?”

CLICK—!

Survivor suddenly stumbled backward on account of the sudden quaking of the ship as Artificer pulled the flight lever, causing the thrusters to immediately fire up with the power of however much propellant the company filled them with. And just a moment later, as the ship became airborne and had started to rocket toward the sky, its doors shut, sealing both slugcats inside.

The roaring of the thrusters was a sound like none other. Hearing them played on a speaker was so much different than physically being inside the vehicle that they were lifting, Survivor realized. He felt like a billion batflies were swarming in his stomach.

“Whoops. You were taking too long,” Artificer snickered maliciously before extending her hand, offering to help Survivor get back up.

And for a second, in that very moment, Survivor could just barely get a look at Artificer’s face past that visor of hers. A white eye without a clear pupil on the right, and another completely shut on account of a scar cleaving over it. Her fur was a shade darker than crimson, though it was difficult to tell due to the tinted glass of the visor.

One might say that the scar over her eye was grotesque, but Survivor couldn’t help but feel that she looked gorgeous, completely and irreparably.

Survivor took her hand, using it to help himself get to his feet. He could have easily done so alone, but that one act must have been a gesture of goodwill—meaning Artificer probably cared about his well-being. Survivor hoped, at least.

“Are we actually in space?” Survivor realized, glancing around for a window.

“Nah, not yet. We’re still leaving the atmosphere,” Artificer replied. “They don’t give us windows on a ship like this, but you can see the view from the screen.”

She pointed to a smaller monitor above the larger right one. Its smaller size made it fairly difficult to discern any details, but nothing could prevent Survivor from seeing the surface of the planet progressively shrinking as the ship lifted.

Then Survivor blinked, immediately shaking his head in surprise. “Wait, aren’t we supposed to sit down or something? Shouldn’t we be completely crushed by gravity right now?”

Artificer shrugged. “No idea. It’s never happened to me before. Either all those space movies lied, or the ship equalizes the effect of gravity. Somehow. That’d probably be more in line with a space movie thing, actually.”

Survivor watched in awe as the ship completely left the planet’s atmosphere, finally entering what could be considered actual space. Unfortunately, the stars didn’t look like much on a tiny camera monitor, only amounting to a bunch of white pixels here and there.

It disappointed him greatly, which was clearly readable in his body language.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just wait till we get promoted and get real windows,” Artificer snorted, her hands on her sides. 

Survivor let out a long-winded sigh before stepping back and leaning against the ship wall.

Thankfully, Artificer allowed him a moment of silence before getting right back to work.

Against the wall on the right of the control panel and subsequent monitors was a large terminal, complete with a screen display of its own and a full keyboard. Artificer quickly got to work on it, rapidly tapping away at the keys as she operated the terminal menu.

“Hey, rookie,” Artificer muttered, her pace undisturbed. “Get over here, gotta learn the terminal at some point.”

Survivor let his arms drop to his sides before he joined Artificer at her side, paying full attention to her and the terminal itself. “I’m all ears.”

“So it’s pretty simple,” Artificer explained. “You type shit and the computer does things.”

Survivor frowned. “Very descriptive,” he muttered sarcastically.

A quiet laugh escaped Artificer’s mouth. “Hey, shut the fuck up. I’m teaching you here. Respect your seniors.”

Then she shut the terminal off before pointing to a small power button on the keyboard.

“This is how you turn it on. The little red button. Then you type in ‘help’ for options, and that opens up the menu,” she described alongside her demonstration. “Since we need to actually, y’know, go somewhere—we’re gonna navigate to nearby planets.”

Another menu opened up, detailing a list of planets filtered by their distance in descending order. The closer the planet, the higher it was on the list. Notably, all the text was in green.

“You can ask the computer for information on a planet or moon, but I know most of the ones in the nearby systems, so you won’t be needing that for a while,” Artificer snorted. “Since you’re new, we should start with somethin’ low risk.”

Survivor, concerned, took a look at his slip of paper again before looking to Artificer again. “I think we’re supposed to go to Crator II.”

Artificer froze, much like the silence in the air. For a moment, neither of the two talked, leaving them with silence interlaced with the ambient sounds of the ship.

“…Why there?” Artificer muttered, her boot tapping against the floor. “Of all places?”

“That’s just what it says on the note they handed me before I boarded the shuttle,” Survivor explained nervously. “Is Crator II dangerous?”

“Give me that!” Artificer hissed, suddenly swiping the slip of paper out of Survivor’s hands and quickly reading over it. “You’ve gotta be fucking… those psychopaths!”

Artificer shook her head angrily before staring back at the terminal monitor intently. “Yeah, not happening yet.”

“What? What is it?” Survivor stammered. She hadn’t given him a clear answer yet, and the amount of paranoia it caused him was no less than agonizing. Like nails on a chalkboard.

“Planets have a danger level assigned to them associated with a letter. D to A, and a step above that is S,” Artificer groaned, suddenly ceasing her typing. “New employees aren’t supposed to start out with a danger level A planet. I was expecting to take you to a few D’s and maybe a C if things went well. But now, looks like I’ve got two weeks to train you to handle an A.”

Survivor felt lost under the pressure, as if the force of gravity they didn’t experience while the ship was taking off finally all hit him at once.

“I can’t believe they’d pull this shit…” Artificer muttered under her breath. “I hope you’re a fast learner, rookie.”

“I’ll do my best?” Survivor chuckled nervously, his body stiff as a plank.

Artificer nodded before typing into the terminal again for a moment and suddenly hitting enter. The terminal emitted some sort of whirring noise as the autopilot mechanism began to stir.

Survivor stared at the terminal, confused. “…What did you do?”

“I set a course for our first destination,” Artificer replied. “220-Assurance. It’s a low risk moon, so you probably won’t die there.”

“Probably?” Survivor gulped. His ears twitched.

The thrusters engaged again, firing the ship through space like a knife through butter. It wasn’t long until they were out of their home planet’s orbit.

“It’ll be a few hours until we get there, so get comfortable,” Artificer muttered before climbing to the top of a pair of bunk beds. “Wake me when we get there.”

…

Survivor didn’t respond, his mind wandering elsewhere. He really was in space now. Wrapped in that cold, black, inky blanket. Just like he wanted, right? But now there was a very fair and likely chance he would die ensnared in it.

He himself climbed into the lower bunk, staring upward blankly, the bottom of Artificer’s bunk staring emotionlessly back at him.

Survivor sighed.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

Chapter Text

The 03-JR-J had been in flight for much longer than a ‘few hours,’ as Artificer had described it.

At the point that the trip had reached the four hour mark, Survivor decided enough was enough and he probably had enough time to take a one or two hour nap. The part that he did not expect, however, was that one or two hour nap lasted less than ten minutes. He hadn’t even a chance to fall unconscious.

Emitted from the control speaker were a few loud, high-pitched, demanding beeps. They were blaring enough to grab Survivor’s attention and to—on a more surprising note—wake Artificer up.

“Shit. Looks like we’re here, Rookie,” Artificer yawned loudly and intrusively, as if attempting to alert the whole universe that the ship was closing in. She hopped off the top bunk before—lacking any kind of inertia—striding up to the control panel. 

Survivor followed, quickly scrambling to leave his bed. “Argh, damn it. I just unsuited and everything.”

Artificer glanced back for a moment, her eye glazing over Survivor’s suit-less body, covered by a plain white T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. She scoffed. “Told ya it’d be a few hours.”

“A few hours usually means three—and I waited four. I figured by that point I’d probably have time for a nap!” Survivor spat as he scrambled to suit up.

“In what world does ‘few’ mean ‘three’…?” Artificer deadpanned before shifting her attention back to the control panel. “Whatever. Few means four now, remember that, live with it.”

Survivor groaned, taking a moment to rub his eyes. “Just say four then.”

“Remind me who is the senior here?” Artificer hissed, squinting for a moment at her coworker. “Let’s move on. We’re burning daylight. The planet’s got a sixteen hour day cycle, meaning we have half that to loot the facility we’re currently hovering over. Less than half, if we’re gonna be safe about it.”

A zipper could be heard fully closing, signifying that Survivor had finished dressing himself in his hazmat. “And I assume that we’re not going to be cautious.”

Artificer snorted, pointing finger guns toward him. “Yep. Full eight hours, rookie. Didn’t get hired to do a lousy job.” Then she turned back to the control panel, where a thoughtful hum briefly escaped her throat.

“I hope you’re ready, we’re landing.”

A nearly unconscious pressure filled the ship as it presumably entered the atmosphere of 220-Assurance. The feeling was hardly there, but it was, and Survivor noticed it, despite the gravity equalization technology that Artificer mentioned the ship came equipped with. The pressure was enough to provoke nausea, at least in him. Artificer, predictably—arms crossed leaning against the wall—looked completely unaffected.

“The pressure won’t last, don’t worry,” Artificer laughed as she passed by Survivor and slapped him heartily on the back. “I never threw up, but a kid rookie like you might a few times.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Survivor hissed, straightening out his posture. “Not a kid.”

Artificer shrugged. “Four years younger than me is still a kid,” she said, a smirk visible behind her visor. “Little baby rookie.”

“That’s going to get old really quick,” Survivor groaned in despair.

Any conversation they might have had suddenly cut short as a sizable quake struck the ship, nearly shaking Survivor off his feet. “Damn it. Damn it. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t throw up in your suit, idiot!” Artificer spat before disengaging the lock on Survivor’s helmet and tearing it off him. “Use the bin.”

“The one that doesn’t work??” Survivor mumbled, mouth covered by his hands. He practically fell to his knees when he felt the signature burn of bile flooding his throat—but he ultimately swallowed it back down instead of throwing up.

Artificer rolled her eye. “Well if you were just gonna swallow it, I didn’t need to take your damn helmet off,” she grumbled.

Survivor nearly jumped in surprise as a half-full plastic bottle of water was shoved in his face.

“To wash the bile down,” Artificer muttered.

Reluctantly, Survivor accepted her offer. Of course he was going to be skeptical, though. He inspected the water for any impurities briefly before tossing the cap off.

“…Backwash?” Survivor grimaced, noticing a few unbelonging particles in the water.

Artificer shrugged. “Maybe some.”

Regardless, Survivor took a drink, trying his very greatest not to think about the polluted water as it sufficiently washed out his throat. About half-way through his drink was when he had a concerning thought.

He quickly parted the bottle from his mouth and capped it back off before handing it to Artificer, who tossed it aside without question.

Survivor wasn’t sure if he should ask about it, but he figured that the paranoia would end up eating away at his mind until another one of his panic attacks if he didn’t get an answer.

He turned to Artificer as he stood. “I thought our helmets could only be removed via an internal latch.”

“Yeah?” Artificer muttered.

“…How’d you take mine off?”

An air of silence came, during which neither slugcat spoke or moved a muscle. The two made direct eye contact despite Artificer’s visor darkening her expression, emotionally unreadable.

And then she laughed, laughed for a while, almost like a horrific cackle. Almost. Survivor still wasn’t sure if it was out of malice or genuine hysteria, though it was the type of laugh that you reel your head back for. Survivor felt his heart sink almost as fast as his shoulders rose.

A second later, the tension broke. 

“Pfft—holy shit, you look fucking haunted,” Artificer snorted, slapping her hip in hysterics. Survivor hadn’t the faintest idea if she genuinely found it hilarious, or if she was covering up her true feelings. “Senior handbook,” she said, eventually. “It’s all there.”

“…There’s a senior handbook?” Survivor murmured, still holding in his skepticism.

Artificer hummed thoughtfully. “Yep. Can you imagine if every new rookie knew how to unlock someone else’s helmet?” she chuckled with a shrug.

“Wouldn’t be great, I guess,” Survivor reasoned, to which Artificer gave him a confirming nod.

“Listen, rookie. The Corporation trains some real psychopaths sometimes. Half the point of seniors is to weed those guys out and make sure they don’t kill any of the good kids; rookies like you,” Artificer explained, her tone serious. “To be honest, I’m still in the process of figuring out what kinda kid that you are.”

Survivor winced, his eyes narrowing as he held back frustration. “I’m not a psychopath.”

Artificer shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Can’t tell until I’ve worked with your ass enough. I’ve met some ‘good’ people who turned out to be real monsters inside. The kinds that kill; and put your helmet on, we’re about to touch ground.”

“I’m perfectly normal, thanks,” Survivor retorted as he grabbed his helmet back from Artificer, who had been extending it to him.

Survivor froze as Artificer coldly muttered “That’s exactly what the last kid I trained said before she killed my rookie ship operator and tried to take off without me.”

