I glanced back and saw that no Sleem were immediately behind me, so I pulled up my map. The floor showed a clear set of staircases at the far end, so I started running for them. I had to get away from this death trap elevator before I reached the bottom floor.
More of them were coming from the unblocked stairwell behind me, so I prioritized putting some distance between myself and the encroaching Sleem. As I jogged, I reloaded my shotgun with more dragon’s breath rounds, and glanced at my surroundings.
The underground apartment building had a clearly marked area for a grocery market, beyond the first three rows of apartments. Tucked into a central area with several other storefronts, I could only tell what was supposed to be what because of the dayglo orange paint, which my helmet read and projected in place for me. Rooms that were identified became marked on my map as well.
It seemed as though people lived down here full time, and never left. It made me wonder what the hell it could be for, but the sound of Sleem behind me pushed me to run again.
The other stairwell was open, and a glance behind me allowed my helmet to confirm several cubes and a small horde of oozes were after me. I was faster, but they were not exactly slow. A faded orange spray on the wall beside me said ‘barbershop,’ and as I ran by I noticed a strange shape in my peripheral vision. I didn’t stop running, but it looked like a barbershop chair, tucked away at the back wall.
A laundromat and bakery followed, before a large tavern, and a playground and small dog park. There were even massive painted brackets on the ground that read ‘grass’ in several areas. The common areas had taller ceilings, and dayglo orange paint for sunlamps and something they called ‘sky screens.’ Then the apartment blocks started up again, spanning away in either direction for three rows. Beyond those, the gaping stairwell I was aiming for.
A scattering of Sleem were in direct pursuit, but I noticed several of their dots on my map darting away down the different apartment block areas as well. Cutting off my ability to return, I expected. Setting traps and ambushes for if I tried. Made sense, considering there had to be a bottom to these stairs, and the elevator shaft had given them the option to control that area.
I shook my head and breathed hard as I kept running down. The stairwell delved down further this time, and when it opened, a sign above the door read ‘experimentation.’ As I descended, I looked around. The next level was a broad, open hallway like the others, but it had unusually high clearance. From floor to ceiling was roughly thirty feet. The level was stripped clean. All that was left was structural support pillars, spaced regularly throughout the empty stretch of concrete. There wasn’t even any dayglo orange paint anywhere.
They were moving again behind me, so I raced down the last of the stairs. Experimentation was a large level, but I could see the other end on my map. The stairs up were there, but the bottom of the elevator shaft wasn’t. My map told me it kept going, vanishing into the depths.
Something in the center of the map didn’t make sense to me. It looked like a giant ramping hole in the ground, near the center of the level. Without anything else to aim for, I ran toward the hole.
A glance over my shoulder told me exactly how screwed I was. I could see dozens of Sleem chasing me directly, and yet more spreading out across the level. Rayna hadn’t been kidding when she told me they liked to entrap their victims.
I frowned and changed direction, running between columns, and putting more distance between me and the encroaching wave of Sleem behind me. They spread out more, and it worked to slow their pursuit.
I sprinted in a zig-zag across the level, watching behind me on the map. I noticed that the Sleem behind slowed considerably and began moving erratically unless they were directly behind me, and there were no pillars between us.
Something clicked for me, and I realized something about how they tracked their prey. Whether it was sound waves, or just vibrations in the air, they could track me much easier if they had a clear line of sight between us, in spite of not having any eyes of their own.
The next pillar I passed I ducked behind, before carefully approaching the pit in the middle of the cavernous floor. It was what was left of a massive cargo elevator. The entire thing was gone, except for the metal support structure built into the walls. A splash of bright orange paint identified it as a major cargo elevator, but it also looked like the only way down to whatever floor was buried beneath experimentation.
And buried it was, the shaft was too deep for my map to read it fully. It just extended a few hundred feet down at a gently sloping angle before vanishing into the depths. Looking down the shaft wasn’t any more helpful, as the helmet only drew the shaft to its own visual range, which was significantly smaller than the maps.
The lines in my vision ended abruptly at a distant point in the gaping hole. Looking at the sides, it was likely possible to walk down it, if one was careful. A wrong step would send you tumbling though, and it would be hard to stop yourself without getting hurt. The metal spikes in the floor that used to hold tracks looked particularly mean.
Another excited fart from my side grabbed my attention, and a cube lunged from behind a nearby column to envelop me. I lifted the Sleem stick in my hand and let the cube impale itself on the end. It seemed to realize its mistake an instant before I squeezed the trigger and sent electricity coursing through its gelatinous body.
It squealed and burbled as it retreated to a safe distance, moving partially behind the nearby pillar as its body convulsed and twitched. I looked around. No other Sleem were nearby, and those encroaching on my map were still doing so slowly.
