Foremost among all dangers coming out of the warrens (or at least the one every schoolchild had nightmares about) were the spider-wolves—generally referred to simply as 'wolves' since there were no true wolves in the Devil's Basement. How exactly they had come to inhabit the Devil's Basement is uncertain. Some suspected there had been a secret government lab breeding the things, but scant evidence ever existed for such a theory.

A spider-wolf is a genetically modified spider. Actually, they had been modified to the point where calling them spiders would not be entirely accurate. In fact, they were less 'modified spiders' and more entirely artificially constructed creatures that bore superficial resemblance to spiders. Although they looked (more or less) like ordinary spiders, they were gigantic: one of the smaller varieties inhabited the Devil's Basement, with a body the size of a rat and a two-foot leg span. Venom from one could kill a young kid or knock an adult out cold in minutes.

What really set them apart from proper arachnids was that they displayed a level of social behaviour normally seen only in hive-based insects such as ants. Fierce territoriality also lent itself to such a comparison. In general, they only lived in groups of no more than twenty, but in the deep warrens, much larger nests would form, numbering a hundred or more. Wolf-spiders were brown, helping them blend in with the ground, they could easily climb walls and ceilings, and were almost completely soundless. They would attack anyone who came near their territory, even large and well-equipped caravans. When a nest became particularly bothersome, dwellers had to form specialised teams to go and burn it out with fire bombs and flamethrowers.

All in all, the spider-wolf dominated the food chain outside the stations. The name itself was dark and foreboding, especially to any who had ever encountered them, hence many paramilitary and terrorist organisations named themselves after them (such as a certain group of Communist radicals).

* * *

The wildmen led the mechanics down a ladder into a closet which opened into a much wider and taller mineshaft. It was almost agoraphobic compared to the cramped maintenance tunnel.

“Welcome,” Comrade Sergeant said pleasantly, “to one of the oldest mineshafts in Area 51. Originally dug out by those self-driving machines they told you about in school, it was abandoned ages and ages ago. Watch your step, the ceiling supports are at least a hundred years old and could collapse at any moment.”

“No chit-chat during this leg of the journey.” Comrade Colonel ordered, “If there are wolves down here, any sound could attract them. Everyone stay close and be on your guard.”

“Let me take point, Comrade Colonel.” OC-1 requested, “These mechanical eyes of mine can see the heat signatures of spider-wolves before they come into the light of our headlamps.”

Comrade Colonel gave a strange look to OC-1's flashlights/eyes and said, “Sure. Mad Dog, you're with him.”

Mad Dog, one of the two zene in the group, nodded his eyes. Slinging his carbine over his shoulder, he pulled out a flamethrower, turned on the lighter at the end, and joined OC-1 at the front of the group. Kyanite, who had no fighting abilities to speak of and had only her dad's old double-barrelled tunnel gun for protection, tried to stay in the middle of the group.

They walked for quite some time. The place was a maze. Intersections with other large shafts were regular and between them smaller tunnels branched off the main shaft. According to OC-1's internal compass, they were consistently heading north and slightly west: the direction of Dawnseeker. However, they were still far deeper in the crust than Dawnseeker, even though that station was deeper than Ragnarok.

OC-1 held up his hand: “Halt!” He ordered in a hushed tone;

“What?” Asked Comrade Colonel,

“Wolves ahead. Three of them.”

“Have they noticed us?”

“I don't know.” Normally, spider-wolves can see perfectly fine; however, many generations spent in the Devil's Basement had rendered them blind, but sharpened their smell and hearing.

Gunshots rang out from behind OC-1: “Wolves in the back!” Shouted Den Mother; As if on cue, the wolves in front charged. They were burnt to a crisp by Mad Dog's flamethrower, but more appeared from the darkness. Reflexively, OC-1 turned to see what was happening behind him and noticed two wolves on the ceiling ready to drop on Kyanite.

“Kyanite!” he shouted, firing both barrels at them. He killed one but missed the other. Wasting no time, OC-1 ran at blinding speed at Kyanite. He jumped in the air, kicked Kyanite in the upper chest to gain upward momentum, and impaled the second wolf on the long blade that suddenly popped out from under his wrist.

“Auugh!” Squawked Kyanite as she fell flat on her back; “What was that for?!” She could barely get the words out of her winded lungs as OC-1 hit the ground in front of her; “You have a sword in your arm?!” She exclaimed when she spotted the blade:

“This is no time to discuss the details of my anatomy, Kyanite.” Replied the cyborg sternly as he inserted two new shells into his tunnel gun.

As they spoke, more wolves were bearing down on them from both directions. Mad Dog had to keep up an almost steady stream of fire in front as Den Mother and Razor covered the back with their carbines.

“Move, move, move!” Hollerred Comrade Colonel, “Den Mother, Razor, watch the back! Anarchist, cover them and make sure they don't fall behind. OC-1 and Mad Dog, keep watching the front, Sergeant you take the left side and watch any tunnels we pass, Nationalist, you take the right, Kyanite and I will stay in the centre in reserve. Everyone stick together and check your targets, last thing we need is to run out of ammo!”