He had no words to respond with, so Survivor remained quiet, eyes fixed, wide, and unblinking.

“It was more gruesome than anything, really,” Artificer continued as she stared Survivor dead in the eyes. “She took a shovel to his helmet and cracked open his visor. On a moon filled with toxic gas. Kid was dead in seconds, but even if the gas didn’t get him, the shovel she shoved through his forehead would have.”

She paused for a moment, letting the information sink into Survivor’s brain.

“Anyway, that kid’s the reason why I only get one rookie this time around,” Artificer muttered bitterly. “Supposed to do better with you, I guess. So do me a favor and don’t try to murder me.”

Survivor nodded frantically, his hands close to his chest. “...Understood. I mean—of course, I would never; why would I… even think of…?”

Before he could finish speaking, Artificer interrupted him with a pat on the back. “Good. We’ll see if you keep that promise,” she laughed as she handed Survivor a deactivated yellow flashlight along with a fern-colored walkie-talkie. “Take these, you’ll want them.”

He did as ordered, making sure both items were secured tightly inside two of the four straps that segmented his toolbelt. 

Like clockwork, with a soft hiss of pressurized air, the steel panels of the ship airlock retracted sideways and vanished into the walls, revealing the surface of the moon. What immediately stood out about the landscape, to Survivor, was the unusual off orange color of the ground. The planet, additionally, was remarkably dusty; mirrored by the air which blew faint but persistent dust clouds throughout the atmosphere. 

Monolithic terrain and hills populated the land in clusters, the hills reaching about as high as the ones Survivor was used to seeing on his home planet. The monoliths were at least triple that height and less than a quarter as wide, serving as protruding marks that practically segmented the area into smaller sectors.

“The atmosphere here won’t kill you, but it’ll make you sick if you breathe in too much moondust,” Artificer cautioned as she stepped out onto the catwalk, metal creaking underneath her boots. “Just follow my lead, alright?”

“You’re the boss,” Survivor agreed half-heartedly, joining her on the catwalk. He took a moment to linger and survey the immediate vicinity, searching for creatures or general signs of life. But there wasn’t much of anything, really. Most of the planet looked to be an uninhabitable, desolate wasteland. No water, food, or plant life to speak of.

Artificer, as if realizing something important, briefly slipped back into the ship for a few seconds. Survivor could hear her fiddling with something metallic, reverberating with a resonant vibrating hum as something else metal struck against it.

Then she returned, holding in her hands a shovel. “Now we can head out,” Artificer smirked.

Survivor blinked. “That’s not the same shovel that…?”

“Of course not, idiot. I lost that one a few weeks ago,” Artificer rolled her eye before promptly hopping off the ship, orange gravel crunching beneath her as she landed. “You coming or what?”

Frowning, Survivor came down after her, choosing to cautiously climb down the ladder instead of going all ‘Geronimo’ off the side of the railing. He took another curious glance around now that he was actually on the ground. 220-Assurance was a very strange place, nothing like he’d seen on his planet. If Survivor had to compare it to something, maybe it was like a canyon or a badlands.

Artificer, who by now was already twenty feet ahead of Survivor, was glaring daggers at him standing idle. “Don’t got all day! 8 hours, remember?”

“Right!” Survivor realized, rushing ahead to catch up with his senior. “Sorry, let’s go.”

From there, the two left on a short journey that lasted no longer than a quarter hour. The walk was brief, but filled with the anticipating ambient noise of sand and gravel crunch and crackling beneath their feet interlaced with Artificer’s brief or lengthy descriptions of certain things to look out for, such as;

“Eyeless dogs. At least here, they usually come out at around 0500 hours,” Artificer explained as she hopped over a smaller-scale rock. “They can’t see you, but they can hear ya. So be extra quiet if one’s around.”

“That’s horrifying,” Survivor gaped. “Why isn’t data like that in the handbook?”

Artificer shrugged. “Too many moons and planets to record in a single little book, I’d guess. It’s all logged in the ship terminal though.”

Then she grinned, showing teeth. “‘Sides, that’s what I’m here for. To teach you the shit that would otherwise get you killed.”

Survivor nodded in understanding, taking a moment to glance at the ground again to make sure he wouldn’t trip. “Are they native to Assurance?”

Artificer shook her head, also letting out a short laugh. ”I wish. The fuckers are everywhere, for some reason. They only come out when it’s dark, though.”

Survivor blinked, confused. “How does that work? Them being everywhere, I mean,” he wondered. A dislodged rock tumbled in Artificer’s path, which she immediately kicked back to the side. “They would have to have found a way to spread between planets.”

“Hell if I know,” his senior shrugged cluelessly. “Most of the species you’ll find in the ship logs are all over the system, so it pretty much rules out physiological means of travel between planets and moons. And like, they’re starting to be found on 9-Baron, too.”

“Really? If they’re back home, how come I haven’t seen any?”

Artificer thought for a moment before responding. “First few sightings of them on Baron was a year ago. I doubt the Corporation let the little shits spread.”

Their conversation suddenly ended as Survivor abruptly stopped, his eyes fixed on something ahead and a little higher in elevation—to which Artificer followed his gaze until laying eyes on an elevated concrete platform embedded into the mountainside. A yellow ladder, attached to the platform ostensibly via screw, designated their path forward.

“Is that the…” Survivor trailed off, forgetting the right term.

“Facility entrance, yeah,” Artificer nodded. She began to walk again, only for a moment, until she reached the ladder. “Hope you didn’t lose that flashlight I gave you.”

Survivor shook his head as he removed the mentioned flashlight from his tool belt and offered it to Artificer. “Do you want it?”

“Nah, that one’s for you. Just make sure you stick with me and don’t stare in the dark too long,” she snorted. 

“…What’s that supposed to mean?” Survivor grimaced as Artificer began to climb the ladder. “Artificer?”

Artificer, who had already made it to the top and subsequently disappeared from view, yelled back “There’s a guy that might kill you if you stare at him too long!”

Survivor took a moment to pause and groan anxiously before he too climbed the ladder, which ended up taking him about ten seconds. By the time he reached the top, Artificer was already up ahead, leaning carelessly against a pair of blast doors.

“The terminal’s record on this place mentioned that it was pretty big, so I hope you’ve got a good sense of direction,” Artificer snorted as she watched Survivor, arms crossed.

She visibly frowned as Survivor took what was probably meant to be a mean-spirited joke in stride. “Navigation was considered one of my strong skills while I was in training, so I’ll be fine. I think.”

Artificer rolled her eye before turning toward the doors. “Wow, got a whole map in that head of yours, rookie?”

“Umm, basically?” Survivor shrugged, joining her by the door. “It sort of works like—“

“Actually, save it. Don’t care,” Artificer muttered. Then she laid hands on the door handles and swiftly pulled them open.

The two took their first few steps into the facility, the most immediate feature of the place being the horridly stuffy air and the excess of dust that filled it. Survivor silently thanked his mask for preventing any of the dust from getting into his lungs.

Below them was a rusted metal floor that clattered and clanked with each step they took, creaking every so often. Often enough for Survivor to worry that the whole place was unstable. Artificer seemed unbothered by the idea, instead letting her attention be focused on something else entirely.

“This is… different?” Artificer murmured as she peered ahead. “Rookie, flashlight.”

“Oh, right,” Survivor nodded, clicking the flashlight on and shining it directly in front of the both of them.

Instead of what Survivor was expecting of a facility—large metal panels for walls and dangerously narrow walkways that led into rooms populated by dense machinery—there laid a short path of rails with a small junction holding a minecart at the end of it. And behind all of that was an uncomfortably slim elevator.

Artificer took a moment to observe her surroundings, letting out a quiet, thoughtful hum. “The record didn’t mention this.”

“Looks like a mineshaft? Or the beginning to one, at least,” Survivor suggested.

“Well, I’ve seen nothin’ like it, and that doesn’t happen much,” Artificer snorted. Caution thrown to the wind, she immediately waltzed right up to the elevator (which was below a larger platform connected to the floor by stairs) and slapped it twice. “Heavier than I thought,” she noted, half-enthusiastic. “We supposed to go down this thing?”

“Or we could head back to the ship and try another facility…?” Survivor countered, pointing almost frantically back toward the blast doors. “You said it yourself, you’ve never been inside one of these before.”

Artificer smiled, white teeth glinting behind her visor. “Only one way to learn, rookie. Besides, full eight hours, remember?”

Survivor frowned. “Do you seriously want to just… run in blind?”

“Do you seriously want to just… question your senior?” Artificer said back to him in the same tone that Survivor used, which admittedly got on his nerves. He, agitated, tapped his foot twice against the ground, hoping to release tension through the motion. 

“Of course not,” Survivor muttered under his breath before climbing into the elevator. “Because why would I ever?”

Artificer would have marched into the elevator right alongside her coworker had her attention not been caught by a glowing red button wired to a support beam right next to it. She inspected it for a moment, trying to deduce where the wires led.

“What do ya think this button does?” she queried, her hands decisively on her hips. Artificer turned to look at Survivor, awaiting an answer.

Survivor shrugged. “Maybe it sends the elevator down?”

Artificer turned to stare at her coworker, glaring at him as if he was stupid’. “It’s this far away from the elevator. How would you even press it when you’re inside?”

“You probably press it and then get in the elevator, so there’d be a del—!” 

A sudden thud echoed throughout the mineshaft as something that sounded important in the pulley audibly broke. The noise struck like a sledgehammer, sending Survivor in a daze. He froze mid-sentence, unsure of what just happened. But panic struck him as the elevator door suddenly shut and the whole structure dislodged, plummeting down the shaft.

Survivor shrieked in terror as air blasted his face relentlessly, the elevator striking the shaft walls multiple times, each time causing the whole thing to creak as if threatening to break apart, until coming to a surprisingly gradual stop near the end of its rope. Despite the uncharacteristically comfortable ending to the ride, he still tumbled out of the elevator as the door slid open, faceplanting onto gravel-covered concrete.

Artificer—who must have been at least four dozen feet higher than him now—suddenly gasped. Her voice, startlingly filled with genuine concern, came crashing down the elevator shaft. “Shit! Survivor! Are you alive?!”

Her genuine worry made Survivor want to pretend as though he were dead out of spite, but as he glanced at his unfamiliar surroundings, he figured that now was neither the time nor the place.

He opened his mouth to reply. It had been just seconds since Artificer had yelled, yet before Survivor could even get a peep out, her voice echoed down the shaft again, this time at least twice as filled with apprehension. “Hey! Say something!”

Survivor coughed a couple of times, noticing the dense amount of dust that the elevator’s sudden descent had caused to disperse. Once again, he felt lucky to be inside a hazmat. “Could you give me a second?! Yeah, I’m fine! The elevator didn’t hit ground!”

“You injured?” Artificer called down. As Survivor peered back up the shaft, the darkness along the dust in the atmosphere made it difficult yet still possible to see Artificer staring at him over the edge. 

Survivor checked his body for a moment before groaning. “...Could be worse. I fell out of the elevator pretty hard, though.”

“I figured out what the button does, at least. I think it calls the elevator back up,” Artificer, still yelling just so Survivor could even hear her, reasoned. “Hop back in and I’ll call it up!”

“Anything to get out of here…” Survivor hissed disdainfully, surrounded by steam pipes, minecart rails leading out through multiple openings, and endless dark corridors. He practically sprung back into the elevator unhesitantly. Though it felt wrong this time, as if the weight in the elevator was unbalanced and the whole floor of it was shifting to the side. As much as he hoped that it would still be functional, Artificer’s low, concerned hum proved otherwise.

Artificer sighed. “Thing’s broken. Damn it.”

“You– fuck, I’m stuck down here?” Survivor gaped. Though before he could complain further, the entire elevator creaked—louder than before. He managed to stumble out of it right before it collapsed, shattering into pieces and hitting the ground like a ton of bricks. The excruciatingly earsplitting sound of shattering metal crackling against the ground rang out, Survivor shutting his ears against his head.

And it was that final, blaring crash that echoed throughout the mineshaft—against every wall, ceiling, and down each corridor. The sound, terrifyingly, was followed by the sound of distant skittering and mumbling, the source of which was unclear. But it didn’t need to be clear to be horrific.

“...I think it knows I’m here,” Survivor stammered, eyes wide as he realized the situation he was in. He stumbled backward until his back hit the wall, and there was no more room to tread. His head was filled with horrible thoughts and fears, terrified of what was bound to come next.

