208: Chapter 208 The Mouth of the Dark Tunnel

The twilight, like a sponge soaked in ink, slowly squeezed out the daylight. The outline of the distant Industrial Zone gradually merged with the deep gray sky, leaving only a few scattered, blurry halos of light and the occasional, fleeting, and heart-palpitating dark blue afterglow.

The abnormal flickering of his watch hands and the faint throbbing of the "dual rings" acted like a silent alarm. The slowly spreading, thin, yet omnipresent cold feeling of "incongruity" made Ling Ye understand that time was not on the side of those who waited. Every moment of delay could deepen the influence of the "Dark Nest" and add another variable to the situation at the pipe entrance.

The abandoned pump station entrance indicated on the map was the path he currently knew that was most likely to bypass the strict guard on the surface and secretly approach the edge of the "Dark Nest." Before venturing deep inside, he had to confirm whether this "back door" was clear, whether it had become a death trap, or if it harbored something else.

He took one last look in the direction of the Industrial Zone, memorizing the key areas where the "Plainclothes Agents" were active and the positions of the soldier guard posts. Then, he silently retreated from the window and returned to his temporary "safe point."

There was no fire, no light. Utilizing the last of the daylight from outside the window, he quickly checked his equipment. His rifle was fully loaded, with spare magazines ready. His military knife was sharp. The high-intensity flashlight and that defensive grenade were placed in the most accessible spots. Food and water were sufficient. He carefully cross-checked the hand-drawn map by Zhao Haichuan with the detailed pipe diagrams; the pump station entrance was right behind this observation post, in a patch of wild grass on the other side of the drainage ditch, no more than two hundred meters away.

He left his unnecessary burden (such as most of the spare food and some tools) in a hidden corner, carrying only the essentials for combat and exploration. Then, he, like a shadow merging into the deepening night, quietly slid out of the second-floor window he had entered through, climbed down the protrusions of the outer wall, and landed lightly.

The wild grass reached his waist, rustling in the evening breeze, masking his subtle footsteps. He lowered his body, moving quickly along the edge of the dried-up drainage ditch bed toward the direction marked on the map. His night vision, long nourished by "Star Visualization," was far superior to that of an ordinary person, and combined with his perception of energy flows, allowed him to clearly distinguish the terrain in the dim light.

The thin sense of "incongruity" in the air seemed slightly more pronounced here, carrying a chill from deep underground and a faint, rusty, fishy smell, which, mixed with the odor drifting from the direction of the Industrial Zone, was unsettling.

Soon, he arrived near the point marked on the map. This was an area of even denser wild grass and toppled shrubs, which almost completely obscured everything on the ground. He stopped, lowered his body, pushed his "Energy Perception" to the limit, and listened intently.

Other than the sound of the wind and grass, there was dead silence. There were no hisses from Mutants, no signs of human activity, not even the chirping of insects—the signs of life in this area seemed exceptionally scarce.

He pushed aside a clump of tough thorns in front of him, adjusted his flashlight to the lowest setting, and quickly swept it across the front.

In the wild grass, a segment of a low foundation wall made of red brick was vaguely visible, most of which had already collapsed. Behind the foundation was a semi-underground, arched cement entrance, sealed off by a heavy, deep-brown rusted iron gate. A huge, old-fashioned padlock covered in verdigris hung on the door, with a chain as thick as a child's arm. The iron gate and the surrounding brickwork were covered in withered vines and moss, as if it had been forgotten for a century.

On the cement arch above the entrance, a few words were vaguely carved: "Pump Station VII - No Entry."

This was it. The entrance to the abandoned industrial sewage line pump station.

Ling Ye did not approach immediately. He first moved slowly around the perimeter of this small pump station ruin, observing carefully. The soil and wild grass around the entrance showed no obvious signs of fresh trampling, and the lock was severely rusted, not appearing to have been opened recently. However, in the shadow of the corner to the left of the entrance, he discovered several unusual scratches—not marks from tools prying the lock, but rather something more like a hard, rough shell or exoskeleton, leaving shallow white streaks from repeated scraping against the cement wall, scattered randomly but concentrated near the ground.

Something had been active here. Not a human. Was it an underground creature? A Mutant? Or something else?

He crouched down to examine the scratches carefully. The marks were old, covered in dust, but not ancient, likely from the period after the "accident" occurred. The direction and force of the scratches showed that the thing had wandered and rubbed against the wall here, even attempting to squeeze into the gap under the iron gate (the gap was very narrow, not wide enough for an adult-sized entity to pass through).

He leaned close to the iron gate, using the weak beam of his flashlight to shine inside through the gaps in the grate.

Behind the door was a downward-sloping, pitch-black concrete corridor, about two meters wide and three meters high. The floor was covered in slippery moss and stagnant muddy water, and the walls were covered in water stains and mold spots. The corridor extended downward for only five or six meters before turning left and disappearing into the darkness. A more intense, suffocating scent mixed with mud, rust, and the decay of aged organic matter surged from the depths of the corridor, seemingly containing a trace of... an extremely faint, cold feeling that was of the same origin as the "abyssal eye" but more "turbid"?

The passage was clear. And, it didn't seem "clean" deep inside.

He stepped back two paces and checked the padlock again. The lock body was huge with a simple structure, but it was so severely rusted that it had almost fused with the shackle. Forcing it open would make too much noise. Prying it open would require the right tools and time.

