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Description
Many of the halls were blocked by structuring that had collapsed under sustained plasma bombardment, unable to withstand the kinetic battering and extreme heat. Whole segments of flooring were reduced to piles of rubble that blocked junctions and rooms that neither Krone nor Finley could hope to fit through. Each time they came across a space that looked like someone might have used to hide, had been trapped inside--maybe even both--the Sergeant would peer through the remains of a barricaded door, or the cracks in the wall and spy an empty room, toggle his VISR's low light setting off, then try with his rifle's mounted light.

After a time, they reached a section of the ground level that was exposed to open air, sunlight beaming as if through tree canopies, contrasted with hard black shadows that swallowed daylight and left Krone with a brief feeling of being lost. He had given up on his night vision mode altogether by now, and opted to use his weapon light for fear of missing any details.

VISR's low light hue illuminated darkness as good as daylight in some settings, and could accurately map the topograhy of a trooper's surroundings, every corner, wall, and jagged edge that made up door, stairwell, or in this case where the floor ended and a brief fall began. But, for all its perks it made some details hard to see as he first learned in Mombasa three years ago, when it filtered falling rain to a mere ghost image and made colors all but indistinguishable.

The finely analyzed simplicity of the wrecked interior became much more chaotic as Krone switched the vision mode off, and the quiet that surrounded them quickly took on a new tone. Only now he could now distinguish the scatterings of rock crete and broken glass that had been littering their path since they first stepped inside.

Ahead of them was a rudimentary security gate with a simple RFID scanner and electronic deadbolt that had long since lost power.

"Yaqdi," Krone uttered, ordering Finley to halt and then followed with a knife-handed gesture pointing back the way they had come from.

Finely responded to this by taking small steps to turn himself around, his nails clattering against the hard floor. Krone accepted that if anything was inside this psrt of the station with him, it was going to hear them anyway. He let his weapon hang by its sling and reached back for the bolt cutters in their scabbard. There was just enough space between the gate and its frame for him to work the bolt cutter's jaws inside and fit them around the single bolt keeping them joined together. With a sound of protesting metal being rended, he worked both handles together until a sharp snap rang out into the dark and one end of the bolt clattered to the floor.

Stepping aside, Krone brought his BR55 up with one hand, shining its light over a stairwell that lead deeper into what looked like a maintenance section of the plant. Reslinging his cutters, he moved forward, panning his light around the stairwell corner as he descended. With no sign of an immanent threat, he clicked his tongue for Finley to follow.

It was a brief descent, one that ended with more of the same apocalyptic trauma, a glimpse of what once was alive with activity. Light flooded in from one end of the hall they currently inhabited, a rockslide of building blocks, polycrete and exposed structural framing. Cardboard box shreds and dust littered the floor with parts of dislodged ceiling panels beneath cables that hung like viscera from some predatory animal's recent meal.

Finley stopped moving, frozen with his nose pointed to the cave-in ahead of them as Krone spotted another door. He minded his footing as best he could while stepping out of the immediate funnel that would have him in line with the door. It was pure instinct that had him do this, not any suspicion, until he started to make out some of the stains on the floor and wall. In his periphery, he could see Finley was cautiously stepping toward the rockslide. The sergeant turned his head to follow the dog's gaze and quickly recognized a trail of blood, darkened, congealed, and leading right in their direction. The brick pile itself had been disturbed with the closest thing to a path as it would allow.

Someone had come this way more than once, and each time to the same door.

"Watch my back, buddy." Krone said, focusing his attention forward and thumbing his fire selector to AUTO. In the confined space he could afford to go cyclic if a threat was on the other side.

He took deliberate steps forward and stacked up beside the door, hoping the wall was thick enough to stop anything smaller and faster than a plasma bolt. Coming all this way to shot by his fellow man, especially while on a rescue mission, felt like stupid way to die.

Steeling himself, Krone set his jaw, raised a hand to the door, and knocked.