Artificer hissed. “Argh—damn it! Run, I’ll find a way down to you!”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Survivor bolted from his position, his heart racing faster than he could scramble away. He slipped through one of the smaller doorways lacking a minecart rail just to take a few steps further and nearly slam into a line of steel railing bordering a pitfall. He barely had a moment to peer down it, but there it was irrefutably deep and harrowingly dark. Survivor quickly sprinted around it, realizing that if he’d been any faster a moment sooner, he might have just flipped right over the railing, undoubtedly dying as a result.

In the distance, Artificer must have yelled something important—but it was completely lost on Survivor as her voice came incoherent under the sound of his boots crashing against concrete and his heart pounding in his chest. This place was like a labyrinth. He figured he’d very easily get lost, but that was better than encountering whatever made those noises earlier. 

After what felt like minutes of frantic escape—which in reality must have been no longer than twenty seconds—Survivor came to a sudden halt as he stumbled upon a large pile of debris, which he spared no time in climbing over it and using it as cover. And then he went silent, praying that whatever had noticed him had lost his trail. It was a dead-end, thankfully, so he at least wasn’t in danger from whatever could come from behind him.

As the skittering grew louder, gradually sounding more like a jackhammer hitting bedrock, Survivor thanked whoever was up in the sky that he decided to hide. Whatever was the source of that noise unassumingly moved by the pile, its noise slowly turning silent as it left the vicinity, allowing Survivor a moment to catch his breath. And he breathed a lot, so much so that he would have been worried about expending all the oxygen from his tanks had he not been breathing the surrounding air filtered by his mask.

Shoulders unstiffening, fingers unclenching, Survivor relaxed just a bit as the immediate danger faded. He lingered for a moment, his breathing leveling out into a steady rhythm. 

He figured that whole experience would have sent him into a frightened panic attack, but Survivor felt startlingly calm for someone who had nearly gotten murdered by… whatever that creature was. 

“I have no idea which way I came from,” Survivor thought, frowning as he stared down the corridor he’d just run through which branched into countless tunnels and rooms. Decent navigation skills were useless if he didn’t have the time or foresight to keep track of the turns he’d taken while literally running for his life.

Survivor rose, examining the area briefly before committing to climbing over the pile of debris, his boots quietly tapping against the floor as he reached the other side. Every sound he made felt like a pair of speakers blasting his location to everything around him.

He silently wondered whether it would be a good idea to use his flashlight or not. One on hand, he could hardly see shit—on the other hand, lurking predators would easily be able to see him.

In the corner of his eye, Survivor noted his suit, literally bright orange, contrasting with the desaturated hues and muted colors that made up the facility. 

“Guess I’ll stick out a sore thumb either way,” he thought.

Ultimately, Survivor decided that it’d be better to be able to see. He flicked on the switch on his flashlight, sound echoing against the walls. A faint electronic hum began to emit from the flashlight the moment it was activated.

Survivor eventually picked one of the several paths branching from the room he was in. Artificer would probably find him eventually, but the problem was when. He hadn’t the faintest idea how large the mineshaft was, and there were only…

He paused for a moment to check the clock on his visor HUD. 0102.

…roughly seven hours until nightfall. And admittedly, Survivor had no idea if Artificer would stick her neck out for him if things got rough. From their brief interactions, she came off as a ‘if you die, you die’ kind of person. But if that was the case, why was she so worried about him when the elevator collapsed? Was it merely shock?

Survivor ended that string of thoughts right there just as abruptly as him freezing in place. At the end of the corridor he’d been traveling down was a pair of yellow doors, both of which covered in bold, black lettering—“KEEP OUT”.

And it was about when Survivor had his hand on the door handle that something in his tool belt began to buzz, emitting a sound like radio static. And then a second later, a familiar voice—frequently replaced by very brief bursts of silence—came alive.

“Rookie! You alive?” whispered Artificer’s voice, quiet enough to avoid attracting attention but loud enough for Survivor to notice. He quickly detached the walkie talkie he’d been handed earlier and held it up in front of him, pressing a small button on the side of the device.

“Nope. Dead. Really dead. Bleeding out and dying,” Survivor muttered in a nonchalant tone as he glanced around again.

Artificer paused for a moment, or maybe it was just a natural delay in the transmitter. But eventually, she replied “…haha. Very funny,” in an uncertain tone.

“I’m by a couple of yellow doors that really don’t want me past them,” he explained. “Other than that, I have no idea where I am. Where are you?”

“I got back to the ship,” Artificer murmured. “I can see you on the radar right now.”

Survivor frowned. “Oh. Leaving me behind already?”

Artificer—who Survivor could only imagine rolled her eye—spat back “Shut the fuck up, who do ya think you’re talking to? I can guide you to another exit from here. It’d be more worthwhile than aimlessly lookin’ for you—this mineshaft is fucking enormous.”

“Okay. Lead the way,” Survivor whispered.

“The radar uses you as a point of reference to record shit around you, so it doesn’t go all that far. Just start walkin’ around and I’ll tell you what I see,” Artificer explained. Survivor could hear her tapping her finger against something metallic.

“Perfect,” he muttered, disappointed. “How am I supposed to know if there’s like, a giant hungry creature around a corner or something?” 

“Two ways,” Artificer replied. “I can see foreign bodies on the radar, and you can use your scanner—you know how to use your scanner, right?”

Survivor narrowed his eyes. “Considering you never told me, no.”

Artificer muttered some kind of curse under her breath. “They didn’t teach you this shit at the Corporation?” Survivor didn’t answer that one.

“Whatever. It’s a little button on the right side of your helmet. Just click it and the scanner will do its thing.”

Survivor followed Artificer’s instructions to the letter, his fingers eventually gliding across a small, square protrusion. He pressed down on it gently, and suddenly his whole visor flashed an ambient blue. Accompanied by the flash, a green, circular highlight appeared to the left of the visor HUD.

“You see it?” Artificer whispered.

He bent down to pick up a shiny, perfectly round and smooth, chromatic pearl tucked away behind a pipe. “A data pearl?” Survivor realized.

“Hey, look at that. Those are usually pretty rare,” Artificer snorted. “Meaning they’re extra valuable. Now put it away so I can get you outta here?”

Survivor nodded as he carefully placed the pearl into the satchel hanging from his tool belt. “I’ll head forward,” he notified Artificer before continuing down the corridor, stretching at least a hundred feet further.

Now that he learned how to use it, Survivor couldn’t help but fidget with the scanner, practically using it every few seconds. Every now and then it’d highlight something in green—nothing important, though—and Survivor would stop to pick it up, stashing it into his satchel if it was small enough. 

“Alright… take a right,” Artificer instructed. “No, wait, shit. Something just came up.”

Survivor backed up a couple of steps and went flat against the wall, freezing like a lake in the arctic, going silent. Artificer followed over the walkie-talkie, her transmitted voice quieting in tandem. Her words grew surprisingly soft, considering whose throat they uttered from.

“...Stay there for a moment, whatever it is might leave. Doesn’t seem to have noticed you,” Artificer whispered. “And something else is there, but it hasn’t moved an inch since it showed up on radar. What the fuck is that?”

“...Scanning wouldn’t alert anything, would it?” Survivor murmured, every word out of his mouth laced with the fear of being heard.

A breath released from Artificer’s mouth, the audio over the transmitter close enough to nearly be tactile. “Mm-mm,” she hummed—the sound firm, and assuredly a ‘no’.

Survivor peeked, for a moment, around the corner. There was a just barely perceptible silhouette cutting through the heavy shadow, moving like a blur in the shadow—and on the ceiling, an unmistakable brown clump. He wasted no time in scanning, immediately removing his head from the bend as the scan completed in less than half a second.

“See anything?”

Two red highlights had appeared on the visor, lingering for a moment despite Survivor having fully moved back behind the supposed safety of the wall. At the very least, it was enough for Survivor to describe their shape.

“The one that was moving looked like some giant spider. The other one, I can’t really tell. It was on the ceiling,” Survivor explained, as quiet as he could be.

“Bunker spider and a snare flea,” Artificer noted. “Do not turn the corner. Not yet, at least.”

Survivor paused. “Bunker spider? The thing that chased me earlier sounded like a spider. At least, it had a bunch of legs.”

“It’s probably the same one, then, or our spider friend has a wife,” Artificer snorted—immediately quieting when she realized her lighthearted remark was a smidge too loud. 

Survivor frowned. “If it is the same creature, why isn’t it making that awful skittering noise?”

A brief pause passed before Artificer replied, her voice slow and direct. “Probably moving on one of its webs, which makes this harder. I was gonna tell you to wait for a good opportunity and run past the snare flea, but if it’s already spun webs, that’ll be a problem. If you get caught, well, that’s that.”

“It’s far enough now that it won’t notice you,” Artificer added, finally. “Just ignore the turn and keep heading forward. We’ll reroute.”

Survivor did as instructed, faithfully ignoring the right turn—though making sure to stay as far away as possible from it as he continued down the corridor. A few dozen feet down was a sloped tunnel leading upward, which—after receiving confirmation from his senior—Survivor headed up through.

And when the slope evened out into a flat, straightforward tunnel again, Artificer let out a long, cathartic sigh of relief. Survivor could practically hear the tension releasing through the receiver.

“Alright, you’re golden,” Artificer spoke proudly. “There’s another elevator up ahead, looks like.”

“...Not the same one, right?” Survivor chuckled, tired, before the mentioned elevator came into view. It definitely wasn’t the same one, since the floor was considerably less cluttered, lacking the debris of the first elevator that Survivor had accidentally destroyed. 

He approached the elevator shaft, studying it for a moment before realizing that it was missing the most important part—the actual lift. But Survivor did, however, spot a faintly glowing red button. “You said the button calls the elevator, right?” Survivor queried. Artificer gave a confirming hum in reply, to which Survivor nodded and hesitantly pushed it.

Survivor smiled as the metal wire began to move, accompanied by the signature sound of a descending lift. His shoulders relaxed—just barely—as the lift approached, nearly perceptible up the elevator shaft.

The immediate moment the elevator reached him, Survivor stepped inside the glorified box—which paused for a few seconds before the door shut and it began to ascend. The metal wire grinding against its own mechanism was undoubtedly a horrible sound, but it was music to his ears at that moment. As the mineshaft grew further and further distant, Survivor finally allowed himself a moment of respite, a long awaited breath dumping from his mouth.

“Looks like we did it. I’m not a… total corpse, huh?” Survivor weakly laughed, the walkie-talkie up to his mouth. The elevator, by now, was at least a quarter of the way to the top. 

But instead of a lighthearted reply, Survivor received something else.

Some sort of crash on the other end of the connection. He couldn’t tell quite what it was, but it was loud, like boulders tumbling and something heavy striking steel. And for a moment, he could hear a grunt. It was somewhat distant and muffled, but it was clearly made out of surprise. Then the walkie went silent.

“Artificer?”

No response.

Survivor, confused, shook the device. Was it dead? Broken?

“Artificer? Or, umm… Senior? Are you there?”

The receiver was as still as it was silent. It definitely produced static, but not any kind of background noise that would regularly be audible from Artificer’s side.

Survivor rolled his eyes before stuffing his walkie-talkie back into the utility belt, making sure to turn it off first. “Time’s 0227, so there’s no way those… dog things are out,” he reasoned under his breath. The elevator reached the top of the shaft. Survivor stepped out into a room very similar to the one he entered the mineshaft through, eyeing another set of blast doors up ahead.

“So then you’re just playing a dumb joke, is that right?” Survivor hissed as he laid hands on the door handles. This must have all been a terrible prank. From senior to junior, right? He definitely wouldn’t put it past her to make a joke like this, considering her apparent personality.

Survivor sighed. With one motion, he twisted his elbow and—

Wait.

He stopped. Right there, dead in his tracks. Hands frozen. Body stiff.

…

What if it wasn’t a joke?

He released the right door handle and took a step back, eyes trained on the exit.

Survivor didn’t have a lick of knowledge about anything that could be found on this moon. Or any moon in general, for that matter. For all he knew, eyeless dogs might not even be the only threat outside. Maybe something else crept out of its hellhole and decided to prowl the planet, putting her life in danger. Possibly even forcing her to stay silent. 

Or maybe it killed her. Survivor swallowed, throat dry like cotton.

His hands were clammy, again.

Maybe it killed her, and she was out there, dead on the ground. Or maybe she wasn’t there at all. Perhaps it mauled her, tore her apart, and spread her remains all over the forest like a mop made of viscera, mop strings made of entrails; grass, bushes, trees painted red and pink, drenched in her exposed, untethered innards. Nature fed by her lost life.

Survivor’s heart skipped a beat. His face fell, his stomach twisted. 

“...survival rate is 98 percent–”

“Tell that to my coworkers. They’re in-site, alright. Six feet under it.”

