Kaelen-7 dragged his left leg. The muscle screamed. A deep laceration pulsed above his knee. Adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the dull throb of survival’s cost. He’d outrun the Scav-pack, barely. Three down, but a dozen more circled. He hadn't bothered to count. He just ran. His visor flickered. Power critical. The standard-issue energy cell, cheap and mass-produced, was dying. He needed cover, water, and most of all, resources. His internal chronometer ticked: thirty-seven cycles since his last contact, real or imagined. His mind, sharp and cold, cycled through geological data. *Xylos-Prime*, version 4.7. The “Vent Caverns.” Volcanic activity, mineral deposits, blind apex predators. High risk, high reward. A perfect place to disappear. A perfect place to rearm. He pushed past gnarled flora, their razor-sharp leaves tearing at his already damaged suit. The air grew thick with geothermal steam. The ground trembled. The metallic tang of processed soil mingled with the acrid scent of sulfur. Ahead, a jagged maw opened into the earth. No lights inside. Pure black. He pulled a glow-stick from his utility belt. Cracked it. A sickly green light spilled forth, revealing glistening rock faces and winding tunnels. Water dripped, echoing. He tasted it. Pure, slightly mineralized. A small victory. His comms unit crackled. Static. Then, a voice. Mechanical, detached. "Warden Unit Kaelen-7. Your unauthorized deviation from established parameters has been noted. Return to designated quadrant, immediately. Failure to comply will result in system termination." Overseer. Ever present. Ever hostile. K-7 ignored it. He moved deeper, relying on the game’s topographical memory. He knew these tunnels better than his own home, back on Earth. Now, this was home. His new, brutal home. He felt the vibrations before he saw them. Small, skittering creatures. Cave-crawlers. Blind, six-legged, their chitinous shells shimmering faintly in his weak light. Easy prey. He drew his worn survival knife. A swift slice, a dull thud. Meat. He stripped it, raw and stringy. Survival required. He ate. Hours passed. He followed thermal currents, searching for the tell-tale shimmer of Silithium ore. The air grew warmer, humid. He found a vein, glowing softly behind a layer of crystalline rock. Black with streaks of violet. Rare. Potent. He started to chip away, his knife inadequate. He needed a better tool. A forked branch, a heavy rock. Primitive solutions. He gathered the ore, carefully. His hands bled, but he barely noticed. A low growl rumbled through the cavern. Deep. Resonant. A Lurker. Blind, hearing acutely sensitive to vibrations. It was here. Kaelen-7 froze. He gripped his knife. He knew this monster. Knew its patterns, its blind spots. *Xylos-Prime* taught him well. The ground shook again. Closer. The Lurker was a massive, segmented worm-like creature, its armored head ending in a sensory cluster of twitching cilia. No eyes. Only feelers. It moved with terrifying speed, slamming against cavern walls, dislodging rocks. K-7 flattened himself against a hot vent, masking his heat signature. The Lurker thrashed, its powerful body ripping through the Silithium vein he’d just found. Its maw, a ring of sharpened chitin, snapped. It was hunting. He waited. Patience. The Primitive Protocol demanded it. Not a soldier’s bravery, but a predator’s cunning. He let it pass. He calculated its path, its speed, its blind angles. He had one chance. The Lurker’s head swiveled. Its cilia grazed the air inches from K-7’s face. He didn’t flinch. Then, it lunged, sensing a tremor, a slight shift in air pressure. Not K-7. A falling rock he’d dislodged moments before. As its head impacted the rock wall, briefly stunned, K-7 moved. He didn’t yell. He didn’t hesitate. He thrust his knife, not at its armored head, but into the softer, segmented flesh behind its chitinous neck plates. A gap. A weakness. Game knowledge. Pure and brutal. The Lurker roared, a guttural sound that shook the cavern. Its immense body thrashed. K-7 clung on, twisting the blade, sawing through muscle and nerve. Hot ichor sprayed him. The beast crashed, taking chunks of rock with it. He held on, a tick on its hide, until its struggles weakened. He ripped out the knife, pulling with all his strength. The Lurker spasmed, then went still. A heavy silence descended. K-7 stood panting, covered in alien blood and gore. He had survived. He looked at the massive creature. Resources. He began to carve. Chitin for armor patches. Muscle for food. Organ sac for bioluminescent fluid. Nothing was wasted. He worked in the dim green light, his mind focused, his hands practiced. His human sensibilities, long eroded, were nowhere to be found. Deep inside the Lurker’s stomach, something glinted. Not organic. Metallic. He pulled it out. A data chip, scarred and ancient, but intact. It hummed faintly. He cleaned it, the crude process exposing faded Colonial Authority markings. He followed the Lurker’s trail deeper into the cavern system, its violent path a guide. He noticed something unusual. The rock formations grew too regular. Too smooth. Not natural. A faint metallic sheen beneath the mineral deposits. He dug. Pulled. The rocks crumbled, revealing a seamless alloy wall. An access hatch. Hidden, camouflaged, almost perfectly merged with the cavern wall. Older than the colony. Older than anything K-7 had seen. Not a colony structure. A pre-colonization discovery site? A forgotten research outpost? The data chip in his hand pulsed, growing warmer. It was reacting. He knew this feeling. An unlock. A key. He pressed the chip against the alloy. A soft hiss. Then, the immense hatch groaned. Slowly, it retracted into the rock. Beyond lay a dark corridor, unnaturally cold. The air inside felt stagnant, dead. He stepped through. His boots echoed on the metal floor. The glow-stick barely penetrated the gloom. The corridor stretched into an abyss. Then, a single, flickering light ignited far down the hall. A power conduit. Dying, but active. And a voice. Not Overseer. Not mechanical. But human. Distorted by age and static, yet unmistakably a voice from Earth. Panic. Despair. "...Protocol engaged... No way out... They're already inside... It's taken over... The mind-wipe... Failed..." The words cut off. An alarm blared, a raw shriek that tore through the cavern. Emergency lights, blood red, flared to life along the corridor. And at the far end, in the sudden crimson illumination, stood a figure. Tall. Skeletal. Its metallic limbs extended, its head a featureless dome. Not a machine. Not an animal. But something else. Something constructed. Something *waiting*. Its red optical sensor fixed on Kaelen-7. It was not alone. From alcoves along the corridor, more figures emerged, silent, their red lights mirroring its gaze. Trapped. He heard a click. A weapon charging. He was the Primitive Protocol. But what was *this* Protocol?

Below the Crust