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The world passed in a daze. When the first cutting laser broke through her sealed door, the sense of relief that her work would not go unfinished was a faint thing, hidden beneath layers and layers of stress.
Rough handling by the would-be-rescuers power armor and bright red unfamiliar unit insignias only added to her worries. These were not garrison members. Her creations had failed, then.
Along with the silent dead in the halls. She had caught the ventilation system abruptly stopping, but it seemed many had not. Some of the dead had bloody fingers and scratches. Others bore the signs of gunshot wounds. A shattered oxygen mask told the tale succinctly. She was very glad that only one other person had escorted her into the room.
The soldiers added her to a small group of the living already wearing masks in the hallways. Some engineers. A black-uniformed officer, lacking his sidearm. One of the interns. A useless busybody. A red-marked power armor in the back, carefully watching each of them for steps out of line. As if they would run. There was nowhere to run to underground.
Every door the shuffling train of survivors followed their captors through had been cut or pried open by brute force from the outside. None were opened from the inside.
“You.”
A metal hand roughly grabbed her arm and yanked former project head Brighton out of the small line of survivors.
At first she thought the sweeper had grabbed her, just two doors before getting outside.
She was rapidly disabused of this notion, being spun around to a maskless face and a pair of mismatched eyes, one flickering mechanically.
“I’m taking this one for questioning. The uppermost floor is safe for access, correct?”
Their much larger escort paused, seemingly puzzled, but shrugged before waving an affirmation. The rest of the line continued onward and upwards.
Brighton allowed herself to be led by the half-metal woman without objection down a side hallway and to a conference room, with the unreinforced door seemingly having been smashed open.
Then they started talking.
“You are Doctor Elena Brighton, Project Head. I am 2nd Lieutenant Thea Romanov, seconded to Colonel Kinston, serving attached to General Marik’s 13th Iron Guards. I have questions, and one very angry commander sitting outside that will want answers to these questions.
She’s silent. Shocked by the sheer audacity.
“I will demand to speak to Colonel Kinston immediately, then, so we can confer on the current status of Project Warden. If he is your commanding officer.”
“The old man is not here. I am attached to a different unit temporarily.”
Her eye flickers and dies, lazily looking off-center before refocusing.
