The knock echoed through the basement hall before the heavy wood door swung open on its own. Silently, of course, as America had the hinged oiled weekly. Upkeep of public traffic areas were part of the job, after all, and dealing with the small irritations made people more compliant and less likely to rebel.
Al was treated to the sight of a hall lit with runic torches (rejects from the labs, all but useless except for their flickering glow) and numerous doors, most at least partially barred, all of them incredible sturdy. It was very obviously a dungeon, which made the
pop music blaring from the first set of rooms all the more incongruous.
Pandora and America were clearly visible as their door consisted entirely of metal bars. Hair was everywhere. Combs were involved. As were magnifying glasses. "I think I killed them. And I think I need to find some explosives, because I want to burn that room to the ground but
like hell am I gonna set foot in there again. Kinda wanna bomb that damned hobo of a junklord while I'm at it, bringing bugs down here after we just got rid of the last ones."
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