T-Plus 3

The first thing Oliver woke up to was a spinning world, a sense of falling, and then excruciating pain he couldn’t really pinpoint. It was mostly just his left side? He woke up to a cold room where everything was sideways. Ah, he’s been here before. The ground had always been his closest friend, especially when it caught him from falling off the table. Groping around in the dark, popping a few of his fingers against the table in the process, he found the edge and lifted himself up. With a bit more awkward patting of the table, he found the flashlight and, with it, the blowtorch.

Oliver checked his surroundings. Nothing had changed during his nap, other than the time. He stretched, glancing over his injuries. They weren't giving him too much trouble. He probably needed to change the makeshift bandages soon, but that could wait. For now, he could walk. The Nereids were gone, so he wasn't expecting too much of a problem. Hopefully.

It was time to explore Lab 5C's hangar. Picking his way through the wreckage littering the lab floor, Oliver reached the hangar’s entrance. A drone’s nose, the one he spotted when he was last out here, was still there, beckoning his entry. Around its base, however, were crates, lockers, and loose items that had avalanched together during the most recent tremors.

The technician swept his light over the situation. If he moved some of the lighter objects that had piled themselves on top, he could possibly make a crawl space for himself. Well, that was assuming there weren’t heavier objects behind what he could see. He grimaced at the thought. Knowing his luck, that may be the case.

He set the flashlight nearby, keeping the blowtorch beside it. Rolling up his sleeves, he began to unassemble the jigsaw of crates and other supplies. First were the lighter items, then the mildly weighted items, leaving only the ones that would put pressure on his legs. Unfortunately, that was still a vast majority of them, an understandable situation since they only kept supplies necessary for drone maintenance within the hangar. He carefully set aside each item, tensing as each piece’s removal shifted the pile into sometimes more awkward configurations. Eventually, it settled, and there were several points of entry he could try.

With a sigh, he sat down beside his flashlight. Only a bit of exercise and he’d already worked up a sweat. Oliver dabbed at his brow with the now dirty cuff of his uniform, its original white and blue hidden underneath grime and guts, as he organized what he had left to do. It’d be nice if there were medical or even food supplies in the hangar, but he highly doubted it. At this point, he’d accept even just a blanket. Batteries or a more convenient weapon would be nice too. He leaned back against the crates. He could go for some coffee right about now.

Speaking of which, when was the last time he’d eaten? Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, massaging some of the kinks out. Coffee counted as a meal, right? His stomach growled in protest of his logic. Just thinking of food made him realize his throat was parched too. Oliver looked to his side; only the flashlight and blowtorch was in his possession. His original backpack was lost in the initial panic. Well, not that it mattered, since it was empty anyways. He could only give a forced chuckle at his situation and stand up again.

Oliver lifted the blowtorch up first, climbing up onto the crates afterwards. As he surmised, there were more crates further in that he couldn't reach from the entrance. He shoved what looked like a lighter load, pushing it out of the way. If there wasn't a path, he'd just have to make one. He crawled forward, every once in a while pulling the blowtorch after him. He ducked under the drone's nose, using the light to navigate through the narrow crawl space. At times he slid forward on his stomach, the tip of his hair scraping the underside of the drone; other times he had enough space to sit up and clear a wider space for himself. Sometimes, he found himself in a dead end where crates and drone parts were smashed together in bouldering blockades. At that point, he just had to give up and go around.

He pulled himself forward again, his flashlight in his left hand. His right hand extended forward, grasping at the next crate he needed to leverage himself on top of. As he hefted his weight onto the lopsided crate, it collapsed beneath him, sending shudders throughout the rest of the crate mountain. The crate landed with a thud, jarring his arm. The shocks sent to the other crates rearranged the entire crawl space. If anything, it flattened some of the crates that had been sticking up at odd angles.

Once the shockwaves quieted, Oliver continued crawling forward. The flashlight revealed the end of his journey, and his hand reached out to open space. With a bit more wiggling, he escaped. His feet hit the floor, and he pulled the blowtorch out with him.

Flashlight in one hand and blowtorch in the other, he finally surveyed the new area. It was dusty, to say the least. Cluttered was another word for it. It was a different sense of chaos than how the residents of Lab 5C usually organized it. The drones had rolled out of their organized lines, their supplies and extra parts all jumbled around where he was standing. Greeting him as he straightened, was another drone, its nose smashed into the end of the other. Beside it were two others, banged up and bruised from recent events. Around their bases were some other crates and extra parts that didn’t quite make it to the hill of supplies he’d just crawled through. Now, was there anything useful here?

Only one way to figure that out. He started opening the nearest boxes. He ignored the larger ones, knowing they probably just drone parts. He aimed for the smaller ones. There was no way Toast didn’t have some hidden stash somewhere. It would be within his usual scope to be eating snacks on the job. He opened a box, shined the light down, got disappointed, and moved onto the next one. There were parts, parts, parts, parts, more parts, another part, a spare blowtorch, a hammer, a greasy towel, and a toolbox.

He kept the spare blowtorch, slid the hammer into one of his belt loops, and opened the toolbox. There was a sizeable dent on the lid, leaving a small hole for some of the smaller items to roll out and disappear into the pile. What was left inside were two larger screwdrivers, thin pliers, an exacto knife, and a wrench. Nothing that could help him at the moment, but they would probably help out later. Using the hammer, he bent the dent back into place. The lid closed, sort of. Better than nothing.

Now... Oliver looked behind him. The narrow crawl space he made to get here was still the only way out. He put the toolbox beside the two blowtorches, and continued searching through some other boxes nearby. Other than the toolbox, he found only more drone parts. It was time to leave again.

Hefting the toolbox up first, he crawled through the tunnel he made. He reached the lab again, and set the toolbox down. Oliver heaved another sigh, crawling back to grab the other two blowtorches. As he arrived in the hangar again, something felt off. It was still the dusty hangar that he had originally dug his way to, but it was noisier this time. A noise that was louder than his shuffling through the wreckage. It was an unfortunately familiar rustling, the same sort of rustling that was a premonition for disaster. Oliver grabbed the two blowtorches and bolted for the crawl space. There was no way he was confirming whatever the hell that was. As he wedged his way back through, shoving the blowtorches ahead of him while kicking the boxes behind him to cover his tracks, he could hear the rustling come closer.

By the time he made it back to the lab again, he was sweating and huffing and puffing. Behind him he could hear boxes shuffling and falling from their positions, shifting the wall behind him. He rushed toward the lab entrance. He had tools. He had weapons. He needed supplies. And he definitely needed more time. Even after giving a quick look over some of the boxes by the far wall, the ones that blocked the entrance, he couldn’t find anything else of interest. Another quick search through the office supplies, and forcing open certain cabinets, he found coffee packets. The best discovery of today, which he stuffed into his pocket for later. He also found his backpack, which he packed one of the blowtorches and the toolbox into. He swung the pack onto his shoulders, and turned the light toward the hangar entrance. The other blowtorch he kept under his arm, the flashlight he held in his hand.

The drone’s nose was wiggling, from what he could tell. It was wavering in spot, the boxes at its base shaking as whatever was the cause made it trembled. Okay, it was time to go. He rushed toward the lab entrance, kicking and shoving the crates and shelves out of the way. At one point, he stepped onto one of the larger crates to gain some more leverage and broke a hole through it, losing his foot in the box.

“Fuck.”

He shook his foot out, the edges of the hole scraping against his bandages. He gritted his teeth, yanking his foot out and holding the painful scream in. He stepped down, pulling the apparently empty crate out of the way. In its empty space, some of the neighboring crates fell down to take its place. He shoved them out of the way, revealing part of the door. Oliver put his hand on the smooth metal, trying to figure out where the door opened.

Oliver shoved a few more boxes out of the way, squeezing his way through. Behind him, he could hear some of the crates collapsing. Well, he wasn’t thinking of returning any time soon anyways. He paused before forcing the door open. The last time he was out there, there was a hoard of Nereids. Oliver glanced behind him, seeing only the fallen boxes and crates blocking his way back. There was only one way out of here.

The technician forced his fingers between the door, shoving the heavy doors open. He wedged himself between them, forcing the doors open with his back and feet. He swung the flashlight out with his free hand. There was nothing on the other side of the door. Just an empty, dark corridor. He couldn’t hear the rustling signaling his doom. This was it. Oliver slipped out into the hallway, letting the doors close behind him.