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Miner's Note

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24th February 1972
I write this note in the knowledge that it may well serve as my last will and testament. Myself and three other miners have been trapped beneath the main shaft to the surface for what we believe to be three days, but with no daylight, and increasing dehydration, it's impossible to tell. The only thing keeping us alive is the hope that there could be a rescue team already on the way. We were all so positive at the start, but that seems long ago now.


Renton was the first to crack, some time during the first night. We all just lay there, trying to sleep through the sound of his wailing and sobbing, trying to pretend his problems weren't our own, and that he was weak for having given up so soon. The fact was, he was dealing with the situation pretty realistically: our chance of survival gets smaller every hour. Since then, he hasn't said much, but the despair that gripped him seems to have spread through the rest of us like a cancer.


We were such fools to ignore the foreman, and he paid for that with his life. When he started putting security code locks on all the doors, we thought he was crazy: there's only us down here after all, so why should we need codes to access places we're all allowed to go? He gave us all code sheets, made us swear to keep them safe - huh, mine hasn't left my locker more than once, it's still there, doesn't get much safer than that. We asked him who we were keeping them safe from, but he never said. It was a pain in the arse, is what it was. I had to trek all the way to that crazy biologist's office in the mining room this morning, just to check the code for Section C.


But he obviously knew something about these mines we didn't. Some of the guys started acting weird. Not crazy weird, just... not normal. That didn't stop a couple of them being carted off to mainland Europe for psychiatric help. It was no one I knew well. Until the incident three days ago.


We were in chemical storage, when one of the guys who had seemed pretty straight just started shouting. It wasn't a normal kind of shouting. I'm not any kind of word smith, so I just don't know how to describe the noises he was making. We'll just have to stick with not normal. Anyway, he managed to hurt a couple of guys, damage some equipment before we got him under control. Nothing serious. When we released him, he seemed OK. Phased, but alright. Didn't really know where he was, far away look in his eyes. That look... I'll remember that for the rest of my days, even if there aren't many more of them. His pupils weren't dilated... they just seemed to take up more space than should be possible: black, and horrible. Then he snapped, and grabbed up one of the high rated explosive packs. We knew what he intended, saw it in those eyes. Those that could, made a run for it, but the guy was already bearing down on the foreman, he didn't have a chance. There were five of us who made it out to the exit shaft. Only four survived the explosion. The elevator shaft collapsed in on us, and now, it's anyone's guess how many are still trapped down here.


The last thing I saw was those eyes. Seemed like they were staring at me, and me alone.
Miles Statton

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