Wet soil sloshed around their boots. Each step splashed the sludge around, covering their legs in mud as they trudged through the flatlands towards the silhouette of a large facility which loomed in darkness on the horizon. It had been raining for the last fifty-nine days. At this point, the loose earth of the flatlands was more water than dirt, which made their progress arduous at best. The downpour didn't relent any today. It continued battering down on the poor sods that had to slog through it all. There were four others with Bradan tonight. It was a large team, but the job required it. Despite their numbers and the weather, they had made good progress.
Bradan could already make out the giant brass metal lettering of CMG's triangular logo on its massive display in the distance. Four floodlights shone on it from below, though they stood misaligned, illuminating half of the corpo monument's false glory. In front of it, a durasteel mesh fence stretched for kilometres to either side, presenting the most blatant barrier onto corpo grounds.
Bradan knew there were other measures, but few of them had designs that could defend an assault from below. A critical flaw he planned to exploit.
"Jasik," he called, barely audible over the rain, "prep the gear."
Jasik, a tall Mimbanese native, nodded his acknowledgement and pulled a rebreather mask over his noseless face. The rebreathers were heavy and covered the entire face, more akin to gas-filtration respirators than light diving gear. The worker's had adapted the design to Mimban's unique conditions over the years. Bradan and the other three halted their advance to converge on Jasik and followed suit, donning their own masks.
The low rumbling of air filtration systems processing their breathing went under among the drumming barrage of rain. The assembled miners looked down on a small depression in the mud. Jasik had pulled on reinforced metal gauntlets with webbing between the fingers that made him look almost a highly advanced amphibian. He stepped forward and knelt into the depression, then began to shove away the mud, revealing a wooden cover buried beneath. Wet earth kept flowing down to fill the excavation, but Jasik ripped the wood away before it was submerged again in the mud. A small hole, reinforced by a fine plasteel mesh along its sides, extended down, below the wet soil. Jasik disappeared into the lightless ditch.
Bradan didn't follow immediately. He kept watching the opening.
A moment passed. Mud slid down to fill the opening, coating the fine tunnel mesh a dull grey. Several more moments passed and Jasik's voice echoed up, giving them the all-clear. Bradan jumped in first, then the others.
The tunnels were dark. The mud held barely at bay by the same plasteel mesh that covered the entrance walls. They had to crouch to get through the tubing.
Bradan's vision took a few moments to adjust to the near pitch-blackness of the tunnel. Jasik's silhouette was walking along a few metres further ahead, crouching to fit into the tight space. It was cold, wet, and cramped down here, but the tunnels held comfort for Bradan. The Mimbanese considered them their home as they did the surface-dwelling cities above, and he'd picked up the same view over the last decades.
A wet splash flung mud around the cramped space as Rena dropped in just after him. His cue to start moving.
He crouched low and proceeded down the tunnel after Jasik.
Wet mud seeped through the mesh where it had lost its tautness. Every few steps it dropped onto Bradan, covering his skin and clothes alike. Each time he wiped most of it away with a free hand. Despite his efforts, the sludge covered him head to toe. He wasn't sure why he always wiped away the mud. Allowing it to fall off on its own was a lot easier. It was what the Mimbanese did. Despite the decades spent among them, that instinct didn't want to go away.
Bradan could already make out the giant brass metal lettering of CMG's triangular logo on its massive display in the distance. Four floodlights shone on it from below, though they stood misaligned, illuminating half of the corpo monument's false glory. In front of it, a durasteel mesh fence stretched for kilometres to either side, presenting the most blatant barrier onto corpo grounds.
Bradan knew there were other measures, but few of them had designs that could defend an assault from below. A critical flaw he planned to exploit.
"Jasik," he called, barely audible over the rain, "prep the gear."
Jasik, a tall Mimbanese native, nodded his acknowledgement and pulled a rebreather mask over his noseless face. The rebreathers were heavy and covered the entire face, more akin to gas-filtration respirators than light diving gear. The worker's had adapted the design to Mimban's unique conditions over the years. Bradan and the other three halted their advance to converge on Jasik and followed suit, donning their own masks.
The low rumbling of air filtration systems processing their breathing went under among the drumming barrage of rain. The assembled miners looked down on a small depression in the mud. Jasik had pulled on reinforced metal gauntlets with webbing between the fingers that made him look almost a highly advanced amphibian. He stepped forward and knelt into the depression, then began to shove away the mud, revealing a wooden cover buried beneath. Wet earth kept flowing down to fill the excavation, but Jasik ripped the wood away before it was submerged again in the mud. A small hole, reinforced by a fine plasteel mesh along its sides, extended down, below the wet soil. Jasik disappeared into the lightless ditch.
Bradan didn't follow immediately. He kept watching the opening.
A moment passed. Mud slid down to fill the opening, coating the fine tunnel mesh a dull grey. Several more moments passed and Jasik's voice echoed up, giving them the all-clear. Bradan jumped in first, then the others.
The tunnels were dark. The mud held barely at bay by the same plasteel mesh that covered the entrance walls. They had to crouch to get through the tubing.
Bradan's vision took a few moments to adjust to the near pitch-blackness of the tunnel. Jasik's silhouette was walking along a few metres further ahead, crouching to fit into the tight space. It was cold, wet, and cramped down here, but the tunnels held comfort for Bradan. The Mimbanese considered them their home as they did the surface-dwelling cities above, and he'd picked up the same view over the last decades.
A wet splash flung mud around the cramped space as Rena dropped in just after him. His cue to start moving.
He crouched low and proceeded down the tunnel after Jasik.
Wet mud seeped through the mesh where it had lost its tautness. Every few steps it dropped onto Bradan, covering his skin and clothes alike. Each time he wiped most of it away with a free hand. Despite his efforts, the sludge covered him head to toe. He wasn't sure why he always wiped away the mud. Allowing it to fall off on its own was a lot easier. It was what the Mimbanese did. Despite the decades spent among them, that instinct didn't want to go away.
Last edited by a moderator: