Torches illuminated the tunnel as the figures made their way through the cavernous underground.

Winston Beaumont led the way, a 6ft3 man of solid build hunching under the low ceiling as he followed the path to the last known location of the fixers.

The company colours of his containment suit were khaki and gold but they barely registered in this gloomy atmosphere. Within his airtight mask, a light illuminated his dark skin and shaven heat but cast his chin in shadow, his stubble looking thicker than it was.

The walk was harder than he’d expected. The tunnel was narrow, unevenly sloped and haphazard. It would have been easier if he was able to stand upright, or if he hadn’t been carrying the MOXIE pack on his back, but the latter was company standard. The tunnel had run this way for a mile but it felt longer.

The opening was just ahead and Winston informed the rest of his team, a 4-man squad in all, each of them dressed in similar fashion.

Winston felt relief as he stepped out of the oppressive tunnel and into the wide space. He’d been sent designs on the room and it was just as well because even with their torches and his MOXIE pack, the room was so dense with fog that it concealed the true size and shape of the space. He could have just walked into a huge stadium for all he knew. Smoke obscured the walls and the roof.

Winston reached up to the green button on the side of his mask, activating his broadcast mic, and spoke into it.

“Hello. Recovery Team present. Please identify your location.”

Nothing.

He’d expected as much. There’d been no transmissions out of this location for 10 hours. Still, chances were someone was conscious here, just unable to move.

Winston reached to the MOXIE pack behind him. The square box wasn’t overly heavy but added to the overall weight of his suit. The two funnels that spouted out at the top of the box, one capturing the noxious gases, the other dispersing oxygen, only added to the weight and a carrier had to walk at a slight hunch to balance it out. Winston grabbed