Searching.
Then the cube in front of me released a series of low, guttural fart sounds, which echoed in the dark. The Sleem behind the cube on the map suddenly surged forward, but only in two of the lanes created by columns. The rest seemed to try and flood into those lanes. More of them raced into view from the elevator shaft and other staircase.
I was still struggling to understand exactly how Sleem hunted, but this cube had taught me that it had at least something to do with sound.
Time to say thanks.
The Sleem stick hit the ground as I tossed it, and my helmet outlined it in red lines for me. I reached in my satchel and prepared the cube’s thank you gift, a mud-crete grenade.
The cube hesitated at first, moving away from the pillar in a short movement before it hurled itself at me. I clicked the toggle on the grenade and tossed it in the air as I dove to the side. The cube went right past me and plummeted down the elevator shaft, inadvertently slurping up the grenade.
As it was about to land, the grenade went off and it screamed. I grabbed my Sleem stick and turned to watch as the cube fell into pieces and tumbled down the elevator with a clattering splash.
As I turned to leave, motion at the bottom of my map caught my attention. Something was climbing the elevator shaft. I glanced at my map and confirmed.
Several somethings.
Larger than average red dots were moving up the ramp, and my helmet drew them as massive orbs. Each Sleem orb was so large it filled half the elevator ramp with its body. I could only see the first two, but my map told me there were more coming, in a staggered formation. These were what everybody had agreed were the dangerous Sleem, not that I felt terribly safe around cubes or oozes.
“Well, time to try my useless plan.”
Somewhere, in the back of my head, I knew that everything I was doing was meritless. Running deeper into their lair was never going to free me from it, but it was all I could do.
Up to the point I was surrounded completely with no place left to run that didn’t have Sleem crawling all over it, I was primarily focused on keeping myself from thinking about what it was going to feel like when one of those cubes actually got me. Now, seeing the sheer titanic size of the orbs coming for me too, I just wanted to turn and run.
So I did. Right through a crowd of Sleem. I ran around the corner of the pit and started sprinting for the far end of the cavernous experimentation floor, toward the stairwell opposite the one I had come in from.
Sleem of each variety moved to stop me, and I ran in erratic patterns to avoid them. I pressed toward a group of them, clicking a mud-crete grenade and tossing it into the middle of the gathered oozes.
They scattered, but it caught the tail end of one and the thing wailed horribly, it’s high pitched whistle attracting more of them that were spread out around us.
I stopped and fired the shotgun, killing an ooze in front of me. A cube lunged at me from behind a nearby pillar, and I pivoted on the spot, pumping the sawed-off and hitting it at nearly point blank range with a full load of magnesium sparks.
The cube fell back. It smoked, hissed, leaked caustic fluid, and whistled like a teapot. The sparks hurt it badly, but it wasn’t dead. As I ran, the cube issued squealing farts like a high-pitched klaxon alarm. More of them moved in my direction. Hundreds of them.
I fumbled a fresh shell from my bandolier and promptly dropped it when I tried to slip it into the magazine of my shotgun. My hands shook violently, and I forgot about reloading in order to run. Too many Sleem were within a single pillar of me, and my ability to find a path through them was being countered by sheer numbers.
A glance behind me confirmed what I already suspected. A giant ball of slime was hauling itself out of the elevator shaft behind me, and a wall of pulsating slime flowed behind it. The orb vibrated in my vision, and it began to broadcast directly to my helmet, through MortMobile.
The deity's face was apologetic as he connected our call, but he said nothing.
A segment of dripping slime pressed to the screen and vibrated. Mechanical words translated into halting English for me, and the Sleem orb said, “Do not run. We desire your friendship.”
I hung up and ran. I threw another grenade at another cube and sprinted past as it dodged. An ooze to its side was struck, and when the grenade went off, the hapless creature erupted violently, throwing mud-crete into all of its nearby brethren.
As I scrambled past, sliding in the residual slime, I noticed the Sleem hit with mud-crete were all slowed. Hurt. A cube that had taken a partial splash violently rubbed its body against a nearby pillar, scraping off the offending material before it could harden. Several oozes near it were already leaving behind parts of their bodies as mud-crete made them useless.
My feet suddenly burned, and I could feel the cold concrete and slime beneath me. My reed boots had been eaten away on contact, almost instantly. As I ran, I started screaming.
The pain was intense, and every step made it worse. Each slapping footprint hit more acid, drove it deeper into my soles, and burned away more of my feet.
I ran through the area they had come, and the puddles of acid were so thick that I wouldn’t have been able to avoid them even if I wasn’t in a full blown panic.
