It all happens in milliseconds. A sharp blow to your elbow, the flashlight flying out of your grasp...

It all happens in milliseconds. A sharp blow to your elbow, the flashlight flying out of your grasp...

The inverse flash of sudden blackness--

An instant of sheer confusion before the panic can kick in--

In an instant, all the air in your lungs evacuates. Only then do you realise something has struck you with great violence.

Get your bearings.

Somewhere inside you, a cool hand flips a switch, and all emotional response goes dead.

Time to examine your situation dispassionately:

You have just been attacked by unknown assailants at the bottom of this silo.

On the floor, belly-down. Diaphragm convulsed by the blow, unable to breathe.

You feel the weight of your assailant on your back. A pair of hands pats you down.

This is a robbery, not an assassination.

What's my play?

Claw their fucking eyes out.

"Where is it? Where's the disc...?"

No one else knows about the disc, how could your attacker be looking for it?

Hold on. That sound... was that crinkling paper?

"Who are you? How do you know about the disc?"

The response comes in the form of a sharp blow to your ribcage.

"Somewhere here... it has to be... he said it would be..." The hands desperately rummage into the folds of your clothes, into your pockets.

It's the metal stripper. The one who urged you to come down here.

Human. Female. Not young. That's all you can tell.

That voice...

"Somewhere here... it has to be... he said it would be..." Hands desperately pull at the folds of your clothes, and rush into your pockets.

Fight blindly.

You cannot see your opponent, but you can sense her shape, her hot breath on your neck.

Claw her.

Soft, cartilaginous, wet. Your fingernails rip through something that screams.

"Agh, you, fucking..." You feel a great pressure lift as your attacker reels in pain.

She's getting up. After her.

A rustle of paper and clanging metal as your attacker flees up the stairs.

Give chase.

You bound to your feet, but immediately crash into some hard object.

The footsteps patter away into the darkness.

Either she can see in dark, or she's got every inch of the terrain memorised.

Alright gäng, just breathe. Let's take a moment to gather ourselves.

Hold on, am I alright?

You take a quick mental and physical inventory.

Body: uninjured, if somewhat rattled.

Robbery attempt: foiled.

Mind: profoundly confused.

All things considered, it's the best possible scenario.

You take a quick mental and physical inventory.

Body: no major injuries, though you've sustained quite a beating.

Dignity: in tatters.

Operant status: ready to shuffle your way back into cold storage.

You have just been caught off your guard and mugged by unknown assailants at the bottom of an abandoned silo. You will need some time to process this.

You have just been caught off your guard and mugged by an insane woman at the bottom of an abandoned silo. You will need some time to process this.

Pick up the flashlight. [Proceed.]

The room is empty, your assailant is nothing more than the clanging echo of her steps on the metal stairs above you..

That insane, child-abandoning, metal-stripping cunt...

Insane, maybe, but not random. In any case, she left empty-handed.

There are no casual muggings in an abandoned rocket silo. She came down here looking specifically for you, and for something specific on you.

She left something behind. Look.

What the...?

It's a paper bag. Somewhat wrinkled from your attacks, with a rectangular aperture like a mailbox slit cut into it as an eyehole.

Bagman.

And the assailant, his fan. The metal stripper who was outside.

At least you have a lead -- of some kind.

You should return to the surface, operant. You have questions that need answering.

At least you have a lead -- of some kind.

Bagman.

The metal stripper kept talking about him.

A deranged fan... or a representative.

So the conspiracy-obsessed TV host had a hand in this.

Is this some kind of mask?

There is something crucial you are not understanding about this. Some external agent that has come into play without your being aware of it.

There is something crucial you are not understanding about this. Some external agent that has come into play without your being aware of it.

Put it away.

Who the fuck was that?

Whoever it was, she left empty-handed.

What was she after?

Whatever it was, she left empty-handed.

The room is empty, your assailant is nothing more than the clanging echo of her steps on the metal stairs above you..

That insane, child-abandoning, metal-stripping cunt...

Insane, maybe, but not random. Whatever she was looking for, she found and took.

You pat yourself down and look through your pockets. Only two objects are missing.

The red disc you found on PSEUDOPOD's body, and the copper springs.