He took the length of paracord and a small canister of the remaining penetrating lubricant he had collected earlier from his backpack. He carefully sprayed the lubricant onto the connection between the lock cylinder and the shackle, waiting for a moment. Then, he tied a special slipknot at the end of the paracord that could transmit subtle force, looped it over the shackle, held both ends of the rope with his hands, and began to pull and twist in small, repeated motions to both sides with an extremely slow but steady and continuous force.

This was not picking a lock, but rather utilizing the fatigue of the rusted metal and the penetration of the lubricant to try and "pry" the rusted-shut shackle out of the lock body. This was a delicate task that tested patience and strength control to the extreme; the slightest carelessness would result in snapping the rope or making too much noise.

Time passed in the silence. Sweat seeped from Ling Ye's temples. All his focus was concentrated on the knot in his hands and the subtle feedback of force. In his ears, there was only his own long, steady breathing and the whimpering of the wind through the wild grass.

"Creak... creak..."

An extremely slight, teeth-gritting sound of metal friction came from inside the lock. Rust flakes fell down with a rustling sound.

One minute, two minutes...

"Click."

A slight, crisp sound, almost covered by the wind. The most fragile rusted part at the connection between the shackle and the lock body had finally snapped!

Ling Ye stopped immediately, steadying the lock body to prevent it from falling and making a sound. Then, he carefully pulled the broken shackle out of the lock ring, removed the now-useless giant lock, and placed it gently in the grass nearby.

The iron gate was now only held from the inside by its own latch.

He leaned close to the door gap again to observe, confirming that there were no changes inside caused by the noise just now. Then, he inserted his military knife through the gap and gently nudged the metal latch inside. It was tight, rusted shut. He increased the force, while simultaneously bracing the door panel with his hand to prevent it from springing open suddenly.

"Screech..."

The latch slid open slowly with a harsh, grating friction. The iron gate slid inward, silently opening a gap just wide enough for one person to pass through sideways.

A more intense, damp, and cold air, carrying the scent of decay and a faint fishy odor, rushed toward him. The darkness within the corridor seemed to have a tangible weight, pressing heavily toward the entrance.

Ling Ye did not enter immediately. He stood sideways by the door, first adjusting the high-intensity flashlight to floodlight mode, and quickly shone it toward the depths of the corridor inside. The beam swept across the slippery walls and corners, illuminating no moving objects, but he could see that after the corner, the corridor seemed to continue extending downward. From the depths, there was a faint, extremely weak "drip" sound, like water droplets falling into a deep pool, and a low, continuous "rustling" sound, like countless grains of fine sand slowly flowing.

The sounds were very faint, but in the absolute silence, they were clearly audible.

He extinguished the flashlight. Darkness swallowed everything again. He closed his eyes, pushing his "Energy Perception" to the limit of what he could currently achieve, like invisible tentacles spreading along the corridor into the depths.

Cold, damp, turbid. That faint sense of "incongruity" that shared the same origin as the "abyssal eye" became slightly clearer in the depths of the corridor, as if there were a weak "source of pollution" there, or a "capillary" connecting to a larger contaminated area. He did not perceive any strong, concentrated aura of life, but the source of the "rustling" sound seemed to contain some kind of low-level, possibly numerous, group activity.

Was it underground vermin? Shade-loving Mutants? Or... something else that had bred within the pipes and been slightly contaminated?

He couldn't be sure. But at least, the area near the entrance was safe for the moment; there was no ambush.

Ling Ye no longer hesitated. He took one last look at the wasteland shrouded in night behind him and the blurry outline of the Industrial Zone in the distance, then turned sideways and silently slid into the darkness behind the iron gate.

He reached back and gently pulled the iron gate shut, leaving it ajar but not latched—preserving a retreat path for himself.

Once inside the corridor, it felt as if he were instantly cut off from the outside world. Sounds became muffled, and the air was stagnant, damp, and cold, carrying a rich scent of decay. Beneath his feet was slippery moss and shallow stagnant water; every step had to be taken with extreme caution.

He turned on the flashlight, adjusted it to the weakest spotlight mode, and a small beam of light pierced the darkness, illuminating the few meters ahead. He did not move forward immediately, but first carefully inspected the walls and floor near the entrance. Those shell scratches were also found inside the door, even clearer, pointing toward the depths of the corridor. It seemed that the thing had indeed entered, or attempted to enter.

He raised his rifle, chambered a round, but kept the safety on to prevent accidental discharge in the slippery environment. He sheathed his military knife back onto his boot side for easy access. Then, he began to explore slowly inward along the downward-sloping corridor.

Every step was as light as a feather, landing without a sound. He kept his breathing to a minimum. The flashlight beam only illuminated his feet and the corner ahead; he never shone it around randomly to avoid exposing his position.

After turning the first corner, the corridor continued downward, with a steeper slope. The ground showed obvious traces of water erosion, and the water stains and mold spots on the walls on both sides were denser. The "rustling" sound became clearer, as if it were not far ahead.

After advancing another twenty meters or so, a smaller fork appeared in the corridor ahead. The main passage continued downward, while a narrower, lower branch path split off to the left, only wide enough for one person to pass through by bending over. It was pitch black inside, and the "rustling" sound seemed to be coming from the depths of this branch path. At the same time, Ling Ye felt that the faint sense of "incongruity" was slightly more pronounced in the direction of the branch path.

The map did not mark this branch path. It might have been a maintenance passage privately excavated at a Late Stage, or it might have been dug through by something.