The Swarm

Merid hated ventilation shafts. The old, rusted guts of a dead civilization that still guaranteed another day in the living sectors. She hated them even more after starving units of the Swarm had dared to use them for an attack. Warmth and organic dust attracted insects on an instinctual level. Crawling in there was suicide—but Yun was one of the few willing to take responsibility for them. “You move after the signal. I say ‘quiet’—you stay quiet,” Yun said, securing his headlamp as he slid the bag off his shoulder. “And it definitely won’t collapse?” The structure looked like the most reliable way to drop straight into a shaft. “It will. Everything here will collapse—just maybe not today.” Artificial light revealed rusted walls webbed with white fungal threads. Dust hung and shimmered in the air—a dangerous mix without a mask. Like fireflies, it drifted downward into the abyss—the heart of the system. Spores, metal, organic matter—everything rose with every movement, as if threatening humanity for daring to still exist. Yun tapped the beams, listened to their replies, marked questionable spots with symbols only technicians understood. “Step by step, Merid. Right behind me. I’m not digging you out if you fall.” “Yeah, yeah. I know. Ringing sound—everything’s fine. Dull sound—don’t move, you’ll die. We all heard that in Leiv’s classes.” Her nervous voice bounced off the walls and stirred noise ahead. “That time—” “After that, I was convinced you’re the one in charge here. Enough.” His shoulders twitched, remembering the fall into rancid water and spores—and if not for Yun… The technician tied a narrow strip of cloth around his wrist. “For luck?” Merid smirked, brushing green dust off her shoulders. “So I don’t miss the first second if the airflow changes.” Yun’s smile barely showed—until he caught her frightened look, betrayed only by a sharp breath. “You can call it luck.” She punched his shoulder lightly, trying to reclaim control. “Let’s go already. I still have to drag that fucking raccoon.” Yun took the first step. His dark eyes swept over the markings. He remembered them better than his mother’s face. A cross—rust that would pull you down. A circle—still holding. The hardest part wasn’t knowing the symbols—it was checking them again. The air was cool, sour, faintly sweet from fungal growths along the walls. Merid moved slowly, remembering that old metal should never be “woken” by vibration. Even speaking was allowed only until they reached the narrow corridor. But for now… there was time to distract herself before the worse hell above. The burrow raccoon stayed quiet in the cage as she crouched and stepped forward after Yun’s hand signal. “You know,” she said, her voice higher than usual, making Yun hiss, “staying in the sector and waiting for them to starve isn’t the worst idea.” He listened to the echo after a tap, then exhaled. “I thought so too—until they started eating each other. They’re weakening, but not enough.” Images flashed through their minds: countless colonies of the Swarm breeding faster than a blink. “If they’re still holding on, why trade with us at all? And push that neutralizer on us?” she asked more quietly, remembering Yun’s sharp look. “No idea, Meri. But it’s important shit. They knew we’d agree.” They froze while the technician checked the airflow. “Important? You’re kidding. That’s a chance to live past thirty.” “If you keep hauling animals to them and running topside, it won’t help either.” A gloved hand pressed against the wall, wiping spores away as the light revealed marks left by others. “Shit!” The curse snapped sharp, drawing a groan from the ventilation ahead. “We can’t go further. Not now.” “What the—” Her question died as something creaked deep inside the structure. Yun stretched his neck, lighting what little the beam allowed—but all he heard was a sinister sound: a shift. She didn’t have time to breathe in for another question before he threw a sharp hand signal. One meaning only: shut up or we die. The gesture always carried terror, forcing her breathing to slow. The way he froze, not even looking at her, sent cold sweat down her spine. If speaking wasn’t allowed, there was only one reason—the section was collapsing. The air turned suffocating. The fan was dying. The raccoon grew restless from the rising heat, the cage rattling with his movement. She wanted to strangle him right then—but adding vibration was forbidden. Not without Yun’s signal. He turned and showed two crossed fingers. She knew exactly what it meant. They learned that from childhood—reading technicians’ signals during evacuations. Gripping the carrier tighter, remembering its value, she made a quick step to the right, under a reinforcement rib. Yun did the same. Then the tunnel exhaled dust into their faces, its metallic lungs releasing a horrific screech. It sounded like a massive creature crawling from the other side, dragging enormous claws along the walls. Her breathing sped up. Her throat went dry. If Yun was ready for this, it was her first time. Fuck. Why did you ever need that raccoon? Thoughts swarmed, leaving behind the sticky certainty of dying at nineteen. She looked up, trying to steady herself—and saw the ceiling, blistered and lit, slowly bowing downward. Fuck. Her heart raced, air shrinking in her chest. Only Yun’s demanding stare kept her mind from shattering. Pressed against the ribbed wall, Merid felt vibration crawl along her spine—the tunnel coming alive for one purpose only: to bury them alive. When her body sensed the slightest movement, like the structure beginning a slow fall, she closed her eyes. Cowardice stole her the chance to face death head-on. Silence. She looked around hesitantly and saw Yun on his knees, feeling along the right side with his hand. Adrenaline surged when she realized what he’d found. A hatch. The flashlight blinked twice—one short flash, one long. It meant the ladder held, he survived, and she had to follow. Merid didn’t know what she hated more—that he’d gone down first, or that she’d thought about leaving him behind. Holding the iron frame with one hand and steadying the cage with the other, she moved carefully, step by step, until she dropped off the last rung into a small room. Yun’s heavy breathing guided her forward. The smell of burning and dampness settled in her nostrils, stinging unpleasantly. The beam lit a narrow tunnel—no more than a meter and a half wide. The raccoon had to be carried in front of her. The walls were uneven: rusted mesh showing through, patches of concrete giving way to metal. Yun moved with one hand raised, testing the airflow. Minutes dragged painfully until the passage widened into a cramped space. Soft sunlight spilled from above, around a metal hatch. The space was so tight they stood face to face, unwilling to spend another second in the tunnel. “You asshole,” Merid breathed, her glare heavy with anger and an unspoken question. “You can hate me later,” Yun replied calmly. “Get the suit ready and check the coating again before we go up.”