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The road was uneventful as before. Until the very end, that is. As you sneak past the final empty corner, the massive, circular blast doors come into view, covering nearly the entirety of the hall ahead with their steel breadth. Like always, the white lights above the entrance flicker menacingly, as if to the rhythm of your very steps. Not even a day had passed since you were the last time, yet it each time the descent feels fresh with anticipation, like-
Don stops abruptly, almost tripping over mere meters away from the target. Already on edge, you flinch too. “Hey! Don’t just do that. You sca-” *Whoosh!*
A blast of steam bursts from the sides of the doors, followed by a mechanistic clatter of rusty gears inside. The lights start to flicker with wild abandon. The doors are opening! “Shit! Shit! Nice one, Don!” You yell as your heartbeat rises and a spark travel down your spine. After all that peace, this! Grasping the still indifferent Cat, you dash back behind the dilapidated corner as all that clangor gets louder.
Pressing into the wall, you let Don go, and peer carefully from your cover. Like always, the heavy doors open slowly, so terribly slowly. Then - with the final burst of... white mist? From inside - One, two... No, three humanoid silhouettes emerge, with something like a small vehicle next to the tiniest one. Following them, a surprising cold wave of air. All this is new.
Squinting, you focus to distinguish the figures, but can’t as the mist persists. There is movement... And the figures emerge.
All three donning the unmistakable orange Hazmat Suits, with two of them carrying guns on their hips - the same ones as the guards, you realize, the sight of Leonnie menacingly patting her weapon right in your face still clear. The vehicle with them, disappointingly, is a mere cart. Just like those used by the cooks in the canteen, now pushed by the smallest of the three. On it, there are several caches, most obscured by a white blanket, but two remain visible and above the mist: the former, with barrels of long guns protruding and with countless bullets scattered around it; and the latter, with... old, plastic cassettes in different shapes? You don’t remember exactly, but you must have seen them in those old movies back home.
“Who are you?” You mutter to yourself. Your Cat sneaking a peek just below you, its ears raised high in alert. “Not your friends, eh?”
Down the hall, the figures come to a halt, and with some difficulty get off their helmets. Confirming your suspicions in the process as three human faces come to clear view, all are probably women. The fog settles around the height of their hips and reaches even far enough to your hideout. It envelops you up to your midriff and you shiver as the hill travels all throughout your dainty, hairless body. The school attire is woefully unprepared for such a cold, you ruefully note. Your Cat is completely buried.. But can cats even be cold? Given how cold they are so coldly indifferent?