Suddenly it's abundantly obvious who the thief was.

The metal stripper.

She was eager for you to come down here for a reason.

There are no common muggers at the bottom of abandoned rocket silos. This was targeted.

She knew you had it on you, and was looking for one thing only.

She must have been looking for the Project AUTONOMÍA records, and got this instead...

If so, that possibility is no less unnerving. Several people know you had the Red Disc. No one knew about that Space Disc.

Something slippery and muscular squirms uneasily in your gut.

I bet she was after my Blood Golem disc...

You don't have proof that's not the case.

I bet she was after my other Ultra Violeta disc...

I bet she was after my Superbloc, Baby disc...

I think she got exactly what she came for.

The question remains -- why?

Perhaps an avid Einzeltone collector?

You have been too public in who you talk to about an artefact that effectively zeroed out a fellow Operant, even if it has been rendered useless.

That insane, child-abandoning cunt...

You pat yourself down and look through your pockets. Only one object is missing.

The red disc you found on PSEUDOPOD's body.

Who the fuck was that?

Whoever it was, she found and took what she was looking for.

What did she take?

Let her go.

You buck and snarl, but your opponent is stronger than you, and she has your arms pinned to your side with her legs.

"Get off me!"

"Where is... ah." Suddenly the rummaging stops.

You feel a tug as she begins to pull something from your pocket.

"Stop, that's mine..."

"Not stealing. This isn't yours no it isn't..."

Suddenly the weight upon you disappears as your opponent dismounts you.

She's getting up. After her.

Kick.

A lightning bolt of pain shoots up the back of your leg as the struggle sets off a cramp.

Thrash.

A lightning bolt of pain shoots up your lumbars as the struggle sets off a cramp across your back.

"I know it's you, copper-huffer!"

"Aaargh!" (Snarl insanely.)

Play dead, maybe it will lose interest.

"That's it... stay nice and still, you foolish woman, yes, nice and... where... ah." Suddenly the movements stop.

You feel a tug as she begins to pull something from your pocket.

Stay limp.

Breathe.

The air burns as it reenters your diaphragm, but it's better than nothing.

Your gut sinks with a sensation of grim inevitability. You take stock of your situation --

It is not good.

You are about to discover what happens to people who go silo exploring on their own.

What happens to people who go silo exploring on their own?

Something crawls onto your back and straddles you. Cold, strong limbs begin to palpate your anatomy.

Putrid sea-food breath, warm on your nape and in your ear.

The tendrils of a watery, alien intelligence.

THE RESILIENCE OF A CREATURE BRED FOR SPACE EXPLORATION.

You realise what it is only once it's already on top of you, patting you down and gibbering. The dolphin-human hybrid.

Maybe it's just my sins in dolphin hybrid form?

The abomination chatters in its obscene language of intermingled clicks and human grunts as it presses its body against yours.

"Where is it? Where's the disc...?"

That sounded very un-dolphin-like.

Oh fuck, they're real, I knew they were real...

If it has a body, it can be killed.

If it has a body, it can be wanged.

Seems fitting that I can't see what it is when I'm about to die, unseen and unmourned down here.

Calm down. Breathe.

No air comes through.

Vacuum-sealed, your airways convulse feebly.

Breathless. Sightless. Caught off-guard. You're going to die.

What's happening?

React!

The body reacts quicker than the mind.

You jab your elbow backwards as hard as you can.

"Ujgh!" A bark of pain.

Right in the fucking mouth.

"Got you, motherfucker."

Only a strangled whisper comes out. The air returns to your lungs slowly, painfully.

The relief is momentary. You feel the weight of your attacker upon you again, and a pair of strong hands begin to pat you down.

Breathe.

Painfully, the air reenters your lungs.

No fight, no flight. Only freeze.

Rapid-fire signals begging you to do something shoot out from your brain, but your body just lies there on the cold ground, in shock.

Organisms that freeze under stress are organisms that die quick.

Gasp... (Try to breathe.)

No air comes through.

Vacuum-sealed, your airways convulse feebly.

Breathless. Sightless. Caught off-guard. You're going to die.

Suddenly you feel the weight of another body on your back. Someone straddles you, and a pair of strong hands begin to roughly pat you down.