That’s right, the Rain Company had lied. The Corporation—the one that trained him—they lied too. For fuck’s sake, Survivor’s training didn’t even mention the scanner (an integral piece of equipment) once. How was he supposed to trust that this job would be anything other than misleading—and unmistakably fatal?

The panic arrived.

At first, it manifested as nothing more than a tightness in his chest. A knot in his stomach. But things never just ended there, Survivor’s mind wasn’t that generous. The air thickened, almost perceptible—undeniably palpable. Breathing required twice, no, three times the effort. Gravity set in harder, pushing down on his shoulders like a bag of bricks.

It’s okay. You’re okay. Artificer’s fine. She’s still alive. She’s not like her. She wouldn’t go that easy.

Concrete struck his knees, or it was more like his knees struck the floor. Survivor stared downward, a river of sweat dripping from his face, collecting over the visor. It was as unforgiving as the cramps that birthed in his joints, the pins and needles that crept up his arms. Pain nipped at his toes like angry phantoms.

Hundreds of voices joined together to whisper horrifying, painful things in his ears. Thoughts he hated. Sounds he loathed. Survivor would rather be rid of his ears altogether. And the room twisted, contorted, deformed; each change was barely there but just there enough to be noticed, just enough to feel wrong. 

Maybe he was dying. Maybe he had died already. Or maybe Artificer was—

“Hey! Hey. Calm down!”

A voice. This one was real. It was loud for a moment, but it immediately softened, went gentle.

“Look at me,” the voice continued. “You’re out of danger. You’re okay.”

It was as steady as it, at least in the moment, was hard to believe. But Survivor didn’t really need to believe. He just needed to pretend to. He just needed something to hold onto, to balance him. Something that wasn’t his own thoughts.

His gaze anchored onto a pair of eyes—one shut—overlayed with translucent black. Hardly visible, but enough to see a pupil. He anchored himself on her. A pair of hands, a face, a weak smile. 

He managed, just long enough, to take a deep breath. A real, deep breath. It visited his lungs, lingered for a moment, and left as it came. The air loosened. The room righted itself, just a little.

Another deep breath,

A third, and another.

Survivor’s peripheral vision slowly returned, the world coming back into focus. Artificer was there, crouched in front of him—her expression worried but calm; but, importantly, she was alive. She was here. Her hand had, at some point, glided onto Survivor’s shoulder, grounding him both physically and emotionally.

“You okay, rookie?” she murmured after a while, voice gentle, only when Survivor had fully regained his focus. “You were out of it for a minute there.”

Tears leaking from his eyes, Survivor nodded slowly. “S-sorry,” he choked, his voice crumbling with each word. “I, umm—I get panic attacks, and I—”

Artificer nodded. “I know. Read all about it in your file. It’s alright.” Then she smiled. “You did really well down there, you know? Almost thought you’d have one way earlier. But you got yourself out of danger first. That’s good. You did good.”

At that point, Survivor cried, though softly. Artificer’s words settled like a gentle fire—warm and welcoming. A light in the dark. “I–I thought, t-thought that you might of—of died, or…”

His hands met his helmet as another sob escaped. “...I d-didn’t want to be alone, not again n-not… Fuck, I’m so s-sorry–”

“Shhhh,” Artificer whispered, her arms gently wrapping around Survivor’s quivering body. “I said it’s alright, didn’t I?” 

Her words were the one thing that Survivor could believe in right now. He let himself practically melt into the embrace, his hands reaching Artificer’s back, only holding on even tighter than she did. Of course, his cries continued. They wouldn’t end that easily. Survivor cursed himself for being so vulnerable in front of another person, but that self-hate only made him cry more.

“T-they didn’t teach me about… about any of this–!” Survivor choked. Artificer was his lifeline keeping him steady on the ground. “There’s so m-much they didn’t mention, and I thought maybe—maybe you… maybe something got to you, because you stopped talking and—and I—”

“I’m sorry,” Artificer muttered. Her voice arrived genuine. “I was a quarter of the way to the entrance you ended up at when my walkie died, and I figured I’d just run the rest of the way. Didn’t think it’d take that long.”

Survivor nodded shakily, his mouth almost glued shut. “N-no, it’s not your fault,” he managed. “I s-should’ve been able to just… be okay for a couple of minutes. But I wasn’t. Because I’m complete…ly useless.”

“Hey,” Artificer said. Survivor met her eyes again.

“I’m your senior, remember? That means it’s my job to accommodate ya,” she winked—though with her other eye permanently shut, it looked almost no different from a regular blink. “Also means my opinion matters more than yours. And I think that you did well, so that’s a fact now. Alright?”

Survivor tried to frown unamusedly, but he couldn’t help but crack a grateful smile. “A-alright,” he chuckled, weak. “...Do you really think so?”

“Yep. I know so,” Artificer nodded, watching Survivor for a moment—before turning to observe the exit doors. “But eh, let’s head back and talk about this more at the ship, sound good?”

The junior didn’t reply, but he did accept Artificer’s help in standing up. For fear of breaking out into tears again by as little as muttering a single word, Survivor offered only a nod, keeping his words locked in his head.

The duo left through the doors unceremoniously, wasting no time in leaving. Survivor didn’t care to look back at them as they re-entered the canyon wasteland that was the surface of 220-Assurance, this time—predictably—at a completely different location compared to where they had first entered.

“I remember the way back, don’t worry,” Artificer reassured him, leading Survivor down the hill that the entrance sat atop. “Should only be a ten minute walk.”

“After all the walking I’ve done today, a ten minute walk back to the ship sounds like nothing,” Survivor laughed shakily. 

Artificer nodded. “That’s what this job’ll do you to ya,” she snorted. “Makes you grateful to be alive. Or so I’ve heard.”

It was quiet for a moment after Artificer spoke. Survivor turned to look at her, his mouth open in preparation to speak, but she followed up with a rapidly collected bundle of words before he could get a peep out.

“Anyway, you err.. you have panic attacks often?”

Survivor blinked, eyes glassy in their sockets. His posture dropped just a slight yet noticeable amount as he thought of how to even respond.

“I’m… sorry I didn’t mention it before. I wanted to see the world—or I guess, the outer world? So much that I lied to the manager about, you know, fixing myself. But I did work on it, that wasn’t a lie.” Survivor murmured, voice hardly a whisper. But Artificer heard nonetheless, and she offered an understanding nod.

“—I guess if you read it in my file, though, I didn’t do a good job of covering it up?” Survivor laughed nervously.

Artificer shrugged. “Nah, it still had previous information about you. But between you and me, I don’t think Pebbles cares much whether or not you’re mentally healthy. Guess that makes that part my job.”

Survivor frowned, averting his gaze in shame. “That shouldn’t be your problem.”

“Well, it is, and it’s kinda what I signed up for,” Artificer laughed. “You are the one I chose to mentor, after all.”

…Wait.

Survivor was confused. He glanced back toward Artificer, a slight smile behind the glass of her visor, eyelid half shut.

“…You chose me?” Survivor murmured. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, yeah,” Artificer mused. “It wasn’t like your file was the only one I received. Got at least a dozen from the company. Requested yours, specifically.”

The junior employee looked away, unsure of what to say, until he eventually mumbled something along the lines of “the way you worded it earlier made it sound like I was assigned to you.” Artificer heard him, of course.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I lied a little. Or ya misunderstood me. Hell if I remember,” she muttered. 

Silence again. Neither person had exactly the right words to say or the manner in which to say them, which led to the conversation, more or less, ending. Survivor’s thoughts racking his brain, however, did not. And eventually he did speak again, after a minute.

“Why me?” He, dispirited, whispered.

“Huh?” Artificer mumbled.

Survivor bit his lip before clarifying. “Out of all the files you had, you chose mine. So why?”

Artificer hummed in thought. At first it was a thoughtful, light tone—but it abruptly ended as she stared blankly forward, her expression arriving unclear. She muttered… something under her breath—Survivor couldn’t quite hear—before staring off into the distance.

“Are you—?”

Survivor’s question ended right there as Artificer pointed forward. “Ayee, we’re here!” She snorted—half-cheerfully, Survivor could tell—before running up to the railing and hopping over it, completely forgoing the ladder. She was inside the ship in seconds.

Then he frowned, realizing she must have dodged his question on purpose. Survivor sighed. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to ask.

Survivor joined her on the ship, climbing up the ladder like a sensible person. Artificer was already well into the ship interior—which wasn’t saying much considering its small size. He entered regardless, practically stumbling in with all the grace of a newborn child.

“Shut the door, will ya? It’s the red button on your right,” Artificer instructed as she messed with the terminal, gloved fingers tapping against plastic keys. “Don’t want creatures gettin’ in here.”

Though he still had more he wanted to say, Survivor ultimately decided to let it go. The button was pressed, immediately engaging the doors. They slid shut, a deep, resonant thunk emitting from the point which they joined and formed a wall. 

Then Survivor dropped to the floor, knees up to his shoulders, arms hugging his legs tight. He stared toward his boots for a moment, making sure to avoid shallow breaths.

“...So what’s the plan?” Survivor managed, eventually. “Take a ten minute break, grab some more gear, run back into the mineshaft?”

Artificer paused, revoking the sounds of the clacking of the terminal keys along with her. A few seconds passed; then another few, and eventually she had been silent for far too long to be considered normal. To which Survivor glanced in her direction, his eyes glimpsing Artificer’s face—obscured by the visor, at least at that angle.

“Eh.” she shrugged. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Survivor gasped, nearly audibly—though that would have been more appropriately representative of how surprised he was. “Weren’t you the one that was making a big deal about using up the whole eight hours? We hardly even got… well, anything.”

Artificer’s head turned away, a dry laugh ripping from her parched throat. “That was before we walked inside the damn place. I’ve never seen the layout before.”

“Really?” Survivor scoffed. “Because I remember distinctly that you repeated the same thing when we entered.”

“Changed my mind,” Artificer muttered. Her voice slithered out like a hiss—maybe a warning that Survivor didn’t quite pick up on. “Drop it.”

He couldn’t help but smile, wondering if Artificer—his ‘fearless senior’—happened to be afraid. “I think we could do it,” Survivor shrugged. “It really wasn’t that bad. Oh—and, and we got a data pearl, remember?” he laughed, whipping it out of his satchel. The little sphere glimmered between his fingertips as he held it.

“Enough is enough,” Artificer spat, a smidge of anger brewing. “And I say enough. So we leave. That’s final. Now shut the fuck up.”

Survivor frowned. And then he rolled his eyes, letting out a disgruntled sigh. “You were so ready to take on the fucking world an hour ago. What changed? One little elevator collapse? I don’t know if you noticed, but I got out unscathed,” Survivor reasoned, gesturing to his body, from head to waist. “Is my super brave never worried senior, maybe actually a little bit scared?”

Then suddenly, Artificer growled, her body pivoting to face Survivor. “FINE. You want to play this fuckin’ game? Fine. Are we gonna go back in there, parade around a little bit, grab shit we don’t need, end it off with one of your little panic attacks while we’re gettin’ chased by a monster thrice your damn size?”

“Wh–why are you yelling?” Survivor stammered. “And the panic thing was—!”

“A liability. That’s what the fuck it was,” Artificer continued, stepping toward Survivor, closing in. “And if it happens again when we’re in danger, then you’re as good as dead.”

Then Survivor stood, though his legs admittedly couldn’t help but shake a little as he did. “Y-you told me it was okay! And I–look, I wasn’t panicking about getting lost, I…”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, rookie,” Artificer’s words—which were so lighthearted and fun just minutes before—spilled like curses off her tongue. Even the playful nickname she had continuously called Survivor sounded like nothing more than mockery now. “Admit it. You were pissing your fucking pants in there.”

“The only reason I had a panic attack was because I thought YOU DIED!” Survivor shouted, finger poking Artificer’s torso, his legs somehow finding the agency to take a step closer to her. “The elevator crashing was fine. Getting lost—was fine. Nearly running into an overgrown spider was—well it sucked, but it was something I could handle! I only ever panicked when you dropped your walkie and I thought some… thing had fucking mauled you to death! I wasn’t afraid of dying, I was afraid of losing the one person keeping me alive!”

“Then you should understand HOW THE FUCK I FEEL ABOUT YOU GOING BACK IN THERE!” Artificer yelled. 

“Why do you care?! YOU BARELY EVEN KNOW ME!” Survivor cried out, fingers twitching, arms raised at his sides. “You told me to my goddamn face that I might be a FUCKING psycho!”

