Hoisting his body up—aided with the axe's leverage—Rue glanced into the building from the opening.
Meeting his view was a relatively normal-looking office space.
Cubicles frugally clustered next to each other in accordance with the limited space of the floor plan, which in turn left each cubicle's entrails uncomfortably spaced—crammed to accommodate the people who once worked within them.
Along the outermost edges of the office space, the furniture was overturned, tossed chaotically across the floor.
The paths leading to each cubicle littered with papers debriefing blurred stats or made-up marketing information which annoyingly scattered like leaves during autumn.
With the exception of the small amount of chaos here and there, the space was very liminal.
Naturally, this excluded the small bombed-out opening on the side of the office.
Otherwise, the floor seemed perfectly operational if they sent in a cleanup team.
Scanning over the floor once more, Rue—only after confirming the absence of any tell-tale signs of life or relevant presence—gave a small unconscious nod of self-assurance before pulling himself up, climbing into the office space.
Swinging himself into the hole, Rue fell several feet before planting his feet onto the dull blue carpet floor.
Tossing the small great axe into the purple panel, he retrieved his firearms.
Keeping one arm perpendicular to his gait, with his finger firmly rested onto the rail gun's trigger…
With his other arm's elbow tucked by his side, he kept the weapon's sister firearm parallel with his ear.
Using this stance, Rue would immediately be able to exploit the weapon at his front, and if needed he could quickly make use of the other rail gun with a quick snap of his arm forward.
Taking a step forward, he began to walk along the paper-covered path in front of him.
As Rue gradually trudged through the pathway, he would mindfully shift his head side to side, keeping total vigilance of any noise or sudden movements that could be made.
Approaching the end of the cubicle-made pathway, Rue cautiously neared the exit of the office space.
Casting a glance into the exit…
Rue met a similarly normal sight.
It was a normal-looking linoleum-floored hallway.
Moving his gaze across the hall, Rue fixed his gaze on a neon red sign that read "EXIT."
By the sign was another—but green—that depicted a stick man running down a flight of stairs.
He smirked.
It was a stairwell!
Using some basic reasoning, Rue deduced that since this was the second floor and there were still seven more, he could utilize this stairwell in order to reach the 8th or 9th floor—unless the stairs were unfortunately destroyed.
Running from his position behind the wall of the office's exit, Rue rushed toward the aluminum exit door.
Skidding silently across the linoleum floor, Rue—faced with the door—threw it open.
And… It was dark.
The stairwell was void of light.
Seeing this, Rue recalled something Livia had previously mentioned.
'During the first trial, try your best to avoid dark places. I'm not allowed to mention why—because of this damn contract—however, if you can't help it and enter such a place, then for the love of all things holy, keep your yap shut!' she had advised.
'Whelp, I guess I have no reason as to not follow Livia's vague advice.' Rue reasoned with a shrug.
Rue stepped inside of the lightless stairwell.
—Screech!
Click!
With the door clicking behind him, Rue felt a warm faint breeze brush against his skin.
The warm current had come from his diagonal left—the area which led up the stairs.
Moving around in the darkness, Rue gingerly moved his arm forward, using the barrel of the gun to search for the stairwell railing.
After several seconds of awkwardly moving through the pitch black, the rail gun's barrel found its target.
Feeling the railing with his firearm, Rue began to casually ascend the stairs—while keeping Livia's sentiment in the back of his mind—maintaining a silent stance as he climbed up the stairs.
With each step he took, a wet sploshing noise elicited under his feet.
Assuming the noise was simply from some collected water that had originated from an exposed pipe, he paid it no mind—not bothering to waste thought on it.
However, after reaching the third floor, it wasn't just a sploshing noise anymore.
Scrunch~
'Huh?'
Padding his feet against the stair, Rue scrunched his brow.
He didn't know why, but the ground felt softer in some capricious manner.
Shrugging off his accumulated unease, Rue continued to ascend the stairs.
The fourth and fifth floors were similar in nature—the ground remained soft like firm fat, and that sickening wet sploshing noise that came with each step—he had once dismissed—remained ever-present, now beginning to nag at his ears like loud drums during a recital.
The sound was GROTESQUE, and the feeling under his feet—stomach-churning.
His head throbbed.
He felt nauseous as an odd overwhelming anxiousness uncharacteristic of him washed over.
Rue felt a painful urge to scream, to run, to HIDE!
All of which came from his advanced spatial awareness.
His instincts yelled primal with the fight-or-flight instinct in full throttle.
Using his exceptional mental fortitude, Rue resisted these feelings—pushing them aside as he continued to ascend.
Reaching the plateaued walking space indicating the sixth floor, Rue—feeling unsure—cautiously stepped forward.
Step…
Nothing.
The ground was firm, and no noise had elicited after making contact with its surface.
However, to ensure the ground was truly back to normal, he took another step.
Step…
Nothing.
It was normal again.
Rue gave a mental sigh of ease.
Those weird feelings were annoying.
Assuming the worst had come to pass, he continued—
"Rue?"
A voice came, omnipresent from the darkness.
The voice… It was familiar?
'....'
Not hearing a response, the voice came again.
"Rue, what are you doing here?"
"I thought you said you were going to Alex's house to train?"
Several seconds of deafening silence passed.
Sigh….
"Are you… running away again?"
Hearing the last piece, Rue's mind flashed with a sequence of suppressed memories.
He knew this voice.
It was the voice of a woman he had guiltily buried many years ago.
The voice was so cold, even emotionally distant—yet even so, it held an abstract maternal warmth and affection.
It was that woman…
His mother.