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Sleem closed in around me, and I responded with blasts from the shotgun, until it clicked empty. I still ran, bloody footprints behind me. The starfish suit was trying, but it couldn’t operate properly because of my movement. My cartoon friend reprimanded me from the side, running along with me and looking nervously over its shoulder. Tendrils continuously sprayed acid neutralizer on my foot when I would bring it in the air, then dodge back to avoid being smashed before they could do any further work. At least I had the painkiller to help ease the agony of running on flayed feet.
I still nearly passed out when I felt my own bones scraping against concrete, but then I collapsed against the slime-coated stairs. They were empty, and I looked back in the cavernous room as I crawled up them on my knees and elbows.
Sleem were everywhere. Hundreds of them poured through the room, converging on me. I grabbed two more grenades and clicked the toggles on each, before tossing them behind me to the base of the stairs.
They went off in two bubbles of foaming mud, and the Sleem chasing me all stopped to avoid the wet mud-crete. I hurriedly shoved shells into my shotgun, as the tendrils worked hard on repairing my feet, elbows, knees, and hands. Another orb rolled into view from behind a row of columns and called me on my psychic cell phone. The call popped up on the side of my screen in the helmet.
“You must be in pain, let us render aid,” it said, rolling toward me with bubbling fervor. The same halting mechanical translation was used, and in this one, I could see some kind of device inside the Sleem. It was metallic and encased in a thick, sealed liner.
I hung up on it and scrambled upward. The bare soles of my feet began to burn again, where the starfish suit wasn’t attached. I was grateful for my heel protection, and I began to focus most of my weight on them as I climbed. With a glance behind myself, I slung my shotgun and crested the top of the stairs, directly into the waiting embrace of a Sleem cube.
It waited just long enough for me to see that it was there, at the top of the stairs, then it surged forward and enveloped me. There was a shockingly calm second while it happened. I saw the cube rushing forward and opening its body to engulf me, and suddenly all I could think about was the barber shop upstairs.
Why on Nu-Earth had it had a chair still in it, when the rest of the compound was empty?
Then I screamed as the pain hit. My entire body was on fire. Nearly every delicate part of me burned at the same time. The suit protected me, where it was laid out across my body.
My helmet protected my face and head from the caustic slime, even as I felt it squeeze and press against me. The thing was moving, shoving more of itself at all of my orifices. I was already clenched in every way possible, so it was denied entry, but it quickly began rubbing it’s gelatinous body against the sides of my throat and pushing at my belly button with extra, spinning pressure.
The air inside my helmet became thin. One scream had used it all up, and I gasped for air as I started seeing black spots in my vision.
I reached for my leather bandoleer and grasped at the handle of my Sleem stick. The gel around my reaching fingers hardened, and my neck started to burn horribly. It was going to open my jugular in seconds if I couldn’t stop it.
With a final desperate grab, I got my hands on the trigger and squeezed it. A jolt of electricity danced all across my skin, everywhere except the helmet. The Sleem cube squealed and tore apart, ejecting me in a gasping mess to the concrete.
The instant I was free, my helmet cycled fresh air inside and my vision returned to normal. My starfish suit was busily spraying my entire body down with acid neutralizer, and the excruciating pain began to ease as I felt the painkiller enter my system more fully.
My bag’s strap was sizzling as I reached inside for a grenade. Thankfully, the flap had protected the contents, and I clicked the toggle on one before tossing it down the stairs behind me into the cube. It had moved to bring me back down the stairs before I escaped, presumably to the orbs who wanted nothing more than to offer me aid and be my friends. It burbled and died as the grenade went off inside it, and effectively blocked the staircase with another mud-crete cube cork.
I took a long, shaking breath as the suit worked to fix me. The cartoon I had been ignoring caught my attention when it mentioned my charge was depleted by fifty percent already. I scrambled to my feet on brand new soles and started running through caustic slime again. This time I had a proper destination in mind. The barber shop in the residential block. I suspected that I knew what the chair meant, and it might save my life.
With my suit running low, and no way to recharge it, I thought about telling it to stop healing my feet as I ran. The constant sharp pain convinced me otherwise, quickly cutting through the minor haze of the drug. Too bad I hadn’t thought to bring a bundle of christmas lights with me, I knew Mr. Sada had a box full of them in one of his sheds.
I slapped, chopped, and punched at the wall as I ran, hoping for some soft, or compromised concrete to come loose. None did. I stopped at a grate in the floor, little more than a small drain, and bashed at it with my metal covered heel until an ooze began to bubble up from inside. That instantly convinced me to keep running.
As did the realization that I had no immediate way to charge the suit. I slowed down when I reached the stairs up this time, palming a grenade and making sure my Sleem stick was tucked in my bandolier where I could reach it easily. My shotgun was filled with more of my dragon’s breath rounds, but my bandolier was far too low on extra shells.