Artificer’s fist balled up right before it struck the ship wall, a strong THUD reverberating throughout its structure. Metal creaked and crackled in light of the impact, signifying just how much force had been put behind the blow. And she breathed just as heavily as her presence loomed over Survivor, who immediately froze and shut his mouth.

He could see her face clear as day, now. Jaws painfully clenched together and a glint of something reminiscent of suffering in her good eye. But what was impossible to miss were the deep, dark circles underneath Artificer’s tired eyes.

The larger slugcat breathed hard like she’d just ran a marathon, shoulders heaving and back arched. But despite her exhausted demeanor, her eye was, unmistakably, fixed right on Survivor’s concerned face.

“I don’t…. I can’t… You’re… fucking…!” she stammered through gritted teeth, trying and failing to find the right words. But after enough failures, Artificer went quiet, and the room was left with only the sounds of both employees’ heavy breathing.

Survivor’s shoulders dropped, a shiver tearing through his body. “...I’m sorry,” he whispered eventually, his voice weaker than an injured cat, expression covered in uncertainty and even bits of fear.

Artificer lingered there for a moment longer; saying nothing, doing nothing—it felt like hours, even though it was just a short sliver of time. Survivor remained stiff-postured and frozen, worried that just breathing the wrong way would set her off.

And then Artificer swung around back to the front of the ship before yanking the single lever on the control panel. The entire ship rumbled and quaked as the thrusters roared to life, blasting an unrestrained torrent of flame. 03-JR-J was out of the atmosphere and into orbit in no longer than a minute, neither slugcat making so much as a frustrated grunt during the whole process.

The top bunk creaked as Artificer climbed up it, still completely silent. Then the whole frame croaked as she collapsed down onto her mattress, ending their fight with an awkward, unceremonious nap.

Now empty inside, Survivor did nothing more than stand there, leaning against the ship wall. He wondered, quietly, how much of their fight was his fault. Maybe he’d been too pushy—or maybe too teasing? Or maybe he should have shut up much, much sooner.

As the ship floated in the moon’s orbit, its internals were filled with a gentle, electronic hum. One that, normally, would have comforted Survivor—but was now nothing more than barely tolerable background noise.

He breathed in, then out. Then he just thought for a moment, his mind reaching no easy conclusion about why Artificer felt so strongly about Survivor being in danger.

His arms dangled uselessly at his sides.

Survivor hoped that maybe their next run would go smoother.

Chapter Text

9-Baron was small in the grand scheme of things.

Smaller than the sun; smaller than most planets in its solar system. Undoubtedly smaller than the majority of the planets in the galaxy and its local celestial groups. And its small size in comparison, by proxy, made Five Pebbles feel even tinier.

He stared out his office window, elbow uncaringly rested on the sill. Unbefitting of one with the status of manager, but it wasn’t like anyone was around. It mattered very little to him what others expected. He had a job, did it well, and the rest of his existence was—for better or for worse—at his own discretion.

Pebbles sighed—a synthetic, airy hiss. It wasn’t real air, of course. Just sound. But at this point he found that his physiological nature didn’t bother him much anymore.

There was the sky, floating effortlessly overhead just above the apex of the city’s reach, comprised of blinding white light beaming down on the world below it. A little further from the sun and the sky grew bluer, until eventually meeting the horizon where it ended. But that sky wasn’t what was on Pebbles’ mind. Moreso what was past it. The endless expanse of space. Limitless possibilities. Secrets of the universe, even.

He was aware how much history was tucked away in its crevices, caged behind lock and key. There was so much he could know. And so much more that he didn’t. And that fact, perhaps, was the part that irritated him most. That he didn’t know, and he may never get to know. That is, unless…

A knock arrived on the office door, brief yet firm. It all but dragged Pebbles out of his thoughtful trance, nearly causing him to slip from the windowsill. Though it took no more than a second for him to regain his composure and lean back over his desk, metal fingers steepling under his chin. 

“Come in,” Five Pebbles spoke, loud and firm. The door opened, punctually, and his assistant headed into the room, uneven in each step.

“Pardon me, Manager,” she said, her each word more like an apology than a greeting. 

Pebbles nodded. “Results?”

“Ah—yes,” his assistant—a short blue slugcat—realized, her hands clutching each other. “After a cursory inspection, the culprit remains undetected. But the Corporation is conducting a more thorough examination as we speak.”

“I see,” Pebbles sighed. “I’d like this issue taken care of as soon as possible. Not only are we losing resources, but we’re endangering our employees. I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you that when ships disappear, there’s only one place they could have gone.”

The slugcat nodded. “Space, sir?”

A strained chuckle released from Pebbles’ throat. “Now, aren’t we brilliant?” 

“T-Thank you, sir,” she whispered eventually.

Then he leaned further into the desk, his pupil-less eyes burning holes into hers. “Will that be all?”

The assistant thought for a moment before visibly making a realization, her eyes lighting up like a lightbulb had turned on behind them. “Oh, yes! Your meeting with the administrator has been rescheduled to 3 PM tomorrow.”

Pebbles frowned, or at least about as well as a mouthless robot could. “How tiresome,” he muttered. “And I’d already cleared my schedule for tonight. Very well, I suppose there isn’t much to be done.”

As much as Pebbles would have loved to criticize his administrator’s desultory behavior, such words would be out of the question—that much he understood certainly.

“You are dismissed,” he said, finally. His assistant bowed, whispered a “yes, sir,” and promptly left his office.

Pebbles allowed the moment to last for a while, letting the new information sink in—before inevitably returning to the window to stare once again at the sky above.

///////////////////////////////

“Then you should understand HOW THE FUCK I FEEL ABOUT YOU GOING BACK IN THERE!” 

Then, a moment after—Survivor had shouted something in retort, though the sights and sounds all blurred together in an indiscernible mess. He didn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but whatever it was sparked enough anger in his senior to strike the ship wall with immense force. 

The sound was brassy, strong, and explosively loud enough to be horrifying. But maybe just to him. Survivor had always been terribly afraid of inciting aggression in others, especially when that aggression was directed toward him, and it unmistakably was. 

Silence had encompassed the room—tense and deafening—not a minute after Artificer’s pounding of the wall. And that, perhaps, was the worst part; the silence. Because at least being shouted at meant that that person was willing, to some degree, to communicate. But silence meant that Artificer had given up, or worse: was too hurt to talk.

The whole scene of their argument replayed like a repeating tape in Survivor’s head. He stared half-eyed at the top bunk from the bottom, his thoughts raging like wildfires. But he couldn’t help it. It was day one, and Survivor had already pissed off—if not irreparably hurt—the one colleague he had. His senior, no less. And the idea of the coming silent treatment that Artificer would attack him with was enough to flatten Survivor’s ears against his head.

At this point, he was hardly getting rest, instead practically waiting for the ship to reach its next destination. Which didn’t actually take that much longer as the very same high-pitched, repeated beeps clawed their way out of the ship speaker, flooding the ship with their horrible blaring noise.

Just like the last time they’d done this, Artificer hopped down from the top bunk, her legs coiling for just a moment as she landed. But this time, it was a little different. It wasn’t significant enough to be terribly concerning, though Survivor noticed a few details—a droop of the shoulders, a second’s delay before recovering from the drop, posture slightly hunched. Maybe she hadn’t slept well.

Despite his observations, Survivor couldn’t will himself to mention them, a mix of apprehension and awkwardness holding him back. Pointing out such details would only worsen her mood, considering Artificer most likely (and reasonably so) was at odds with him. Survivor wondered if he should just pretend to be—

“Up and at ‘em, rookie!” Artificer howled as she grabbed Survivor by the legs. He hadn’t a moment to react before he was yanked out of bed, hitting the floor back-first—or he would have, had Artificer not tossed her pillows where he’d have landed beforehand. Survivor had that much to thank her for, he guessed.

“Ugh… I was… what the…?” Survivor grumbled, trying and failing to regain his composure as he sat, posture uneven. 

As Survivor laid eyes on her again, he realized that Artificer wasn’t wearing her suit. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed when she hopped off the top bunk, though he decidedly attributed such an oversight to mental exhaustion. 

It was the first time he’d gotten a look at her body, or at least, most of it. The rest was covered by a black workout crop-top and a pair of similarly black yoga shorts, both of which tightly hugged her figure. As for the rest of her, as Survivor observed, she sported a beautiful yet diminished coat of crimson fur. About a fourth of it in total was missing, however, replaced by clusters of burn scars. Had she worked in the glass-making industry in the past? She worked out—Survivor was sure, given the more than decent musculature that her body was composed of. It was nothing on the level of a body-builder or a fitness fanatic, but Artificer was undoubtedly in shape. Not too curvaceous, but also not built like a block, either.

Survivor realized he’d been staring for too long. Artificer must have realized this as well—suddenly crossing her arms, expression dropping to deadpan. “Eyes up here,” she muttered expectantly.

Finally, Survivor managed to compose himself, and he quickly rose to his feet. There was something to be said about how Artificer said eyes instead of eye, but he figured now wasn’t a good time to be poking fun at her. “...Sorry. I haven’t seen you without your suit off until now,” he apologized. 

Artificer snorted. “Eh, guess that’s only fair. If I catch you starin’ too long again though, I’ll kill you myself.” She strode to the suit rack, quickly picking hers off of it before outfitting herself with it. “It’s rude to stare at ladies as stunning as I,” Artificer mused.

“...You’re right, I’m sorry,” Survivor apologized again, making sure to avert his gaze. “It won’t happen again.”

Then he quickly yanked his suit from the rack and, in his embarrassment, desperately began to clothe himself with it. Survivor had most of the suit on—save for the helmet—by the time he glanced back toward Artificer. She’d been staring at him, Survivor only then realized. Not a clue why.

She laughed, as if amused. “What’s wrong? Too afraid to admit there’s a horrific face behind the voice?” 

Survivor stared at her for a moment, his face shifting the slightest bit red before he stared back down at his helmet, trapped snugly between his hands. “...never crossed my mind,” he mumbled under his breath.

He hadn’t expected Artificer to even hear him, much less discern what he’d said. “Hah! Right, you…” she stopped. She must have noted the slight blush that had appeared on Survivor’s face, because she immediately added “...wow. You must be a real fuckin’ pervert, eh?” accompanied by a slight, uncertain chuckle.

“...For the record, you look fine,” Survivor muttered through gritted teeth before stuffing his helmet on. “And I’d never call the face of my senior ugly, even if I did think she was.” Artificer’s confused stare met Survivor’s flustered gaze for just a moment, but that moment was long enough for him to tell that she was expecting him to follow his statement up with a punchline.

The punchline never came, though, and Artificer—after realizing he wasn’t joking—let out some kind of unbelieving scoff. 

“Whatever,” Artificer muttered, her playfulness having taken a step behind. “Not so bad yourself. Good with words, at least.”

The two of them, now both fully clad in their employee suits, turned to the ship monitor. In black and green pixels, it displayed data in the planet the ship was currently orbiting around—including its danger rating.

41-Experimentation, Survivor thought, staring toward the screen quizzically. “It has a rating of B? Are you trying to get rid of me already?” He laughed, only half-joking.

“It really isn’t that bad,” Artificer shrugged, leaning against the control panel. “I’ve taken plenty of kids like you to—“

“Artificer?” Survivor asked suddenly, cutting her off as he looked at her, his gaze intentional and direct. “Are we okay?”

She was silent for a moment, and almost for far too long, to a point where Survivor could infer she might have ignored the question. But then she finally answered, her voice low and a little cold.

“We’re both alive, aren’t we?” She muttered. “That’s okay enough.”

A second later, before Survivor had a chance to respond, the ship breached the moon’s atmosphere. An all too familiar yet barely tangible pressure filled the interior, once again requiring Survivor to hold onto whatever was closest for leverage—which happened to be the bunk beds. But as if he had somehow gotten used to it after just a single day, Survivor felt nowhere near as nauseous as he had the first time they’d landed. He was fine throughout the process, and—startlingly—even when the ship quaked as it touched ground. Bile, if any at all, only scarcely threatened his throat.

“Heyyy! You didn’t shit yourself. Great job, rookie!” Artificer applauded, gloved hands clapping against each other slowly. “Keep that up and you’ll be a landing pro in no time.”

“…Thanks,” Survivor hissed, managing to regain his bearings. “Sounds great.”

Not ten seconds later, the ship doors opened—accompanied by the sound of a pressurized hiss of air releasing from the oxygen lock. Revealed was the moon mentioned excessively by his senior; 41-Experimentation.

…To be totally honest, Survivor thought it didn’t look much different from Assurance, at least regarding the landscape. It was painted by a similar rust orange hue, identically colored boulders and glorified spires of rock populating the land. However, those were all in scarce supply compared to the surplus that Assurance had presented.

