Buster's Journey

Buster drops into the maintenance tunnel first, then hauls the Teenager in after him as the last of the container yard light vanishes behind a bent hatch. The passage is tight, sweating rust and dust, and the Veteran Hero slumps against the wall, one hand pressed hard to his side.

Far above, boots and shouts move across steel. The hunters are still sweeping the yard, and this pipe feels less like shelter than a throat waiting to be closed.

A side conduit branches ahead, half-hidden by dangling cables and a warped service grate. The air from it is colder, and it carries a faint draft instead of the hunters' noise. Buster can use it to pull the others deeper into the underground, or risk staying put while the search tightens above.

Buster gets an arm under the Veteran Hero and lifts cleanly, turning the wounded man toward the cold draft. The tunnel answers with a low rattle as the bent hatch above shivers under distant boots.

The Teenager hustles ahead, one hand skimming the wall, eyes fixed on the darker branch. Dust sifts from the warped grate as Buster carries the Veteran Hero into the side conduit.

The conduit narrows fast, then opens into a service crawl with old conduit bundles and a flicker of emergency light farther in. The sound of the hunters fades, but the mechanical thump overhead keeps chasing them through the pipes.

Buster sets the Veteran Hero down long enough to steady him at the threshold, and the cold air spills from a half-open maintenance hatch ahead. Beyond it, a cramped utility alcove waits, dark but sheltered.

Buster hauls the Veteran Hero the last few steps into the alcove, and the older man folds onto a crate with a sharp breath. The emergency light flickers over scattered bandages, a dented med-kit, and a bottle of antiseptic on a shelf.

The Teenager slips in behind them, peering past Buster toward the supplies. Above, the mechanical thump rolls once through the pipes, then fades under a fresh burst of shouting from far off in the stairwell.

Buster gets the med-kit down and pops the latch. Inside are rolls of gauze, a sealed injector, and a foil packet of painkillers, enough to buy time.

The alcove holds, for now, but the cold draft keeps slipping through the half-open hatch, and the Hunter Captain’s voice echoes faintly somewhere beyond the walls, driving the search onward.