"There," Dmitry said, flashing his light onto a broken window across the chasm. "Looks like a control room? And a small platform's leading up to it."
"Yeah, from the very bottom," Konrad grunted. "Without a railing anywhere."
How did this place pass safety standards?
He tried to light up the bottom, but even when he turned his flashlight straight down—
Only a dark hole with no end in sight.
"If a zombie jumps us while we crawl across—we're dead."
"Well, you've got a better idea?" Dmitry asked. "I mean, if you teleport us over—"
"I can't," Konrad shut him down. "Too much interference."
Which was a codeword for him still not having his magic back.
"Climbing it is, then," the Captain said. "Let's see if I can find a serviceable AK somewhere."
Rapid blinks.
"You what?"
"I mean, this shotgun is useless at that distance. Can't cover you once you reach the other side."
Which assumed—
"You want me to go alone?!"
The Captain scratched his head.
"It's logical. If we both go—something can jump us. But I'm a good shot, I could cover you."
"Okay, Mister Logic," Konrad protested. "If it's a control room, with all kinds of switches and machines with labels on them. What language do you think they would be in?"
He couldn't even read the fourth scientist's nametag.
Who turned out to be Korolev, by the way.
Not related to the rocket engineer, as far as he could tell.
"Um, can these PDAs share photos?" Dmitry pondered, but they had no cameras.
"We both go," Konrad put his heels down. "And cover each other. Come on."
The stairs along the sides were creaking a lot, with some steps already missing.
Below them—nothing.
But they couldn't see any other openings along the silo's walls, either.
So that meant nothing could have jumped at them out of the blue. Right? Right?!
If only the place weren't so vast.
Their flashlights couldn't hope to light up more than a tiny fraction of it at a time.
And if it ever had any lighting of its own, Strelok must have killed it on his way out.
Ugh, why couldn't he wait for him in that freaking lab?
"Watch your step," he warned Dmitry. "Two behind me are missing."
And the third one was already bent.
He didn't like this, not one bit.
The darkness, the deep chasm below, and the threat of zombies—
And let's not forget about the enormous brain, at the lowest of the platforms.
That's where they were heading now, round and round on that spiraling staircase.
Because whoever designed this place was a psychopath.
"There is a crack in the wall ahead," the Captain noted, his light flashing. "If a zombie weren't trying to ambush us from there, I'd be too disappointed."
"Don't jinx it, man," Konrad gritted out, gripping his machete tighter.
It was a Snork, anyway, not a regular zombie.
And thank the spirits, it was much less smart than strong.
With an enormous leap, it shot out from its hiding place, and—
One quick swing from Konrad's blade sent it falling into the depths below.
Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
He counted to thirty-three by the time the echo of a thud finally reached them.
No yell or grunt. The thing was dead the moment he hit the bottom.
"Let's not follow his example," Dmitry mumbled.
Now, he was trying to find something to grab onto alongside the wall, too.
But the rest of the way down was uneventful.
The worst they had to deal with was missing steps or a corpse left on one.
"I sure as hell hope that Strelok won't turn out to be our enemy," Konrad muttered to himself.
And as much as he wished it was not, the brain-looking giant thing at the bottom was, in fact, a giant brain in a tank. That broke. Riddled with holes, fluid and blood still dripping out.
"What on Earth is this thing?" the Captain sized it up. "What animal has a brain this big?"
"None that I know of," Konrad said, both fascinated and terrified.
If he looked long enough, he could almost see a faint pulse from time to time.
But no, there was no way this thing would still be alive.
"Okay, now up to that control room or whatever," he grunted, lighting up the platform ahead.
It seemed like Strelok didn't come this far, turning back once he had dealt with the brain.
There was much less destruction and blood, but it also meant—
"Two new signals on my PDA. Unmarked," Dmitry warned, the barrel of his shotgun climbing.
And by the time they reached that room, there were three more.
Plus, a Snork that didn't show up.
But a heart attack, a few shotgun slugs, and a little slashing later—
"I found a light switch," the Captain announced, and with a loud click, he chased the darkness away. At least in this very room. Not very big, but indeed filled with all kinds of gadgets.
And papers. Full dossiers.
It was a literal goldmine.
"We can't carry back this much," Konrad scowled, taking a look around. "What does this say?"
He grabbed one of the papers and shoved it under Dmitry's nose.
"Um, it's in Russian, but it might as well be Chinese," he mumbled, trying to read it. "It's all scientific stuff I don't understand. But it does mention Psyonic Waves. We'll take it."
"Take this, too," Konrad grabbed a box that looked like a vintage radio. "And these."
"Wait, wait, we've got to be more tactical about this," the Captain said, reaching deep into his pocket. "Korolev gave me a list and some basic drawings about what to look for."
Well, that was too easy.
And they so happened to find everything the old Spectacle wanted, and more.
It was still quite a haul.
"I sure hope we won't get any more ambushes on our way out," Konrad said, struggling with the added weight. "We already wasted two hours on this, and I want to catch up to Strelok."
"There are only so many cracks these fuckers can hide in," Dmitry noted on his way out.
But they were about to pass the brain before they climbed back up again, when it throbbed.
Like, not the thing itself, but their hearts and eardrums as they approached it.
"W-what the fuck was that?!" the Captain yelled, dropping one of the gadgets they needed.
"I guess it's not completely dead yet," Konrad grunted, fighting a headache that had not existed a second ago. Was it trying to take over their bodies?
Well, if the antenna only broadcast its thoughts, being this close to it might have been enough.
"Let's fix that, then," Dmitry said, aiming the shotgun at the tank.
But one more moment, and his eyes rolled back into his head, the barrel shifting towards him.
"Fuck. Sorry again."
Why did he have to knock the poor soldier out all the time?
And now the shotgun fell into that bottomless pit as well, with more of the tools they needed.
'Why can't I control you?' a whisper demanded, trying to intrude into his brain.
"Well, sorry, not sorry," Konrad fought it with everything he had, his machete raised to strike the brain. "I'm something of a control-freak myself."
And when he crushed the remains of the tank, it was finally over.
The whispers died with the brain; no more throbbing, no more intrusive thoughts.
Only the darkness. And that familiar, floaty feeling again.