Quoted By:
Before the video continues any longer, you wrangle yourself free from the blasted helmet, and your eyes readjust to the sudden influx of light. Rubbing your sweaty forehead in your palm, you watch as the helmet tumbles to the floor, emitting a loud clanging sound. Its visor goes dark, and the faint glow emanating from the device seems to disappear as it bangs onto the ground.
Whatever video playback was playing in the helmet, you could not describe. Something must have interfered with it, or messed with its memory, or some disgusting prank of some sort. From its position on the floor, you can clearly see a small engraving on the rim of the helmet, obscured by fat thumbed ignorance, before.
“Delta Officer - 42”
Some sick joke, or something.
You make your way over to the opposite wall and push it hard, watching the little strings of light that flicker from behind it dance in your vision. As the wall gives, you step back out into the mines, never to put that helmet on again- or any conspicuous headwear, for that matter.