The walk to the facility wouldn’t be long, Survivor imagined, considering it was easily in view even while peering out from inside the ship. He estimated it might be a minute’s walk, maybe less with a sprint. But it’s not like he was in any hurry.

“Guess we should get moving,” Survivor murmured, turning to—

“Artificer?” he suddenly breathed in surprise, noticing her missing presence.

Before Survivor had even realized she moved, Artificer was off the ship and halfway to the facility.

“Hey, wait!” Survivor shouted, managing to grab his flashlight before scrambling off the ship, which he’d somehow successfully hopped off of without so much as tripping. Then he full-on sprinted to catch up with Artificer, slipping the flashlight into his tool belt as he did.

There she was, just up ahead, heading toward the main entrance which—by now—was barely a hop, skip, and a jump away. But as Survivor trailed just a few feet behind her, he couldn’t help but notice something off. Just a slight difference again, like when she had dropped from the top bunk previously. But she seemed… tired. Maybe it was just the way her shoulders slouched, maybe her posture.

“L—look,” Survivor stammered, panting softly as he joined her at her side. “I just want to talk about… you know.”

Artificer finally turned to him, acknowledging Survivor’s pleas. “What about it?”

Her voice was as indifferent and emotionless as any other neutral statement she’d arbitrarily utter. Survivor wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing—but it certainly didn’t feel good.

“Are you upset?” Survivor asked, his voice quietly sad, gaze drifting to the ground. 

Artificer was quiet for a moment, eventually shrugging as she laughed, barely. “What gave ya that impression?”

“I pushed things too far, we shouted at each other, then we didn’t talk till the morning,” he explained, bracing as if Artificer would hit or yell at him—but nothing of force came his way. He continued. “...And I feel like I made you angry with me.”

Artificer was silent again—except this time, she stopped moving, standing idly by. Her eyes tore holes into Survivor’s heart, hooded and much akin to a glare. Like she was staring at some monster and not her junior colleague.

…Or maybe she was just thinking, Survivor realized, as her unfriendly expression melted away into a half-neutral, maybe slightly annoyed one—eyes unenergetic, but undeniably fully open. “...Don’t really want to talk about it,” she muttered, gaze shifting back to the facility just up ahead. “But I’m not.. angry with you. And I said some nasty shit about you. So… I’m sorry.”

Survivor smiled softly, feeling just a little warmer inside to have cleared the air a bit. “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t care about me,” he added eventually. “I mean… If you didn’t care about me, you would have let me run back into the mineshaft yesterday.”

Then the hit that Survivor had feared earlier struck him, albeit gently over the back of the head. “Yeah, seen way too many kids like you get overzealous and die like that, dumbfuck,” Artificer spat—not angrily, but playfully scolding. “Besides, how am I supposed to get my rep back if I let another new kid fail?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Survivor laughed, his hand rubbing his head where he’d been struck. “I’ll try not to ruin your reputation.”

Artificer looked away for a moment, murmuring “don’t worry about that, just don’t die,” under her breath, inaudible enough for Survivor to have heard nothing more than a murmur.

Survivor wondered, his head tilted curiously. “What did you say?”

“Alright, we’re wasting time,” she proclaimed, suddenly sprinting toward the facility entrance. “Better hurry up if ya don’t want to be left behind!”

“Damn it, could you wait a second?” Survivor grunted, breaking forth running just as Artificer did, though moving not quite as quickly as her.

Ahead was the facility, its exterior design considerably different than the first one the two had been to. It, cumulatively, must have reached a hundred feet tall, and was probably also that much larger. The whole structure reminded Survivor of an industrial warehouse found in a regular Baron city. Though the many machines and buildings in front of the facility betrayed that thought. A ladder led up to an elevated rail, a decommissioned train sitting with years of collected rust and filth caking its surfaces. There was a water tower, too, if that was of any importance.

Artificer had climbed the ladder up to the platform with the rails a moment ago, leaving Survivor’s sight before he managed to catch up with her, much to his dismay. He frowned, mostly because they were having a valuable conversation before she broke off from it, partially because he didn’t quite enjoy being left behind like that. But, regrets thrown to the wind, Survivor climbed up after her, steadying himself on the platform before carefully maneuvering over the rails so as not to trip.

When he’d gotten past it, stopping in front of the yellow railing bordering the edge of the platform, he quickly noted his surroundings again. The facility entrance was just to the right. Standing by it was Artificer who impatiently tapped her boot to the ground, head turned in Survivor’s direction.  

The left, however, led down an alleyway with what appeared to be a fire escape stairway. Survivor kept it in mind as he turned to Artificer and finally reached her side.

“Fifteen seconds,” Artificer chuckled, her voice implying a smirk. “Took ya that long to get here after I did.”

“…Sorry, Artificer,” Survivor apologized through gritted teeth. 

She paused for a moment, just staring at Survivor. He wasn’t quite sure why.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” Artificer rolled her eye before shoving through the facility entrance. Survivor was quick to follow.

The pair of steel doors creaked shut as the group of two entered inside, the sound of their boots hitting metal mesh floor eerily reverberating off of the many walls of the interior. Survivor had two words to describe it; gargantuan, and deep. Very, very deep. Dozens of feet below the floor, as Survivor could see through because of its grid-like appearance, existed a never-ending dark fog that must have obscured whatever what was at the bottom. Or maybe there was no bottom, and the architects who had designed the facility managed to overcome the laws of physics… the general universe to make the world’s first bottomless pit.

Survivor gulped. He never quite enjoyed heights. And adding to the fact that it was a very, very small room, well. Claustrophobia and acrophobia were a rare but horrifying combination.

“Try not to stare down, eh?” Artificer clicked her tongue, slapping the junior hard on his back. “Just gonna make your chances of gettin’ out alive worse.”

“I was fine until you said that,” Survivor shivered, nervously shifting to another position on the floor as if it was any safer. “How big is this place?”

Artificer shrugged. “Terminal said it’s ‘bout medium size,” she explained. “Deepest drop here will only be like, three hundred feet.”

Survivor nearly choked. “Three hundred feet?” he gaped, shoulders stiff and raised. “That’s medium?’”

“Rookie, just relax, alright?” She rolled her eye, taking a few steps toward the eastern wall of the room before arriving at a door. “We’ll only be here, say, five hours.”

“Perfectly reassuring,” Survivor groaned, sarcastically muttering “Surely nothing terrible can happen in five hours. Such as being mauled by spiders. Or falling down three hundred foot deep pits.”

Artificer flashed him a thumbs up. “See? You get it,” before kicking open the eastern door.

As the door flew open, Survivor swore that—for a moment—he could see something move or, maybe shift? Though it was so far into the darkness past the next two rooms ahead that he hadn’t caught a very good glimpse of it. And it easily could have just been some imagined hallucination; a trick of the light, or in this case, the lack thereof.

Whatever it was, Artificer didn’t notice or it simply didn’t bother her, which definitely didn’t do much to help disprove Survivor’s theory of hallucination. Unrestrained, she stepped past the door, hitting the scan button on her helmet while surveying the room. After a moment, Survivor had gathered the courage to enter as well, his eyes still fixed on the spot where he swore something had stirred. 

But of course, there was nothing there, even after he had illuminated it with a flashlight. Just a long corridor of concrete floor and metal wall, with a surplus of pipework to boot. The room he’d entered before peering down said corridor was nearly narrower than the entrance room, though complete with a flight of stairs squarely spiraling its walls leading to a higher platform. Whatever he’d seen earlier was now missing—assuming he really saw anything at all. Which, whether it was real or not, was still cause for concern.

“Oi, you good?” called Artificer, who had paused to look at him while walking up the set of sheet metal stairs. “See a ghost?”

Survivor flicked his flashlight off to conserve battery before stepping away from the dark passage. “Uhh, maybe?” he replied, quickly scrambling to climb up the stairs after Artificer. 

“Well, try not to freak out this early,” Artificer snorted as the two reached the top of the brief staircase, their boots meeting the rusted metal of the raised platform. “One way to go,” she added, looking to a door to her left.

“There’s a hallway on the floor below,” Survivor suggested—and was ultimately ignored as his senior once again kicked a door open.

It was very much to Survivor’s surprise that the way forward as actually lit, illuminated by fluorescent ceiling lights. He couldn’t believe that they were still active, considering the facility’s visible age.

“Must be some backup generator,” said Survivor, scanning ahead for danger. 

Artificer shrugged. “Probably some kinda renewable energy if it’s still on now.”

Survivor hummed in thought. “Wind energy? Feels like it gets really windy out there.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Artificer muttered as she continued forward through the door, her suit bathed in white light. “Energy is energy, and now we have free light. No need to question it.”

She was followed by Survivor, who had been continuously pressing down on his helmet’s scanner button—to no avail. He hadn’t detected anything of worth nearby since they entered, but he also hadn’t detected any creatures. So that was a silver lining.

The room was another long corridor like the one Survivor spotted the… shifting. Except this one was, unlike that one, bathed in light, at least for its perceptible first half. Survivor figured the light at the other end must have been broken as he contin—

He stopped suddenly as Artificer raised her arm in front of him. She had immediately done so following some quiet click and a high beep from somewhere a little further down the hall past where the light reached.

Artificer clicked her scanner again, letting out a quiet “ah,” a moment later. Then she picked a piece of rubble from the floor—something metal—and pointedly tossed it forward.

It bounced once, twice on the concrete floor—before striking something metallic. And then whatever it had hit produced a terrible screeching noise, like a dying machine. Survivor hardly had a chance to react before BOOM! 

The end of the corridor harshly illuminated as it combusted into flames. And once again, Survivor could have sworn he had spotted something. Though the moment the flames ravaged the scene, it shriveled away and skittered off into the darkness that the decaying explosion left behind. Just like that, it was gone again, but Survivor swore it wasn’t a hallucination this time.

“That,” Artificer smirked, “is a mine. Don’t step on them.”

“…Right,” Survivor mumbled, visibly shaken. He hardly managed to ask Artificer if she’d noticed the creature scuttling away too before she was already striding down the hall, hopping over the terrifyingly large black powdery scorch mark that painted the spot that the landmine had all but vaporized from.

Survivor jogged after her, stepping onto the marks as he passed them by. “Artificer, I swear I saw something that time.”

“Mhm? And what’s that, rookie? Oh shit, airhorn!” Artificer proclaimed, reaching down to snatch a bottle-like object connected to a plastic funnel. “Aye, look at that.”

The younger employee frowned, unamused by the object. “Artificer, as I said?”

“Eh? Oh yeah, ya saw something,” she nodded, placing the air horn into her satchel. “It probably wasn’t anything. Or if it got scared off by a little explosion, then it’s not dangerous.”

“Are you sure..?” worried Survivor, his arms crossed. “I swear I saw a pair of like, red eyes.”

Artificer blinked. “Were they big?”

Survivor considered for a moment, thinking back to what he’d seen. “I… I mean, I think so? Why, is that—“

“Hoarding bug!” Artificer cheered, her whole body whipping around to the hallway exit. “Where did it go? Did you see it?”

“…Yeah, it went left, it looked like. So then we should go ri—“

Before Survivor could even finish his sentence, Artificer tore her shovel from its strap on her back and sprinted down the path to the left, disappearing in seconds. 

“Damn it! Stop leaving me behind!” Survivor managed to choke as he, startled, began to chase his senior, fiddling with his flashlight, trying to turn it on. “What if there’s something—!”

He hadn’t even found the on switch before Survivor barreled right into Artificer from behind, having not seen her on account of the fog-like darkness of the room. She let out a pained, surprised grunt as they collided, the two falling to the floor in a heap.

“Shoot, fuck, I—are you okay?” Survivor stammered, his lower back trapped under… some part of Artificer’s body. It felt like her leg, or maybe an arm. “Why the hell did you..?”

He went quiet, suddenly glancing around the area as best he could from that position.

Eventually, Artificer shifted under him, her head and gaze turning up to meet Survivor’s. “Well, shit, rookie,” she murmured in a noticeably softer tone. “Didn’t know you were so—“

Survivor looked at Artificer. She looked at Survivor. They both blinked.

“I mean, get the fuck off me?” Artificer laughed somewhat nervously, shoving the smaller slugcat off of her before struggling to stand once again. “There is somethin’ to be said about running into your seniors.”

“Y-you ran off first!” Survivor spat, thankful for the darkness of his visor (and the room around them) obscuring the harsh redness on his face. 

Artificer snorted as Survivor stood. “Pfft—! Well, I should say that if anything, you sure know what you want.”

