Gone Fission - Part Two

The interior of this corridor is narrow enough that one of prodigious swole or girth will have to be on hands and knees. The accoustics are crap. Every knee or palm upon the metal surface produces a 'bwonk' as the metal gives, but does not give way completely. "Beggy 'orrors..." Her voice is echoed hollowly. There's a grating every so often that reveals catwalks further down, strange angular transformers and hallways that all seem identical.

Merrisol, having gone in feet first - hits, folds, and slides a bit into the horizontal shaft, bunching up and warping the panels above and below with his attempts to turn face-forward with all accessories still intact. "That... did not go down as far as I'd hoped." The comment modulates midway through, his voice looking for the right amounts of travel and hush within the closed-in space, while already competing with the repetitive wail pitching nasally in through the cracks and vents. Unnf. He does the mime routine of testing the parameters of his confines, before bunching towards the first source of light, and probably seeing much the same sight as from the rooftop skylight window. Clambering forward with attempts at stealth, he encounters Ruby's ankle and lifts his hand away all gentlemanly. Nevermind he's talking directly to her caboose which might or might not be clad in the remains of a catsuit. "We're too high still. Clare's station was ground floor." As the next red glare paints his features in gridwork, he presses his face closer to the opening to look for signs of life. "She was supposed to contrive a way to get the army personnel to evacuate the fortress.. so the alarms and lights might be part of the ruse." On the other hand... where is everybody else?

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