As they advanced, the wolf attacks stopped. Everyone knew, however, that they were waiting just beyond the light. They had not gone much farther when a trio burst out of a crevice in the wall to the right and attacked Nationalist. Acting with lightning speed, Comrade Colonel whipped out a knife and slashed two of them to ribbons; Nationalist barely managed to kick the last one off, allowing Kyanite to shoot it.

“Halt!” Comrade Colonel ordered, “Are you injured?” He asked Nationalist;

“Y-yeah.” Answered the zene, pointing at several bite marks on his lower body.

Razor suddenly screeched as two more wolves dropped on him from an unseen air vent in the ceiling sending him, screaming, to the ground. At the same time, more appeared out of the darkness, keeping Den Mother busy. Anarchist charged with fixed bayonet and killed the two wolves. For now, the wolves retreated again.

“Is he...?” Comrade Colonel asked Anarchist as he checked Razor's pulse. The first bite had torn Razor's throat out and the second took off half his face. Anarchist closed the dead man's remaining eye and shook his head. “Right.” Comrade Colonel said, “We'll raise a toast to him later. Throw his gun and gear to Kyanite. Kyanite, you take Nationalist's position.”

“Okay.” Kyanite gulped as she caught the shotgun and ammo harness thrown at her. She slid her tunnel gun into its holster at her side as Comrade Colonel hurriedly bandaged the already unconscious Nationalist and then picked him up.

“Alright, move out!” He ordered.

The attacks intensified, but with everyone now doubly alert lest they end up like Razor or Nationalist, they fought their way through without too much more trouble. It was then that they rounded a corner and froze in their tracks. The tunnel opened into a vast natural cavern. Their headlamps did not reach all the way across, but what they could see was plenty enough.

Row upon row of eggs lined the walls, and just within range of the light they could see the huge, hairy legs of a massive matriarch. Although it was hard to tell just how big she was, Kyanite's very lively imagination conjured images of her body being the size of a house. OC-1, who could see her heat signature, decided to keep to himself how big she was.

All screamed.

“Pull back! Pull back!” Shouted Comrade Colonel over the rest. Spider-wolves swept in out of the darkness and lined the way toward the matriarch's chamber, but did not give chase (presumably for fear of leaving the matriarch unguarded).

“The mine office!” Comrade Sergeant panted as they ran as fast as they could back the way they came,

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Replied Comrade Colonel, “Mad Dog, you remember the way from here?”

“Yes! Everyone follow me!”

* * *

Rook was quietly enjoying a smoke break on the station platform. Dawnseeker only had one platform for trains leaving the station. Workers were busily loading boxes of weapons and munitions onto a cargo train with forklifts.

Searching through the archives was mind-numbing work. He had gotten very lucky last time finding what he needed so quickly: it was going much more slowly this time, as it usually did. Hours spent in the archives had gone by at a snail's pace at the time but now it seemed like they had all disappeared in a puff of smoke. One had to keep one's mind sharp by breaking away from it once in a while.

As he paced around in a circle to stretch his legs, the workers finished loading the equipment and the train went on its way. Rook immediately dropped his cigarette and snuffed it out.

“Hey!” He called the nearest worker, “Where's that train headed?”

“To Utopia of course, like all the munitions cargoes.”

“But they'd have to pass through Metalsprings to the north.”

“Yeees.” Nodded the worker, wondering how slow this particular specimen of mankind was,

“Well, they're headed southeast. And into the mines, not on Line 2.”

“Are they?” For the first time the worker looked (ever so slightly) interested as his eyes wandered in the direction of the departing train. Then he shrugged and said, “Maybe they're taking a detour.” With that, the worker turned and walked away.

“Through what, a tin vein?”

“They don't pay me to care.” Called the worker without looking over his shoulder.

* * *

The armoured train slowed to a halt.

“First a Red Wolf barricade, now an abandoned train.” Said Immortal, “This is the area they disappeared in, so this must be their train. What trouble have these mechanics gone and gotten themselves into?”

Travertine jumped out with Immortal and two of his men to examine it. It was just an engine with a fairly spacious cab and a single cargo car with boxes of ventilation equipment in it.

“Looks like they left in a hurry.” Surmised Travertine as the four climbed into the cab. “They left the key in the ignition. And look.” He pointed at the glass littering the floor from the smashed window and the empty tear gas grenades.

“No indication of where they went, though.” Immortal grunted, “Like they just disappeared.”

“There's a maintenance tunnel door over there.” Pointed Travertine, “If they were taken by wildmen, chances are they were taken through the warrens to avoid the rail-tunnels.”

“Great.” Immortal rolled his eye, “We'll never find them.”

“Don't give up so easy.” The surgeon chided, “We've got to find them. I won't be able to pay my rent otherwise. Maybe the people in the nearby military outposts will know something we haven't heard, or maybe they can tell us something about the Comrades' method of operation that'll help us find them.”