Survivor gaped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Err… nothing,” she coughed, readjusting her suit. “Did ya see where that bug went? The one with the big red eyes.”

“Not since the landmine,” replied Survivor. “Why are you looking for it?”

“It’s a hoarding bug,” Artificer smirked. She wedged her boot under the dropped shovel and kicked it back up into the air, grabbing the handle before it fell again. “Which means it has a hoard. And it really fuckin’ likes shit with serromium in it.”

Survivor stared at her. “Serromium?”

Artificer nodded. “Yeah, Serr—do you not know what that is?”

“This is the first time in my entire life I’ve heard that word,” he muttered.

“They really didn’t teach you shit, huh?” Artificer laughed. “Okay so like, the reason we go to these moons and planets is to get stuff with serromium in it. The scanners specifically look for it, too, so anything that has it shows up on em.”

Survivor paused, thinking. “I was wondering how an airhorn could possibly be valuable to the company. But why is serromium, well, here in the first place?”

“It used to be a common resource like, a century ago,” Artificer explained. “But our greedy asses back on Baron used up all of the world’s supply. Serromium’s good for like, reinforcing materials. It used to be put into anything you can carry. And since these facilities are decades old, there’s plenty of serromium in all the scrap laying around.”

“Surely there’s not enough to make it worth sending teams out to grab items that might have useable trace amounts of it, right?” Survivor reasoned, confused.

Artificer just shrugged. “Well, we’re here, aren’t we? Clearly, it is.”

Survivor suddenly went quiet, his eyes fixed on a point in the darkness again. “Hold on, did you see that?”

Artificer turned to look where he had been, though her face remained unbothered by acknowledgement. “See the bug again?”

“Yeah, maybe. It disappeared again,” Survivor groaned tiredly. “I think it went right this time.”

The handle of her shovel gripped tightly in her hands, Artificer headed further down the corridor, quickly peeking around a turn that led, of course, left. She waved Survivor over who, after a deep breath, joined her by it.

He’d have turned on his flashlight if Artificer hadn’t grabbed his wrist, disapprovingly shaking her head. Survivor understood, leaving the device in his belt.

Around the corner, Survivor realized, wasn’t one but two of those red bug-eyed, sickly green creatures. Each one had a pair of long, cone-like arms and legs, sharp to a point. Two antenna-like tendrils sprouted from their heads—it almost reminded him of hair, amusingly. And their backs were covered with similarly shaped spikes, which Survivor would have feared had they not looked just as elastic as their antennae.

Notably, each bug held in its hands something metallic. Survivor couldn’t tell exactly what the items were—and he wasn’t about to alert them of his and Artificer’s location to find out—but he could tell that they were valuable, merely from their shine and apparent quality alone.

Eventually, the duo of bugs turned away, skittering through a doorway that had had its door long since torn from its hinges. Before both completely faded back into the fog-like darkness, Artificer quietly stepped to follow them, ushering Survivor to follow her.

Survivor, if the situation were appropriate, would have lamented at this; but he’d much rather be uncomfortable than alone, so he begrudgingly obliged, keeping on Artificer’s lead.

If there was anything for Survivor to be thankful for, it’s that the following route was fairly straightforward. He and Artificer only spent a few minutes following the bugs through a brief set of corridors before reaching a final room, its only exit being its entrance.

And what a sight it was to behold. The room itself was nothing special, covered in rust and dirt like any of the others—but it was the first spot in the facility aside from the corridors that didn’t have some comically dangerous, hundred or deeper foot pit. 

Importantly, however, the density of objects inside compared to literally anywhere else the pair had searched was extraordinary. Between wire shelves, the floor was generously populated by nearly countless shiny or otherwise valuably presenting items, the kind of things Survivor was certain would impress the company. He could even spot a few data pearls just laying around.

Before the hoarding bugs noticed their presence by the doorway, Artificer pulled Survivor to a spot behind a shelf, crouching as she waited for the bugs to leave. And no more than a minute later, the creatures had gone from the room none the wiser. 

Once the sound of their pin-like limbs tapping against concrete had all but disappeared, Artificer smirked, shifting her gaze to Survivor. “Jackpot.”

“So that’s where all the loot went,” Survivor muttered, both irritated and impressed. “I wondered why we weren’t finding any of it.”

Artificer stepped out of their hiding spot and approached the piles of times, practically gliding as she moved. Survivor followed her, though… less gracefully.

“Hey, expert navigator,” Artificer chuckled, stopping by one of the piles. “Any chance you remember the way here and back?”

“Mhm,” Survivor nodded. “Recall it perfectly.”

A smile came to her face, both mischievous and gleeful. “Grab as much shit as you can and we’ll bring it back. Then we’ll come for more.”

“I’m… all for meeting our quota, but won’t the bugs get, you know… pissed that we’re taking their stuff?” Survivor cautioned, awkwardly noting the intentional placement of some of the items, almost like a pattern.

“I know I would,” Artificer cackled. “But if they start goin’ batshit then I’ll take care of them. Hoarding bugs are weak as hell.”

Before Survivor could reason with her further, Artificer was already fitting as many items as she could inside her satchel. Anything small and light, but prioritizing the expensive ones like the pearls.

Out of something between morbid curiosity and intrigue, Survivor glanced at the many piles again, activating the scanner on his helmet—which he immediately regretted after getting flash banged by an almost endless amount of blinding green pixels. “Ack!”

“Yeah, should mention not to scan right now,” Artificer snorted. “You good?”

“…I’m fine, it just startled me,” Survivor coughed. He dropped to his knees to have an easier job of quickly grabbing items. “But now at least I’m sure it’s all serromium.”

Though he felt terrible taking apart what looked like a piece of abstract yet undeniably intentional art, Survivor continued anyway. It was just a bunch of items, after all. The hoarding bugs could probably just find…

He stopped, nearly about to place a piece of jewelry into his satchel.

“Is this really okay?” Survivor asked nervously. “I mean, it really looks like they were trying to make something with all of this.”

Artificer rolled her eye, letting out a soft sigh. “Rookie, they’re insects. The only reason they did any of this is because it’s all shiny shit. Besides, we need it more than they do.”

“Still, I—“

“Would ya rather miss the quota and get fired by protecting the stash of a couple of bugs, or bring all this back, get promoted, and still have time for dinner after?” Artificer interjected, stopping momentarily to glare at the smaller slugcat.

Survivor went quiet for a moment, looking back over the piles again.

“A better ship does sound pretty good right about now,” he admitted, finally committing to stashing away that necklace he’d been torn about.

“Good boy,” smirked Artificer, much to Survivor’s dismay.

Survivor spent the next few minutes stuffing his satchel as full as it would allow. A couple of pearls, keys, jewelry, even a laser pointer and some kind of primitive phone model. He had managed to get at least nine items stuffed inside his satchel before barely managing to zip it back up, stretched taut by the large volume inside.

“Alright,” Survivor exhaled. “I’ve got everything I can—“

A cacophony of high pitched tones suddenly screeched out before the room bursted in bright orange light, a spot to the left of him erupting in a deafening explosion. His entire body shook, shivered, and froze as the situation hadn’t fully been understood.

But as soon as he saw Artificer’s gas mask, visor shattered and practically missing tumble past his knees, Survivor understood. 

He couldn’t look. His heart wouldn’t allow him to. Which, speaking of, began to race, eyelids gaping open. He couldn’t look. He didn’t want to, and yet Survivor’s head turned slowly to where Artificer had been.

Most of her suit remained. The helmet was entirely gone, though, and the boots were certainly torn to shreds. Any items that had been around the explosion were now scattered around the room, charred black with ash.

“A-Artificer?” Survivor stammered, his words lost on his tongue. He spoke her name as if it would bring her back to life. But life didn’t work that way. Dread filled his body, whole and indiscriminate. The terrifying realization had struck him that those creatures—those things had hid a landmine in their ‘piece of art’.

Survivor needed to throw up. It was too much. Fuck this job. Fuck the company. Fuck the sheer lack of training he’d received from the Corporation. Did they do all of this on purpose? Did they want him and Artificer to di—

“Fine! I’m fine, ugh…” she groaned, much to Survivor’s immense disbelief. Artificer rose from the ground, helmet missing and parts of her suit torn asunder, but her body was completely unscathed. “Fuck, that still burns though.”

Survivor rushed to her side in an instant, his eyes wide in terror and confusion. “A—Artificer?!” He blurted out, voice clearly shaking, eyes filled with tears. “What—how.. what just happened?!

“Stepped on a mine,” Artificer sighed. “I ever tell you I’m blast resistant?”

“You—you’re what? No??” Survivor gaped, gripping the sides of his head. “No you didn’t??”

Artificer laughed, to Survivor’s horrified unamusement. She sounded hurt. And exhausted. But Artificer clearly wasn’t trying to show it, which only deepened Survivor’s concern.

“Not the first time I’ve stepped on a landmine, don’t worry, kid,” she continued, slowly sitting up. “…just give me a second for my ears to stop ringing. I’ll be fine. Just… need a… moment.”

She went quiet, suddenly, her body clearly loosening up. Her stiff shoulders dropped, Artificer’s head angling at a slight down angle as if she had stopped putting effort into keeping it up. “I feel great. Don’t worry about me.”

“Artificer,” murmured Survivor, quiet and serious. “You look exhausted.”

“I said I’m fine,” Artificer replied, her voice a quarter way to a hiss but lacking the energy to sound anything close to one. And then her body gave out, Survivor figured, as she suddenly leaned forward and laid her head against his chest. It was obvious that she’d have just fallen forward onto her own lap if Survivor wasn’t there to act as support.

“I’m… fine,” she murmured tiredly. Artificer went quiet for a moment before eventually muttering “fuck. Maybe I’m not fine.”

Survivor nodded, gently putting his arms around her to offer a bit of extra support. “Come on, I’ll get you back to the ship. You can’t work like this.”

Artificer shook her head. “No, I can keep—I need to keep going,” she managed. “We’re not done yet. There’s so much.. left to do. Today was supposed to be better,” the slugcat lamented, her voice approaching bitterness. “I wanted to show you how this all is supposed to work.”

“I’d much rather you be alive and healthy than I care about some ridiculous job,” Survivor replied bluntly. “If we die, then what’s the point?”

Artificer looked away almost timidly, her expression exhausted, and even a little shocked. She’d opened her mouth to reply, but not a word left her before the skittering of hoarding bugs faded into perceptibility.

It was like a shiver up his spine, Survivor shook, turning his head toward the door which the bugs were approaching. He suddenly picked Artificer up—who was lighter than he had imagined—- by the back and legs before setting her down behind a shelf by the front right corner of the room

“The hell are you doing?” Artificer whispered, struggling to even sit up again before Survivor assuredly gestured to the floor. 

“I did baseball as a kid,” Survivor murmured somewhat proudly, grabbing Artificer’s shovel that was conveniently nearby. “I know how to swing a… shovel?”

She didn’t manage to let out another word of disapproval before Survivor dashed to the door, hiding right by it with the shovel raised. He stayed ready there for a moment, grip around the handle tight—

And when the first bug skittered inside, presumably to investigate the explosion, the shovel swung down, its blunt side striking fast and hard against the bug’s head. The creature immediately hit the ground, letting out a horrified and agonizing screech as it did. Survivor winced seeing its unusually purple blood spray out like a fountain from its injured, nearly crushed head.

Survivor prepared to do the same to the second bug, but this one entered the room at a much faster pace, making a violent buzzing noise as it flew into the room rapidly. The shovel came down far too late, completely missing the second bug as it flew around Survivor.

“Well, shit,” he realized, taking a step back as he came face to face with the creature, unsure whether to attack or defend. The bug chose for him.

Suddenly, Survivor was attacked by a flurry of bites and strikes from its near razor-sharp mandibles and two-fingered claws. The first strike grazed his cheek, the second cutting barely into his shoulder—but thanks to his reflexes he managed to back away from the rest of the onslaught.

But as agile as Survivor was, his opponent was just as swift. He retaliated with another swing of the shovel, completely missing as the bug swerved right to dodge it. And then it came at him again, claws swinging and mandibles biting. 

Instead of retreating, Survivor clashed with it, managing to land a hit against its claws and—subsequently—its body. The bug flew backwards careening across the room, managing to stabilize itself to prevent hitting the wall. It certainly wasn’t going to go down easily.

Survivor desperately looked around the room for something he could use. He could swing a weapon but he certainly wasn’t trained to. Not that he’d received much training that mattered at all.

He suddenly looked to his feet as something spherical rolled against them, a small black rock with an unusual crimson glowing cross-shape embedded into it. Survivor glanced at Artificer, who had clearly rolled it to him, still laying on the floor. “Throw it,” she hissed, just loud enough for him to hear. 

Survivor grabbed it, but the hoarding bug had gotten too close once again for a thrown weapon to be effective. They clashed again, shovel against claws—but this time, one of Survivor’s hands was occupied holding the rock. The bug had managed enough force to knock the shovel out of his hands and and trip him stumbling, sending itself backward and Survivor several feet away. 

Now seemed like the only opportunity he’d get. Survivor reared his arm back, rock in hand, and chucked it straight toward the bug. He was just about to scramble to pick up his shovel before Artificer yelled “cover your ears!”

It was a little late, however. Survivor froze in place but hadn’t managed to heed her warning quickly enough. An explosion, not quite as large as the landmine’s erupted, fire rushing out around the hoarding bug in a violent rush. The sound was nearly deafening, absolutely catching him off guard.

But the bomb certainly did the trick. Left on the ground was not an angry, vicious creature, but its charred remains, lifeless and undeniably deceased.

Survivor looked on, gripping the sides of his head as his ears rang. He probably had tinnitus now, but at least the battle was over.

The ringing quieted enough to be comfortable after a moment, and when it did, Survivor returned to Artificer’s side.

“I didn’t know you had a bomb,” Survivor laughed grimly.

Artificer shook her head. “And for good reason. Didn’t actually have it until a moment ago.”

“What do you mean?” Survivor murmured, sitting down on the floor next to her.

“You know how I said I’m blast resistant?” Artificer chuckled roughly, a devious smile taut on her mouth. “I can also make bombs. With my mouth.”

Survivor was silent for a moment amidst Artificer’s snickering, gears turning in his head, failing to justify how that was even possible. Meanwhile, Artificer had the biggest shit-eating grin on her face as she watched his confusion.

“I’ll… ask about that later,” Survivor chuckled awkwardly. “Can you walk?”

Artificer nodded. “Yeah, soon. Just give me a few minutes here and I’ll— w-what are you doing?” She suddenly stammered as he immediately lifted her into the air, the same way as before.

“We can’t wait that long,” Survivor replied. “I don’t know if I can take on another creature… monster? If one comes through that door. Also… you’re really not that heavy.”

Then Artificer looked away, her unscarred eye narrowing. Survivor couldn’t tell because of her naturally red fur, but she seemed to be… reddening a little, at least that was how it looked to him. Though it could have easily just been his mind fabricating details.

“…fine,” muttered Artificer, unable to meet Survivor’s eyes with hers. “But I’m walking again soon.”

“You got it,” he hummed decisively, quickly picking Artificer’s satchel off of the floor before making his way to the room exit. Survivor’s head popped out the door frame, quickly glancing at the surrounding area before clearing that it was safe enough to walk out into. 

He spent a moment recalling the path they had taken to get here, eventually drawing a sufficient mental map of the route they’d need to take to return. Quietly, Survivor stepped out into the corridor, moving at a pace efficiently fast enough yet not loud enough to attract unwanted attention. Which, while holding someone a couple dozen pounds heavier than himself, wasn’t the easiest undertaking—but it was manageable. And if it was manageable, Survivor surely would do it.

Neither slugcat spoke for a while as room after room passed. Survivor hadn’t stopped for even a moment to reconsider the path, and eventually Artificer realized that, after only five minutes, they were nearly back to the facility entrance.

“...You know your way around, huh?” Artificer muttered, her voice unusually quiet. “Didn’t really take your whole navigator brain thing at face value when you mentioned it.”

“Haha, yeah,” Survivor chuckled, making sure he stepped over a stray pipe, and not on it. “Maybe you’ll remember it now.”

Artificer rolled her eye, letting out a lighthearted scoff. “Mhm.”

Then Survivor went quiet again. Artificer imagined he might have just been trying to evade detection at first, but it seemed like he had just run out of things to talk about. Someone trying to be stealthy wouldn’t be humming quietly to himself, after all.

“I’m sorry.”

Survivor slowed his pace a little, turning his head down in slight surprise, gaze meeting Artificer’s face but not her eyes. “What did you say?” he asked.

“You heard me,” Artificer murmured. “I’m not repeatin’ myself.”

A confused chuckle left Survivor’s mouth, but he nodded. “Sorry for what? You didn’t do an—”

“--I did, though,” Artificer sighed. “Everything’s gone wrong since the moment you stepped on my ship. Yesterday’s job was shit, today’s looking like it’s gonna be shit too. Last time I could blame it on the elevator, but this time it was definitely my fault. Not to mention I shouted at you.”

“Wellllllll, I kind of deserved that,” Survivor admitted. “Shouldn’t have egged you on, even if I didn’t mean to.”

“Pfft. Maybe,” snorted Artificer. “But it’s not like you were wrong. If ya weren’t there, I probably would’ve gone back in there myself, and…”

She was quiet for a moment, wondering how to continue that conversation which was… harder than previously realized.

A look of slight guilt suddenly crossed Artificer’s face as she jumped to a new talking point. “For the record I uh… don’t think you’re some psychopathic new hire. Never did, really.”

Survivor laughed. “I’m glad to have proven otherwise?”

“I’ve been burned a lot, Survivor.”

Ignoring the fact that she had called him by name, Survivor chuckled. “If you trigger landmines and make explosives with your saliva all the time, I’d imagine you’d have to be.”

Artificer laughed grimly. “Well yes, there’s that. But I mean by people.”

“What do you mean?” he questioned.

“Ugh, you know what I mean,” Artificer hissed. “Had a lot of people turn on me. Bunch of traitors. You know?”

Survivor nodded. “...Yeah, no. Sorry, I understand.” He crossed into another room, just a few rooms short of the facility entrance doors. “As in literally?”

“People on the job, colleagues, just… regular people, and people I thought I loved.” 

Artificer paused for a moment.

“Or–trusted. I meant trusted.” 

Her voice went a little quieter, albeit still audible. “...so it’s hard for me to trust. And you’ve somehow gotten me to trust you, at least a bit. So you had better no—”

“I would never betray you, if that’s what you’re saying,” Survivor reassured her. “I was always a really loyal kid, according to my… sister.”

He paused on that final word for a moment, so briefly that it passed by like a word twice its length said fluently. The way it fell off his tongue sounded odd to Artificer.

“...You good?” She laughed, concerned.

“...Umm—no, yeah, I’m fine,” Survivor smiled. “She—she always told me I was loyal, so I guess that means I haven’t changed since then.”

Artificer nodded. “Well, considerin’ it didn’t even cross your mind to leave me and escape on your own, I’d say you’re either damn stupid or you are as loyal as your big sis says.”

“Hah… how’d you know she’s older?” Survivor chuckled, his head timidly turned away.

“Because people don’t call their older siblings ‘loyal kids,’” Artificer purred.

A laugh escaped Survivor’s throat as he understood her reasoning. And just a moment afterward, he’d finally reached the first room of the facility, the massive fan still turning slowly overhead.

“Right then,” Survivor hummed. “How do you feel about walking? You still tired?”

“Oh—yeah, I was good like, five minutes ago,” Artificer snickered. “Put me down.”

So he did, though carefully, unlike how Artificer tried to squirm out of his arms. She landed about as gracefully as a one-legged dancer, struggling to catch herself as she nearly stumbled over. “Ah, shit. That was a bit too fast.”

Survivor joined her at her side, literally offering his shoulder to lean on. But Artificer just shook her head, muttering “nah, I’m fine,” before pushing through the facility doors.

The moment they both stepped out onto the cracked floor of the external entrance, Survivor immediately went to check the time on his visor HUD.

“0244,” Survivor stated, letting out a quiet sigh. “That’s still half our time left.”

“Only half our time left,” Artificer hissed, clearly disgruntled. “I can’t believe I let myself get blown to bits by a fucking landmine.”

Survivor patted her on the back—immediately retreating his hand nervously after the fact. “Still plenty of time.”

“Whatever,” the crimson slugcat cursed. “Let’s find the ship before somethin’ finds us.”

Though worried about what Artificer meant by that, Survivor nodded, allowing her to take the lead as the two began the short journey that would ultimately take no more than fifteen minutes.

///

…

It was dark.

Saving energy by keeping the lights off wasn’t exactly something that was on their agenda when they’d signed up for this job, but it was always a possibility. So they couldn’t really be that upset about it.

The only reason anything in the ship could be seen at all was thanks to the faint light produced by the control panel lights and its connected monitor, which from the screen wasn’t all that much since it was just colored text on a black background. It sort of felt like being blind, or nearly, for that matter. Loss of vision was always a terrifying thought. Being in the dark certainly didn’t help calm it.

They had been leaning sluggishly against the terminal, knees on the floor and arms crossed and held on the protruding surface right behind the keyboard. Maybe eventually the ship would finally orbit out of the moon’s shadow and then manage to get enough light from the sun to land properly. Or maybe they’d be hit by an asteroid and be torn to pieces before that. Either case was preferable to this situation.

A gentle tap came to their shoulder. It was her. They turned their head perfunctorily to face her, catching barely a glimpse of the blue of her fur, tinted just slightly green by the monitor light. The angle allowed them barely to see her arm. They didn’t care to look at any more.

“How are you holding up?” she whispered, her voice as gentle as a whistle. 

The purple, mouthless slugcat waited a moment before activating the terminal. Then, barely faster than a sloth, typed ‘>Bored’

She frowned. “We have to conserve power. You shouldn’t turn that on.”

‘>How else am I meant to reply to you when it’s this dark, Rivulet?’

“Okay, okay, you’re right. Sorry,” Rivulet sighed. She turned her back to the terminal before sliding down against it, eventually sitting with her knees pressed against her chest. Then she was wordless.

They both were in silence for a while before typing sounds once again emitted from where the keyboard was. Rivulet turned to look a few seconds after the final key in several seconds had been typed.

“>And you?” read the terminal input.

Rivulet hummed sadly, leaning against Spearmaster’s body, her arms instinctually wrapping around their lower body. “Scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want Hunter to die.”

Spearmaster turned to look at the beds for a moment. Hunter laid on a lower bunk, sheets unwashed for days, his body limp. One could assume that he was lifeless—and they would be halfway to being correct.

“>If it comes to it, we can try landing manually”

A look of fear crossed Rivulet’s face. “With this little power? And none of us are trained to—“

She paused, her voice sounding more like a cry than a worried objection. “W—well, neither of us are trained to.”

“>I read the flight manual. And took the course.”

“Spears, you flunked that class,” Rivulet laughed, though nervously. 

Their conversation made up of keyboard clacking and occasional brief responses from Rivulet was suddenly interrupted by a loud, horrific screech—like something huge cutting through metal. And along with it, the ship was shaken and sent spinning, thankfully still in orbit.

The ship gravity calibration system must have failed in light of the change in the sudden shift in motion. Everything that wasn’t glued or bolted down suddenly went flying aimlessly through the ship, objects of sizes medium and small careening astray.

Hunter was included in the list of things that were not glued or bolted down, unfortunately. Spearmaster and Rivulet were lucky enough to hold onto something as the ship was struck, but they hadn’t considered him at all. At first, he’d just flopped out of the bed—but thanks to the ship’s rapidly adjusting gravity calibration and the sheer speed at which the whole glorified piece of junk was moving, things were chaotic. 

“S—shit!” Hunter groaned weakly, stirred suddenly awake, as he hit the ceiling of the ship—and then the west wall not long after. 

“Hunter!” Rivulet shouted, reaching out to him as the ship rocked again. But before she’d even gotten close to reaching him, an explosive, agonizing scream erupted from his mouth as his upper back collided against the suit rack—hitting a bulbous, squirming growth on his back.

As suddenly as he’d awoken, Hunter was unconscious again, his whole body limp and appearing horrifically lifeless. Spearmaster practically threw themself to the control panel, shifting the flight mode to manual as a new set of controls propped up to the side of the main panel. Rivulet hadn’t even a moment of time to dissent their actions before the ship’s thrusters went full throttle, expending whatever fuel was remaining toward the orbited moon.

The lights went out, suddenly—Spearmaster figured that the rest of the energy reserves must have been expended—so now all they had to rely on was skill and luck, praying that the whole ship wouldn’t be blown to smithereens.

Things were burning up, and fast. The ship rapidly sped up as it entered the atmosphere, much to Spearmaster’s dismay. All the rest of the fuel that remained in the thrusters was repurposed to slowing the ship’s descent, which proved effective for just about a minute until the fuel completely ran out. 

And that was all that could be done. Spearmaster felt a sense of urgent dread cloud their mind as the ground rapidly closed in, until…

Everything went dark.