Super Hero Rhapsody: 1975

Devlan jams a chair under the bathroom knob, then shoves the dresser against the door with both shoulders. Behind him, the hot tub boils over with glowing fluid instead of water.

The liquid surges across the tile in a slick sheet, hissing under the steam. It crawls toward Sally's bed, then bulges upward into a lumpy imitation of a lamp stand.

A second shape rises from the flood, low and squat, echoing the room's armchair with too many seams and no edges. The lights flicker, and the mirror fogs from the inside.

Devlan glances from the swelling puddle to Sally, one hand already reaching for his pistol. The false furniture shifts again, as if listening.

Sally channels her energy into the spreading pool, but the synthetic fluid simply absorbs the discharge, its glow intensifying as it ripples outward. The mimicry continues unabated, the floorboards groaning under the weight of the shifting, artificial mass.

As the synthetic mass surges up the bed frame, Sally notices a faint, rhythmic pulse emanating from the baseboards that matches the frequency of the hotel's main power grid. The room is not just being consumed, it is being integrated into a larger, remote-controlled network.

Sally hooks Devlan by the sleeve and drives both of them down through the floorboards. The room flashes upward in a smear of steam, red light, and stretching mimic-flesh as the support beneath them gives way.

They drop into a narrow service cavity between floors, landing hard on damp concrete instead of the room above. The hotel’s pulse thuds overhead, muted now, while the fluid’s glow leaks through cracks in the joists.

Above them, the bathroom plumbing trembles and the hot tub water answers with a synchronized shiver. Somewhere beyond the walls, a clicking lock starts up, one floor over, then stops.

Devlan twists to cover Sally as he steadies his pistol in the dark. Ahead, the service passage runs tight and wet, with cables sagging low and a maintenance hatch hanging half open.

Sally slips into the crawlspace on a quick breath, shoulders turning sideways as the damp concrete scrapes past her sleeves. The tight passage swallows the red glow behind her.

The synthetic sheen on the floor below ripples in the spill of light, but it does not follow fast enough. It loses her shape at the opening and keeps pooling in the cavity.

Devlan ducks after her, pistol angled back toward the service cavity as the maintenance hatch shudders once overhead. The corridor ahead narrows into dark, wet ribs of pipe and cable.

Above them, the hot tub gives a faint synchronized pulse through the joists, then the hotel lights blink somewhere out in the room. A distant lock starts clicking again, closer this time.

Sally crawls deeper, but the passage pinches at her ribs and drags at her shoulders. One slick elbow slips, and her momentum dies against a jut of pipe.

Behind her, Devlan braces in the opening, then goes still as the hatch above gives a wet, warping creak. The floorboards overhead sag with a heavy pulse.

The crawlspace answers with a dull groan. Damp cable runs slide loose from the ceiling, dropping a curtain of tangled wire between her and the dark section ahead.

The synthetic fluid above starts seeping through a seam in the boards, not flooding, just enough to glimmer and feel for the opening. The way forward narrows to a slick crawl or a hard choice back.

A rusted ventilation grate shifts under Sally's weight, revealing a vertical shaft that leads toward the building's foundation. The path is clear, but the metal frame groans with the weight of the synthetic fluid now pooling heavily on the floorboards directly above their heads.

Sally hurls a tight burst of energy upward. The grate snaps free with a shriek of metal, then drops hard into the shaft below, taking a spray of rust and a shock of hot steam with it.

The opening widens at once, and stale air rushes down around her. Above, the synthetic fluid slumps back from the broken edge instead of following cleanly, its surface trembling with a pale, hungry sheen.

The blast scorches Sally's palms and lights the crawlspace in a harsh white flash. A sharp chemical stink rolls off the metal, and the falling grate clatters somewhere deeper below with a hollow impact.

Devlan shifts out from behind her, pistol still up, and leans into the new opening. Overhead, the bulging seam gives a wet pop, and a thread of the glowing fluid starts to drip through where the grate used to seal the shaft.

Below them, the vertical passage runs dark toward the foundation, clear now but cramped and slick with condensation. The hotel above them groans once, as if the room is deciding whether to collapse or wake up.

Sally drops into the shaft first, boots skidding on wet metal as she catches the ladder rung with both hands. Devlan follows a beat later, lowering himself in tight and careful, his pistol tucked close to his chest.

The climb is cramped and slick. Condensation beads on the walls, and the hole above narrows to a bright, breathing square as the room's machinery groans somewhere overhead.

A cold smear of the synthetic fluid slips through the opening and dribbles after them, not falling like liquid so much as reaching. It tastes the air, then starts to spread along the lip of the shaft.

Sally's burned palms sting as she shoves lower, and one rung bites loose under her weight. The metal rings through the shaft, loud enough to feel like a warning.

They reach the lower landing together, boots hitting a narrow ledge above the foundation. Behind them, the shaft opening quivers with pale light as the fluid begins pooling at the edge instead of following cleanly.