Contamination

[Omi]

Úna was, as usual, half-asleep in her chair as the intercom blared out above her. Security on this godforsaken facility was ninety-nine percent wasting your time - they all knew what was at stake, and how sensitive the information kept locked within these walls was to boot - but that didn't make it any easier to spend hour after hour watching video feeds, stomping around empty hallways, and generally wishing for any excuse to flip the safety off and go to town with a pulse carbine. The coffee machine was more worn out than her power armour, for Odin's sake, even after months of being stationed here. There hadn't been so much as a shorted out light recently, let alone a containment breach or something properly exciting.

Today, however, it looked like Úna had just become one of the one percent. It took her a second to jolt awake in her chair, and another couple to register that this might not be a dream after all. She'd expected to feel elation, excitement - maybe even naked joy at the idea of finally seeing some groundside action. Despite the prestige of the post, her life had gotten markedly less exciting since joining the SOA. It was with some surprise that she noticed she didn't actually feel that excited at all. Instead, the video feed scrolling across the monitor in front of her, coupled with the strident warning message booming through the room only left her with a deep, gnawing sense of trepidation. By Tyr, a level seven breach was bad. Very bad.

"Helvíti!" she cursed, rising to her feet and whipping her pulse rifle out of its stand in one fluid motion. The weapon hummed menacingly as its power coil automatically flickered to life, half a million volts worth of rapid-fire electricity warming up before any potential conflict. This one in particular was a variant of a popular Daumann brand, although the Hessian modifications had traded in battery life for raw stopping power. When set to stun, one man could knock out an entire city-centre riot by himself; set to kill, and the gun would turn whatever happened to be on the business end into a smoking, charred pile of ash. The SOA had spared no expense on the security here at this facility, and for the first time Úna felt truly appreciative of that simple fact.

Weapon held in one hand, the operative cut a decisive figure as she pulled open the door and made off down the corridor, jet-black powered armour whirring with each heavy step towards the main staircase. Deck 13 was five floors down, and the exact site of the breach looked to have been on the other side of the facility, so there was no time to waste. The corridor was already flooded with red warning lights, the whole scene ahead like something out of a horror flick. It was as if Ragnarök were coming to visit the facility personally, transforming the previously dull and silent corridors into blood-red, wailing hallways with infested subjects lurking around every corner, each one ready to-

Shaking her head, she put that thought to bed before it could go any further, breaking out into a full run and activating her helmet mic with a tap on the wrist controls.

"This is Tyrfing," she began, hoping that communications still functioned on the backup generator. "I'm on my way to the breach site. Five minutes."

The silent, static-filled hiss that came through in reply didn't exactly fill her with confidence, but neither did it slow her stride as she ran on into the red gloom ahead.

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