I Explode Things.
Chemistry happens, in more ways than one, when trapped four hundred feet below the surface of the earth with an unthinkable evil clawing to escape. Hell’s Womb, the birth of a plague. The death of a brother.
Serge crash-landed on a small platform scattered with rock and tumbled to a stop. Smoking hot, his gloves had worn half-through during the descent. He flung them off and focused his helmet’s carbide beam. He’d found the primary exhaust for #13, doubling as an emergency exit. Or in this case, emergency entrance. He breathed deep. … Read more Hell’s Womb: p.7
What have we done? Woozy and on the verge of panic, the twenty-one-year-old research scientist shrank into a tiny ball in the corner of #13—the exact location from where the catastrophe originated. She had essentially belonged to the company her entire adult life, and much of her childhood. Not that she had cared. Her parents … Read more Hell’s Womb: p.6
While strapping on the new helmet, Serge covered the short distance at a sprint. Leaping over exploded remnants of sheet metal, his eyes grew large. A yawning mine shaft had been hidden within the shed, a hand-painted sign clinging to the edge of the hole—#13. Unlucky 13. He noticed a cable, a toppled wench. From … Read more Hell’s Womb: p.5