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Chapter 57 - The Digger

The rhythmic scrape… pause… scrape from the floor below was a sound both mundane and terrifying. It was a sound of human effort, of deliberate work, and in a world now ruled by mindless monsters and robotic armies, that was the most unnatural thing they could have possibly heard.

They stood frozen around the diorama, the revelation of the Echo map momentarily forgotten. Every instinct screamed that a human sound should be a sign of hope, a beacon of community. But in the ruins of the old world, a stranger was just another predator until proven otherwise.

"Who's there?" Elara whispered, her hand tightening on the hilt of her saber.

Ben's silver-lit eyes were unfocused, his Insight skill piercing through the floorboards, trying to parse the information. "It's singular," he murmured, his voice a low, analytical hum. "Bipedal. Its movements are methodical, repetitive. The heart rate is elevated, but within human parameters. It's not a Collector, and it doesn't register as Rift-spawn." He finally focused on Kai, his expression grim. "It's a person."

The confirmation settled over them, heavy and uncertain. They were not alone.

"We can't just announce ourselves," Kai said, his voice barely a whisper. "We don't know who they are, or what they're doing." He looked around the dusty attic, his eyes landing on a dark, square outline in the far corner. A trapdoor.

They moved with a practiced, ghostly silence. Kai tested the iron ring of the trapdoor, lifting it slowly to avoid a single creak. It opened onto a small, dark landing and a steep, narrow spiral staircase, clearly meant for maintenance staff. The scraping sound was louder from here, echoing up the stone-lined shaft.

One by one, they descended, their feet finding purchase on the worn stone steps. The air grew colder, and the smell of dust and old paper intensified. They emerged into the deep shadows of a second-floor gallery.

The history department was a museum frozen in the moment of its death. Mannequins in Civil War uniforms stood in eternal, silent conflict behind velvet ropes. Glass cases displayed arrowheads, colonial pottery, and faded daguerreotypes, their subjects staring out at a future they could never have imagined. The only light came from the tall, arched windows, casting long, distorted shadows that made the exhibits seem to writhe with a life of their own.

The scraping sound was close now, coming from the main hall at the bottom of a grand, sweeping staircase. Scrape. Pause. Scrape. It was accompanied by the soft crunch of displaced gravel and the occasional, heavy grunt of exertion.

They crept to the edge of the balcony, peering down through the ornate iron railings.

Below, in the center of the grand hall, was a man. He was old, perhaps in his late sixties, with a wild mane of white hair and a threadbare tweed jacket that was caked in dust. He was gaunt, his face all sharp angles and hollowed-out cheeks, but his arms were wiry and strong. He was using a heavy, flat-headed spade to pry up the massive flagstones of the hall's floor, tossing them aside with a strength that belied his age. He was working with a frantic, obsessive energy, his eyes fixed on the hole he was digging in the center of the room.

"What is he doing?" Elara mouthed, her expression a mixture of pity and suspicion.

"I don't know," Kai whispered back. "But he's making a lot of noise. Enough to attract anything in the area."

As if on cue, the man's shovel struck something that wasn't stone. There was a dull, metallic thud. The man let out a low, triumphant hiss and dropped to his knees, his hands scrabbling at the dirt.

In that moment of focused silence, a loose piece of plaster from the damaged ceiling above them chose to break free. It was a small piece, but it landed on the marble floor of the balcony with a sharp clack that echoed through the cavernous hall like a gunshot.

The man below froze. His head snapped up, his eyes, wild and fiercely intelligent, locking directly onto their position in the shadows. He moved with a speed that was startling, scrambling to his feet and brandishing the heavy spade like a weapon, its sharp edge glinting in the dusty light.

"Who's there!" he roared, his voice a raw, powerful bark that had not been weakened by solitude. "Show yourselves!"

They were caught. Kai, Elara, and Ben slowly stood up, their hands held in a non-threatening, open position. They were not facing a monster of the Rift, nor a Collector from a silent army. They were facing a man.

But the desperate, cornered-animal look in his eyes was almost as terrifying.

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