It crossed my mind that I should have bought the bigger option, but the smaller one had seemed like plenty at the time, and I was worried about weight.
The thought made me chuckle madly as I cautiously and painfully walked up the stairs, weapons in hand. Three cubes awaited me this time.
I clicked the grenade and flung it to my side, before opening fire with the Mossberg. Roaring as I pumped the slide, I fired again and again. Four shells went into the first cube, and it slumped with a boiling hiss as the grenade went off in its friend.
I turned and gave the remaining cube a blast with my shotgun as it was dragging me into its depths. My left side entered the cube, and I leaned my head away as it burned from the magnesium ammunition.
The Sleem stick was jammed into it too, and the cube seemed to want to fight through the pain. I fumbled at my bandoliers for the handle again and squeezed the stick’s trigger when I felt it. The cube shot backward with a squeal, and I leapt forward, slamming the stick into it again.
The starfish suit went back to work on me as I hit the retreating cube with my anti-Sleem cattle prod again and again. It burbled and screamed, still burning from the dragon’s breath.
I let go of the Sleem stick and reached in my satchel for another grenade, only to feel wet canvas at the bottom. Panic spiking, my hand reached into the corners and found two more grenades.
Instead of those, I slid another dragon’s breath round into my shotgun and let the cube have two blasts. It was enough. The cube began attempting to haul itself away, burning to death, and I started jogging in the other direction, fumbling at my bandolier again.
As I slid the last of my dragon’s breath ammunition into the magazine, I jogged across more acid slime toward the first darkened hallway of residential apartments. Sleem surged from the hallway toward me, and I started running harder, altering my approach to the middle of the hallway. I increased my speed from a jog to a run again, breathing heavily and cradling my shotgun.
I realized the trap when I passed into the open space at the center of the floor, the common area. An oversized cube dropped from the taller ceiling directly on top of me, and I was completely consumed again. My entire body was washed with acid once more, but this time I managed to restrain the scream. The effort left me panting, and my helmet ran out of breathable air in exactly the same amount of time.
This Sleem was different. Bigger. Stronger. When it clenched down on my hands to prevent them from moving, I was unable to move my hands at all.
Thankfully, I could still squeeze my trigger.
The shotgun roared inside the gelatin, and a flaming hollow erupted. The cube scream-farted in anger and clenched down on me harder.
My arms and hands were free though, and I pumped the shotgun, before firing it again. A hole opened in the cube and wet acid splattered to the concrete ahead.
The Sleem vibrated and clenched hard. It went for my neck again, which already felt a little raw, and I was horrified to feel my skin and muscle tissue being flayed by swiftly moving acid.
As my jugulars both erupted and blossomed great gouts of red blood to my sides, I leaned the shotgun back and fired it one more time.
The sparks roared into flames above my head, and the magnesium swiftly sank around me. I blacked out as a space in the gelatin formed around my head and shoulders.
The suit brought me back with a quick jolt an instant later. I could see the tendrils working to complete the repairs to my neck, and as I took another breath of slime burnt air, the cube ripped into my abdomen through my belly button.
I screamed, before pumping the shotgun again.
It spit me out, and the cartoon starfish scolded me for making such a mess to clean up. My guts spilled out over the shotgun, but I raised it anyway and fired one more time at the massive angry cube trying to flee.
Dozens of oozes hurried toward me from the dark, in every direction. I scrambled and slipped in my own gore as the suit began grinding my damaged organs and printing me replacements.
Turns out, you don’t really need intestines to run, but it hurts and feels really strange if you do it without them.
My cartoon warned me again that my charge was getting low, and cheerfully asked me to break something. I stumbled into a run as the hole in my stomach was repaired. The laser even sculpted my belly button back into place exactly as it had been.
I screamed as an ooze latched onto my leg, and whirled to hit it with my Sleem stick. The rod was warped with damage, partially bent at the bandolier. It came loose and sparked one final time, throwing the ooze off me into its nearest companions before sputtering and smoking.
I whirled and fired the rest of my dragon’s breath as I ran for the nearby barbershop doorway. Each shot killed a threatening ooze, but there were plenty to take their places. The doorway was narrow, and as I ran through it, I turned and clicked a grenade.
Several oozes crammed into the doorway, and I threw it. Mud-crete blossomed and three oozes screamed as they died, splashing into and across one another. The trio quickly hardened and became most of a valid blocker to the doorway.
Another cube began squeezing its way past, so I loaded a taser slug directly into the barrel and shot it. The Sleem froze and jabbered angrily, body jammed in the hole. I took the time to reload, before firing another slug into it and turning to look for what had become my only hope. The barbershop chair.