INT. SECURITY HQ – BLOWN ELEVATOR SHAFT – NIGHT
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The world narrows to a vertical tunnel of shadow, veins of pulsing alloy carved into the shaft like the body of a buried creature. Wind, not from the outside, but from within, breathes up at them. A chorus of distant howls echoes from below.
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PREP
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Cables are fired into the shaft walls—anchor claws piercing into reinforced bone-metal. Searchlights are lowered first, flooding the shaft in eerie amber glow. Flare guns are clipped to belts. Each Security unit loads a final thermal cell into their plasma rifles.
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SERGEANT R8
“Check comms. Pair flare guns to tactical sensors. Mark your partners—if one falls, two catch.”
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JASON tightens his harness. His optics glance across the squad—most bots silent, focused.
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JASON
“Last chance to turn back. Anyone wanna quit, I’ll even lie for your bravery.”
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A dry chuckle from F2, followed by a clank as he checks his launcher.
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F2
“If I wanted to retire, I wouldn’t follow you, Gearman.”
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JASON
“Touching.”
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DESCENT
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They begin abseiling down in pairs, boots gently tapping the shaft walls, searchlights scanning. Below, light warps—bent by heat, by something else.
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JASON descends next to D3-MINI, both gliding silently.
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D3-MINI
“Estimated depth—sixty floors. Readings unstable.”
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JASON
“Is this still Central City, or are we halfway to hell?”
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D3-MINI
“I was unaware hell had so many HR offices.”
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They both share a faint smirk.
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THE HOWLS
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As they go deeper, the organic howls grow louder. It’s not just sound—it rattles their armor, trembles in their joints. Something ancient and furious, echoing through layers of time and pipework.
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One of the bots pauses mid-air, looking up.
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SCOUT L9
“It’s... calling. Like it knows we’re here.”
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JASON
“Then let’s not keep it waiting.”
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A final glance is exchanged across the group—not fear, but fire. Tacit trust forged by chaos. They pull their flares, ready.
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The lower they go, the narrower the shaft becomes. Roots coil tighter. Lights dim.
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SERGEANT R8 (over comms)
“Brace. We’re breaching the final level.”
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The squad drops past the final set of metal ribs, vanishing into the mouth of a new zone—one where HQ ends and something else begins.
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FADE TO BLACK.
TO BE CONTINUED...
ns216.73.216.210da2
