It was supposed to be a routine scouting run, or at least as "routine" as anything could be in Sci-Fi Hell.
Patrol an established route and see if it was still viable. Something that needed to be done more and more often as Tartarus' "factions" became more active. The Sentinels expanded their hunting grounds. Solvoids meandered their way back to halls they had walked a thousand times in their previous lives. And more recently the Fabricator's favorite nasties, the Wasps, seemed to have stopped picking fights with any and everything in favor of going around threats in their endless search for something new under the dirt to drag back home.
It was an incredibly dangerous job, literally going out to look for trouble in order to report it. So dangerous that anyone who volunteered for it was considered to have a death wish, and those who returned from more than one mission with valuable info became part of the "TFS Crew": Task Failed Successfully. Morbid, but not wrong.
But this run had been different, because it WAS so routine. No nasty surprises. No frantic scrambles for the closest saferoom. No circuit-wracking waits for something to pass them by. Totally routine.
Right up until the lights went red and unseen klaxons screamed out, so loud they vibrated the walls and shook dust from the ceiling of the corridor.
"I knew it!" Paul hissed, clutching his pistol tight. "I knew things were going too smooth!"
"We were all thinking it," Buck growled in reply, suddenly not so confident about his choice to go melee over ranged, "you aren't special!"
"Oh, get bent!" Paul barked.
"How 'bout both of you shut the hell up?" Terry said, getting the desired effect even though they could barely hear him over the racket.
"We need to get to a saferoom," Simon said, already mapping out the route to the closest one in his head. "This hall leads directly to the elevator. If it's a breach, there's probably a whole damn stampede of Sentinels on the way."
Buck and Paul nodded and made to move out, but Terry stayed rooted to the spot, staring down the hall towards the elevator.
"Terry?" Simon called.
"The alarm is different," Terry mumbled.
"What?"
"The lights say Code Red, but the alarm sounds different."
The others listened for a moment, and found that the sound was indeed different from what they remembered. Lower, bassier. Less urgent, and more...menacing. If the other was a fire alarm that urged you to find the problem and do something about it, this was a tornado siren that told you to take cover.
"Well, if the other alarm means something got out...shot in the dark, what if this one means something got in ?" Simon suggested.
Terry's eyelights narrowed for a moment, then he shouldered his shotgun and went forward.
"Where the hell are you going?!" Buck squawked.
"If we've got hostiles incoming, everyone needs to know," Terry said without breaking stride.
"Terry-"
"Base, this is Terry, how copy? Over."
"This is Lawrence. Picking you up loud and clear, Terry," all four drones heard the reply on their shared channel. "What the hell is happening out there? Over."
"Possible incursion from topside, heading to the elevator now to investigate. Anyone available for a Jack-In? Over."
The three drones now following behind him nearly tripped over their own feet at his question.
