Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Heavy boots carried the wide-shouldered man forward. His long, pocket-covered coat hung a few sizes too large from his shoulders, and kicked up behind him, blown back by the man's movement.
Dead leaves shattered under his feet. Bits of glass and other debris ground into the floor, or were crushed by the man's weight.
He wound his scarf tighter about his neck and stuffed bandaged, dirty hands into his jean pockets as he called into the abandoned halls: "Auntie!" Every breath fogged in the chill air. Outside, the cracked, dry ground looked like it belonged in a hot desert, but it felt cold enough to snow.
His face, covered in scars and silver piercings that left burn scars on his skin, grew dark as his brows furrowed. Again, no sign of the Lady. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and came to a stop. Before him, a metal door with a key pad at the side and warnings of being 'top secret'. With a shift and a lean, he turned his head to look behind him, in the direction from which he had come.
It was strange, that on the highest level of a laboratory still in possession of a roof had so many dead leaves and vines, while the other levels had been clean, save dust and broken glass, and the occasional bloated and leathery mummy.
Regardless of anything else, this was the last door. He couldn't smell the Lady, but something nagged him.
Michael touched the door. It had no knob or lever, only a security pad on the side with numbers, card reader, and what he assumed was either a fingerprint scanner or a retina scan. Neither a red light nor a green light shone over the pad, so he assumed it without power.
He could only assume this place—the world from which the fragment came, at least— had been dead a long time already, spared for some reason he couldn't fathom. Typically, the fragments each held something important: farms, fresh water lakes, cities, and more.
If he could find the reason for this dead place's existence, he might have an edge over the Unifiers.
Tired eyes twitched slightly shut with a restrained smile, and his fist thrust suddenly through the security pad, to the other side, before he withdrew and shook his hand with a few choice curses.
After a quick inspection of his bloodied knuckles, he grunted and shoved his fingers into the new hole. Carefully, he reached deeper and deeper, fingers seeking the latch mechanism, hopeful he could simply undo it and use friction to push the door.
Nothing but wires. The latch was elsewhere, likely to counter this exact plan.
"Dumbass dead fucks." He spat to one side, then withdrew his hand and licked the blood from his untouched-seeming knuckles.
He took a few steps to one side, then leaned one shoulder against the wall as he regarded the door. This was the only place where its walls met any others, if he recalled the layout of other rooms.
He clicked his tongue repetitively, then suddenly turned away in an over-dramatic arc that set scarf and jacket billowing for a short moment. He knew nobody was watching, but he had to let vent the urges that came to him now and then.
Drama finished, the young man started to run toward the stairs. Above the landing, he kicked off and used momentum and the railing to jump around to the continuation of stairs before he charged through the swinging doors and onto the floor just above the top. Strong legs carried him to the far back: some meeting room where a few corpses sat at the head of the debris-covered table, facing the door. Each corpse was still dressed, save where their bloated, gas-filled stomachs distended and tore the fabric. Each head lolled off to one side, the other, or forward.
All of the bodies had wide open mouths, and some had open eyes with the shriveled remains of eyes within.
Not a half ago, Michael remembered shrieking at the sight, but now, his curiosity overcame the revulsion, and he leapt onto the table. The cheap wooden laminate groaned under his weight, and he bent at the knees. A powerful thrust cracked the table, and he leaped upward, to the hole from which the rubble had come.
His arms caught the floor above, and he kicked furiously with his legs as his arms pulled. A broken piece of the floor snagged one of the buttons on his shirt and ripped it away, alongside several inches of cloth.
Another kick brought his foot up beside him, and he pulled with both arms and the leg, until suddenly he rolled up and away from the hole.
Calloused, scared fingers rubbed at his torn shirt as he panted.
His stomach snarled, but he didn't rise. From one of his many pockets, he drew a granola bar and began to stuff the too-small stick of seeds, nuts, and chocolate chips into his mouth.
Chewing slowly, the man looked around the dark room, eyes half-lidded with tired disinterest until an explosion of color grabbed his gaze. Illuminated by the only functional lighting in the entire place, a girl floated, surrounded by plants.
His eyes remained on the child, then followed the plants. They wound around the floor, and through even the smallest gaps in the metal.
The plants, he assumed, had broken the hole between he floors.
Careful to avoid stepping on them, Michael approached the tube. With a sleeve, he wiped at it and carefully pried plants out of the way for a better look.