Description
Many of the halls were blocked by structuring that had collapsed under sustained plasma bombardment, unable to withstand the kinetic battering and extreme heat. Whole segments of flooring were reduced to piles of rubble that blocked junctions and rooms that neither Krone nor Finley could hope to fit through. Each time they came across a space that looked like someone might have used to hide, had been trapped inside--maybe even both--the Sergeant would peer through the remains of a barricaded door, or the cracks in the wall and spy an empty room, toggle his VISR's low light setting off, then try with his rifle's mounted light.

After a time, they reached a section of the ground level that was exposed to open air, sunlight beaming as if through tree canopies, contrasted with hard black shadows that swallowed daylight and left Krone with a brief feeling of being lost. He had given up on his night vision mode altogether by now, and opted to use his weapon light for fear of missing any details.

VISR's low light hue illuminated darkness as good as daylight in some settings, and could accurately map the topograhy of a trooper's surroundings, every corner, wall, and jagged edge that made up door, stairwell, or in this case where the floor ended and a brief fall began. But, for all its perks it made some details hard to see as he first learned in Mombasa three years ago, when it filtered falling rain to a mere ghost image and made colors all but indistinguishable.

The finely analyzed simplicity of the wrecked interior became much more chaotic as Krone switched the vision mode off, and the quiet that surrounded them quickly took on a new tone. Only now he could now distinguish the scatterings of rock crete and broken glass that had been littering their path since they first stepped inside.

Ahead of them was a rudimentary security gate with a simple RFID scanner and electronic deadbolt that had long since lost power.

"Yaqdi," Krone uttered, ordering Finley to halt and then followed with a knife-handed gesture pointing back the way they had come from.

Finely responded to this by taking small steps to turn himself around, his nails clattering against the hard floor. Krone accepted that if anything was inside this psrt of the station with him, it was going to hear them anyway. He let his weapon hang by its sling and reached back for the bolt cutters in their scabbard. There was just enough space between the gate and its frame for him to work the bolt cutter's jaws inside and fit them around the single bolt keeping them joined together. With a sound of protesting metal being rended, he worked both handles together until a sharp snap rang out into the dark and one end of the bolt clattered to the floor.

Stepping aside, Krone brought his BR55 up with one hand, shining its light over a stairwell that lead deeper into what looked like a maintenance section of the plant. Reslinging his cutters, he moved forward, panning his light around the stairwell corner as he descended. With no sign of an immanent threat, he clicked his tongue for Finley to follow.

It was a brief descent, one that ended with more of the same apocalyptic trauma, a glimpse of what once was alive with activity. Light flooded in from one end of the hall they currently inhabited, a rockslide of building blocks, polycrete and exposed structural framing. Cardboard box shreds and dust littered the floor with parts of dislodged ceiling panels beneath cables that hung like viscera from some predatory animal's recent meal.

Finley stopped moving, frozen with his nose pointed to the cave-in ahead of them as Krone spotted another door. He minded his footing as best he could while stepping out of the immediate funnel that would have him in line with the door. It was pure instinct that had him do this, not any suspicion, until he started to make out some of the stains on the floor and wall. In his periphery, he could see Finley was cautiously stepping toward the rockslide. The sergeant turned his head to follow the dog's gaze and quickly recognized a trail of blood, darkened, congealed, and leading right in their direction. The brick pile itself had been disturbed with the closest thing to a path as it would allow.

Someone had come this way more than once, and each time to the same door.

"Watch my back, buddy." Krone said, focusing his attention forward and thumbing his fire selector to AUTO. In the confined space he could afford to go cyclic if a threat was on the other side.

He took deliberate steps forward and stacked up beside the door, hoping the wall was thick enough to stop anything smaller and faster than a plasma bolt. Coming all this way to shot by his fellow man, especially while on a rescue mission, felt like stupid way to die.

Steeling himself, Krone set his jaw, raised a hand to the door, and knocked.